From Whose Bourne - Robert Barr
"George Washington!" cried the other, "you don't say so! Have the
newspapers got on to the fact?"
"I regret to say that they have."
"What an item that would have been if one paper had got hold of it and
the others hadn't! I suppose they all got on to it at the same time?"
"About that," said Brenton, "I don't know, and I must confess that I do
not care very much. But here is the trouble--my wife has been arrested
for my murder, and she is as innocent as I am."
"Sure of that?"
"_Sure_ of it?" cried the other indignantly. "Of course I am sure of
it."
"Then who is the guilty person?"
"Ah, that," said Brenton, "I do not yet know."
"Then how can you be sure she is not guilty?"
"If you talk like that," exclaimed Brenton, "I have nothing more to
say."
"Now, don't get offended, I beg of you. I am merely looking at this from
a newspaper standpoint, you know. You must remember it is not you
who will decide the matter, but a jury of your very stupid
fellow-countrymen. Now, you can never tell what a jury _will_ do, except
that it will do something idiotic. Therefore, it seems to me that the
very first step to be taken is to find out who the guilty party is.
Don't you see the force of that?"
"Yes, I do."
"Very well, then. Now, what were the circumstances of this crime? who
was to profit by your death?"
Brenton winced at this.
"I see how it is," said the other, "and I understand why you don't
answer. Now--you'll excuse me if I am frank--your wife was the one who
benefited most by your death, was she not?"
"No," cried the other indignantly, "she was not the one. That is what
the lawyers said. Why in the world should she want to poison me, when
she had all my wealth at her command as it was?"
"Yes, that's a strong point," said Speed. "You were a reasonably good
husband, I suppose? Rather generous with the cash?"
"Generous?" cried the other. "My wife always had everything she wanted."
"Ah, well, there was no--you'll excuse me, I am sure--no former lover in
the case, was there?"
Again Brenton winced, and he thought of Roland sitting beside his wife
with her hand in his.
"I see," said Speed; "you needn't answer. Now what were the
circumstances, again?"
"They were these: At a dinner which I gave, where some twenty or
twenty-five of my friends were assembled, poison, it appears, was put
into my cup of coffee. That is all I know of it."
"Who poured out that cup of coffee?"
"My wife did."
"Ah! Now, I don't for a moment say she is guilty, remember; but you must
admit that, to a stupid jury, the case _might_ look rather bad against
her."
"Well, granted that it does, there is all the more need that I should
come to her assistance if possible."
"Certainly, certainly!" said Speed. "Now, I'll tell you what we have
to do. We must get, if possible, one of the very brightest Chicago
reporters on the track of this thing, and we have to get him on the
track of it early. Come with me to Chicago. We will try an experiment,
and I am sure you will lend your mind entirely to the effort. We must
act in conjunction in this affair, and you are just the man I've been
wanting, some one who is earnest and who has something at stake in the
matter. We may fail entirely, but I think it's worth the trying. Will
you come?"
"Certainly," said Brenton; "and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate
your interest and sympathy."
Arriving at a brown stone building on the corner of two of the principal
streets in Chicago, Brenton and Speed ascended quickly to one of the top
floors. It was nearly midnight, and two upper stories of the huge dark
building were brilliantly lighted, as was shown on the outside by the
long rows of glittering windows. They entered a room where a man was
seated at a table, with coat and vest thrown off, and his hat set well
back on his head. Cold as it was outside, it was warm in this man's
room, and the room was blue with smoke. A black corn-cob pipe was in his
teeth, and the man was writing away as if for dear life, on sheets of
coarse white copy paper, stopping now and then to fill up his pipe or to
relight it after it had gone out.
"There," said Speed, waving his hand towards the writer with a certain
air of proprietory pride, "there sits one of the very cleverest men on
the Chicago press. That fellow, sir, is gifted with a nose for news
which has no equal in America. He will ferret out a case that he once
starts on with an unerringness that would charm you. Yes, sir, I got him
his present situation on this paper, and I can tell you it was a good
one."
"He must have been a warm friend of yours?" said Brenton, indifferently,
as if he did not take much interest in the eulogy.
"Quite the contrary," said Speed. "He was a warm enemy, made it mighty
warm for _me_ sometimes. He was on an opposition paper, but I tell you,
although I was no chicken in newspaper business, that man would scoop
the daylight out of me any time he tried. So, to get rid of opposition,
I got the managing editor to appoint him to a place on our paper; and
I tell you, he has never regretted it. Yes, sir, there sits George
Stratton, a man who knows his business. Now," he said, "let us
concentrate our attention on him. First let us see whether, by putting
our whole minds to it, we can make any impression on _his_ mind
whatever. You see how busily he is engaged. He is thoroughly absorbed in
his work. That is George all over. Whatever his assignment is, George
throws himself right into it, and thinks of nothing else until it is
finished. _Now_ then."
In that dingy, well-lighted room George Stratton sat busily pencilling
out the lines that were to appear in next morning's paper. He was
evidently very much engrossed in his task, as Speed had said. If he
had looked about him, which he did not, he would have said that he was
entirely alone. All at once his attention seemed to waver, and he passed
his hand over his brow, while perplexity came into his face. Then he
noticed that his pipe was out, and, knocking the ashes from it by
rapping the bowl on the side of the table, he filled it with an
absent-mindedness unusual with him. Again he turned to his writing, and
again he passed his hand over his brow. Suddenly, without any apparent
cause, he looked first to the right and then to the left of him. Once
more he tried to write, but, noticing his pipe was out, he struck
another match and nervously puffed away, until clouds of blue smoke rose
around him. There was a look of annoyance and perplexity in his face as
he bent resolutely to his writing. The door opened, and a man appeared
on the threshold.
"Anything more about the convention, George?" he said.
"Yes; I am just finishing this. Sort of pen pictures, you know."
"Perhaps you can let me have what you have done. I'll fix it up."
"All right," said Stratton, bunching up the manuscript in front of him,
and handing it to the city editor.
That functionary looked at the number of pages, and then at the writer.
"Much more of this, George?" he said. "We'll be a little short of room
in the morning, you know."
"Well," said the other, sitting back in his chair, "it is pretty good
stuff that. Folks always like the pen pictures of men engaged in the
skirmish better than the reports of what most of them say."
"Yes," said the city editor, "that's so."
"Still," said Stratton, "we could cut it off at the last page. Just let
me see the last two pages, will you?"
These were handed to him, and, running his eye through them, he drew his
knife across one of the pages, and put at the bottom the cabalistic mark
which indicated the end of the copy.
"There! I think I will let it go at that. Old Rickenbeck don't amount to
much, anyhow. We'll let him go."
"All right," said the city editor. "I think we won't want anything more
to-night."
[Illustration: "She's pretty as a picture."]
Stratton put his hands behind his head, with his fingers interlaced, and
leaned back in his chair, placing his heels upon the table before him.
A thought-reader, looking at his face, could almost have followed the
theme that occupied his mind. Suddenly bringing his feet down with a
crash to the floor, he rose and went into the city editor's room.
"See here," he said. "Have you looked into that Cincinnati case at all?"
"What Cincinnati case?" asked the local editor, looking up.
"Why, that woman who is up for poisoning her husband."
"Oh yes; we had something of it in the despatches this morning. It's
rather out of the local line, you know."
"Yes, I know it is. But it isn't out of the paper's line. I tell you
that case is going to make a sensation. She's pretty as a picture. Been
married only six months, and it seems to be a dead sure thing that
she poisoned her husband. That trial's going to make racy reading,
especially if they bring in a verdict of guilty."
The city editor looked interested.
"Want to go down there, George?"
"Well, do you know, I think it'll pay."
"Let me see, this is the last day of the convention, isn't it? And Clark
comes back from his vacation to-morrow. Well, if you think it's worth
it, take a trip down there, and look the ground over, and give us a
special article that we can use on the first day of the trial."
"I'll do it," said George.
* * * * *
Speed looked at Brenton.
"What would old Ferris say _now_, eh?"
CHAPTER VI.
Next morning George Stratton was on the railway train speeding towards
Cincinnati. As he handed to the conductor his mileage book, he did not
say to him, lightly transposing the old couplet--
"Here, railroad man, take thrice thy fee,
For spirits twain do ride with me."
George Stratton was a practical man, and knew nothing of spirits, except
those which were in a small flask in his natty little valise.
When he reached Cincinnati, he made straight for the residence of the
sheriff. He felt that his first duty was to become friends with such an
important official. Besides this, he wished to have an interview with
the prisoner. He had arranged in his mind, on the way there, just how he
would write a preliminary article that would whet the appetite of the
readers of the Chicago _Argus_ for any further developments that might
occur during and after the trial. He would write the whole thing in the
form of a story.
[Illustration: "Raising the veil."]
First, there would be a sketch of the life of Mrs. Brenton and her
husband. This would be number one, and above it would be the Roman
numeral I. Under the heading II. would be a history of the crime. Under
III. what had occurred afterwards--the incidents that had led suspicion
towards the unfortunate woman, and that sort of thing. Under the numeral
IV. would be his interview with the prisoner, if he were fortunate
enough to get one. Under V. he would give the general opinion of
Cincinnati on the crime, and on the guilt or innocence of Mrs. Brenton.
This article he already saw in his mind's eye occupying nearly half a
page of the _Argus_. All would be in leaded type, and written in a style
and manner that would attract attention, for he felt that he was
first on the ground, and would not have the usual rush in preparing
his copy which had been the bane of his life. It would give the
_Argus_ practically the lead in this case, which he was convinced
would become one of national importance.
The sheriff received him courteously, and, looking at the card he
presented, saw the name Chicago _Argus_ in the corner. Then he stood
visibly on his guard--an attitude assumed by all wise officials when
they find themselves brought face to face with a newspaper man; for
they know, however carefully an article may be prepared, it will likely
contain some unfortunate overlooked phrase which may have a damaging
effect in a future political campaign.
"I wanted to see you," began Stratton, coming straight to the point, "in
reference to the Brenton murder."
"I may say at once," replied the sheriff, "that if you wish an interview
with the prisoner, it is utterly impossible, because her lawyers, Benham
and Brown, have positively forbidden her to see a newspaper man."
"That shows," said Stratton, "they are wise men who understand their
business. Nevertheless, I wish to have an interview with Mrs. Brenton.
But what I wanted to say to you is this: I believe the case will be very
much talked about, and that before many weeks are over. Of course you
know the standing the _Argus_ has in newspaper circles. What it says
will have an influence, even over the Cincinnati press. I think you will
admit that. Now a great many newspaper men consider an official their
natural enemy. I do not; at least, I do not until I am forced to. Any
reference that I may make to you I am more than willing to submit to you
before it goes to Chicago. I will give you my word, if you want it, that
nothing will be said referring to your official position, or to yourself
personally, that you do not see before it appears in print. Of course
you will be up for re-election. I never met a sheriff who wasn't."
The sheriff smiled at this, and did not deny it.
"Very well. Now, I may tell you my belief is that this case is going
to have a powerful influence on your re-election. Here is a young and
pretty woman who is to be tried for a terrible crime. Whether she is
guilty or innocent, public sympathy is going to be with her. If I were
in your place, I would prefer to be known as her friend rather than as
her enemy."
"My dear sir," said the sheriff, "my official position puts me in the
attitude of neither friend nor enemy of the unfortunate woman. I have
simply a certain duty to do, and that duty I intend to perform."
"Oh, that's all right!" exclaimed the newspaper man, jauntily. "I, for
one, am not going to ask you to take a step outside your duties; but an
official may do his duty, and yet, at the same time, do a friendly act
for a newspaper man, or even for a prisoner. In the language of the old
chestnut, 'If you don't help me, don't help the bear.' That's all I
ask."
"You maybe sure, Mr. Stratton, that anything I can do to help you I
shall be glad to do; and now let me give you a hint. If you want to see
Mrs. Brenton, the best thing is to get permission from her lawyers. If
I were you I would not see Benham--he's rather a hard nut, Benham is,
although you needn't tell him I said so. You get on the right side of
Brown. Brown has some political aspirations himself, and he does not
want to offend a man on so powerful a paper as the _Argus_, even if it
is not a Cincinnati paper. Now, if you make him the same offer you have
made to me, I think it will be all right. If he sees your copy before it
goes into print, and if you keep your word with him that nothing will
appear that he does _not_ see, I think you will succeed in getting an
interview with Mrs. Brenton. If you bring me a note from Brown, I shall
be very glad to allow you to see her."
Stratton thanked the sheriff for his hint. He took down in his note-book
the address of the lawyers, and the name especially of Mr. Brown. The
two men shook hands, and Stratton felt that they understood each other.
When Mr. Stratton was ushered into the private office of Brown, and
handed that gentleman his card, he noticed the lawyer perceptibly freeze
over.
"Ahem," said the legal gentleman; "you will excuse me if I say that my
time is rather precious. Did you wish to see me professionally?"
"Yes," replied Stratton, "that is, from a newspaper standpoint of the
profession."
"Ah," said the other, "in reference to what?"
"To the Brenton case."
"Well, my dear sir, I have had, very reluctantly, to refuse information
that I would have been happy to give, if I could, to our own newspaper
men; and so I may say to you at once that I scarcely think it will
be possible for me to be of any service to an outside paper like the
_Argus_"
"Local newspaper men," said Stratton, "represent local fame. That
you already possess. I represent national fame, which, if you will
excuse my saying so, you do not yet possess. The fact that I am in
Cincinnati to-day, instead of in Chicago, shows what we Chicago people
think of the Cincinnati case. I believe, and the _Argus_ believes, that
this case is going to be one of national importance. Now, let me ask you
one question. Will you state frankly what your objection is to having
a newspaper man, for instance, interview Mrs. Brenton, or get any
information relating to this case from her or others whom you have the
power of controlling?"
"I shall answer that question," said Brown, "as frankly as you put
it. You are a man of the world, and know, of course, that we are all
selfish, and in business matters look entirely after our own interests.
My interest in this case is to defend my client. Your interest in
this case is to make a sensational article. You want to get facts if
possible, but, in any event, you want to write up a readable column or
two for your paper. Now, if I allowed you to see Mrs. Brenton, she might
say something to you, and you might publish it, that would not only
endanger her chances, but would seriously embarrass us, as her lawyers,
in our defence of the case."
"You have stated the objection very plainly and forcibly," said
Stratton, with a look of admiration, as if the powerful arguments of
the lawyer had had a great effect on him. "Now, if I understand your
argument, it simply amounts to this, that you would have no objection to
my interviewing Mrs. Brenton if you have the privilege of editing the
copy. In other words, if nothing were printed but what you approve
of, you would not have the slightest hesitancy about allowing me that
interview."
"No, I don't know that I would," admitted the lawyer.
"Very well, then. Here is my proposition to you: I am here to look after
the interests of our paper in this particular case. The _Argus_ is
probably going to be the first paper outside of Cincinnati that will
devote a large amount of space to the Brenton trial, in addition to what
is received from the Associated Press dispatches. Now you can give me a
great many facilities in this matter if you care to do so, and in return
I am perfectly willing to submit to you every line of copy that concerns
you or your client before it is sent, and I give you my word of honour
that nothing shall appear but what you have seen and approved of. If
you want to cut out something that I think is vitally important, then I
shall tell you frankly that I intend to print it, but will modify it as
much as I possibly can to suit your views."
"I see," said the lawyer. "In other words, as you have just remarked,
I am to give you special facilities in this matter, and then, when you
find out some fact which I wish kept secret, and which you have obtained
because of the facilities I have given to you, you will quite frankly
tell me that it must go in, and then, of course, I shall be helpless
except to debar you from any further facilities, as you call them. No,
sir, I do not care to make any such bargain."
"Well, suppose I strike out that clause of agreement, and say to you
that I will send nothing but what you approve of, would you then write
me a note to the sheriff and allow me to see the prisoner?"
"I am sorry to say"--the lawyer hesitated for a moment, and glanced at
the card, then added--"Mr. Stratton, that I do not see my way clear to
granting your request."
"I think," said Stratton, rising, "that you are doing yourself an
injustice. You are refusing--I may as well tell you first as last--what
is a great privilege. Now, you have had some experience in your
business, and I have had some experience in mine, and I beg to inform
you that men who are much more prominent in the history of their country
than any one I can at present think of in Cincinnati, have tried to balk
me in the pursuit of my business, and have failed."
"In that matter, of course," said Brown, "I must take my chances. I
don't see the use of prolonging this interview. As you have been so
frank as to--I won't say threaten, perhaps warn is the better word--as
you have been so good as to warn me, I may, before we part, just give
_you_ a word of caution. Of course we, in Cincinnati, are perfectly
willing to admit that Chicago people are the smartest on earth, but I
may say that if you print a word in your paper which is untrue and which
is damaging to our side of the case, or if you use any methods that
are unlawful in obtaining the information you so much desire, you will
certainly get your paper into trouble, and you will run some little
personal risk yourself."
"Well, as you remarked a moment ago, Mr. Brown, I shall have to take the
chances of that. I am here to get the news, and if I don't succeed it
will be the first time in my life."
"Very well, sir," said the lawyer. "I wish you good evening."
"Just one thing more," said the newspaper man, "before I leave you."
"My dear sir," said the lawyer, impatiently, "I am very busy. I've
already given you a liberal share of my time. I must request that this
interview end at once."
"I thought," said Mr. Stratton, calmly, "that perhaps you might be
interested in the first article that I am going to write. I shall devote
one column in the _Argus_ of the day after to-morrow to your defence of
the case, and whether your theory of defence is a tenable one or not."
Mr. Brown pushed back his chair and looked earnestly at the young man.
That individual was imperturbably pulling on his gloves, and at the
moment was buttoning one of them.
"Our _defence_!" cried the lawyer. "What do you know of our defence?"
"My dear sir," said Stratton, "I know _all_ about it."
"Sir, that is impossible. Nobody knows what our defence is to be except
Mr. Benham and myself."
"And Mr. Stratton, of the Chicago _Argus_," replied the young man, as he
buttoned his coat.
"May I ask, then, what the defence is?"
"Certainly," answered the Chicago man. "Your defence is that Mr. Brenton
was insane, and that he committed suicide."
Even Mr. Brown's habitual self-control, acquired by long years of
training in keeping his feelings out of sight, for the moment deserted
him. He drew his breath sharply, and cast a piercing glance at the young
man before him, who was critically watching the lawyer's countenance,
although he appeared to be entirely absorbed in buttoning his overcoat.
Then Mr. Brown gave a short, dry laugh.
"I have met a bluff before," he said carelessly; "but I should like to
know what makes you think that such is our defence?"
"_Think_!" cried the young man. "I don't think at all; I _know_ it."
"How do you know it?"
"Well, for one thing, I know it by your own actions a moment ago. What
first gave me an inkling of your defence was that book which is on
your table. It is Forbes Winslow on the mind and the brain; a very
interesting book, Mr. Brown, _very_ interesting indeed. It treats of
suicide, and the causes and conditions of the brain that will lead up
to it. It is a very good book, indeed, to study in such a case. Good
evening, Mr. Brown. I am sorry that we cannot co-operate in this
matter."
Stratton turned and walked toward the door, while the lawyer gazed after
him with a look of helpless astonishment on his face. As Stratton placed
his hand on the door knob, the lawyer seemed to wake up as from a dream.
"Stop!" he cried; "I will give you a letter that will admit you to Mrs.
Brenton."
CHAPTER VII.
"There!" said Speed to Brenton, triumphantly, "what do you think of
_that_? Didn't I say George Stratton was the brightest newspaper man in
Chicago? I tell you, his getting that letter from old Brown was one of
the cleverest bits of diplomacy I ever saw. There you had quickness of
perception, and nerve. All the time he was talking to old Brown he was
just taking that man's measure. See how coolly he acted while he was
drawing on his gloves and buttoning his coat as if ready to leave. Flung
that at Brown all of a sudden as quiet as if he was saying nothing at
all unusual, and all the time watching Brown out of the tail of his eye.
Well, sir, I must admit, that although I have known George Stratton for
years, I thought he was dished by that Cincinnati lawyer. I thought that
George was just gracefully covering up his defeat, and there he upset
old Brown's apple-cart in the twinkling of an eye. Now, you see the
effect of all this. Brown has practically admitted to him what the line
of defence is. Stratton won't publish it, of course; he has promised not
to, but you see he can hold that over Brown's head, and get everything
he wants unless they change their defence."
"Yes," remarked Brenton, slowly, "he seems to be a very sharp newspaper
man indeed; but I don't like the idea of his going to interview my
wife."
"Why, what is there wrong about that?"
"Well, there is this wrong about it--that she in her depression may say
something that will tell against her."
"Even if she does, what of it? Isn't the lawyer going to see the letter
before it is sent to the paper?"
"I am not so sure about that. Do you think Stratton will show the
article to Brown if he gets what you call a scoop or a beat?"