Annie entered the presence of the famous lawyer pale and ill at ease. This sudden summons to Judge Brewster's private office was so unexpected that it came like a shock. For days she had haunted the premises, sitting in the outer office for hours at a time exposed to the stare and covert smiles of thoughtless clerks and office boys. Her requests for an interview had been met with curt refusals. They either said the judge was out of town or else that he was too busy to be seen. At last, evidently acting upon orders, they flatly refused to even send in her name, and she had about abandoned hope when, all at once, a clerk approached her, and addressing her more politely than usual, said that the judge would see her in a few minutes.
Her heart gave a great throb. Almost speechless from surprise, she stammered a faint thanks and braced herself for the interview on which so much depended. For the first time since the terrible affair had happened, there was a faint glimmer of hope ahead. If only she could rush over to the Tombs and tell Howard the joyful news so he might keep up his courage! It was eight days now since Howard's arrest, and the trial would take place in six weeks. There was still time to prepare a strong defense if the judge would only consent to take the case. She was more sure than ever that a clever lawyer would have no difficulty in convincing a jury that Howard's alleged "confession" was untrue and improperly obtained.
In the intervals of waiting to see the lawyer, she had consulted every one she knew, and among others she had talked with Dr. Bernstein, the noted psychologist, whom she had seen once at Yale. He received her kindly and listened attentively to her story. When she had finished he had evinced the greatest interest. He told her that he happened to be the physician called in on the night of the tragedy, and at that time he had grave doubts as to it being a case of murder. He believed it was suicide, and he had told Captain Clinton so, but the police captain had made up his mind, and that was the end of it. Howard's "confession," he went on, really meant nothing. If called to the stand he could show the jury that a hypnotic subject can be made to "confess" to anything. In the interest of truth, justice, and science, he said, he would gladly come to her aid.
All this she would tell Judge Brewster. It would be of great help to him, no doubt. Suddenly, a cold shiver ran through her. How did she know he would take the case? Perhaps this summons to his office was only to tell her once more that he would have nothing to do with her and her husband. She wondered why he had decided so suddenly to see her and, like a flash, an idea came to her. She had seen Mr. Jeffries, Sr., enter the inner sanctum and, instinctively, she felt that she had something to do with his visit. The banker had come out accompanied by a richly dressed woman whom she guessed to be his wife.
She looked with much interest at Howard's stepmother. She had heard so much about her that it seemed to her that she knew her personally. As Alicia swept proudly by, the eyes of the two women met, and Annie was surprised to see in the banker's wife's face, instead of the cold, haughty stare she expected, a wistful, longing look, as if she would like to stop and talk with her, but dare not. In another instant she was gone, and, obeying a clerk, who beckoned her to follow him, she entered Judge Brewster's office.
The lawyer looked up as she came in, but did not move from his seat. Gruffly he said:
"How long do you intend to keep up this system of—warfare? How long are you going to continue forcing your way into this office?"
"I didn't force my way in," she said quietly. "I didn't expect to come in. The clerk said you wanted to see me."
The lawyer frowned and scrutinized her closely. After a pause, he said:
"I want to tell you for the fiftieth time I can do nothing for you."
"Fifty?" she echoed. "Fifty did you say? Really, it doesn't seem that much."
Judge Brewster looked at her quickly to see if she was laughing at him. Almost peevishly, he said:
"For the last time, I repeat I can do nothing for you."
"Not the last time, judge," she replied, shaking her head. "I shall come again to-morrow."
The lawyer swung around in his chair with indignation.
"You will——?"
Annie nodded.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly.
"You're determined to force your way in here?" exclaimed the lawyer.
"Yes, sir."
The judge banged the desk with his fist.
"But I won't allow it! I have something to say, you know! I can't permit this to go on. I represent my client, Mr. Howard Jeffries, Sr., and he won't consent to my taking up your husband's case."
There was a shade of sarcasm in Annie's voice as she asked calmly:
"Can't you do it without his consent?"
The lawyer looked at her grimly.
"I can," he blurted out, "but—I won't."
Her eyes flashed as she replied quickly.
"Well, you ought to——"
The lawyer looked up in amazement.
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"It's your duty to do it," she said quietly. "Your duty to his son, to me, and to Mr. Jeffries himself. Why, he's so eaten up with his family pride and false principles that he can't see the difference between right and wrong. You're his lawyer. It's your duty to put him right. It's downright wicked of you to refuse—you're hurting him. Why, when I was hunting around for a lawyer one of them actually refused to take up the case because he said old Brewster must think Howard was guilty or he'd have taken it up himself. You and his father are putting the whole world against him, and you know it."
The judge was staggered. No one in his recollection had ever dared to speak to him like that. He was so astonished that he forgot to resent it, and he hid his confusion by taking out his handkerchief and mopping his forehead.
"I do know it," he admitted.
"Then why do you do it?" she snapped.
The lawyer hesitated, and then he said:
"I—that's not the question."
Annie leaped quickly forward, and she replied:
"It's my question—and as you say, I've asked it fifty times."
The lawyer sat back in his chair and looked at her for a moment without speaking. He surveyed her critically from head to foot, and then, as if satisfied with his examination, said:
"You're going on the stage?"
She nodded.
"I've had a very big offer."
The judge leaned forward, and in a low voice, so that no one in the outer office might hear, he said:
"Well, I'll give you twice as much if you refuse the engagement."
She laughed ironically.
"You mean that my father-in-law will give it," she said lightly. Then she went on:
"You know it's no use your asking me to concede anything unless you agree to defend Howard."
The lawyer shook his head.
"I can't—it's impossible."
"Then neither can I," she exclaimed defiantly.
Judge Brewster could not refrain from smiling. This young woman had actually inveigled him into an argument. Almost mockingly, he said:
"So you're determined to have me."
"Yes," she said simply.
"But I don't argue criminal cases."
"That's just it," she exclaimed eagerly; "my husband is not a criminal. He is innocent. I don't want a lawyer who is always defending criminals. I want one who defends a man because he isn't a criminal."
Judge Brewster waved his hand contemptuously.
"Go and see some other lawyer—there are plenty of 'em."
She leaned eagerly forward. Her face was flushed from excitement, her eyes flashed.
"There's only one Judge Brewster," she exclaimed. "He's the greatest lawyer in the world, and he's going to help us. He is going to save Howard's life."
The judge shifted uneasily on his chair. He didn't like this forceful, persistent young woman. Almost fretfully, he said:
"You always say that. Upon my word, I shall begin to believe it soon."
"I shall say it again," she exclaimed, "and again every time I see you."
The lawyer turned round. There was a comic look of despair in his face which would have amused his visitor had her errand not been so serious.
"How often do you intend that shall be?"
"Every day," she replied calmly. "I shall say it and think it until—until it comes true."
Judge Brewster tried to feel angry, although inwardly he had hard work to keep from smiling. With pretended indignation, he said:
"You mean that you intend to keep at me until I give way—through sheer exhaustion?"
She nodded.
"That's it exactly," she said.
The lawyer gasped.
"Well, I must say you—you—you're very brave."
Annie shook her head.
"No, I'm not," she said earnestly. "I'm an awful coward, but I'm fighting for him. Howard Jeffries lifted me up when I was way down in the world. He gave me his name. He gave me all he had, to make me a better woman, and I'm grateful. Why, even a dog has gratitude, even a dog will lick the hand that feeds him. Why should I hesitate to express my gratitude? That's all I'm doing—just paying him back a bit of the debt I owe him, and I'm going to move Heaven and earth to bring his father around to my way of thinking. I've got you already——"
The judge bounded to his feet. Could his ears have heard aright?
"Got me already?" he exclaimed. "What do you mean by that?"
Annie returned his angry look with the utmost calm. She was playing her cards well, and she knew it. She had hit the old man in a sensitive place. Quietly, she went on:
"You'd say 'yes' in a minute if it wasn't for Mr. Jeffries."
"Oh, you think so, do you?" he gasped.
"I'm sure of it," she replied confidently. Boldly she went on: "You're afraid of him."
Judge Brewster laughed heartily.
"Afraid of him?" he echoed.
"It isn't so funny," she went on. "You're afraid of opposing him. I'm not surprised. I'm afraid of him myself."
The lawyer looked at her in an amused kind of way.
"Then why do you oppose him in everything?" he demanded.
Annie laughed as she replied:
"That's the only way I can get his attention. Why, when he met me out there to-day he actually looked at me. For the first time in his life he recognized that he has a daughter-in-law. He looked at me—and I'm not sure, but I think he wanted to bow to me. He's kind of beginning to sit up and take notice."
Judge Brewster frowned. He did not like the insinuation that he was afraid to do the right thing because it might interfere with his emoluments. Yet, secretly, he had to admit to himself that she had almost guessed right. Now he came to think of it, he had taken this stand in the matter because he knew that any other course would displease his wealthy client. After all, was he doing right? Was he acting in conformance with his professional oath? Was he not letting his material interests interfere with his duty? He was silent for several minutes, and then, in an absent-minded kind of way, he turned to his visitor.
"So you think I'm afraid of him, do you?"
"I'm sure of it," she said quickly. "You liked my husband, and you'd just love to rush in and fight for him. His father thinks he is guilty and, well—you don't like to disobey him. It's very natural. He's an influential man, a personal friend of the President and all that. You know on which side your bread is buttered, and—oh, it's very natural—you're looking out for your own interests——"
Judge Brewster interrupted her impatiently.
"Circumstances are against Howard. Your father judges him guilty from his own confession. It's the conclusion I'm compelled to come to myself. Now, how do you propose to change that conclusion?"
"You don't have to change it," she said quietly, "You don't believe Howard guilty."
"I don't?" exclaimed the lawyer.
"No, at the bottom of your heart. You knew Howard when he was a boy, and you know he is as incapable of that crime as you are."
Judge Brewster lapsed into silence, and there followed a perfect quiet, broken only by the suppressed chatter of the clerks and clicking of the typewriters in the outer office. Annie watched him closely, wondering what was passing in his mind, fearing in her heart that she might have prejudiced him against her husband only the more. Suddenly he turned on her.
"Mrs. Jeffries, how do you know that your husband did not kill Robert Underwood?"
"I know it," she said confidently.
"Yes," persisted the judge, "but how do you know it?"
Annie looked steadily at him, and then she said solemnly:
"I know there's a God, but I can't tell you how I know it. I just know it, that's all! Howard didn't do it. I know he didn't."
The lawyer smiled.
"That's a very fair sample of feminine logic."
"Well, it's all I have," she retorted, with a toss of her head. "And it's a mighty comfort, too, because when you know a thing you know it and it makes you happy."
Judge Brewster laughed outright.
"Feminine deduction!" he cried. "Think a thing, believe it, and then you know it!" Looking up at her, he asked:
"Haven't you any relatives to whom you can go?"
She shook her head.
"No," she said sadly. "My father died in—Sing Sing—and the rest are not worth——"
"Yes, yes, I know," replied the judge hastily. "I got your family history from Mr. Jeffries after your marriage. It is filed away among the family archives."
She smiled sadly.
"It's a wonder you don't burn 'em up—my folks were not a very brilliant lot." Earnestly she went on: "But my father was all right, judge. Blood was thicker than water with him. He'd never have gone back on me in the way Howard's father has on him."
The lawyer looked at her fixedly without speaking. Their eyes met, and the silence continued until it became embarrassing. Judge Brewster shook his head.
"It's too bad. I'm sorry for you, really, I——"
Annie laughed, and he asked:
"Why do you laugh?"
"What's the use of crying?" she said. "Ha! Ha! It's almost a joke. You're sorry, my father-in-law is sorry, and I suppose my mother-in-law is shedding tears for me, too. You're all sorry and you're all wearing crape for us, but why can't some of youdosomething?"
The lawyer said nothing. He still stared at her in a strange, absent-minded kind of way, until finally she lost patience. Boldly she said:
"Well, you sent for me. What do you want to see me about, judge?"
"I want to tell you that you mustn't come here again," he answered.
"Anything else?" she exclaimed.
The judge began to fuss with the papers on his desk, as he usually did when embarrassed for words.
"Of course," he stammered, "you will be amply compensated."
"Of course," she cried. Rising from her chair, she shrugged her shoulders, and said:
"Oh, well, this is not my lucky day. They wouldn't let me into the prison to see Howard to-day. Captain Clinton doesn't like me. He has always tried to prevent my seeing Howard, but I'll see him to-morrow, captain or no captain. He can make up his mind to that!"
The lawyer looked up at her.
"Poor girl—you are having a hard time, aren't you?"
"Things have been better," she replied, with a tremor in her voice. "Howard and I were very happy when we first——" A sob choked her utterance, and she forced a laugh, saying: "Here, I must keep off that subject——"
"Why do you laugh?" demanded the lawyer.
Already hysterical, Annie had great difficulty in keeping back her tears.
"Well, if I don't laugh," she sobbed, "I'll cry; and as I don't want to cry—why—I just laugh. It's got to be one or the other—see——?"
He said nothing, and she continued:
"Well, I guess I'll go home—home—that's the worst part of it—home——"
She stopped short, she could go no further. Her bosom was heaving, the hot tears were rolling down her cheeks. The old lawyer turned away his head so that she might not see the suspicious redness in his eyes. Moving toward the door, she turned around.
"Well, you have your own troubles, judge. I'll go now, but I'll come again to-morrow. Perhaps you'll have better news for me."
The lawyer waved her back to her seat with a commanding gesture she could not resist. There was determination around his mouth; in his face was an expression she had not seen there before.
"Sit down again for a moment," he said sharply. "I want to ask you a question. How do you account for Howard's confessing to the shooting?"
"I don't account for it," she replied, as she resumed her seat. "He says he didn't confess. I don't believe he did."
"But three witnesses——"
"Who are the witnesses?" she interrupted contemptuously. "Policemen!"
"That makes no difference," he said. "He made a confession and signed——"
Annie leaned forward. What did this questioning mean? Was the judge becoming interested after all? Her heart gave a leap as she answered eagerly:
"He confessed against his will. I mean—he didn't know what he was doing at the time. I've had a talk with the physician who was called in—Dr. Bernstein. He says that Captain Clinton is a hypnotist, that he can compel people to say what he wants them to say. Well, Howard is—what they call a subject—they told him he did it till he believed he did."
She looked narrowly at the lawyer to see what effect her words were having, but to her great disappointment the judge was apparently paying not the slightest attention. He was gazing out of the window and drumming his fingers absent-mindedly on the desk. Utterly discouraged, she again rose.
"Oh, well, what's the use——?"
The judge quickly put out his hand and partly pushed her back in the chair.
"Don't go," he said. Then he added:
"Who told you he was a hypnotic subject?"
Her hopes revived once more. Quickly she said:
"Dr. Bernstein. Besides, Howard told me so himself. A friend of his at college used to make him cut all sorts of capers."
"A friend at college, eh? Do you remember his name?"
"Howard knows it."
"Um!" ejaculated the lawyer. He took up a pad and wrote a memorandum on it. Then aloud he said: "I'd like to have a little talk with Dr. Bernstein. I think I'll ask him to come and see me. Let me see. His address is——"
"342 Madison Avenue," she exclaimed eagerly.
The lawyer jotted the address down, and then he looked up.
"So you think I'm afraid of Mr. Jeffries, do you?"
She smiled.
"Oh, no, not really afraid," she answered, "but just—scared. I didn't mean——"
Judge Brewster was enjoying the situation hugely. He had quite made up his mind what to do, but he liked to quiz this bold young woman who had not been afraid to show him where his duty lay. Striving to keep a serious face, he said:
"Oh, yes, you did, and I want you to understand I'm not afraid of any man. As to allowing my personal interests to interfere with my duty——"
Annie took alarm. She was really afraid she had offended him.
"Oh, I didn't say that, did I?" she exclaimed timidly.
Judge Brewster forced his face into a frown.
"You said I knew on which side my bread was buttered!"
"Did I?" she exclaimed in consternation.
"You say a great many things, Mrs. Jeffries," said the lawyer solemnly. "Of course, I realize how deeply you feel, and I make excuses for you. But I'm not afraid. Please understand that——"
He rapped the table with his eyeglasses as if he were very much offended indeed.
"Of course not," she said apologetically. "If you were you wouldn't even see me—let alone talk to me—and—and——" Pointing to the piece of paper he held in his hand, she added: "And——"
"And what?" demanded the judge, amused.
Half hysterical, now laughing, now crying, she went on:
"And—and take the names and addresses of witnesses for the defense—and—think out how you're going to defend Howard—and—and all that——"
The lawyer looked at her and laughed.
"So you think I'm going to help Howard?" he said. "You take too much for granted."
"You're not afraid to help him," she said. "I know that—you just said so."
Judge Brewster raised his fist and brought it down on the desk with a bang which raised in a cloud the accumulated dust of weeks. His face set and determined, he said:
"You're quite right! I'm going to take your case!"
Annie felt herself giving way. It was more than she could stand. For victory to be hers when only a moment before defeat seemed certain was too much for her nerves. All she could gasp was:
"Oh, judge!"
The lawyer adjusted his eyeglasses, blew his nose with suspicious energy, and took up a pen.
"Now don't pretend to be surprised—you knew I would. And please don't thank me. I hate to be thanked for doing what I want to do. If I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't——"
Through her tears she murmured:
"I'd like to say 'thank you'."
"Well, please don't," he snapped.
But she persisted. Tenderly, she said:
"May I say you're the dearest, kindest——"
Judge Brewster shook his head.
"No—no—nothing of the kind."
"Most gracious—noble-hearted—courageous," she went on.
The judge struck the table another formidable blow.
"Mrs. Jeffries!" he exclaimed.
She turned away her head to hide her feelings.
"Oh, how I'd like to have a good cry," she murmured. "If Howard only knew!"
Judge Brewster touched an electric button, and his head clerk entered.
"Mr. Jones," said the lawyer quickly, "get a stenographic report of the case of the People against Howard Jeffries, Junior; get the coroner's inquest, the grand jury indictment, and get a copy of the Jeffries confession—get everything—right away!"
The clerk looked inquiringly, first at Annie and then at his employer. Then respectfully he asked:
"Do we, sir?"
"We do," said the lawyer laconically.
"Now, my dear young woman," said Judge Brewster, when the astonished head clerk had withdrawn, "if we are going to set your husband free we must get to work, and you must help me."
His visitor looked up eagerly.
"I'll do anything in my power," she said quickly. "What can I do?"
"Well—first of all," said the lawyer with some hesitation, "I want you to see a certain lady and to be exceedingly nice to her."
"Lady?" echoed Annie surprised. "What lady?"
"Mrs. Howard Jeffries, Senior," he replied slowly.
"Howard's stepmother!" she ejaculated.
A clerk entered and handed his employer a card. The lawyer nodded and said in an undertone:
"Show her in." Turning round again, he went on: "Yes—Howard's stepmother. She's out there now. She wants to see you. She wishes to be of service to you. Now, you must conciliate her. She may be of great use to us."
Annie's face expressed considerable doubt.
"Perhaps so," she said, "but the door was slammed in my face when I called to see her."
"That's nothing," answered the judge. "She probably knows nothing about it. In any case, please remember that she is my client——"
She bowed her head and murmured obediently:
"I'll remember."
The door of the office opened and Alicia entered. She stopped short on seeing who was there, and an awkward pause followed. Judge Brewster introduced them.
"Mrs. Jeffries, may I present Mrs. Howard, Junior?"
Alicia bowed stiffly and somewhat haughtily. Annie remained self-possessed and on the defensive. Addressing the banker's wife, the lawyer said:
"I told Mrs. Howard that you wished to speak to her." After a pause he added: "I think, perhaps, I'll leave you together. Excuse me."
He left the office and there was another embarrassing silence. Annie waited for Mrs. Jeffries to begin. Her attitude suggested that she expected something unpleasant and was fully prepared for it. At last Alicia broke the silence:
"You may think it strange that I have asked for this interview," she began, "but you know, Annie——" Interrupting herself, she asked: "You don't mind my calling you Annie, do you?"
The young woman smiled.
"I don't see why I should. It's my name and we're relatives—by marriage." There was an ironical ring in her voice as she went on: "Relatives! It seems funny, doesn't it, but we don't pick and choose our relatives. We must take them as they come."
Alicia made an effort to appear conciliatory.
"As we are—what we are—let's try to make the best of it."
"Make the best of it?" echoed Annie. "God knows I'm willing, but I've had mighty little encouragement, Mrs. Jeffries. When I called to see you the other day, to beg you to use your influence with Mr. Jeffries, 'not at home' was handed to me by the liveried footman and the door was slammed in my face. Ten minutes later you walked out to your carriage and were driven away."
"I knew nothing of this—believe me," murmured Alicia apologetically.
"It's what I got just the same," said the other dryly. Quickly she went on: "But I'm not complaining, understand—I'm not complaining. Only I did think that at such a time one woman might have held out a helping hand to another."
Alicia held up her hand protestingly.
"How could I?" she exclaimed. "Now, be reasonable. You are held responsible for Howard's present position."
"Yes—by the police," retorted Annie grimly, "and by a couple of yellow journals. I didn't think you'd believe all the gossip and scandal that's been printed about me. I didn't believe what was said about you."
Alicia started and changed color.
"What do you mean?" she exclaimed haughtily. "What was said about me?"
"Well, it has been said that you married old Jeffries for his money and his social position."
"'Old Jeffries!'" protested Alicia indignantly, "Have you no respect for your husband's father?"
"Not a particle," answered the other coolly, "and I never will have till he acts like a father. I only had one interview with him and it finished him with me for all time. He ain't a father—he's a fish."
"A fish!" exclaimed Alicia, scandalized at suchlèse majesté.
Annie went on recklessly:
"Yes—a cold-blooded——"
"But surely," interrupted Alicia, "you respect his position—his——"
"No, m'm; I respect a man because he behaves like a man, not because he lives in a marble palace on Riverside Drive."
Alicia looked pained. This girl was certainly impossible.
"But surely," she said, "you realized that when you married Howard you—you made a mistake—to say the least?"
"Yes, that part of it has been made pretty plain. It was a mistake—his mistake—my mistake. But now it's done and it can't be undone. I don't see why you can't take it as it is and—and——"
She stopped short and Alicia completed the sentence for her:
"—and welcome you into our family——"
"Welcome me? No, ma'am. I'm not welcome and nothing you or your set could say would ever make me believe that I was welcome. All I ask is that Howard's father do his duty by his son."
"I do not think—pardon my saying so," interrupted Alicia stiffly, "that you are quite in a position to judge of what constitutes Mr. Jeffries' duty to his son."
"Perhaps not. I only know what I would do—what my father would have done—what any one would do if they had a spark of humanity in them. But they do say that after three generations of society life red blood turns into blue."
Alicia turned to look out of the window. Her face still averted she said:
"What is there to do? Howard has acknowledged his guilt—any sacrifices we may make will be thrown away."
Annie eyed her companion with contempt. Her voice quivering with indignation, she burst out:
"What is there to do! Try and save him, of course. Must we sit and do nothing because things look black? Ah! I wasn't brought up that way. No, ma'am, I'm going to make a fight!"
"It's useless," murmured Alicia, shaking her head.
"Judge Brewster doesn't think so," replied the other calmly.
The banker's wife gave a start of surprise. Quickly she demanded:
"You mean that Judge Brewster has encouraged you to—to——"
"He's done more than encourage me—God bless him!—he's going to take up the case."
Alicia was so thunderstruck that for a moment she could find no answer.
"What!" she exclaimed, "without consulting Mr. Jeffries?"
She put her handkerchief to her face to conceal her agitation. Could it be possible that the judge was going to act, after all, in defiance of her husband's wishes? If that were true, what would become of her? Concealment would be no longer possible. Discovery of her clandestine visit to Underwood's apartment that fatal night must come. Howard might still be the murderer, Underwood might not have committed suicide, but her visit to his rooms at midnight would become known. Judge Brewster was not the man to be deterred by difficulties once he took up a case. He would see the importance of finding the mysterious woman who went secretly to Underwood's rooms that night of the tragedy.
"He consulted only his own feelings," went on Annie. "He believes in Howard, and he's going to defend him."
Alicia looked at her anxiously as if trying to read what might be in her mind. Indifferently she went on:
"The papers say there was a quarrel about you, that you and Mr. Underwood were too friendly. They implied that Howard was jealous. Is this true?"
"It's all talk," cried Annie indignantly—"nothing but scandal—lies! There's not a word of truth in it. Howard never had a jealous thought of me—and as for me—why—I've always worshiped the ground he walked on. Didn't he sacrifice everything for my sake? Didn't he quarrel with his father for me? Didn't he marry me? Didn't he try to educate and make a lady of me? My God!—do you suppose I'd give a man like that cause for jealousy? What do the newspapers care? They print cruel statements that cut into a woman's heart, without giving it a thought, without knowing or caring whether it's true or not, as long as it interests and amuses their readers. You—you don't really believe I'm the cause of his misfortunes, do you?"
Alicia shook her head as she answered kindly:
"No, I don't. Believe me, I don't. You were right when you said that at such a time as this one woman should stand by another. I'm going to stand by you. Let me be your friend, let me help you." Extending her hand, she said: "Will you?"
Annie grasped the proffered hand. It was the first that had been held out to her in her present trouble. A lump rose in her throat. Much affected, she said:
"It's the first kind word that——" She stopped and looked closely for a moment at Alicia. Then she went on:
"It's the queerest thing, Mrs. Jeffries, but it keeps coming into my mind. Howard told me that while he was at Underwood's that dreadful night he thought he heard your voice. It must have been a dream, of course, yet he thought he was sure of it. Your voice—that's queer, isn't it? Why—what's the matter?"
Alicia had grown deathly pale and staggered against a chair. Annie ran to her aid, thinking she was ill.
"It's nothing—nothing!" stammered Alicia, recovering herself.
Fearing she had said something to hurt her feelings, Annie said sympathetically:
"I haven't said anything—anything out of the way—have I? If I have I'm sorry—awfully sorry. I'm afraid—I—I've been very rude and you've been so kind!"
"No, no!" interrupted Alicia quickly. "You've said nothing—done nothing—you've had a great deal to bear—a great deal to bear. I understand that perfectly." Taking her companion's hand in hers, she went on, "Tell me, what do they say about the woman who went to see Robert Underwood the night of the tragedy?"
"The police can't find her—we don't know who she is." Confidently she went on: "But Judge Brewster will find her. We have a dozen detectives searching for her. Captain Clinton accused me of being the woman—you know he doesn't like me."
The banker's wife was far too busy thinking of the number of detectives employed to find the missing witness to pay attention to the concluding sentence. Anxiously she demanded:
"Supposing the woman is found, what can she prove? What difference will it make?"
"All the difference in the world," replied Annie. "She is a most important witness." Firmly she went on: "She must be found. If she didn't shoot Robert Underwood, she knows who did."
"But how can she know?" argued Alicia. "Howard confessed that he did it himself. If he had not confessed it would be different."
"He did not confess," replied the other calmly. "Mrs. Jeffries—he never confessed. If he did, he didn't know what he was saying."
Alicia was rapidly losing her self-possession.
"Did he tell you that?" she gasped.
Annie nodded.
"Yes. Dr. Bernstein says the police forced it out of his tired brain. I made Howard go over every second of his life that night from the time he left me to the moment he was arrested. There wasn't a harsh word between them." She stopped short and looked with alarm at Alicia, who had turned ashen white. "Why, what's the matter? You're pale as death—you——"
Alicia could contain herself no longer. Her nerves were on the point of giving way. She felt that if she could not confide her secret to some one she must go mad. Pacing the floor, she cried:
"What am I to do? What am I to do? I believed Howard guilty. Why shouldn't I? I had no reason to doubt his own confession! Every one believed it—his own father included. Why should I doubt it. But I see it all now! Underwood must have shot himself as he said he would!"
Annie started. What did Mrs. Jeffries mean? Did she realize the tremendous significance of the words she was uttering?
"As he said he would?" she repeated slowly.
"Yes," said Alicia weakly.
Annie bounded forward and grasped her companion's arm. Her face flushed, almost unable to speak from suppressed emotion, she cried:
"Ah! I begin to understand. You knew Robert Underwood? Howard knows your voice—he heard you—talking to him——Oh, Mrs. Jeffries! Are you the woman who visited his apartment that night?"
The banker's wife bowed her head and collapsed on a chair.
"Yes," she murmured in a low tone.
Annie looked at her in amazement.
"Why didn't you come forward at once?" she cried. "Think of the pain which you might have spared us!"
Alicia covered her face with her handkerchief. She was crying now.
"The disgrace—the disgrace!" she moaned.
"Disgrace!" echoed Annie, stupefied. Indignantly, she went on: "Disgrace—to you? But what of me and Howard?"
Alicia looked up.
"Can't you realize what it means to be associated with such a crime?" she wailed.
"Disgrace!" cried Annie contemptuously. "What is disgrace when a human life is at stake?"
"It seemed so useless," moaned Alicia—"a useless sacrifice in the face of Howard's confession. Of course—if I'd known—if I'd suspected what you tell me—I'd have come forward and told everything—no matter at what cost." Tearfully she added: "Surely you realize the position it puts me in?"
A new light shone in Annie's eyes. What was this woman's misery to her? Her duty was to the poor fellow who was counting the hours until she could set him free. His stepmother deserved no mercy. Utterly selfish, devoid of a spark of humanity, she would have left them both to perish in order to protect herself from shame and ridicule. Her face was set and determined as she said calmly:
"It must be done now."
"Yes," murmured Alicia in a low tone that sounded like a sob, "it must be done now! Oh, if I'd only done it before—if I'd only told Mr. Jeffries the whole truth! You speak of Howard's sufferings. If he didn't do it, he has at least the consciousness of his own innocence, but I—the constant fear of being found out is worse than any hell the imagination can conjure up. I dreaded it—I dread it now—it means disgrace—social ostracism—my husband must know—the whole world will know."
Annie was not listening. Still bewildered, she gazed with the utmost astonishment at her companion. To think that this mysterious woman they had been seeking was Howard's stepmother.
"So you're the missing witness we've all been hunting for!" she said; "I can't believe it even now. How did it happen?"
Alicia explained in short, broken sentences:
"He and I were once engaged. I broke it off when I found him out. After I married Mr. Jeffries I met Underwood again. Foolishly, I allowed the old intimacy to be renewed. He took advantage and preyed on my friends. I forbade him my house. He wrote me a letter in which he threatened to kill himself. I was afraid he meant it—I wanted to prevent him. I went to his rooms that night. I—didn't tell Mr. Jeffries. When the truth is known and I acknowledge that I visited this man—can you see what it means?—what a fuss there'll be? Everybody will put the worst construction on it——"
"Trust them for that!" said Annie grimly. She was sorry for the woman's distress, yet, being only human, she felt a certain sense of satisfaction in seeing her suffer a little of what she had been made to suffer.
"They'll say that I—God knows what they'll say!" went on Alicia distractedly. "My husband will be dragged through the mire of another public scandal—his social prestige will—oh, I dare not think of it—I know—I know—my duty is to that unfortunate boy. I mustn't think of myself."
"Have you the letter that Mr. Underwood wrote you?" demanded her companion.
"Yes—I've never been able to destroy it. I don't know why I kept it, but thank God I have it!" Moaning, she went on:
"The disgrace!—the disgrace!—it's ruin!—degradation! It's the end of everything!—the end of everything!"
Annie regarded with contempt this poor, weak, wailing creature who lacked the moral courage to do what was merely right. Yet her voice was not unkind as she said:
"I don't want to disgrace you—or ruin you. But what am I to do—tell me, what am I to do?"
"I don't know," moaned her companion helplessly.
"Howard must be saved."
"Yes."
"Will you tell Judge Brewster or shall I?"
"Judge Brewster! Why should he know?" cried Alicia, startled. More composedly and as if resigned to the inevitable, she went on: "Yes, I suppose he must know sooner or later, but, I——"
She broke down again and burst into tears. Annie watched her in silence.
"It's tough—isn't it?" she said sympathetically.
"Yes," sobbed Alicia through her tears, "it's—it's tough!" Rising, she dried her eyes and said hastily: "Don't say anything now. Give me a few hours. Then I can think what is best to be done."
Annie was about to reply when the office door suddenly opened and Judge Brewster entered. Addressing Alicia, he said:
"Pardon me, Mrs. Jeffries, I hope I haven't kept you waiting." Noticing her agitation and traces of tears, he looked surprised. He made no comment but turned to Annie:
"I have been talking to Dr. Bernstein over the 'phone."
Annie approached him softly and said in a whisper:
"I've told Mrs. Jeffries that you have undertaken Howard's defense."
Judge Brewster smiled at his wealthy client, almost apologetically, Annie thought. Then addressing her, he said:
"Yes, I've been quite busy since I saw you. I have put three of the best detectives we have on the trail of the woman who visited Underwood that night. I don't think the police have been trying very hard to find her. They're satisfied with Howard's confession. But we want her and we'll get her——"
"Oh!" gasped Alicia.
The judge was proceeding to tell of other steps he had taken when the door opened and the head clerk entered, followed by Mr. Jeffries.
"I told Mr. Jeffries that Mrs. Jeffries was here," said the clerk.
"You might have told him that there were two Mrs. Jeffries here," laughed the judge.
The clerk retired and the banker, completely ignoring the presence of his daughter-in-law, turned to his wife and said:
"I regret, my dear, that you should be subjected to these family annoyances."
Judge Brewster came forward and cleared his throat as if preliminary to something important he had to say. Addressing the banker, he said boldly:
"Mr. Jeffries, I have decided to undertake Howard's defense."
His aristocratic client was taken completely by surprise. For a moment he could say nothing, but simply stared at the lawyer as if unable to believe his ears. With an effort, he at last exclaimed:
"Indeed!—then you will please consider our business relations to have ceased from this moment."
The lawyer bowed.
"As you please," he said suavely.
The banker turned to his wife.
"Alicia—come."
He offered his arm and turned toward the door. Alicia, in distress, looked back at Annie, who nodded reassuringly to her. Judge Brewster rose and, going to the door, opened it. The banker bowed stiffly and said:
"Pray don't trouble. Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Mr. Jeffries," replied the judge.
As Alicia followed her husband out, she turned and whispered to Annie:
"Come and see me at my home."
When she had disappeared the judge came back into the room and sat down at his desk.
"Well, that's done!" he exclaimed with a sigh of relief. Rummaging for a moment among his papers, he looked up and said with an encouraging smile:
"Now, if you please, we will go over that evidence—bit by bit."
The news that Judge Brewster would appear for the defendant at the approaching trial of Howard Jeffries went through the town like wildfire, and caused an immediate revival in the public interest, which was beginning to slacken for want of hourly stimulation. Rumor said that there had been a complete reconciliation in the Jeffries family, that the banker was now convinced of his son's innocence and was determined to spend a fortune, if necessary, to save him. This and other reports of similar nature were all untrue, but the judge let them pass without contradiction. They were harmless, he chuckled, and if anything, helped Howard's cause.
Meantime, he himself had not been idle. When once he made up his mind to do a thing he was not content with half measures. Night and day he worked on the case, preparing evidence, seeing witnesses and experts, until he had gradually built up a bulwark of defense which the police would find difficult to tear down. Yet he was not wholly reassured as to the outcome until Annie, the day following the interview in his office, informed him breathlessly that she had found the mysterious woman. The judge was duly elated; now it was plain sailing, indeed! There had always been the possibility that Howard's confession to the police was true, that he had really killed Underwood. But now they had found the one important witness, the mysterious woman who was in the apartment a few minutes before the shooting and who was in possession of a letter in which Underwood declared his intention of shooting himself, doubt was no longer possible. Acquittal was a foregone conclusion. So pleased was the judge at Annie's find that he did not insist on knowing the woman's name. He saw that Annie preferred, for some reason, not to give it—even to her legal adviser—and he let her have her way, exacting only that the woman should be produced the instant he needed her. The young woman readily assented. Of course, there remained the "confession," but that had been obtained unfairly, illegally, fraudulently. The next important step was to arrange a meeting at the judge's house at which Dr. Bernstein, the hypnotic expert, would be present and to which should be invited both Captain Clinton and Howard's father. In front of all these witnesses the judge would accuse the police captain of brow-beating his prisoner into making an untrue confession. Perhaps the captain could be argued into admitting the possibility of a mistake having been made. If, further, he could be convinced of the existence of documentary evidence showing that Underwood really committed suicide he might be willing to recede from his position in order to protect himself. At any rate it was worth trying. The judge insisted, also, that to this meeting the mysterious woman witness should also come, to be produced at such a moment as the lawyer might consider opportune. Annie merely demanded a few hours' time so she could make the appointment and soon reappeared with a solemn promise that the woman would attend the meeting and come forward at whatever moment called upon.
Three evenings later there was an impressive gathering at Judge Brewster's residence. In the handsomely appointed library on the second floor were seated Dr. Bernstein, Mr. Jeffries and the judge. Each was absorbed in his own thoughts. Dr. Bernstein was puffing at a big black cigar; the banker stared vacantly into space. The judge, at his desk, examined some legal papers. Not a word was spoken. They seemed to be waiting for a fourth man who had not yet arrived. Presently Judge Brewster looked up and said:
"Gentlemen, I expect Captain Clinton in a few minutes, and the matter will be placed before you."
Mr. Jeffries frowned. It was greatly against his will that he had been dragged to this conference. Peevishly, he said:
"I've no wish to be present at the meeting. You know that and yet you sent for me."
Judge Brewster looked up at him quickly and said quietly yet decisively:
"Mr. Jeffries, it is absolutely necessary that you be present when I tell Captain Clinton that he has either willfully or ignorantly forced your son to confess to having committed a crime of which I am persuaded he is absolutely innocent."
The banker shrugged his shoulders.
"If I can be of service, of course, I—I am only too glad—but what can I say—what can I do?"
"Nothing," replied the Judge curtly. "But the moral effect of your presence is invaluable." More amiably he went on: "Believe me, Jeffries, I wouldn't have taken this step unless I was absolutely sure of my position. I have been informed that Underwood committed suicide, and to-night evidence confirming this statement is to be placed in my hands. The woman who paid him that mysterious visit just before his death has promised to come here and tell us what she knows. Now, if Captain Clinton can be got to admit the possibility of his being mistaken it means that your son will be free in a few days."
"Who has given you this information?" demanded the banker skeptically.
"Howard's wife," answered the judge quietly. The banker started and the lawyer went on: "She knows who the woman is, and has promised to bring her here to-night with documentary proof of Underwood's suicide."
"You are depending on her?" he sneered.
"Why not?" demanded the judge. "She has more at stake than any of us. She has worked day and night on this case. It was she who aroused Dr. Bernstein's interest and persuaded him to collect the evidence against Captain Clinton."
The banker frowned.
"She is the cause of the whole miserable business," he growled.
The door opened and the butler, entering, handed his master a card.
"Ah!" ejaculated the judge. "Here's our man! Show him up."
When the servant had disappeared Mr. Jeffries turned to his host. With a show of irritation he said:
"I think you put too much faith in that woman, but you'll find out—you'll find out."
Judge Brewster smiled.
"That's our object, isn't it, Mr. Jeffries—to find out?" he said sarcastically.
"What's the name of this mysterious witness?" exclaimed the banker testily. "If the police haven't been able to find her why should Howard's wife be able to do so? There was a report that she herself was——" He paused and added, "Did she tell you who it was?"
"No," said the judge dryly, "she will tell us to-night."
The banker bounded in his seat.
"You'll see," he cried. "Another flash in the pan. I don't like being mixed up in this matter—it's a disagreeable—most disagreeable."
Dr. Bernstein puffed a thick cloud of smoke into the air and said quietly:
"Yes, sir; it is disagreeable—but—unfortunately it is life."
Suddenly the door opened and Captain Clinton appeared, followed by hisfidus Achates, Detective Sergeant Maloney. Both men were in plain clothes. The captain's manner was condescendingly polite, the attitude of a man so sure of his own position that he had little respect for the opinion of any one else. With an effort at amiability he began:
"Got your message, judge—came as soon as I could. Excuse my bringing the sergeant with me. Sit over there, Maloney." Half apologetically, he added: "He keeps his eyes open and his mouth shut, so he won't interfere. How do, doctor?"
Maloney took a position at the far end of the room, while Dr. Bernstein introduced the captain to Mr. Jeffries.
"Yes, I know the gentleman. How do, sir?"
The banker nodded stiffly. He did not relish having to hobnob in this way with such a vulgarian as a grafting police captain. Captain Clinton turned to Judge Brewster.
"Now, judge, explode your bomb! But I warn you I've made up my mind."
"I've made up my mind, too," retorted the judge, "so at least we start even."
"Yes," growled the other.
"As I stated in my letter, captain," went on the judge coolly, "I don't want to use your own methods in this matter. I don't want to spread reports about you, or accuse you in the papers. That's why I asked you to come over and discuss the matter informally with me. I want to give you a chance to change your attitude."
"Don't want any chance," growled the policeman.
"You mean," said the judge, peering at hisvis à visover his spectacles, "that youdon't wantto change your attitude."
Captain Clinton settled himself more firmly in his chair, as if getting ready for hostilities. Defiantly he replied:
"That's about what I mean, I suppose."
"In other words," went on Judge Brewster calmly, "you have found this—this boy guilty and you refuse to consider evidence which may tend to prove otherwise."
"'Tain't my business to consider evidence," snapped the chief. "That's up to the prosecuting attorney."
"It will be," replied the lawyer sharply, "but at present it's up to you."
"Me?" exclaimed the other in genuine surprise.
"Yes," went on Judge Brewster calmly, "you were instrumental in obtaining a confession from him. I'm raising a question as to the truth of that confession."
Captain Clinton showed signs of impatience. Shrugging his massive shoulders deprecatingly, said:
"Are we going over all that? What's the use? A confession is a confession and that settles it. I suppose the doctor has been working his pet theory off on you and it's beginning to sprout."
"Yes," retorted the judge quickly, "it's beginning to sprout, captain!"
There was a sudden interruption caused by the entrance of the butler, who approached his master and whispered something to him. Aloud the judge said:
"Ask her to wait till we are ready."
The servant retired and Captain Clinton turned to the judge. With mock deference, he said:
"Say, Mr. Brewster, you're a great constitutional lawyer—the greatest in this country—and I take off my hat to you, but I don't think criminal law is in your line."
Judge Brewster pursed his lips and his eyes flashed as he retorted quickly:
"I don't think it's constitutional to take a man's mind away from him and substitute your own, Captain Clinton."
"What do you mean?" demanded the chief.
"I mean that instead of bringing out of this man his own true thoughts of innocence, you have forced into his consciousness your own false thoughts of his guilt."
The judge spoke slowly and deliberately, making each word tell. The police bully squirmed uneasily on his chair.
"I don't follow you, judge. Better stick to international law. This police court work is beneath you."
"Perhaps it is," replied the lawyer quickly without losing his temper. Then he asked: "Captain, will you answer a few questions?"
"It all depends," replied the other insolently.
"If you don't," cried the judge sharply, "I'll ask them through the medium of your own weapon—the press. Only my press will not consist of the one or two yellow journals you inspire, but the independent, dignified press of the United States."
The captain reddened.
"I don't like the insinuation, judge."
"I don't insinuate, Captain Clinton," went on the lawyer severely, "I accuse you of giving an untruthful version of this matter to two sensational newspapers in this city. These scurrilous sheets have tried this young man in their columns and found him guilty, thus prejudicing the whole community against him before he comes to trial. In no other country in the civilized world would this be tolerated, except in a country overburdened with freedom."
Captain Clinton laughed boisterously.
"The early bird catches the worm," he grinned. "They asked me for information and got it."
Judge Brewster went on:
"You have so prejudiced the community against him that there is scarcely a man who doesn't believe him guilty. If this matter ever comes to trial how can we pick an unprejudiced jury? Added to this foul injustice you have branded this young man's wife with every stigma that can be put on womanhood. You have hinted that she is the mysterious female who visited Underwood on the night of the shooting and openly suggested that she is the cause of the crime."
"Well, it's just possible," said the policeman with effrontery.
Judge Brewster was fast losing his temper. The man's insolent demeanor was intolerable. Half rising from his chair and pointing his finger at him, he continued:
"You have besmirched her character with stories of scandal. You have linked her name with that of Underwood. The whole country rings with falsities about her. In my opinion, Captain Clinton, your direct object is to destroy the value of any evidence she may give in her husband's favor."
The chief looked aggrieved.
"Why, I haven't said a word." Turning to his sergeant, he asked, "Have I, Maloney?"
"But these sensation-mongers have!" cried the judge angrily. "You are the only source from whom they could obtain the information."
"But what do I gain?" demanded the captain with affected innocence.
"Advertisement—promotion," replied the judge sternly. "These same papers speak of you as the greatest living chief—the greatest public official—oh, you know the political value of that sort of thing as well as I do."
The captain shrugged his shoulders.
"I can't help what they say about me," he growled.
"They might add that you are also the richest," added the judge quickly, "but I won't go into that."
Again Captain Clinton reddened and shifted restlessly on his chair. He did not relish the trend of the conversation.
"I don't like all this, Judge Brewster—'tain't fair—I ain't on trial."
Judge Brewster picked up some papers from his desk and read from one of them.
"Captain, in the case of the People against Creedon—after plying the defendant with questions for six hours, you obtained a confession from him?"
"Yes, he told me he set the place on fire."
"Exactly—but it afterward developed that he was never near the place."
"Well, he told me."
"Yes. He told you, but it turned out that he was mistaken."
"Yes," admitted the captain reluctantly.
The judge took another document, and read:
"In the case of the People against Bentley."
"That was Bentley's own fault—I didn't ask him," interrupted the captain. "He owned up himself." Turning to the sergeant, he said, "You were there, Maloney."
"But you believed him guilty," interposed Judge Brewster quickly.
"Yes."
"You thought him guilty and after a five-hour session you impressed this thought on his mind and he—he confessed."
"I didn't impress anything—I just simply——"
"You just simply convinced him that he was guilty—though as it turned out he was in prison at the time he was supposed to have committed the burglary——"
"It wasn't burglary," corrected the captain sullenly.
Judge Brewster again consulted the papers in his hand.
"You're quite right, captain—my mistake—it was homicide, but—it was an untrue confession."
"Yes."
"It was the same thing in the Callahan case," went on the judge, picking up another document. "In the case of the People against Tuthill—and—Cosgrove—Tuthill confessed and died in prison, and Cosgrove afterward acknowledged that he and not Tuthill was the guilty man."
"Well," growled the captain, "mistakes sometimes happen."
Judge Brewster stopped and laid down his eyeglasses.
"Ah, that is precisely the point of view we take in this matter! Now, captain, in the present case, on the night of the confession did you show young Mr. Jeffries the pistol with which he was supposed to have shot Robert Underwood?"
Captain Clinton screwed up his eyes as if thinking hard. Then, turning to his sergeant, he said:
"Yes. I think I did. Didn't I, Maloney?"
"Your word is sufficient," said the judge quickly. "Did you hold it up?"
"Think I did."
"Do you know if there was a light shining on it?" asked the judge quickly.
At this point, Dr. Bernstein, who had been an attentive listener, bent eagerly forward. Much depended on Captain Clinton's answer—perhaps a man's life.
"Don't know—might have been," replied the chief carelessly.
Judge Brewster turned to Dr. Bernstein.
"Were there electric lights on the wall?"
"Yes."
"What difference does that make?" demanded the policeman.
"Quite a little," replied the judge quietly. "The barrel of the revolver was bright—shining steel. From the moment that Howard Jeffries' eyes rested on the shining steel barrel of that revolver he was no longer a conscious personality. As he himself said to his wife, 'They said I did it—and I knew I didn't, but after I looked at that shining pistol I don't know what I said or did—everything became a blur and a blank.' Now, I may tell you, captain, that this condition fits in every detail the clinical experiences of nerve specialists and the medical experiences of the psychologists. After five hours' constant cross-questioning while in a semi-dazed condition, you impressed on him your own ideas—you suggested to him what he should say—you extracted from him not the thoughts that were in his own consciousness, but those that were in yours. Is that the scientific fact, doctor?"
"Yes," replied Dr. Bernstein, "the optical captivation of Howard Jeffries' attention makes the whole case complete and clear to the physician."
Captain Clinton laughed loudly.
"Optical captivation is good!" Turning to his sergeant he asked, "What do you think of it, Maloney?"
Sergeant Maloney chuckled.
"It's a new one, eh?"
"No, captain—it's a very old one," interrupted the lawyer sternly, "but it's new to us. We're barely on the threshold of the discovery. It certainly explains these other cases, doesn't it?"
"I don't know that it does," objected the captain, shaking his head. "I don't acknowledge——"
Judge Brewster sat down. Looking the policeman squarely in the face, he said slowly and deliberately:
"Captain Clinton, whether you acknowledge it or not, I can prove that you obtained these confessions by means of hypnotic suggestion, and that is a greater crime against society than any the State punishes or pays you to prevent."
The captain laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Indifferently he said:
"I guess the boys up at Albany can deal with that question."
"The boys up at Albany," retorted the lawyer, "know as little about the laws of psychology as you do. This will be dealt with at Washington!"
The captain yawned.
"I didn't come here to hear about that—you were going to produce the woman who called on Underwood the night of the murder—that was what I came here for—not to hear my methods criticised—where is she?"
"One thing at a time," replied the judge. "First, I wanted to show you that we know Howard Jeffries' confession is untrue. Now we'll take up the other question." Striking a bell on his desk, he added: "This woman can prove that Robert Underwood committed suicide."
"She can, eh?" exclaimed the captain sarcastically. "Maybe she did it herself. Some one did it, that's sure!"
The library door opened and the butler entered.
"Yes, some one did it!" retorted the judge; "we agree there!" To the servant he said: "Ask Mrs. Jeffries, Jr., to come here."
The servant left the room and the captain turned to the judge with a laugh:
"Is she the one? Ha! ha!—that's easy——"
The judge nodded.
"She has promised to produce the missing witness to-night."
"She has, eh?" exclaimed the captain.
Rising quickly from his chair, he crossed the room and talked in an undertone with his sergeant. This new turn in the case seemed to interest him. Meantime Mr. Jeffries, who had followed every phase of the questioning with close attention, left his seat and went over to Judge Brewster.