The Case and Exceptions Part 24

"Are you not especially anxious to win this case?"

"I am prosecuting, Sir, in the name of the People."

"In the name of the People!"

Gordon laughed the words out with stinging scorn, and the Attorneys faced one another with a rage that in men of less refinement would have set them at each other's throats. But the grapple was as deadly and the purpose as grim as though the struggle had been physical. There was no possible chance for argument now and Gordon flung off all restraint as he poured forth his torrent of contempt.

"In the name of the People! What people gave you a commission to tamper with the liberty of the meanest thing alive? What people privileged you to prosecute an innocent man--for you know he is innocent--I have seen it in every false smirk of your face ever since I entered this room. And to prosecute him for what? For your own personal advancement--to win a case for your client. Do you want me to tell you who your client is----"

"I want you to understand that you can't blackmail me, Sir!"

"Blackmail you? By the Lord Harry, you shall hear the truth from one man if you never hear it again. Don't lay a hand on me or I'll break you like this pencil! Blackmail you? To-night you've got to know that another man knows you through and through. To-night you have to go unmasked. Are you afraid of hearing me say who your client is? Are you afraid of having me name the politicians whose orders you execute and whose nod is your law? You have been ordered by the police to win this case. This _case_ indeed! And you, the a.s.sistant District Attorney, in the name of the People, will win it by fair means or foul. You have never investigated one fact, or asked one question, calculated to bring out the truth, but by trick and wile you stoop to serve your master's purpose. And do you think I do not know why? You poor fool! Every honest man knows who cares to follow your dirty tracks, and the knaves whose gifts you buy know whom they sell to and for what. But remember this, the day you run for District Attorney will be the day I take these papers where they will do the most good, and we will see if the People want a perjurer to prosecute in their name!"

Gordon tore from his pocket the "affidavit of merits," with the proofs of its falsity, and slapped them down upon the desk.

Willard glanced at the papers and then at his adversary. His answer was almost a whisper--hard and rasping.

"Gordon, I will convict your man if I never win another case in my life!"

"By G.o.d--you dare not!"

The study door slammed as with a threat--"You dare not!"

The front door echoed "You dare not!" as a challenge.

When Willard looked up again the clock was striking three. But it chimed "You dare not," in the even tone of statement.

The second day of John Winter's trial brought a series of reverses for the prosecution, and the prisoner was acquitted, to the utter disgust of the police.

About that time the a.s.sistant District Attorney's career suffered one of those sudden blights, the origin of which is the mystery of a city's politics.

A few years after this Red Farrell was really found and convicted, but then Willard had been so long on the political shelf that those who put him there had completely forgotten his existence.

But I believe they were right in accusing him of bungling that case. Of course, he may have been intimidated, but the chances are he could never have been convicted of perjury. The crime has almost the sanction of custom. This he must have known. So why not credit him with worthy motives and say he was a good fellow at heart, even though Gordon, Indian-hater that he is, will never admit it?

THE LATEST DECISION.

There was a black-edged card on the bulletin board. That means a vacancy in the club members.h.i.+p until some one of the waiting-list steps into the dead man's shoes.

The card bore the inscription:

JOHN FURMAN DELAFIELD.

December 30, 1898.

Jack Delafield had been no chum of mine, but I never thought the Governors did right by him, and I was glad to remember my partisans.h.i.+p in the days when his mere name was sufficient to provoke instant debate among the Thespians. I liked him then for some of the enemies he made, and perhaps my enthusiasm was always more for the cause than the man.

However, I was sorry--very sorry, to see his name on that card, and I said as much to the group of men among whom I took my accustomed seat in the club corner.

"Well, I'm sorry he's gone, but I never knew him at all," remarked Chandler.

"I never met him either," said Paddock.

Hepburn had never heard of him, neither had Joline, and Grafton knew him not.

I looked at the speakers. Was it possible I was as old as they seemed to intimate?

"Delafield hasn't been regular at the club for many a long day," I said--clinging to a straw. "I doubt if he's been inside the door for five years--so it isn't very strange you haven't met. But you all know of him. He was the Delafield of the Hawkins-Delafield affair."

The blank look on the faces of my companions surprised and, I admit, shocked me. It was ridiculous, but Osborne's laugh grated, and I welcomed Chandler's interrupting question, even though it p.r.o.nounced sentence on my senility.

"Yes--I'll tell you the story," I answered, "but after retailing to members of this club something that was absolutely discussed to death here, and labelling it a 'story,' I shall never address you again except as 'my sons.'"

"Father, may I have a cigar?" asked Chandler, as he rang the bell.

I signed the check.

"Jack Delafield was a man of good family," I began, "but to vary the conventional opening and adhere to the truth, I may as well say his parents were honest though not poor. He was a fellow of many talents, so many, in fact, that he became known as a 'versatile genius.' He never attained a more notable t.i.tle. Not that he hid his talents under a napkin. He sealed their fate in a bottle--in many bottles. I'm afraid we didn't do much to help him here. Everyone thought he'd come out all right in the long run, and when he lost his money and settled down seriously to the law, his friends supposed his wild oats had all been sown. But somebody left him more money, and back he went to literature and painting, and music. The old set welcomed him with open arms, but didn't help him to write, or paint or practise. Then Miss--well, I won't say what girl--put him on probation, and he wrote two really notable stories before the probation was declared unsatisfactory. After that he never seemed to care much about anything except art, and he took that out in dreaming of the things he didn't do. Yet no one seemed to blame him much, perhaps everybody liked him too well, and n.o.body loved him enough. Anyway he went from bad to worse, until 'poor fellow' used to be coupled with his name, and Delafield in various states of intoxication became a familiar sight in these rooms.

"He must have been a handsome fellow before drink coa.r.s.ened and aged him, for he was still good looking, though prematurely old, when I first met him, shortly after my election to the club. About that time Galloway gave his bachelor dinner in the private dining-room upstairs. I attended as one of the ushers, and there were perhaps a dozen other guests--among them Delafield. The dinner was as most such dinners are, a toast for every sentiment, and sentiments galore, so when we adjourned to the grill-room for coffee, Jack tipped his chair against the wall over there and fell asleep. We sat about the centre-table smoking, and testing some remarkable port sent to grace the occasion.

"I don't recall what led up to the conversation, but I do remember that the general subject was women, and that Hawkins coupled the name of--well, a decent girl, with a remark so coa.r.s.e that most of us stopped talking, though two or three laughed. It was a speech such as I suppose you've all heard made at some time or another, and which always seems to receive the tribute of a laugh before being buried in the silence of self-respecting men.

"It was in the hush following this remark that Delafield's chair fell sideways to the floor with a crash, making us start to our feet and setting the gla.s.ses tinkling. The roar of mirth that burst out at this mishap ceased instantly, as we saw Delafield's ghastly face, down which the blood was running from a deep gash in his forehead.

"Someone hurried forward, offering help, but Delafield pushed him aside, staggered to his feet, closed the door and leaned his back against it--his arms spread out as though to bar an exit.

"We stood around the table in silence, watching him. Two or three minutes must have pa.s.sed before he spoke.

"'Is--Mi--Miss Smith en--gaged?'

"The question was asked slowly in a low tone, as though the man was struggling to control voice and speech.

"We looked at one another and at the swaying figure before the door, but no one answered.

"'Is--Miss Smith's--father here?'

"No answer.

"'Is Miss Smith's brother here?'

"It was difficult to see all the faces in the smoky half-light of the lamps, but those about me showed a pallor of apprehension.

"Was Miss Smith's uncle there--or her guardian--or her cousin? Was anybody present who had a claim to represent her? No?