XIII. The Pumpkin Coach
The story of the American Ambassadress was not the only one related onthis night.
Sir Henry Marquis himself added another, in support of the contention ofhis guest... and from her own country.
The lawyer walked about the room. The restraint which he had assumed wasnow quite abandoned.
"That's all there is to it," he said. "I'm not trying this case foramusement. You have the money to pay me and you must bring it up herenow, tonight."
The woman sat in a chair beyond the table. She was young, but she lookedworn and faded. Misery and the long strain of the trial had worn herout. Her hands moved nervously in the frayed coat-cuffs.
"But we haven't any more money," she said. "The hundred dollars I paidyou in the beginning is all we have."
The man laughed without disturbing the muscles of his face. "Youcan take your choice," he said. "Either bring the money up here now,to-night, or I withdraw from the case when court opens in the morning."
"But where am I to get any more money?" the woman said.
The lawyer was a big man. His hair, black and thin, was brushed close tohis head as though wet with oil; his nose was thick and flattened atthe base. The office contained only a table, some chairs and a file forlegal papers. Night was beginning to descend. Lights were appearing inthe city. The two persons had come in from the Criminal Court after thesession for the day had ended.
The woman seemed bewildered. She looked at the man with the curiousexpression of a child that does not comprehend and is afraid to ask foran explanation.
"If we had any more money," she said, "I would bring it to you, but thehundred dollars was all we had."
Then she began to explain, reiterating minute details. When the tragedyoccurred and her husband was arrested by the police they had a smallsum painfully saved up. It was now wholly gone. Like persons in profoundmisery, she repeated. The man halted the recital with a brutal gesture.
"I'll not discuss it," he said. "You can bring the money in here beforethe court convenes in the morning, or I withdraw from the case."
He went over to the file, took out a packet of legal papers and threwthem on the table.
"All right, my lady!" he said, "perhaps you think your husband can getalong without a lawyer. Perhaps you think the devil will save him, orheaven, or Cinderella in a pumpkin coach!" There was biting irony in thebitter words.
A sudden comprehension began to appear in the woman's face. She realizednow what the man was driving at. The expression in her face deepenedinto a sort of wonder, a sort of horror.
"You think he's guilty!" she said. "You think we got the money and we'retrying to keep it, to hide it."
The lawyer turned about, put both hands on the table and leaned acrossit. He looked the woman in the face.
"Never mind what I believe; you heard what I said!"
For a moment the woman did not move. Then she got up slowly and wentout. In the street she seemed lost. She remained for some time beforethe entrance of the building. Night had now arrived. Crowds of peoplewere passing, intent on their affairs, unconcerned. No one seemed to seethe figure motionless in the shadow of the great doorway.
Presently the woman began to walk along the street in the crowd withoutgiving any attention to the people about her or to the direction she wastaking. She was in that state of mental coma which attends persons indespair. She neither felt nor appreciated anything and she continued towalk in the direction in which the crowd was moving.
Some block in the traffic checked the crowd and the woman stopped. Theblock cleared and the human tide drifted on, but the woman remained. Thecrowd edged her over to the wall and she stood there before theshutter of a shop-window. After a time the crowd passed, thinned anddisappeared, but the woman remained as though thrown out there by thehuman eddy.
The woman remained for a long time unmoving against the shutter of theshop-window. Finally she was awakened into life by a voice speaking toher. It was a soft, foreign voice that lisped the liquid accents of theoccasional English words:
"Ma pauvre femme!" it said; "come with me. Vous etes malade!"
The woman followed mechanically in a sort of wonder. The person who hadspoken to her was young and beautifully dressed in furs that covered herto her feet. She had gotten down from a motorcar that stood beside thecurb--one of those modern vehicles, fitted with splendid trappings.
Beyond the shop-window was a great cafe. The girl entered and the womanfollowed. The attendants came forward to welcome the splendid visitor asone whose arrival at this precise hour of the evening had become a sortof custom. She gave some directions in a language which the woman didnot understand, and they were seated at a table.
The waiters brought a silver dish filled with a clear, steaming soup andserved it. The girl threw back her fur coat and the dazed woman realizedhow beautiful she was. Her hair was yellow like ripe corn and there weremasses of it banked and clustered about her head; her eyes were blue,and her voice, soft and alluring, was like a friendly arm put around theheart.
The miserable woman was so confused by this transformation--by thesudden swing of the door in the wall that had admitted her into thisnew, unfamiliar world--that she was never afterward able to rememberprecisely by what introductory words her story was drawn out. She foundherself taken up, comforted and made to tell it.
Her husband had been a butler in the service of a Mr. Marsh, aneccentric man who lived in one of the old downtown houses of thecity. He was a retired banker with no family. The man lived alone. Hepermitted no servants in the house except the butler. Meals were sentin on order from a neighboring hotel and served by the butler as the mandirected. He received few visitors in the house and no tradespeople werepermitted to come in. There seemed no reason for this seclusion exceptthe eccentricities of the man that had grown more pronounced withadvancing years.
It was the custom of the butler to leave the house at eight o'clock inthe evening and return in the morning at seven. On the morning ofthe third of February, when the butler entered the house, as he wasaccustomed to do at eight o'clock in the morning, he found his masterdead.
The woman continued with her narrative, speaking slowly. Every detailwas vividly impressed upon her memory and she gave it accurately,precisely.
There was a narrow passage or hall, not more than three feet in width,leading from the butler's pantry into a little dining-room. Thisdining-room the old man had fitted up as a sort of library. It wasfarther than any other room from the noises of the city. His librarytable was placed with one end against the left wall of the room and hesat with his back toward the passage into the butler's pantry. On themorning of the third of February he was found dead in his chair. He hadbeen stabbed in the back, on the left side, where the neck joins tothe shoulder. A carving-knife had been used and a single blow hadaccomplished the murder.
It was known that on the evening before the old banker had taken from asafety-deposit vault the sum of $20,000, which it was his intentionto invest in some securities. This money, in bills of very largedenominations, was in the top drawer on the right side of the desk. Thedead man had apparently not been touched after the crime, but the drawerhad been pried open and the money taken. An ice-pick from the butler'spantry had been used to force it. The assassin had left no marks,finger-prints or tell-tale stains. The victim had been instantly killedwith the blow of the knife which lay on the floor beside him.
The butler had been arrested, charged with the crime, and his trial wasnow going on in the Criminal Court. Circumstantial evidence was strongagainst him. The woman spoke as though she echoed the current comment ofthe courtroom without realizing how it affected her. She had done whatshe could. She had employed an attorney at the recommendation of aperson who had come to interview her. She did not know who the personwas nor why she should have employed this attorney at his suggestion,except that some one must be had to defend her husband, and uncertainwhat to do, she had gone to the first name suggested.
The gir
l listened, putting now and then a query. She spoke slowly,careful to use only English words. And while the woman talked she madea little drawing on the blank back of a menu card. Now she began toquestion the woman minutely about the details of the room and theposition of the furniture where the tragedy had occurred, the desk,the attitude of the dead man, the location of the wound, and exactdistances. And as the woman repeated the evidence of the police officersand the experts, the girl filled out her drawing with nice mathematicalexactness like one accustomed to such a labor.
This was the whole story, and now the woman added the final interviewwith the attorney. She made a sort of hopeless gesture.
"Nobody believes us," she said. "My husband did not kill him. He was athome with me. He knew nothing about it until he found his master deadat the table in the morning. But there is only our word against all thelawyers and detectives and experts that Mr. Thompson has brought againstus."
"Who is Mr. Thompson?" said the girl. She was deep in a study of herlittle drawing.
"He's Mr. Marsh's nephew, Mr. Percy Thompson."
The girl, absorbed in the study of her drawing, now put an unexpectedquestion.
"Has your husband lost an arm?"
"No," she said, "he never had any sort of accident."
A great light came into the girl's face. "Then I believe you," she said."I believe every word.... I think your husband is innocent."
The girl was aglow with an enthusiastic purpose. It was all there in herfine, expressive face.
"Now," she said, "tell me about this nephew, this Mr. Percy Thompson.Could we by any chance see him?"
"It won't do any good to see him," replied the woman. "He is determinedto convict my husband. Nothing can change him."
The girl went on without paying any attention to the comment. "Wheredoes he live--you must have heard?"
"He lives at the Markheim Hotel," she said.
"The Markheim Hotel," repeated the girl. "Where is it?"
The woman gave the street and number. The girl rose. "That's on my way;we'll stop."
The two-went out of the cafe to the motor. The whole thing, incredibleat any other hour, seemed to the woman like events happening in a dreamor in some topsy-turvy country which she had mysteriously entered.
She sat back in the tonneau of the motor, huddled into the corner, a rugaround her shoulders. The flashing lights seemed those of some distant,unknown city, as though she were transported into the scene of anArabian tale.
The motor stopped before a little shabby hotel in a neighboringcross-street, and the footman, in livery beside the driver, got down ata direction of the girl and went up the steps. In a few moments a mancame out and descended to the motor standing by the curb. He wasabout middle age. He looked as though Nature had intended him, in thebeginning, for a person of some distinction, but he had the dissipatedface of one at middle age who had devoted his years to a life ofpleasure. There were hard lines about his mouth and a purple network ofveins showing about the base of his nose.
As he approached the girl, leaning out of the open window of thetonneau, dropped her glove as by inadvertence. The man stooped,recovered it and returned it to her. The girl started with a perceptiblegesture. Then she cried out in her charming voice,
"Merci, monsieur. I stopped a moment to thank you for the flowers yousent me last night. It was lovely of you!" and she indicated the bunchof roses pinned to her corsage.
The man seemed astonished. For a moment he hesitated as though aboutto make some explanation, but the girl went on without regarding hisvisible embarrassment.
"You shall not escape with a denial," she said. "There was no card andyou did not do me the honor to wait at the door, but I know you sentthem--an usher saw you; you shall not escape my appreciation. You didsend them?" she said.
The man laughed. "Sure," he said, "if you insist." He was willing toprofit by this unexpected error, and the girl went on:
"I have worn the roses to-day," she said, "for you. Will you wear one ofthem to-morrow for me?"
She detached a bud and leaned out of the door of the motor. She pinnedthe bud to the lapel of the man's coat. She did it slowly, deliberately,like one who makes the touch of the fingers do the service of a caress.
Then she spoke to the driver and the motor went on, leaving the amazedman on the curb before the shabby Markheim Hotel with the rosebud pinnedto his coat--astonished at the incredible fortune of this favor from aninaccessible idol about whom the city raved.
The woman accepted the enigma of this interview as she had accepted thewonder of the girl's sudden appearance and the other, incidents of thisextraordinary night. She did not undertake to imagine what the drawingon the menu meant, the words about the one-armed man, the glove droppedfor Thompson to pick up, the rose pinned on his coat; it was all of apiece with the mystery that she had stumbled into.
When the motor stopped and she was taken through a little door by anattendant into a theater box, she accepted that as another of thesethings into which she could not inquire; things that happened to heroutside of her volition and directed by authorities which she could notcontrol.
The staging of the opera refined and extended the illusion that she hadbeen transported out of the world by some occult agency. The wonderfulcreature that had taken her up out of her abandoned misery before thesordid shop-shutter appeared now in a fairy costume glittering withjewels. And the gnomes, the monsters and goblins appearing about herwere all fabulous creatures, as the girl herself seemed a fabulouscreature.
She sighed like one who must awaken from the splendor of a dream torealities of which the sleeper is vaguely conscious. Only the girl'svoice seemed real. It seemed some great, heavenly reality like thesunlight or the sweep of the sea. It filled the packed places of thetheater. She sang and one believed again in the benevolence of heaven;in immortal love. To the distressed woman effacing herself in the cornerof the empty box it was all a sort of inconceivable witch-work.
And it was witch-work, as potent if not as amply fitted with dramaticproperties as the witchwork of ancient legend.
The daughter of an obscure juge d'instruction of the Canton of Vaud,singing in a Swiss meadow, had been taken up by a wealthy American,traveling in Switzerland on an April morning-old, enervated with the sunof the Riviera, and displeased with life. And this rich old woman, herrheumatic fingers loaded with jewels, had transformed the daughter ofthe juge d'instruction of the Canton of Vaud into a singing wonder thatmade every human creature see again the dreams of his youth before himleading into the Elysian Fields.
And to the girl herself this transformation also seemed the wonderof witch-work. Her early life lay so far below in a world remote anddetached; a little house in a village of the Canton of Vaud withthe genteel poverty that attended the slender salary of a juged'instruction, and the weight of duties that accumulated on hershoulders. Her father's life was given over to the labors of criminalinvestigation, but it was a field that returned nothing in the way ofmaterial gain. Honorable mention, a medal, the distinction of having hisreports copied into the official archives, were the fruits of the man'slife. She remembered the minutely exhaustive details of those reportswhich she used to copy painfully at night by the light of a candle.The old man, absorbed by his deductions, with his trained habits ofobservation and his prodigious memory, never seemed to realize thedrudgery imposed upon the girl by his endless dictation.
"To-morrow," the heavenly creature had said softly, like a caress, inthe woman's ear when an attendant had taken her through the littledoor into the empty box. But the to-morrow broke with every illusionvanished.
The woman sat beside her husband in the dismal court-room when the courtconvened. The judge, old and tired, was on the bench. A sulphurous,depressing fog entered from the city. The court-room smelled of acleaner's mop. The jury entered; and a few spectators, who looked asthough they might have spent the night on the benches of the park out,side, drifted in. The attorneys and the officials of the court werepresent and the trial r
esumed.
Every detail of the departed, evening was, to the woman, a mirage exceptthe brutal threat of the attorney, uttered before she had gone down intothe street. This threat, with that power of reality which evil thingsseem always to possess, now materialized. After the court had opened,but before the trial could proceed, the attorney for the defendant roseand addressed the court.
He spoke for some moments, handling his innuendoes with skill. Hisintent was to withdraw from the case. He realized that this was anunusual procedure and that the course must be justified upon a highethical plane. He was a person of acumen and of no inconsiderable skilland he succeeded. Without making any direct charge, and disclaiming anyintent to prejudice the prisoner and his defense, or to deprive him ofany safeguard of the law, he was able to convey the impression thathe had been misled in undertaking the defense of the case; thathis confidence in the innocence of the accused had been removed byunquestionable evidence which he had been led to believe did not exist.
He made this explanation with profound regret. But he felt that, havingbeen induced to undertake the defense by representations not justifiedin fact, and by an impression of the nature of the case whichdevelopments in the court-room had not confirmed, he had the right tostep aside out of an equivocal position. He wished to do this withoutinjury to the prisoner and while there was yet an opportunity for him toobtain other counsel. The whole tenor of the speech was the right to berelieved from the obligation of an error; an error that had involved himunwittingly by reason of assurances which the developments of the casehad now set aside. And through it all there was the manifest wish to dothe prisoner no vestige of injury.
After this speech of his attorney the conviction of the man wasinevitable. He sat stooped over, his back bent, his head down, histhin hands aimlessly in his lap like one who has come to the end ofall things; like one who no longer makes any effort against a destinydetermined on his ruin.
The thing had the overpowering vitality which evil things seem alwaysto possess, and the woman felt helpless against it; so utterly, socompletely helpless that it was useless to protest by any word orgesture. She could have gotten up and explained the true motive behindthis man's speech; she could have repeated the dialogue in his office;she could have asserted his unspeakable treachery; but she saw with anunerring instinct that against the skill of the man her effort would bewholly useless. With his resources and his dominating cunning he wouldnot only make her words appear obviously false, but he would make themfasten upon her a malicious intent to injure the man who had undertakenher husband's defense; and somehow he would be able, she felt, to divertthe obliquity and cause it to react upon herself.
This was all clear to her, and like some little trapped creature ofthe wood that finds escape closed on every side and no longer makes anyeffort, she remained motionless.
The judge was an honorable man, concerned to accomplish justice and notalways misled by an obvious intent. The proceeding did not please him,but he knew that no benefit, rather a continued injury, would result tothe prisoner by forcing the attorney to go on with a case which itwas evident that he no longer cared to make any effort to support. Hepermitted the man to withdraw. Then he spoke to the prisoner.
"Have you any other counsel?" he asked.
The prisoner did not look up. He replied in a low, almost inaudiblevoice.
"No, Your Honor," he said.
"Then I shall appoint some one to go on with the case," and he looked upover the docket before him and out at the few attorneys sitting withinthe rail.
It was at this moment that the woman, crying silently, without a soundand without moving in her chair, heard behind her the voice which shehad heard the evening before, when, as now, at the bottom of the pit,she stood before the shutter of the shop-window.
"Will it be necessary, monsieur le judge?"
It was the same wonderful, moving, heavenly voice. Every sound in thecourt-room suddenly ceased. All eyes were lifted. And Thompson, sittingbeside the district-attorney, saw, standing before the rail in thecourt-room, the splendid, alluring creature that had called him outof the sordid lobby of the Hotel Markheim and entranced him with anevidence of her favor. Unconsciously he put up his hand to feel forthe bud in the lapel of his coat. It had remained there--not, as ithappened, from her wish, but because he dare not lay the coat aside.
In the interval of intense interest arising at the withdrawal of theattorney from the case the girl had come in unnoticed. She might haveappeared out of the floor. Her voice was the first indication of herpresence.
The judge turned swiftly. "What do you mean?" he said.
"I mean, monsieur," she answered, "that if a man is innocent of a crime,he cannot require a lawyer to defend him."
The judge was astonished, but he was an old man and had seen manystrange events happen along the way of a criminal trial.
"But why do you say this man is innocent," he said.
"I will show you, monsieur," and she came around the railing into thepit of the court before his bench. She carried in her hand the menuupon which, at the table in the cafe the night before, she had made adrawing of the scene of the homicide.
The extraordinary event had happened so swiftly that the attorney forthe prosecution had not been able to interpose an objection. Now thenephew of the dead man spoke hurriedly, in whispers, and the attorneyarose.
"I object to this irregular proceeding," he said. "If this person is awitness, let her be sworn in the usual manner and let her take her placein the witness-chair where she may be examined by the attorney whom thecourt may see fit to appoint for the defense."
It was evident that Mr. Thompson, urging the prosecutor, was alarmed.The folds of his obese neck lying above the collar of his coat took ona deeper color, and his mouth visibly sagged as with some unexpectedemotion. He felt that he was becoming entangled in some vast, invisiblenet spread about him by this girl who had appeared as if by magic beforethe Hotel Markheim.
The judge looked down at the attorney. "I will have the witness sworn,"he said, "but I shall not at present appoint anybody to conduct anexamination. When a prisoner before me has no counsel, I sometimes lookafter his case myself."
He spoke to the girl. "Will you hold up your hand?" he said.
"Why, yes, monsieur," she said, "if you will also ask Mr. Thompson tohold up his hand."
"Do you wish him sworn as a witness?" said the judge.
The girl hesitated. "Yes, monsieur," she said, "if that is the way tohave him hold up his hand."
Again Thompson was disturbed. Again he spoke to the prosecutor and againthat attorney objected.
"We have not asked to have Mr. Thompson testify in this case," he said."It is true Mr. Thompson is concerned about the result of this trial. Heis the nephew of the decedent and his heir. It is only natural that heshould properly concern himself to see that the assassin is brought tojustice."
He spoke to the girl. "Do you wish to make Mr. Thompson your witness?"he said.
And again she replied with the hesitating formula:
"Why, yes, monsieur, if that is the way to cause him to hold up hishand."
The judge turned to the clerk. "Will you administer the oath to thesetwo persons?" he said.
Thompson rose. His face was disconcerted and slack. He hesitated, butthe prosecutor spoke to him. Then he faced the judge and put up hishand. Immediately the girl cried out:
"Look, monsieur," she said. "It is his left hand he is holding up!"
Immediately Thompson raised the other hand. "I beg your pardon, YourHonor," he muttered. "I am left-handed; I sometimes make that mistake."
And again the girl cried out: "You see... you notice it... it is true,then... he is left-handed."
"I see he is left-handed," said the judge, "but what has that to do withthe case?"
"Oh, monsieur," she said, "it has everything to do with it. I will showyou."
She moved up on the step before the judge's bench and laid the menubefore him. The attorney for the pros
ecution also arose. He wished toprevent this proceeding, to object to it, but he feared to disturb thejudge and he remained silent.
"Monsieur," she said, "I have made a little drawing... I know how suchthings are done.... My father was juge d'instruction of the Cantonof Vaud. He always made little drawings of places where crimes werecommitted.... Here you will see," and she put her finger on thecard, "the narrow passage leading from the butler's pantry into thedining-room used for a library. You will notice, monsieur, that thewriting-table stood with one end against the wall, the left wall of theroom, as one enters from the butler's pantry. It is a queer table. Oneside of it has a row of drawers coming to the floor and the other sideis open so one may sit with one's knees under it. On the night of thetragedy this table was sitting at right angles to the left wall, thatis to say, monsieur, with this end open for the writer's knees close upagainst the left wall of the room. That meant, monsieur, that on thisnight Mr. Marsh was sitting at the table with his back to the passagefrom the butler's pantry, close up against the left wall of the room.
"Therefore, monsieur," the girl went on, "the man who assassinated Mr.Marsh entered from the butler's pantry. He slipped into the room alongthe left wall close up behind his victim.... Did it not occur so."
This was the evidence of the police officials and the experts. It wasclear from the position of the desk in the room and from the details ofthe evidence.
"And, monsieur," she said, "will you tell me, is it true that the stabwound which killed Mr. Marsh was in the shoulder on the side next to thewall?"
"Yes," said the judge, "that is true."
The prosecutor, urged by Thompson, now made a verbal objection. Thecase was practically completed. The incident going on in the court-roomfollowed no definite legal procedure and could not be permitted toproceed. The judge stopped him.
"Sit down," he said. He did not offer any explanation or comment. Hemerely silenced the man and returned to the girl standing eagerly on thestep before the bench.
"The wound was in the base of the man's neck at the top of the leftshoulder on the side next to the wall," he said. "But what has this factto do with the case?"
"Oh, monsieur," she cried, "it has everything to do with it. If theassassin who slipped along the wall had carried the knife in his righthand, the wound would have been on the right side of the dead man'sneck. But if, monsieur, the assassin carried the knife in his left hand,then the wound would be where it is, on the left side. That made mebelieve, at first, that the assassin had only one arm--had losthis right arm--and must use the other; then, a little later, Iunderstood.... Oh, monsieur, don't you understand; don't you see thatthe assassin who stabbed Mr. Marsh was left-handed?"
In a moment it was all clear to everybody. Only a left-handed man couldhave committed the crime, for only a left-handed man standing closeagainst the left side of a room above one sitting at a desk againstthat wall could have struck straight down into the left shoulder of themurdered man. A right-handed assassin would have struck straight downinto the right shoulder, he would not have risked a doubtful blow,delivered awkwardly across his body, into the left shoulder of hisvictim.
The girl indicated Thompson with her hand. "He did it; he's left-handed.I found out by dropping my glove."
Panic enveloped the cornered man. He began to shake as with an ague.Sweat like a thin oil spread over his debauched face and the folds ofhis obese neck. With his fatal left hand he began to finger the lapelof his coat where the faded rosebud hung pinned into the buttonhole. Andthe girl's voice broke the profound silence of the court-room.
"He has the money, too," she said. "I felt a bulky packet when I gavehim the flower out of my bouquet last night."
The big, thin-haired lawyer, leaving the courtroom after his withdrawalfrom the case, stopped at a window arrested by the amazing scene: Thepolice taking the stolen money out of Thompson's pocket; the woman inthe girl's arms, and the transfigured prisoner standing up as in thepresence of a heavenly angel. This before him... and the splendid motorbelow under the sweep of the window, waiting before the courthouse door,brought back the memory of his biting, sarcastic words:
"... or Cinderella in a pumpkin coach!"
And there occurred to him a doubt of the exclusive dominance of life bythe gods he served.