His face was slightly paler and his cheeks more sunken; but he wore the same air of heavy, stolid indifference, and his eyes were sullen and devoid of hope.
Mr. Leg started proceedings by asking again for a postponement, declaring that he had been unable to locate his most important witness. Assistant District Attorney Thornton, for the prosecution, refrained from argument. Judge Manton denied the request, saying that counsel for the defense had had ample time to prepare his case.
There was little difficulty in selecting the jury, as neither side appeared to be particular, and the box was filled by noon. The addresses to the jury were short, and by the time court reconvened after lunch they were ready for the witnesses.
The prosecution opened with the young man who had been called to the scene of the murder by Mount’s scream, and had found him standing over the body with the knife in his hand. His testimony, with that of three other tenants and as many policemen, consumed the afternoon.
When court adjourned a little before six Mr. Leg returned to his office to find Dan seated at his desk, staring moodily at the telephone.
“Nothing doing, Dan?” said Mr. Leg grimly.
“No, sir.”
“Been here all day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s funny you can’t see,” put in Miss Venner with sudden sharpness, “that he’s getting sick over it. He sits and stares at that telephone like a crazy man. He hasn’t eaten a bite all day. Of course, not that I care, only I... I—”
She flushed and stopped.
“Can’t help it,” remarked Mr. Leg gloomily. “Come on in the other room, Dan, and I’ll tell you how it went in court. Or wait, I’ll sit here.”
The following day at noon the prosecution finished. They had presented evidence that the murdered woman was the wife of the prisoner, and had left him, furnishing — as the assistant district attorney had said in his opening address — the strongest possible combination of motives — jealousy and revenge. When the prosecution’s last witness left the stand it was easy to see from the expression of the jurors’ faces as they stole glances at the prisoner that they regarded the case as already proven. Mr. Leg, following Dan’s instructions, had attempted to gain time by prolonging the cross-examinations; but he was anything but an adept at the game, and several times he had been prodded by Judge Manton.
The first witness called by the defense was the prisoner himself. Aided — and sometimes retarded — by questions from Mr. Leg, he merely repeated the story he had previously told to the police, the coroner, and his lawyer. Again Mr. Leg attempted to drag out the proceedings by prolonging the examination; but at length his invention ran out and he was forced to let the witness go, reflecting, however, that the cross-examination would occupy another hour or two.
Therefore, was he struck with consternation when he heard the prosecuting attorney say calmly:
“I will not cross-examine, your honor.”
“Call your next witness, Mr. Leg,” said Judge Manton sharply.
Luckily Mr. Leg had one — a Mr. Rafter, of the firm by whom Mount had been employed as bookkeeper. He was followed by two men who had known the prisoner in his earlier and happier days, and who testified to his good character and mild temper. At that point court was adjourned till tomorrow.
Mr. Leg missed his dinner that evening. Long after darkness had fallen and windows had begun to make their tens of thousands of little squares of light against the huge black forms of the skyscrapers, the lawyer sat in his office talking with Dan between patches of silence, trying to invent something that could be applied as a desperate last resort.
Jim Dickinson, chief of the best detective bureau in the city, whose men had been employed on the case for the past month, was called in by telephone, but he had nothing to suggest, and soon left them. The lawyer had told Dan of the failure of the prosecution to cross-examine Mount, observing bitterly that their case was so strong they could afford to appear compassionate.
Trinity’s chimes rang out for ten o’clock. Mr. Leg arose and put on his hat.
“Well, I guess we’re done for,” he observed. “We’ve only got two more witnesses, and they don’t amount to anything. Three hours for the summing-up; it will probably go to the jury by three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. It’s no use, Dan. You’re taking it too hard; it’s not your fault, my boy. See you in the morning. Good night.”
After his employer had gone, Dan sat motionless at his desk with his eyes on the telephone. He felt that it had betrayed him. Curious, how confident he had felt that the wire would bring him the word he awaited!
“Bum hunch,” he muttered.
The little black instrument was distasteful to his sight. He hated it. An impulse entered his mind to seize the thing, jerk it from its cord, and hurl it out of the window; an impulse so strong that he actually got up from his chair and walked over and sat down on the cot for fear he would give way to it. He sat there for some time. Finally he bent over and began unlacing his shoes preparatory to lying down. The knot was tight and he jerked angrily at the string.
As he did so the telephone bell rang.
He hastened to the desk, took up the telephone, placed the receiver to his ear, and said “Hello!”
“Hello!” came a female voice. “Is this Rector 11902?”
“Yes.”
“Wait a minute, please. This is long distance. Albany wants you.”
There was a moment’s wait, while Dan trembled with impatience. Then a man’s voice came:
“Hello! Is this Simon Leg’s office?”
“Yes,” Dan replied.
“The lawyer, Broadway, New York?”
“Yes.”
“This is the Royal Theater, No. 472 Jefferson Avenue, Albany. Four, seven, two Jefferson Avenue. I’ve got your man, Patrick Cummings.” — “Yes, I tell you, I’ve got him. He’s here — wait... wait a minute — I’m afraid he’ll beat it—”
The last words came faintly. There was a buzzing on the line, a series of clicks, and the wire sounded dead. Dan moved the receiver hook frantically up and down; finally he got a reply from the local operator, who informed him that Albany had rung off. Yes, she could get them again, probably in a quarter of an hour; would he please hang up his receiver?
He did so, but took it off again immediately and asked for Grand Central Station. From the information bureau he learned that there would be no train to Albany for two hours, and then a slow one. Dan grabbed up his hat and, without stopping even to turn out the light, dashed from the office. He ran all the way to the subway station, where he boarded an uptown express train. At Fourteenth Street he got off and rushed up the steps to the sidewalk three at a time, and started east at breakneck speed, knocking over pedestrians and leaping across the path of streetcars and automobiles. Two minutes later he appeared, breathless and trembling, before two men who were seated in the entrance of a garage near Third Avenue.
“The fastest car in the place!” he hurled at them. “Quick!”
He thrust a bunch of twenty-dollar bills under the nose of one of the men.
“Don’t look, get busy!” he commanded. “The fastest car you’ve got, and a chauffeur that can drive!”
Finally they were moved to action. Lights were turned on in the rear of the garage, a limousine was wheeled to one side, disclosing to view a big touring car, and a sleepy-looking young man, wearing a cap and drab uniform, appeared from somewhere.
“Here’s a hundred dollars!” cried Dan to one of the men, thrusting a roll of bills into his hand. “If that isn’t enough, I’ll pay the rest when I get back.”