Hand and Ring

"What has produced the change?" asked Mr. Ferris.

"Well," said Hickory, "it all lies in this. From the day I heard Miss Dare accuse him so confidently in the hut, I believed him guilty; from the moment he withdrew his defence, I believed him innocent."

Mr. Ferris and Mr. Byrd looked at him astonished. He at once brought down his fist in vigorous assertion on the table.

"I tell you," said he, "that Craik Mansell is innocent. The truth is, he believes Miss Dare guilty, and so stands his trial, hoping to save her."

"And be hung for her crime?" asked Mr. Ferris.

"No; he thinks his innocence will save him, in spite of the evidence on which we got him indicted."

But the District Attorney protested at this.

"That can't be," said he; "Mansell has withdrawn the only defence he had."

"On the contrary," asserted Hickory, "that very thing only proves my theory true. He is still determined to save Miss Dare by every thing short of a confession of his own guilt. He won't lie. That man is innocent."

"And Miss Dare is guilty?" said Byrd.

"Shall I make it clear to you in the way it has become clear to Mr. Mansell?"

As Byrd only answered by a toss of his head, Hickory put his elbows on the table, and checking off every sentence with the forefinger of his right hand, which he pointed at Mr. Ferris' shirt-stud, as if to instil from its point conviction into that gentleman's bosom, he proceeded with the utmost composure as follows:

"To commence, then, with the scene in the woods. He meets her. She is as angry at his aunt as he is. What does she do? She strikes the tree with her hand, and tells him to wait till to-morrow, since a night has been known to change the whole current of a person's affairs. Now tell me what does that mean? Murder? If so, she was the one to originate it. He can't forget that. It has stamped itself upon Mansell's memory, and when, after the assassination of Mrs. Clemmens, he recalls those words, he is convinced that she has slain Mrs. Clemmens to help him."

"But, Mr. Hickory," objected Mr. Ferris, "this assumes that Mr. Mansell is innocent, whereas we have exceedingly cogent proof that he is the guilty party. There is the circumstance of his leaving Widow Clemmens' house at five minutes to twelve."

To which Hickory, with a twinkle in his eye, replied:

"I won't discuss that; it hasn't been proved, you know. Miss Dare told you she saw him do this, but she wouldn't swear to it. Nothing is to be taken for granted against my man."

"Then you think Miss Dare spoke falsely?"

"I don't say that. I believe that whatever he did could be explained if we knew as much about it as he does. But I'm not called upon to explain any thing which has not appeared in the evidence against him."

"Well, then, we'll take the evidence. There is his ring, found on the scene of murder."

"Exactly," rejoined Hickory. "Dropped there, as he must suppose, by Miss Dare, because he didn't know she had secretly restored it to his pocket."

Mr. Ferris smiled.

"You don't see the force of the evidence," said he. "As she had restored it to his pocket, he must have been the one to drop it there."

"I am willing to admit he dropped it there, not that he killed Mrs. Clemmens. I am now speaking of his suspicions as to the assassin. When the betrothal ring was found there, he suspects Miss Dare of the crime, and nothing has occurred to change his suspicions."

"But," said the District Attorney, "how does your client, Mr. Mansell, get over this difficulty; that Miss Dare, who has committed a murder to put five thousand dollars into his pocket, immediately afterward turns round and accuses him of the crime – nay more, furnishes evidence against him!"

"You can't expect the same consistency from a woman as from a man. They can nerve themselves up one moment to any deed of desperation, and take every pains the next to conceal it by a lie."

"Men will do the same; then why not Mansell?"

"I am showing you why I know that Mansell believes Miss Dare guilty of a murder. To continue, then. What does he do when he hears that his aunt has been murdered? He scratches out the face of Miss Dare in a photograph; he ties up her letters with a black ribbon as if she were dead and gone to him. Then the scene in the Syracuse depot! The rule of three works both ways, Mr. Byrd, and if she left her home to solve her doubts, what shall be said of him? The recoil, too – was it less on his part than hers? And, if she had cause to gather guilt from his manner, had he not as much cause to gather it from hers? If his mind was full of suspicion when he met her, it became conviction before he left; and, bearing that fact in your mind, watch how he henceforth conducted himself. He does not come to Sibley; the woman he fears to encounter is there. He hears of Mr. Hildreth's arrest, reads of the discoveries which led to it, and keeps silent. So would any other man have done in his place, at least till he saw whether this arrest was likely to end in trial. But he cannot forget he had been in Sibley on the fatal day, or that there may be some one who saw his interview with Miss Dare. When Byrd comes to him, therefore, and tells him he is wanted in Sibley, his first question is, 'Am I wanted as a witness?' and, even you have acknowledged, Mr. Ferris, that he seemed surprised to find himself accused of the crime. But, accused, he takes his course and keeps to it. Brought to trial, he remembers the curious way in which he crossed the river, and thus cut short the road to the station; and, seeing in it great opportunities for a successful defence, chooses Mr. Orcutt for his counsel, and trusts the secret to him. The trial goes on; acquittal seems certain, when suddenly she is recalled to the stand, and he hears words which make him think she is going to betray him by some falsehood, when, instead of following the lead of the prosecution, she launches into a personal confession. What does he do? Why, rise and hold up his hand in a command for her to stop. But she does not heed, and the rest follows as a matter of course. The life she throws away he will not accept. He is innocent, but his defence is false! He says so, and leaves the jury to decide on the verdict. There can be no doubt," Hickory finally concluded, "that some of these circumstances are consistent only with his belief that Miss Dare is a murderess: such, for instance, as his scratching out her face in the picture. Others favor the theory in a less degree, but this is what I want to impress upon both your minds," he declared, turning first to Mr. Ferris and then to Mr. Byrd: "If any fact, no matter how slight, leads us to the conviction that Craik Mansell, at any time after the murder, entertained the belief that Miss Dare committed it, his innocence follows as a matter of course. For the guilty could never entertain a belief in the guilt of any other person."

"Yes," said Mr. Ferris, "I admit that, but we have got to see into Mr. Mansell's mind before we can tell what his belief really was."

"No," was Hickory's reply; "let us look at his actions. I say that that defaced picture is conclusive. One day he loves that woman and wants her to marry him; the next, he defaces her picture. Why? She had not offended him. Not a word, not a line, passes between them to cause him to commit this act. But he does hear of his aunt's murder, and he does recall her sinister promise: 'Wait; there is no telling what a day will bring forth.' I say that no other cause for his act is shown except his conviction that she is a murderess."

"But," persisted Mr. Ferris, "his leaving the house, as he acknowledges he did, by this unfrequented and circuitous road?"

"I have said before that I cannot explain his presence there, or his flight. All I am now called upon to show is, some fact inconsistent with any thing except a belief in this young woman's guilt. I claim I have shown it, and, as you admit, Mr. Ferris, if I show that, he is innocent."

"Yes," said Byrd, speaking for the first time; "but we have heard of people manufacturing evidence in their own behalf."

"Come, Byrd," replied Hickory, "you don't seriously mean to attack my position with that suggestion. How could a man dream of manufacturing evidence of such a character? A murderer manufactures evidence to throw suspicion on other people. No fool could suppose that scratching out the face of a girl in a photograph and locking it up in his own desk, would tend to bring her to the scaffold, or save him from it."

"And, yet," rejoined Byrd, "that very act acquits him in your eyes. All that is necessary is to give him credit for being smart enough to foresee that it would have such a tendency in the eyes of any person who discovered the picture."

"Then," said Hickory, "he would also have to foresee that she would accuse herself of murder when he was on trial for it, and that he would thereupon withdraw his defence. Byrd, you are foreseeing too much. My friend Mansell possesses no such power of looking into the future as that."

"Your friend Mansell!" repeated Mr. Ferris, with a smile. "If you were on his jury, I suppose your bias in his favor would lead you to acquit him of this crime?"

"I should declare him 'Not guilty,' and stick to it, if I had to be locked up for a year."

Mr. Ferris sank into an attitude of profound thought. Horace Byrd, impressed by this, looked at him anxiously.

"Have your convictions been shaken by Hickory's ingenious theory?" he ventured to inquire at last.

Mr. Ferris abstractedly replied:

"This is no time for me to state my convictions. It is enough that you comprehend my perplexity." And, relapsing into his former condition, he remained for a moment wrapped in silence, then he said: "Byrd, how comes it that the humpback who excited so much attention on the day of the murder was never found?"

Byrd, astonished, surveyed the District Attorney with a doubtful look that gradually changed into one of quiet satisfaction as he realized the significance of this recurrence to old theories and suspicions. His answer, however, was slightly embarrassed in tone, though frank enough to remind one of Hickory's blunt-spoken admissions.

"Well," said he, "I suppose the main reason is that I made no attempt to find him."

"Do you think that you were wise in that, Mr. Byrd?" inquired Mr. Ferris, with some severity.

Horace laughed.

"I can find him for you to-day, if you want him," he declared.

"You can? You know him, then?"

"Very well. Mr. Ferris," he courteously remarked, "I perhaps should have explained to you at the time, that I recognized this person and knew him to be an honest man; but the habits of secrecy in our profession are so fostered by the lives we lead, that we sometimes hold our tongue when it would be better for us to speak. The humpback who talked with us on the court-house steps the morning Mrs. Clemmens was murdered, was not what he seemed, sir. He was a detective; a detective in disguise; a man with whom I never presume to meddle – in other words, our famous Mr. Gryce."

"Gryce! – that man!" exclaimed Mr. Ferris, astounded.

"Yes, sir. He was in disguise, probably for some purpose of his own, but I knew his eye. Gryce's eye isn't to be mistaken by any one who has much to do with him."

"And that famous detective was actually on the spot at the time this murder was discovered, and you let him go without warning me of his presence?"

"Sir," returned Mr. Byrd, "neither you nor I nor any one at that time could foresee what a serious and complicated case this was going to be. Besides, he did not linger in this vicinity, but took the cars only a few minutes after he parted from us. I did not think he wanted to be dragged into this affair unless it was necessary. He had important matters of his own to look after. However, if suspicion had continued to follow him, I should have notified him of the fact, and let him speak for himself. But it vanished so quickly in the light of other developments, I just let the matter drop."

The impatient frown with which Mr. Ferris received this acknowledgment showed he was not pleased.

"I think you made a mistake," said he. Then, after a minute's thought, added: "You have seen Gryce since?"

"Yes, sir; several times."

"And he acknowledged himself to have been the humpback?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must have had some conversation with him, then, about this murder? He was too nearly concerned in it not to take some interest in the affair?"

"Yes, sir; Gryce takes an interest in all murder cases."

"Well, then, what did he have to say about this one? He gave an opinion, I suppose?"

"No, sir. Gryce never gives an opinion without study, and we detectives have no time to study up an affair not our own. If you want to know what Gryce thinks about a crime, you have got to put the case into his hands."

Mr. Ferris paused and seemed to ruminate. Seeing this, Mr. Byrd flushed and cast a side glance at Hickory, who returned him an expressive shrug.

"Mr. Ferris," ventured the former, "if you wish to consult with Mr. Gryce on this matter, do not hesitate because of us. Both Hickory and myself acknowledge we are more or less baffled by this case, and Gryce's judgment is a good thing to have in a perplexity."

"You think so?" queried the District Attorney.

"I do," said Byrd.

Mr. Ferris glanced at Hickory.

"Oh, have the old man here if you want him," was that detective's blunt reply. "I have nothing to say against your getting all the light you can on this affair."

"Very good," returned Mr. Ferris. "You may give me his address before you go."

"His address for to-night is Utica," observed Byrd. "He could be here before morning, if you wanted him."

"I am in no such hurry as that," returned Mr. Ferris, and he sank again into thought.

The detectives took advantage of his abstraction to utter a few private condolences in each other's ears.

"So it seems we are to be laid on the shelf," whispered Hickory.

"Yes, for which let us be thankful," answered Byrd.

"Why? Are you getting tired of the affair?"

"Yes."

A humorous twinkle shone for a minute in Hickory's eye.

"Pooh!" said he, "it's just getting interesting."

"Opinions differ," quoth Byrd.

"Not much," retorted Hickory.

Something in the way he said this made Byrd look at him more intently. He instantly changed his tone.

"Old fellow," said he, "you don't believe Miss Dare committed this crime any more than I do."

A sly twinkle answered him from the detective's half-shut eye.

"All that talk of having seen through your disguise in the hut is just nonsense on your part to cover up your real notion about it. What is that notion, Hickory? Come, out with it; let us understand each other thoroughly at last."

"Do I understand you?"

"You shall, when you tell me just what your convictions are in this matter."

"Well, then," replied Hickory, with a short glance at Mr. Ferris, "I believe (it's hard as pulling teeth to own it) that neither of them did it: that she thought him guilty and he thought her so, but that in reality the crime lies at the door of some third party totally disconnected with either of them."

"Such as Gouverneur Hildreth?" whispered Byrd.

"Such – as – Gouverneur Hildreth," drawled Hickory.

The two detectives eyed each other, smiled, and turned with relieved countenances toward the District Attorney. He was looking at them with great earnestness.

"That is your joint opinion?" he remarked.

"It is mine," cried Hickory, bringing his fist down on the table with a vim that made every individual article on it jump.

"It is and it is not mine," acquiesced Byrd, as the eye of Mr. Ferris turned in his direction. "Mr. Mansell may be innocent – indeed, after hearing Hickory's explanation of his conduct, I am ready to believe he is – but to say that Gouverneur Hildreth is guilty comes hard to me after the long struggle I have maintained in favor of his innocence. Yet, what other conclusion remains after an impartial view of the subject? None. Then why should I shrink from acknowledging I was at fault, or hesitate to admit a defeat where so many causes combined to mislead me?"

"Which means you agree with Hickory?" ventured the District Attorney.

Mr. Byrd slowly bowed.

Mr. Ferris continued for a moment looking alternately from one to the other; then he observed:

"When two such men unite in an opinion, it is at least worthy of consideration." And, rising, he took on an aspect of sudden determination. "Whatever may be the truth in regard to this matter," said he, "one duty is clear. Miss Dare, as you inform me, has been – with but little idea of the consequences, I am sure – allowed to remain under the impression that the interview which she held in the hut was with her lover. As her belief in the prisoner's guilt doubtless rests upon the admissions which were at that time made in her hearing, it is palpable that a grave injustice has been done both to her and to him by leaving this mistake of hers uncorrected. I therefore consider it due to Miss Dare, as well as to the prisoner, to undeceive her on this score before another hour has passed over our heads. I must therefore request you, Mr. Byrd, to bring the lady here. You will find her still in the court-house, I think, as she requested leave to remain in the room below till the crowd had left the streets."

Mr. Byrd, who, in the new light which had been thrown on the affair by his own and Hickory's suppositions, could not but see the justice of this, rose with alacrity to obey.

"I will bring her if she is in the building," he declared, hurriedly leaving the room.

"And if she is not," Mr. Ferris remarked, with a glance at the consciously rebuked Hickory, "we shall have to follow her to her home, that is all. I am determined to see this woman's mind cleared of all misapprehensions before I take another step in the way of my duty.

"

XXXVI.

A MISTAKE RECTIFIED

If circumstances lead me, I will findWhere truth is hid, though it were hid, indeed,Within the centre.                     – Hamlet.

IF Mr. Ferris, in seeking this interview with Miss Dare, had been influenced by any hope of finding her in an unsettled and hesitating state of mind, he was effectually undeceived, when, after a few minutes' absence, Mr. Byrd returned with her to his presence. Though her physical strength was nearly exhausted, and she looked quite pale and worn, there was a steady gleam in her eye, which spoke of an unshaken purpose.

Seeing it, and noting the forced humility with which she awaited his bidding at the threshold, the District Attorney, for the first time perhaps, realized the power of this great, if perverted, nature, and advancing with real kindness to the door, he greeted her with as much deference as he ever showed to ladies, and gravely pushed toward her a chair.

She did not take it. On the contrary, she drew back a step, and looked at him in some doubt, but a sudden glimpse of Hickory's sturdy figure in the corner seemed to reassure her, and merely stopping to acknowledge Mr. Ferris' courtesy by a bow, she glided forward and took her stand by the chair he had provided.

A short and, on his part, somewhat embarrassing pause followed. It was broken by her.

"You sent for me," she suggested. "You perhaps want some explanation of my conduct, or some assurance that the confession I made before the court to-day was true?"

If Mr. Ferris had needed any further proof than he had already received that Imogene Dare, in presenting herself before the world as a criminal, had been actuated by a spirit of devotion to the prisoner, he would have found it in the fervor and unconscious dignity with which she uttered these few words. But he needed no such proof. Giving her, therefore, a look full of grave significance, he replied:

"No, Miss Dare. After my experience of the ease with which you can contradict yourself in matters of the most serious import, you will pardon me if I say that the truth or falsehood of your words must be arrived at by some other means than any you yourself can offer. My business with you at this time is of an entirely different nature. Instead of listening to further confessions from you, it has become my duty to offer one myself. Not on my own behalf," he made haste to explain, as she looked up, startled, "but on account of these men, who, in their anxiety to find out who murdered Mrs. Clemmens, made use of means and resorted to deceptions which, if their superiors had been consulted, would not have been countenanced for a moment."

"I do not understand," she murmured, looking at the two detectives with a wonder that suddenly merged into alarm as she noticed the embarrassment of the one and the decided discomfiture of the other.

Mr. Ferris at once resumed:

"In the weeks that have elapsed since the commission of this crime, it has been my lot to subject you to much mental misery, Miss Dare. Provided by yourself with a possible clue to the murder, I have probed the matter with an unsparing hand. Heedless of the pain I was inflicting, or the desperation to which I was driving you, I asked you questions and pressed you for facts as long as there seemed questions to ask or facts to be gained. My duty and the claims of my position demanded this, and for it I can make no excuse, notwithstanding the unhappy results that have ensued. But, Miss Dare, whatever anxiety I may have shown in procuring the conviction of a man I believed to be a criminal, I have never wished to win my case at the expense of justice and right; and had I been told before you came to the stand that you had been made the victim of a deception calculated to influence your judgment, I should have hastened to set you right with the same anxiety as I do now."

"Sir – sir – " she began.

But Mr. Ferris would not listen.

"Miss Dare," he proceeded with all the gravity of conviction, "you have uttered a deliberate perjury in the court-room to-day. You said that you alone were responsible for the murder of Mrs. Clemmens, whereas you not only did not commit the crime yourself but were not even an accessory to it. Wait!" he commanded, as she flashed upon him a look full of denial, "I would rather you did not speak. The motive for this calumny you uttered upon yourself lies in a fact which may be modified by what I have to reveal. Hear me, then, before you stain yourself still further by a falsehood you will not only be unable to maintain, but which you may no longer see reason for insisting upon. Hickory, turn around so Miss Dare can see your face. Miss Dare, when you saw fit to call upon this man to upbear you in the extraordinary statements you made to-day, did you realize that in doing this you appealed to the one person best qualified to prove the falsehood of what you had said? I see you did not; yet it is so. He if no other can testify that a few weeks ago, no idea of taking this crime upon your own shoulders had ever crossed your mind; that, on the contrary, your whole heart was filled with sorrow for the supposed guilt of another, and plans for inducing that other to make a confession of his guilt before the world."

"This man!" was her startled exclamation. "It is not possible; I do not know him; he does not know me. I never talked with him but once in my life, and that was to say words I am not only willing but anxious for him to repeat."

"Miss Dare," the District Attorney pursued, "when you say this you show how completely you have been deceived. The conversation to which you allude is not the only one which has passed between you two. Though you did not know it, you held a talk with this man at a time in which you so completely discovered the secrets of your heart, you can never hope to deceive us or the world by any story of personal guilt which you may see fit to manufacture."

"I reveal my heart to this man!" she repeated, in a maze of doubt and terror that left her almost unable to stand. "You are playing with my misery, Mr. Ferris."

The District Attorney took a different tone.

"Miss Dare," he asked, "do you remember a certain interview you held with a gentleman in the hut back of Mrs. Clemmens' house, a short time after the murder?"

"Did this man overhear my words that day?" she murmured, reaching out her hand to steady herself by the back of the chair near which she was standing.

"Your words that day were addressed to this man."