IX
EXCERPTS
One of the lodgers at the Claymore Inn had great cause for complaint thenext morning. A restless tramping over his head had kept him awake allnight. That it was intermittent had made it all the more intolerable.Just when he thought it had stopped, it would start up again,--to andfro, to and fro, as regular as clockwork and much more disturbing.
But the complaint never reached Mrs. Averill. The landlady had beenrestless herself. Indeed, the night had been one of thought and feelingto more than one person in whom we are interested. The feeling we canunderstand; the thought--that is, Mrs. Averill's thought--we should dowell to follow.
The one great question which had agitated her was this: Should she trustthe judge? Ever since the discovery which had changed Reuther'sprospects, she had instinctively looked to this one source for aid andsympathy. Her reasons she has already given. His bearing during thetrial, the compunction he showed in uttering her husband's sentence weresufficient proof to her that for all his natural revulsion against thecrime which had robbed him of his dearest friend, he was the victim ofan undercurrent of sympathy for the accused which could mean but onething--a doubt of the prisoner's actual guilt.
But her faith had been sorely shaken in the interview just related. Hewas not the friend she had hoped to find. He had insisted upon herhusband's guilt, when she had expected consideration and a thoughtfulrecapitulation of the evidence; and he had remained unmoved, or but verylittle moved, by the disappointment of his son--his only remaining linkto life.
Why? Was the alienation between these two so complete as to block outnatural sympathy? Had the separation of years rendered them callous toevery mutual impression? She dwelt in tenderness upon the bond unitingherself and Reuther and could not believe in such unresponsiveness. Noparent could carry resentment or even righteous anger so far as that.Judge Ostrander might seem cold,--both manner and temper would naturallybe much affected by his unique and solitary mode of life,--but at hearthe must love Oliver. It was not in nature for it to be otherwise. Andyet--
It was at this point in her musing that there came one of the breaks inher restless pacing. She was always of an impulsive temperament, andalways giving way to it. Sitting down before paper and ink she wrote thefollowing lines:
My Darling if Unhappy Child:
I know that this sudden journey on my part must strike you as cruel, when, if ever, you need your mother's presence and care. But the love I feel for you, my Reuther, is deep enough to cause you momentary pain for the sake of the great good I hope to bring you out of this shadowy quest. I believe, what I said to you on leaving, that a great injustice was done your father. Feeling so, shall I remain quiescent and see youth and love slip from you, without any effort on my part to set this matter straight? I cannot. I have done you the wrong of silence when knowledge would have saved you shock and bitter disillusion, but I will not add to my fault the inertia of a cowardly soul. Have patience with me, then; and continue to cherish those treasures of truth and affection which you may one day feel free to bestow once more upon one who has a right to each and all of them.
This is your mother's prayer.
DEBORAH SCOVILLE.
It was not easy for her to sign herself thus. It was a name which shehad tried her best to forget for twelve long, preoccupied years. But howcould she use any other in addressing her daughter who had alreadydeclared her intention of resuming her father's name, despite theopprobrium it carried and the everlasting bar it must in itself raisebetween herself and Oliver Ostrander?
Deborah Scoville!
A groan broke from her lips as she rapidly folded that name in, and hidit out of sight in the envelope she as rapidly addressed.
But her purpose had been accomplished, or would be when once this letterreached Reuther. With these words in declaration against her she couldnot retreat from the stand she had therein taken. It was anotherinstance of burning one's ships upon disembarking, and the effect madeupon the writer showed itself at once in her altered manner. Henceforth,the question should be not what awaited her, but how she should show herstrength in face of the opposition she now expected to meet from thisclear-minded, amply equipped lawyer and judge she had called to her aid.
AFTER ONE LOOK HE ASSUMED SOME SHOW OF HIS OLDCOMMANDING PRESENCE AND ADVANCED BRAVELY DOWN THE STEPS.]
"A task for his equal, not for an ignorant, untried woman like myself,"she thought; and, following another of her impulses, she leaped from herseat at the table and rushed across to her dresser on which she placedtwo candles, one at her right and another at her left. Then she sat downbetween them and in the stillness of midnight surveyed herself in theglass, as she might survey the face of a stranger.
What did she see? A countenance no longer young, and yet with some ofthe charm of youth still lingering in the brooding eyes and in thedangerous curves of a mobile and expressive mouth. But it was not forcharm she was looking, but for some signs of power quite apart from thatof sex. Did her face express intellect, persistence and, above all,courage? The brow was good;--she would so characterise it in another.Surely a woman with such a forehead might do something even againstodds. Nor was her chin weak; sometimes she had thought it too pronouncedfor beauty; but what had she to do with beauty now? And the neck soproudly erect! the heaving breast! the heart all aflame! Defeat is notfor such; or only such defeat as bears within it the germ of futurevictory.
Is her reading correct? Time will prove. Meanwhile she will haveconfidence in herself, and that this confidence might be well foundedshe decided to spend the rest of the night in formulating her plans andlaying out her imaginary campaign.
Leaving the dresser she recommenced that rapid walking to and fro whichwas working such havoc in the nerves of the man in the room below her.When she paused, it was to ransack a trunk and bring out a flat walletfilled with newspaper clippings, many of them discoloured by time, andall of them showing marks of frequent handling.
A handling now to be repeated. For after a few moments spent inarranging them, she deliberately set about their complete reperusal, atask in which it has now become necessary for us to join her.
The first was black with old head-lines:
CRIME IN DARK HOLLOW]
CRIME IN DARK HOLLOW
----
Algernon Etheridge, One of Our Most EsteemedCitizens, Waylaid and Murdered at Long Bridge.
----
A DIRECT CLUE TO THE MURDERER
----
The Stick With Which the Crime was Committed Easily Traced to Its Owner. The Landlord of Claymore Tavern in the Toils. He Denies His Guilt But Submits Sullenly to Arrest.
Particulars followed.
"Last evening Shelby's clean record was blackened by outrageous crime.Some time after nightfall a carter was driving home by Factory Road,when just as he was nearing Long Bridge one of his horses shied soviolently that he barely escaped being thrown from his seat. As he hadnever known the animal to shy like this before, he was curious enough toget down and look about him for the cause. Dark Hollow is never light,but it is impenetrable after dark, and not being able to see anything,he knelt down in the road and began to feel about with his hand. Thisbrought results. In a few moments he came upon the body of a man lyingwithout movement, and seemingly without life.
"Long Bridge is not a favourite spot at night, and, knowing that in allprobability an hour might elapse before assistance would arrive in theshape of another passer-by, he decided to carry his story straight toClaymore Tavern. Afterwards he was heard to declare that it wasfortunate his horses were headed that way instead of the other, or hemight have missed seeing the skulking figure which slipped down into theravine as he made the turn at the far end of the bridge--a figure whichhad no other response to his loud 'Hola!' than a short cough, hurriedlychoked back. He could not see the face o
r identify the figure, but heknew the cough. He had heard it a hundred times; and, saying to himself,'I'll find fellers enough at the tavern, but there's one I won't findthere and that's John Scoville,' he whipped his horse up the hill andtook the road to Claymore.
"And he was right. A dozen fellows started up at his call, but Scovillewas not among them. He had been out for two hours; which the carterhaving heard, he looked down, but said nothing except 'Come along, boys!I'll drive you to the turn of the bridge.'
"But just as they were starting Scoville appeared. He was hatless anddishevelled and reeled heavily with liquor. He also tried to smile,which made the carter lean quickly down and with very little ceremonydrag him up into the cart. So with Scoville amongst them they rodequickly back to the bridge, the landlord coughing, the men all grimlysilent.
"In crossing the bridge he made more than one effort to escape, but themen were determined, and when they finally stooped over the man lying inDark Hollow, he was in their midst and was forced to stoop also.
"One flash of the lantern told the dismal tale. The man was not onlydead, but murdered. His forehead had been battered in with a knottedstick; all his pockets hung out empty; and from the general disorder ofhis dress it was evident that his watch had been torn away by a ruthlesshand. But the face they failed to recognise till some people, runningdown from the upper town where the alarm had by this time spread, sentup the shout of 'It's Mr. Etheridge! Judge Ostrander's great friend. Letsome one run and notify the judge.'
"But the fact was settled long before the judge came upon the scene, andanother fact too. In beating the bushes, they had lighted on a heavystick. When it was brought forward and held under the strong light madeby a circle of lanterns, a big movement took place in the crowd. Thestick had been recognised. Indeed, it was well known to all the Claymoremen. They had seen it in Scoville's hands a dozen times. Even he couldnot deny its ownership; explaining, or trying to, that he had been inthe ravine looking for this stick only a little while before, andadding, as he met their eyes:
"'I lost it in these woods this afternoon. I hadn't anything to do withthis killing.'
"He had not been accused; but he found it impossible to escape afterthis, and when at the instance of Coroner Haines he was carefully lookedover and a small red ribbon found in one of his pockets, he wasimmediately put under arrest and taken to the city lock-up. For theribbon had been identified as well as the stick. Oliver Ostrander, whohad accompanied his father to the scene of crime, declared that he hadobserved it that very afternoon, dangling from one end of Mr.Etheridge's watch-chain where it had been used to fasten temporarily abroken link.
"As we go to press we hear that Judge Ostrander has been prostrated bythis blow. The deceased had been playing chess up at his house, and intaking the short cut home had met with his death.
"Long Bridge should be provided with lights. It is a dangerous place forfoot passengers on a dark night."
A later paragraph.
"The detectives were busy this morning, going over the whole ground inthe vicinity of the bridge.
"They were rewarded by two important discoveries. The impression of afoot in a certain soft place halfway up the bluff; and a small heap offresh earth nearby which, on being dug into, revealed the watch of themurdered man. The broken chain lay with it.
"The footprint has been measured. It coincides exactly with the shoeworn that night by the suspect.
"The case will be laid before the Grand Jury next week."
* * * * *
"The prisoner continues to deny his guilt. The story he gives out is tothe effect that he left the tavern some few minutes before seveno'clock, to look for his child who had wandered into the ravine. That heentered the woods from the road running by his house, and was searchingthe bushes skirting the stream when he heard little Reuther's shout fromsomewhere up on the bluff. He had his stick with him, for he never wentout without it, but, finding it in his way, he leaned it against a treeand went plunging up the bluff without it. Why he didn't call out thechild's name he doesn't know; he guessed he thought he would surpriseher; and why, when he got to the top of the bluff and didn't find her,he should turn about for his stick instead of hunting for her on theroad, he also fails to explain, saying again, he doesn't know. Whatcircumstances force him to tell and what he declares to be true is this:That instead of going back diagonally through the woods to the lonechestnut where he had left his stick, he crossed the bridge and took thepath running along the edge of the ravine: That in doing this he cameupon the body of a man in the black recesses of the Hollow, a man soevidently beyond all help that he would have hurried by without a secondlook if it had not been for the watch he saw lying on the ground closeto the dead man's side. It was a very fine watch, and it seemed liketempting Providence to leave it lying there exposed to the view of anychance tramp who might come along. It seemed better for him to take itinto his own charge till he found some responsible person willing tocarry it to Police Headquarters. So, without stopping to consider whatthe consequences might be to himself, he tore it away by the chain fromthe hold it had on the dead man's coat and put it in his pocket. He alsotook some other little things; after which he fled away into town, wherethe sight of a saloon was too much for him and he went in to have adrink to take the horrors out of him. Since then, the detectives havefollowed all his movements and know just how much liquor he drank and towhom, in tipsy bravado, he showed the contents of his pockets. But hewasn't so far gone as not to have moments of apprehension when hethought of the dead man lying with his feet in Dark Hollow, and of thehue and cry which would soon be raised, and what folks might think ifthat accursed watch he had taken so innocently should be found in hispocket. Finally his fears overcame his scruples, and, starting for home,he stopped at the bluff, meaning to run down over the bridge and dropthe watch as near as possible to the spot where he had found it. But ashe turned to descend, he heard a team approaching from the other sideand, terrified still more, he dashed into the woods, and, tearing up theground with his hands, buried his booty in the loose soil, and made forhome. Even then he had no intention of appropriating the watch, only ofsafe-guarding himself, nor did he have any hand at all in the murder ofMr. Etheridge. This he would swear to; also, to the leaving of the stickwhere he said.
"It is understood that in case of his indictment, his lawyer will followthe line of defence thus indicated."
* * * * *
"To-day, John Scoville was taken to the tree where he insists he lefthis stick. It is a big chestnut some hundred and fifty feet beyond thepoint where the ravine turns west. It has a big enough trunk for a stickto stand upright against it, as was shown by Inspector Snow who hadcharge of this affair. But we are told that after demonstrating thisfact with the same bludgeon which had done its bloody work in theHollow, the prisoner showed a sudden interest in this weapon and beggedto see it closer. This being granted, he pointed out where a splinter ortwo had been freshly whittled from the handle, and declared that noknife had touched it while it remained in his hands. But, as he had noevidence to support this statement (a knife having been found amongstthe other effects taken from his pocket at the time of his arrest), theimpression made by this declaration is not likely to go far towardsinfluencing public opinion in his favour.
"A true bill was found to-day against John Scoville for the murder ofAlgernon Etheridge."
* * * * *
A third clipping:
"We feel it our duty, as the one independent paper of this city, toinsist upon the right of a man to the consideration of the public till ajury of his peers has pronounced upon his guilt and thus rendered him acriminal before the law. The way our hitherto sufficiently respectedcitizen, John Scoville, has been maligned and his every fault andfailing magnified for the delectation of a greedy public is unworthy ofa Christian community. No man saw him kill Algernon Etheridge, and hehimself denies most strenuously that he did so, yet from the f
irstmoment of his arrest till now, not a voice has been raised in hisfavour, or the least account taken of his defence. Yet he is the husbandof an estimable wife and the father of a child of such exceptionalloveliness that she has been the petted darling of high and low eversince John Scoville became the proprietor of Claymore Tavern.
"Give the man a chance. It is our wish to see justice vindicated and theguilty punished; but not before the jury has pronounced its verdict."
"The Star was his only friend," sighed Deborah Scoville, as she laidthis clipping aside and took up another headed by a picture of herhusband. This picture she subjected to the same scrutiny she had justgiven to her own reflection in the glass: "Seeing him anew," as she saidto herself, "after all these years of determined forgetfulness."
It was not an unhandsome face. Indeed, it was his good looks which hadprevailed over her judgment in the early days of their courtship.Reuther had inherited her harmony of feature from him,--the chisellednose, the well-modelled chin, and all the other physical graces whichhad made him a fine figure behind his bar. But even with the softeningof her feelings towards him since she had thus set herself up in hisdefence, Deborah could not fail to perceive under all these surfaceattractions an expression of unreliability, or, as some would say, ofactual cruelty. Ruddy-haired and fair of skin, he should have had anoptimistic temperament; but, on the contrary, he was of a gloomy nature,and only infrequently social. No company was better for his being in it.Never had she seen any man sit out the evening with him without effort.Yet the house had prospered. How often had she said to herself, innoting these facts: "Yet the house prospers!" There was always money inthe till even when the patronage was small. Their difficulties werenever financial ones. She was still living on the proceeds of what theyhad laid by in those old days.
Her mind continued to plunge back. He had had no business worries; yethis temper was always uncertain. She had not often suffered from itherself, for her ascendency over men extended even to him. But Reutherhad shrunk before it more than once--the gentle Reuther, who was therefined, the etherealised picture of himself. And he had loved the childas well as he could love anybody. Great gusts of fondness would comeover him at times, and then he would pet and cajole the child almostbeyond a parent's prerogative. But he was capable of striking hertoo--had struck her frequently. And for nothing--an innocent look; ashrinking movement; a smile when he wasn't in the mood for smiles. Itwas for this Deborah had hated him; and it was for this the mother inher now held him responsible for the doubts which had shadowed theirfinal parting. Was not the man, who could bring his hand down upon sofrail and exquisite a creature as Reuther was in those days, capable ofany act of violence? Yes; but in this case he had been guiltless. Shecould not but concede this even while yielding to extreme revulsion asshe laid his picture aside.
* * * * *
The next slip she took up contained an eulogy of the victim.
"The sudden death of Algernon Etheridge has been in more than one sensea great shock to the community. Though a man of passive rather thanactive qualities, his scholarly figure, long, lean and bowed, has beenseen too often in our streets not to be missed, when thus suddenlywithdrawn. His method of living; the rigid habits of an almost asceticlife; such an hour for this thing, such an hour for that--his smile,which made you soon forget his irascibility and pride of learning; madeup a character unique in our town and one that we can ill afford tospare. The closed doors of the little cottage, so associated with hisname that it will be hard to imagine it occupied by any one else,possess a pathos of their own which is felt by young and old alike. Thegate that never would latch, the garden, where at a stated hour in themorning his bowed figure would always be seen hoeing or weeding orraking, the windows without curtains showing the stacks of books within,are eloquent of a presence gone, which can never be duplicated. Alone onits desolate corner, it seems to mourn the child, the boy, the man whogave it life, and made it, in its simplicity, more noted and morefrequently pointed at than any other house in town.
"Why he should have become the target of Fate is one of the mysteries oflife. His watch, which aside from his books was his most valuablepossession, was the gift of Judge Ostrander. That it should beassociated in any way with the tragic circumstances of his death is asource of the deepest regret to the unhappy donor."
* * * * *
This excerpt she hardly looked at; but the following she studiedcarefully:
"Judge Ostrander has from the first expressed a strong desire that someassociate judge should be called upon to preside over the trial of JohnScoville for the murder of Algernon Etheridge. But Judge Saunders'sudden illness and Judge Dole's departure for Europe have put an end tothese hopes. Judge Ostrander will take his seat on the bench as usualnext Monday. Fortunately for the accused, his well-known judicial mindwill prevent any unfair treatment of the defence."
* * * * *
"The prosecution, in the able hands of District Attorney Foss, made allits points this morning. Unless the defence has some very strong plea inthe background, the verdict seems foredoomed. A dogged look has replacedthe callous and indifferent sneer on the prisoner's face, and sympathy,if sympathy there is, is centred entirely upon the wife, the able,agreeable and bitterly humiliated landlady of Claymore Tavern. She it iswho has attracted the most attention during this trial, little as sheseems to court it."
* * * * *
"Only one new detail of evidence was laid before the jury to-day.Scoville has been known for some time to have a great hankering after arepeating watch. He had once seen that of Algernon Etheridge, and wasnever tired of talking about it. Several witnesses testified to hisvarious remarks on this subject. Thus the motive for his dastardlyassault upon an unoffending citizen, which to many minds has seemedlacking, has been supplied.
"The full particulars of this day's proceedings will be found below."
* * * * *
We omit these to save repetition; but they were very carefully conned byDeborah Scoville. Also the following:
"The defence is in a line with the statement already given out. Theprisoner acknowledges taking the watch but from motives quite opposed tothose of thievery. Unfortunately he can produce no witnesses tosubstantiate his declaration that he had heard voices in the directionof the bridge while he was wandering the woods in search of his lostchild. No evidence of any other presence there is promised or likely tobe produced. It was thought that when his wife was called to the standshe might have something to say helpful to his case. She had been theone to ultimately find and lead home the child, and, silent as she hadbeen up to this time, it has been thought possible that she might swearto having heard these voices also.
"But her testimony was very disappointing. She had seen nobody, heardnobody but the child whom she had found playing with stones in the oldruin. Though by a close calculation of time she could not have been farfrom Dark Hollow at the instant of the crime, yet neither on direct orcross-examination could anything more be elicited from her than what hasbeen mentioned above. Nevertheless, we feel obliged to state that,irreproachable as her conduct was on the stand, the impression she madewas, on the whole, whether intentionally or unintentionally,unfavourable to her husband.
"Some anxiety was felt during the morning session that an adjournmentwould have to be called, owing to some slight signs of indisposition onthe part of the presiding judge. But he rallied very speedily, and theproceedings continued without interruption."
* * * * *
"Ah!"
The exclamation escaped the lips of Deborah Scoville as she laid thisclipping aside. "I remember his appearance well. He had the ghost of oneof those attacks, the full force of which I was a witness to thismorning. I am sure of this now, though nobody thought of it then. Ihappened to glance his way as I left the stand, and he was certainly forone minute without consciousnes
s of himself or his surroundings. But itpassed so quickly it drew little attention; not so, the attack ofto-day. What a misfortune rests upon this man. Will they let himcontinue on the bench when his full condition is known?" These were herthoughts, as she recalled that day and compared it with the present.
There were other slips, which she read but which we may pass by. Thefate of the prisoner was in the hands of a jury. The possibilitysuggested by the defence made no appeal to men who had the unfortunateprisoner under their eye at every stage of the proceedings. The shiftyeye, the hang-dog look, outweighed the plea of his counsel and the callfor strict impartiality from the bench. He was adjudged guilty of murderin the first degree, and sentence called for.
This was the end; and as she read these words, the horror whichoverwhelmed her was infinitely greater than when she heard them utteredin that fatal court room. For then she regarded him as guilty anddeserving his fate and now she knew him to be innocent.
Well, well! too much dwelling on this point would only unfit her forwhat lay before her on the morrow. She would read no more. Sleep were abetter preparation for her second interview with the judge than thisreconsideration of facts already known to their last detail.
Alas, when her eyelids finally obeyed the dictates of her will, thefirst glimmering rays of dawn were beginning to scatter the gloom of herdarkened chamber!