“So you jumped to the conclusion that my client had murdered his uncle because there were no foot-tracks in the snow?”
“I didn’t jump at nothing,” the witness asserted with asperity. “It was clear that the man who killed old Sargent had never left the house — unless he came and went by aeroplane,” he added with sarcasm.
“And then, being that my client was the only other occupant of the house, besides the dead man,” the colonel went on, imperturbably, “you decided that he had killed his uncle, and arrested him on the spot, on your own responsibility, and without a warrant?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to give him a chance to make a get-away,” the constable defended.
“Very thoughtful of you, Ed.” the counsel drawled. “That’ll be all.”
III
When the witness had resumed his post at the door, the colonel said, turning to the court:
“It has been pointed out by the prosecution that my client was Mr. Sargent’s only heir. That an estate of something like a hundred thousand dollars would come to him upon his uncle’s death. That he is engaged to be married to a girl whom his uncle objected to, strongly, because of an old grudge against her father, which I think we are all familiar with,” he added, with a glance about him.
“My client has admitted that Mr. Sargent had forbidden him, under pains of disinheriting him, to even see the girl again. It has also been proven beyond a doubt that the two men quarreled a great deal of late — presumably over my client’s choice of a wife.”
The prisoner and the girl exchanged glances of blank amazement. Even the prosecuting attorney moved, restlessly, in his chair. The judge frowned, ponderously, and a murmur of disapproval passed over the spectators. The counsel for the defense was apparently throwing up his hands and convicting his client all over again instead of defending him, and he, the counsel alone, seemed oblivious of this fact. He paused briefly, then went on in his lazy drawclass="underline"
“Did it occur to the court that a man with as many good reasons for committing this murder as my client had, would be a fool — nay, insane — to do so? He would automatically sign his own death-warrant by such an act, and that if he was cunning enough to employ the method suggested by the prosecution, he would not possibly have overlooked the necessity of making a trail in the snow to and from the house. A trail would have been absolutely necessary to the success of his plan. By not doing so, would you have us believe that he deliberately planned that suspicion be directed toward him? It would have been an easy matter to have slipped on a pair of old shoes, and have walked down to the road and back again, and destroyed, or hidden the shoes afterwards. Even destroying the shoes would not have been necessary. The thaw would have enlarged the footprints to such an extent that identification would have been impossible.”
He paused and regarded the jury through half-closed lids.
“It has been established by the prosecution that my client is a man of ordinary intellect. Such a man would not possibly have overlooked the most vital part of his scheme. He might have overlooked some trifling detail, as the brainiest of criminals do at times, but that he should have forgotten to fake a set of tracks when the snow was there, as it were to order, for a perfect alibi, is utterly absurd.”
The attorney for the State arose.
“I object to generalities and far-fetched presumptions being used to discredit established facts,” he insisted, coldly.
The colonel interrupted him.
“You have established no fact, if you please, Warren, except the fact that Mr. Sargent is dead. Anyone can assure himself of that by visiting the morgue.” He turned to the court. “I ask your Honor to overrule the objection on the ground that the State is basing its conviction on circumstantial evidence, and that we of the defense are endeavoring to present the court with as strong a chain of circumstantial evidence for acquittal. What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”
The attorney for the State emitted a harsh laugh. The court frowned, perplexedly.
“You’re out of order, Colonel,” the judge said, “still, I’ll let it stand if you can show good reason for it.”
“I will show — good reason, presently,” counsel asserted, mildly.
He turned about in his chair and nodded to a very tall and very old man, seated, chair tip-tilted, a short distance to his right, directly under the witness- stand. The man brought the front legs of his chair to the floor with a thump, arose and mounted the three steps to the witness box. He did not sit down, but remained standing waiting to be sworn in. Even before the clerk had fully finished administering the oath to him, his clear “Yes” rang out as a challenge upon the still court-room.
The attorney for the defense leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, as if to select his words carefully before addressing the witness. Then he said:
“Dr. Shale, will you please show the court what you found when you performed the mortual examination upon Mr. Sargent?”
Without replying, the witness took from his pocket a leather wallet. Opening it, he took from it a small object, which he held up between his thumb and fore-finger.
“This,” he said, briefly.
IV
Necks were craned in his direction. The jurymen leaned forward in their seats, and the judge adjusted his spectacles. The prosecuting attorney stared at the object with a frown, half of annoyance, half of contempt — then transferred his gaze to the face of his opponent, who sat slumped in his chair, seemingly the least interested of anybody.
The prisoner and the girl exchanged glances.
The tension was broken by the Colonel saying in his soft, crooning voice:
“Please tell the court where you found that — pigeon’s feather, Dr. Shale.”
“I found it imbedded in the dead man’s brain, three inches below the skull.”
“That’ll be all, Doctor, thanks,” counsel said.
When the witness returned to his seat he leaned over and laid the feather upon the table beside the prisoner’s counsel. The colonel picked it up and placed it upon his blotter in plain sight of the court.
The prosecuting attorney scowled at Dr. Shale. The coroner’s verdict had been: “Death from blow upon the head. Cause unknown.” He had refused point-blank to return an indictment for murder upon the evidence submitted, so Attorney Warren had gone ahead on his own account.
“Pigeon’s feather!” he scoffed. “Nothing of the sort! Swallow’s feather, that’s what it is.”
“I beg your pardon?” There was irritation in the colonel’s voice for the first time. “It’s a pigeon’s feather.”
The jurymen looked at one another. Most of them knew a pigeon’s feather when they saw one and all of them were positive that the object on the colonel’s blotter — a slim, steel-blue feather — was not a pigeon’s.
A cynical smile played about the corners of the prosecutor’s thin lips.
“If you expect to win this case on ornithological decisions, you’d better take a week off and study up on the subject, Melvin Edgerly,” he sneered. “I’ll stake my reputation, legal and otherwise, that the feather on your blotter is a swallow’s feather. I think I know what I’m talking about. I didn’t get my degree in ornithology at Standford for nothing.”
“That’s so,” the colonel admitted, suddenly. “I remember now, you used to be bugs on birds’ nests, and eggs, and things, when you were a kid, Warren.”