The Incendiary Part 43

"You are," answered the conductor.

"Open your eyes. Which of these two men spoke to you?" asked s.h.a.garach. Robert stood up beside his cousin. The resemblance was indeed striking. Both were about the same height and both strongly marked with the peculiarities of kindred blood. The conductor turned from one to the other.

"Very well," said s.h.a.garach. "It is the face of Jacob, but the voice of Esau. For the present, that will do."

"Miss Senda Wesner."

While the bakeshop girl was pus.h.i.+ng her way forward from the back seat which she had occupied, Sire, who was squeezed where he lay, gravely arose, climbed the vacated witness-box and spread his great limbs out, majestically contemplating the spectators.

"This is the one eyewitness of the crime," said the district attorney.

"But unfortunately dumb," added s.h.a.garach. Just then an impulse seized Emily, who had left the cage for a moment--Emily, the most shrinking of girls--and catching a large waste-basket which stood under the lawyers' desks to receive the litter that acc.u.mulates in trials, she stood up and shoved it toward the dog.

To everybody's surprise, he scrambled to his feet in alarm, backed hastily away and barked continuously at the harmless object. Then before the whole court, judges, jury and all, Emily clapped her hands and gave a girlish shriek of delight--only to sink in her place afterward, as the spectators smiled, and hide her blushes behind her fan. But it was some little while before Sire would let her pat him.

"You work opposite the Arnold house, Miss Wesner?" asked the district attorney.

"Directly opposite. I can look right over into their windows," said Senda.

"But I hope you don't."

"Well, I try not to, but sometimes, you know, you can't resist the inclination," chattered the bakeshop girl.

"You can always try."

"Oh, I do try, but you know----"

"Yes, I know. We all know. At what hour did you see Floyd coming out of his house on the afternoon of the fire?"

"The fire was going before 3:30, because I saw it. And I'll swear Mr. Floyd left the house at least four minutes, probably five, before."

"Walking to the right or to the left?"

"To my right, his left," answered Senda, glibly.

"And the flames broke out shortly after he went out?"

"Well, of course----" began the witness, all primed with an argument.

"Please answer yes or no."

"No--I mean yes."

"You heard the explosion?"

"Heard it? Why----"

"Where did it appear to come from?"

"It came from Prof. Arnold's study, as plain as your voice comes from you, but I don't see----"

"That will do," said the district attorney, handing the witness over to s.h.a.garach.

"What do you say to my sketch of this Hebe?" asked Ecks.

"The drawing would be creditable in a gingerbread doll," answered Wye.

They were a sorry pair of lookers-on, both of them, appearing to regard the whole panorama of creation as a sort of a.r.s.enal of happy suggestions, especially established by Providence for the embellishment of their forthcoming works. But Hans Heiderman in his back seat didn't think she appeared homely at all in her red-checked dress and flaming hair, done up in Circa.s.sian coils. Of course he was looking at the soul of the girl, which was better than gold, and which neither Ecks nor Wye, for all their wise smiles, the least bit understood.

"You are rather accurate in your observations of time?" asked s.h.a.garach.

"Oh, yes; I'm noted for that. I haven't looked at the clock for an hour, but I could tell you what time it is now."

"Shut your eyes and tell me."

"It is--about seventeen minutes past 4."

"Seventeen and a half," announced s.h.a.garach, taking out his watch. Every man in the room, except the judges, had done likewise, while the ladies all studied the clock.

"Very good. At what time would you fix the explosion in the study?"

"About 3:34."

"One minute earlier, then, than District Chief Wotherspoon. Now, Miss Wesner, do you recollect anything about a peddler in a green cart that used to come to Prof. Arnold's?"

"Oh, that peddler. Yes, indeed, I----"

"How long had he been vending his goods through Cazenove street?"

"About a month. I know I never----"

"Had you seen him before that?"

"Never saw him before in my life, but----"

"How often did he come by?"

"Two or three times a week."

She had almost given up the attempt to work in her explanations edgewise. The rapid volley of questions prevented all elaboration.

"How often did he stop at Prof. Arnold's?"

"Almost every time."

"Was it Bertha who came to the door?"

"No, sir; it was Ellen generally. She was the cook, you know; got $4 a week, but she wasn't a patch on Bertha just the same."

"When did he stop coming with his--vegetables, was it, he sold?"

"Yes, sir; vegetables, and once potted plants."

"And when did he stop coming?"

"Just before the Arnold fire."

"You never saw him after the fire--as a peddler, I mean?"

s.h.a.garach had not yet received an answer from the superintendent of Woodlawn cemetery, and was still in the dark about his a.s.sailant. But from the evidence he had he was satisfied that he could prove a connection with Harry Arnold.

"No, sir; not as a peddler."

CHAPTER LIV.

THE FOOL OF THE FAMILY.

So McCausland was right, after all. The oaf had just been captured by the local police of Woodlawn, and inquiry had vindicated the inspector's surmise.

Far back in our story there was mention of a half-witted brother of the Lacy girls, who jumped from the Harmon building and were killed. Nature had made one of her capriciously unequal divisions of talent in this family, gifting the daughters with all graces and allurements of character, but misshaping their elder brother, Peter, both in body and mind. And Fate, instead of rectifying the hard allotment by the merciful removal of the oaf, had deprived the household instead of its fairer inmates, leaving the monster to flourish on, sleeping, breathing, performing all animal functions healthily, but reflecting only sorrow into the heart of the mother who bore him.

The death of his sisters had converted this harmless driveller into a maniac, nursing one deadly thought. At the Lacy common table the case of Robert Floyd was, of course, followed with keen interest, especially since the shyster, Slack, had persuaded certain advisory relatives, and through them the mother, that some compensation in money for the loss of her girls might result from an appeal to the courts. s.h.a.garach's name, as the defender, the possible savior of Floyd, this wrecker of their household peace, had impressed itself on the addled intelligence of the oaf, and being sufficiently taught to read and endowed with the cunning of his sort, he had begun with the incoherent letters to the lawyer, and ended with three a.s.saults which had so nearly cost him his life. Floyd, behind the prison bars, was beyond his reach; but if the criminal records of the time had included any attempt to force a way into a jail cell it is probable that the maniac would have essayed an imitation of this. For, as McCausland had keenly noted, each of his attacks had been made under suggestion from the daily chronicles.

Since the fire he had wandered away from home--though previously a devoted house-haunter--probably making the rude hut in the forest his abode and indulging his mania amid that forest solitude in long fits of brooding. Just why he chose this habitation the mother could not say, unless it was to be near his sister's grave. From time to time he had returned, always to beg a little money or some articles of necessity, and when questioned on his doings he had manifested a temper which he was rarely known to exhibit before.

The mystery of his ident.i.ty with the peddler was explained by Mrs. Lacy when s.h.a.garach asked her the whereabouts of her son during June. It seems there was a street vender named Hotaling, who added to his revenue in summer time by hiring young men to exploit the outlying suburbs with spring produce. Strictly speaking, a license would be required, even though their sales were made beyond the city limits. But Hotaling dispensed with this formality, and the teamsters he employed were unsteady fellows, of the least savory appearance, whom he rewarded with a commission, keeping their accounts correct by the terror by which he personally inspired them. Among Hotaling's possessions was a green cart, and the driver selected to occupy its seat had been Peter Lacy, who had wit enough to harness a horse and make change (indeed, he was very shrewd at a bargain), and who accepted a pittance as recompense. The simpleton's district had been Woodlawn. But his road from the city market took him close to Cazenove street.

When, the next morning, the district attorney announced that Harry Arnold and Bertha would testify, closing the case for the prosecution, s.h.a.garach knew that his time was at hand.

"Mr. Hodgkins has attested the existence of a will and the accused himself at the preliminary hearing admitted knowing that he was virtually disinherited. We have, however, thought it well to strengthen this vital point by calling a witness who will testify to the same admission made upon another occasion. Mr. Harry Arnold."

"You are a nephew of the late Prof. Arnold?"

"Yes, sir; his brother's son," answered Harry. He was just the least bit nervous, his glances wandering from s.h.a.garach's face to his mother's and then resting with a brighter expression on that of Rosalie March, who had come into the court-room to-day for the first time. The wild rose in her cheeks was blooming warmly through the gossamer she wore to hide them and her blue eyes were lifted trustfully to her lover's. Once they caught Emily's and she bowed with a smile. Emily returned the bow, but her heart was too full for smiling. She was sorry Rosalie had come that morning, for s.h.a.garach's manner told her that he was condensing his thoughts in the resolve to wring the truth from Harry.

"And a cousin of the accused?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your relations have always been pleasant, I presume?"

"We have never had any permanent falling-out."

"And are so still?"

"Yes, sir, on my part. I hope with all my heart the jury will find him innocent," answered Harry, with every appearance of candor.

"Have you ever had any conversation with him on the subject of your uncle's will?"

"Only once."

"When was that?"

"Within a week after the fire."

"And where?"

"At the county jail."

"It was while the accused was in custody of the sheriff, I believe?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you happen to visit the accused at that time?"

"I was his only living kinsman. My visit was one of sympathy."

"And what statement did the accused make regarding his knowledge of the will?"

"Why, I believe he owned incidentally that he was disinherited, but everybody knew it then. It was all over the town. So was I, it seems, for that matter," added Harry.

"Everybody's knowledge is n.o.body's knowledge. We cannot take things for granted because rumor has spread them broadcast. We want your specific testimony that the accused acknowledged having learned from his uncle that he was to receive only an insignificant fraction of the fortune which all his life he had been expecting."

"That is my recollection of it."

"Was there any further conversation on the subject?"

"No, sir; it came up incidentally."

s.h.a.garach paused a moment before beginning the cross-examination. Harry eyed him and during every second of the pause the witness' color mounted. Something in the lawyer's appearance still confused him. "This was a visit of sympathy?" asked s.h.a.garach.

"Yes, sir."

"Then you have seen the accused frequently since his imprisonment, I presume?"

"Well, no, I have not."

"When did you see him last previous to yesterday?"

"Well, not since the first week."