XXIII
THE CONFESSION
Dorgan was putting up a bold fight, at any rate. Everyone, and most ofall his opponents who had once thought they had him on the run, wasforced to admit that. Moreover, one could not help wondering at hisaudacity, whatever might be the opinion of his dishonesty.
But I was quite as much struck by the nerve of Carton. In the face ofgathering misfortunes many a man of less stern mettle might have goneto pieces. Not so with the fighting District Attorney. It seemed tospur him on to greater efforts.
It was a titanic struggle, this between Carton and Dorgan, and hadreached the point where quarter was given or asked by neither.
Kennedy had retired to his laboratory with the photographs and wasstudying them with an increasing interest.
It was toward the close of the afternoon when the telephone rang andKennedy motioned to me to answer it.
"If it's Carton," he said quickly, "tell him I'm not here. I'm notready for him yet and I can't be interrupted."
I took down the receiver, prepared to perjure my immortal soul. It wasindeed Carton, bursting with news and demanding to see Kennedyimmediately.
Almost before I had finished with the carefully framed, glib excusethat I was to make, he shouted to me over the wire, "What do you think,Jameson? Tell him to come down right away. The impossible has happened.I have got under Dopey Jack's guard--he has confessed. It's big. TellKennedy I'll wait here at my office until he comes."
He had hung up the receiver before I could question him further. Ithink it cured Kennedy, temporarily of asking me to fib for him overthe telephone. He was as anxious as I to see Carton, now, and plungedinto the remaining work on the photographs eagerly.
He finished much sooner than he would, otherwise, and only to preservethe decency of the excuse that I had made did not hasten down to theCriminal Courts Building before a reasonable time had elapsed. As weentered Carton's office we could tell from the very atmosphere of thehalls that something was happening. The reporters in their little roomoutside were on the qui vive and I heard a whisper and a busyscratching of pencils as we passed in and the presence of someone elsein the District Attorney's office was noted.
Carton met us in a little ante-room. He was all excitement himself, butI could see that it was a clouded triumph. His mind was reallyelsewhere than on the confession that he was getting. Although he didnot ask us, I knew that he was thinking only of Margaret Ashton and howto regain the ground that he had apparently lost with her. Still, hesaid nothing about the photographs. I wondered whether it was becauseof his confidence that Kennedy would pull him through.
"You know," he whispered, "I have been working with my assistants onDopey Jack ever since the conviction, hoping to get a confession fromhim, holding out all sorts of promises if he would turn state'sevidence and threats if he didn't. It all had no effect. But Murtha'sdeath seems to have changed all that. I don't know why--whether hethinks it was due to foul play or not, for he won't say anything aboutthat and evidently doesn't know--but it seems to have changed him."
Carton said it as though at last a ray of light had struck in on anotherwise black situation, and that was indeed the case.
"I suppose," suggested Craig, "that as long as Murtha was alive hewould rather have died than say anything that would incriminate him.That's the law of the gang world. But with Murtha no longer to beshielded, perhaps he feels released. Besides, it must begin to look tohim as though the organization had abandoned him and was letting himshift pretty much for himself."
"That's it," agreed Carton. "He has never got it out of his head thatKahn swung the case against him and I've been careful not to dwell onthe truth of that Kahn episode."
Carton led us into his main office, where Rubano was seated with two ofCarton's assistants who were quizzing him industriously and obtainingan amazing amount of information about gang life and politicalcorruption. In fact, like most criminals when they do confess, DopeyJack was in danger of confessing too much, in sheer pride at his ownprowess as a bad man.
Outside, I knew that it was being well noised abroad, in fact I hadnodded to an old friend on the Star who had whispered to me that theeditor had already called him up and offered to give Rubano any sum fora series of articles for the Sunday supplement on life in theunderworld. I knew, then, that the organization had heard of it, bythis time--too late.
Most of the confession was completed by the time we arrived, but as ithad all been carefully taken down we knew we had missed nothing.
"You see, Mr. Carton," Rubano was saying as we three entered and heturned from the assistant who was quizzing him, "it's like this. Ican't tell you all about the System. No one can. You understand that.All any of us know is the men next to us--above and below. We may haveopinions, hear gossip, but that's no good as evidence."
"I understand," reassured Carton. "I don't expect that. You must tellme the gossip and rumours, but all I am bartering a pardon for is whatyou really know, and you've got to make good, or the deal is off, see?"
He said it in a tone that Dopey Jack could understand and the gangsterprotested. "Well, Mr. Carton, haven't I made good?"
"You have so far," grudgingly admitted Carton who was greedy foreverything down to the uttermost scrap that might lead to other things."Now, who was the man above you, to whom you reported?"
"Mr. Murtha, of course," replied Jack, surprised that anyone should askso simple a question.
"That's all right," explained Carton. "I knew it, but I wanted you onrecord as saying it. And above Murtha?"
"Why, you know it is Dorgan," replied Dopey, "only, as I say, I can'tprove that for you any better than you can."
"He has already told about his associates and those he had workingunder him," explained Carton, turning to us. "Now Langhorne--what doyou know about him?"
"Know about Langhorne--the fellow that was--that I robbed?" repeatedJack.
"You robbed?" cut in Kennedy. "So you knew about thermit, then?"
Dopey smiled with a sort of pride in his work, much as if he hadreceived a splendid recommendation.
"Yes," he replied. "I knew about it--got it from a peterman who hasstudied safes and all that sort of thing. I heard he had some secret,so one night I takes him up to Farrell's and gets him stewed and hetells me. Then when I wants to use it, bingo! there I am with thegoods."
"And the girl--Betty Blackwell--what did she have to do with it?"pursued Craig. "Did you get into the office, learn Langhorne's habits,and so on, from her?"
Dopey Jack looked at us in disgust. "Say," he replied, "if I wanted askirt to help me in such a job, believe me I know plenty that could putit all over that girl. Naw, I did it all myself. I picked the lock,burnt the safe with that powder the guy give me, and took out somethingin soft leather, a lot of typewriting."
We were all on our feet in unrestrained excitement. It was the BlackBook at last!
"Yes," prompted Carton, "and what then--what did you do with it?"
"Gave it to Mr. Murtha, of course," came back the matter-of-fact answerof the young tough.
"What did he do with it?" demanded Carton.
Dopey Jack shook his head dubiously. "It ain't no use trying to kidyou, Mr. Carton. If I told you a fake you'd find it out. I'd tell youwhat he did, if I knew, but I don't--on the level. He just took it.Maybe he burnt it--I don't know. I did my work."
Unprincipled as the young man was, I could not help the feeling that inthis case he was telling only the truth as he knew it.
We looked at each other aghast. What if Murtha had got it and haddestroyed it before his death? That was an end of the dreams we hadbuilt on its capture. On the other hand, if he had hidden it there wassmall likelihood now of finding it. The only chance, as far as I couldsee, was that he had passed it along to someone else. And of that DopeyJack obviously knew nothing.
Still, his information was quite valuable enough. He had given us thefirst definite information we had received of it.
Carton, his assistants, and Kennedy n
ow vigorously proceeded in a sortof kid glove third degree, without getting any further than convincingthemselves that Rubano genuinely did not know.
"But the stenographer," reiterated Carton, returning to the line ofattack which he had temporarily abandoned. "Something became of her.She disappeared and even her family haven't a trace of her, nor anyother institutions in the city. We've got something on you, there,Rubano."
Jack laughed. "Mr. Carton," he answered easily, "the police put methrough the mill on that without finding anything, and I don't believeyou have anything. But just to show you that I'm on the square withyou, I don't mind telling you that I got her away."
It was dramatic, the off-hand way in which the gangster told of thismystery that had perplexed us.
"Got her away--how--where?" demanded Carton fiercely.
"Mr Murtha gave me some money--a wad. I don't know who gave it to him,but it wasn't his money. It was to pay her to stay away till this allblew over. Oh, they made it worth her while. So I dolled up and sawher--and she fell for it--a pretty good sized wad," he repeated, asthough he wished some of it had stuck to his own hands.
We fairly gasped at the ease and simplicity with which the fellowbandied facts that had been beyond our discovery for days. Here wasanother link in our chain. We could not prove it, but in allprobability it was Dorgan who furnished the money. Even if the BlackBook were lost, it was possible that in the retentive memory of thisgirl there might be much that would take its place. She had seen achance for providing for the future of herself and her family. All shehad to do was to take it and keep quiet.
"You know where she is, then?" shot out Kennedy suddenly.
"No--not now," returned Dopey. "She was told to meet me at the LittleMontmartre. She did. I don't think she knew what kind of place it was,or she wouldn't have come."
He paused, as though he had something on his mind.
"Go on," urged Kennedy. "Tell all. You must tell all."
"I was just thinking," he hesitated. "I remember I saw Ike the Dropperand Marie Margot there that day, too, with Martin Ogleby--"
"Martin Ogleby!" interrupted Carton in surprise.
"Yes, Martin Ogleby. He hangs about the Montmartre and the Futurist,all those joints. Say--I've been thinking a heap since this case ofmine came up. I wonder whether it was all on the level--with me. I gavethe money. But was that a stall? Perhaps they tried to get back.Perhaps she played into their hands--I saw her watching the sports,there, and believe me, there are some swell lookers. Oh well, _I_ don'tknow. All I know is my part. I don't know anything that happened afterthat. I can't tell what I don't know, can I, Mr. Carton?"
"Not very well," smiled the prosecutor. "But you can tell us anythingyou suspect."
"I don't know what I suspect. I was only a part of the machine. Onlyafter I read that she disappeared, I began to think there might havebeen some funny business--I don't know."
Eager as we were, we could only accept this unsatisfactory explanationof the whereabouts of Betty.
"After all, I was only a part," reiterated Jack. "You better askIke--that's all."
Just then the telephone buzzed. Carton was busy and Kennedy, whohappened to be nearest, answered it. I fancied that there was a puzzledexpression on his face, as he placed his hand over the transmitter andsaid to Carton, "Here--it's for you. Take it. By the way, where's thatthing I left down here for recording voices?"
"Here in my desk. But you took the cylinder with you."
"Haven't you got another? Don't you ever use them for dictatingletters?"
Carton nodded and sent his stenographer to get a new one.
"Just a minute, please," cut in Kennedy. "Mr. Carton will be here in afew moments, now."
Carton took the telephone and placed his hand over it, until, with anod from Kennedy as he affixed the machine, he answered.
"Yes--this is the District Attorney," we heard him answer. "What?Rubano? Why you can't talk to him. He's a convicted man. Here? How doyou know he's here? No--I wouldn't let you talk to him if he was. Whoare you, anyway? What's that--you threaten him--you threaten me? You'llget us both, will you? Well, I want to tell you, you can go plumb--thedeuce! The fellow's cut himself off!"
As Carton finished, a peculiar smile played about Rubano's features. "Iexpected that, but not so soon," he said quietly. "New York'll be noplace for me, Mr. Carton, after this. You've got to keep your word andsmuggle me out. South Africa, you know--you promised."
"I'll keep my word, Rubano, too," assured Carton. "The nerve of thatfellow. Where's Kennedy?"
We looked about. Craig had slipped out quietly during the telephoneconversation. Before we could start a search for him, he returned.
"I thought there was something peculiar about the voice," he explained."That was why I wanted a record of it. While you were talking I gotyour switchboard operator to connect me with central on another wire.The call was from a pay station on the west side. There wasn't a chanceto get the fellow, of course--but I have the voice record, anyhow."
Dopey Jack's confession occupied most of the evening and it was latewhen we got away. Carton was overjoyed at the result of his pressure,and eager to know, on the other hand, whether Kennedy had made anyprogress yet with his study of the photographs.
I could have told him beforehand, however, that Craig would say nothingand he did not. Besides, he had the added mystery of the new phonographcylinder to engross him, with the result that we parted from Carton, alittle piqued at being left out of Craig's confidence, but helpless.
As for me, I knew it was useless to trail after Kennedy and when heannounced that he was going back to the laboratory, I balked and, inspite of my interest in the case, went home to our apartment to bed,while Kennedy made a night of it.
What he discovered I knew no better in the morning than when I lefthim, except that he seemed highly elated.
Leisurely he dressed, none the worse for his late work and afterdevouring the papers as if there were nothing else in the world soimportant, he waited until the middle of the morning before doinganything further.
"I merely wanted to give Dorgan a chance to get to his office," hesurprised me with, finally. "Come, Walter, I think he must be therenow."
Amazed at his temerity in bearding Dorgan in his very den, I could donothing but accompany him, though I much feared it was almost likeinviting homicide.
The Boss's office was full of politicians, for it was now approaching"dough day," when the purse strings of the organization were loosed anda flood of potent argument poured forth to turn the tide of election bythe force of the only thing that talks loud enough for some men tohear. Somehow, Kennedy managed to see the Boss.
"Mr. Dorgan," began Kennedy quietly, when we were seated alone in thelittle Sanctum of the Boss, "you will pardon me if I seem to be alittle slow in coming to the business that has brought me here thismorning. First of all I may say that you probably share the idea thatever since the days of Daguerre photography has been regarded as theone infallible means of portraying faithfully any object, scene, oraction. Indeed, a photograph is admitted in court as irrefutableevidence. For, when everything else fails, a picture made through thephotographic lens almost invariably turns the tide. However, such apicture upon which the fate of an important case may rest should besubjected to critical examination, for it is an established fact that aphotograph may be made as untruthful as it may be reliable."
He paused. Dorgan was regarding him keenly, but saying nothing. Kennedydid not mind, as he resumed.
"Combination photographs change entirely the character of the initialnegative and have been made for the past fifty years. The earliest,simplest, and most harmless photographic deception is the printing ofclouds in a bare sky. But the retoucher with his pencil and etchingtool to-day is very skilful. A workman of ordinary ability canintroduce a person taken in a studio into an open-air scene wellblended and in complete harmony without a visible trace of falsity."
Dorgan was growing interested.
"I need say n
othing of how one head can be put on another body in apicture," pursued Craig, "nor need I say what a double exposure willdo. There is almost no limit to the changes that may be wrought in formand feature. It is possible to represent a person crossing Broadway orwalking on Riverside Drive, places he may never have visited. Thus aperson charged with an offence may be able to prove an alibi by the aidof a skilfully prepared combination photograph.
"Where, then," asked Kennedy, "can photography be considered asirrefutable evidence? The realism may convince all, except the expertand the initiated after careful study. A shrewd judge will be carefulto insist that in every case the negative be submitted and examined forpossible alterations by a clever manipulator."
Kennedy bent his gaze on Dorgan. "Now, I do not accuse you, sir, ofanything. But a photograph has come into my possession in which Mr.Carton is represented as standing in a group on a porch, with Mr.Murtha, Mrs. Ogleby, and an unknown woman. The first three are in posesthat show the utmost friendliness. I do not hesitate to say that wasoriginally a photograph of yourself, Mr. Murtha, Mrs. Ogleby, and awoman whom you know well. It is a pretty raw deal, a fake in whichCarton has been substituted by very excellent photographic forgery."
"A fake--huh!" repeated Dorgan, contemptuously. "How about the story ofthem? There's no negative. You've got to show me that the originalprint stolen from Carton, we'll say, is a fake. You can't do it. No,sir, those pictures were taken this summer."
Kennedy quietly laid down the bundle of photographs copied from thosealleged to have been stolen from Carton. He was pointing to a shadow ofa gable on the house.
"You see that shadow of the gable, Dorgan?" he asked. "Perhaps younever heard of it, but it is possible to tell the exact time at which aphotograph was taken from a study of the shadows. It is possible intheory and practice, and it can be trusted absolutely. Almost anyscientist, Dorgan, may be called in to bear testimony in courtnowadays, but you probably think the astronomer is one of the leastlikely.
"Well, the shadow in this picture can be made to prove an alibi forsomeone. Notice. It is seen prominently to the right, and its exactlocation on the house is an easy matter. The identification of thegable casting the shadow ought to be easy. To be exact, I have figuredit out as 19.62 feet high. The shadow is 14.23 feet down, 13.10 feeteast, and 3.43 feet north. You see, I am exact. I have to be. In oneminute it moves 0.080 feet upward, 0.053 feet to the right, and 0.096feet in its apparent path. It passes the width of a weatherboard, 0.37foot, in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds."
Kennedy was talking rapidly of data which he had derived from the studyof the photograph as from plumb line, level, compass, and tape,astronomical triangle, vertices, zenith, pole, and sun, declination,azimuth, solar time, parallactic angles, refraction, and a dozen otherbewildering terms.
"In spherical trigonometry," he concluded, "to solve the problem threeelements must be known. I know four. Therefore, I can take each of theknown, treat it as unknown, and have four ways to check my result. Ifind that the time might have been either three o'clock, twenty-oneminutes and twelve seconds in the afternoon, or 3:21:31 or 3:21:29, or3:21:33. The average is 3: 21:26 and there can be no appreciable errorexcept for a few seconds. I tell you that to show you how close I cancome. The important thing, however, is that the date must have been oneof two days, either May 22 or July 22. Between these two dates we mustdecide on evidence other than the shadow. It must have been in May, asthe immature condition of the foliage shows. But even if it had been inJuly, that would be far from the date you allege. Why, I could eventell you the year. Then, too, I could look up the weather records andtell something from them. I can really answer, with an assurance andaccuracy superior to the photographer himself, if you could produce himand he were honest, as to the real date. The original picture, asidefrom being doctored, was actually taken last May. Science is notfallible, but exact in this matter."
Kennedy felt that he had scored a palpable hit. Dorgan was speechless.Still, Craig hurried on.
"But, you may ask, how about the automobile picture? That also is anunblushing fake. Of course I must prove that. In the first place youknow that the general public has come to recognize the distortion of aphotograph as denoting speed. A picture of a car in a race that doesn'tlean is rejected. People demand to see speed, speed, more speed, evenin pictures. Distortion does indeed show speed, but that, too, can befaked.
"Almost everyone knows that the image is projected upside down by thelens on the plate, and that the bottom of the picture is taken beforethe top. The camera mechanism admits light, which makes the picture, inthe manner of a roller blind curtain. The slit travels from the top tothe bottom and, the image on the plate being projected upside down, thebottom of the object appears on the top of the plate. For instance, thewheels are taken before the head of the driver. If the car is movingquickly, the image moves on the plate and each successive part is takena little in advance of the last. The whole leans forward. By wideningthe slit and slowing the speed of the shutter, there is more distortion.
"Now, that is just what has been done. A picture has been taken of acar owned once by Murtha, probably at rest, with perhaps yourself,Murtha, Mrs. Ogleby, and your friend in it. The matter of faking Cartonor anyone else is simple. If, with an enlarging lantern, the image ofthis faked picture is thrown on the printing paper like a lanternslide, and if the right-hand side is moved a little further away thanthe left, the top further away than the bottom, you can in that wayprint a fraudulent high-speed picture ahead.
"True, everything else in the picture, even if motionless, isdistorted, and the difference between this faking and the distortion ofthe shutter can be seen by an expert. But it will pass with mostpeople. In this case, however," added Kennedy suddenly, "the faker wasso sure of it that he was careless. Instead of getting the platefurther from the paper on the right, he did so on the left. It wasfurther away on the bottom than on the top. He got the distortion, allright, enough to satisfy anyone. But it is distortion in the wrongdirection! The top of the wheel, which goes fastest and ought to bemost indistinct, is, in the fake, as sharp as any other part. It is asmall mistake that was made, but fatal. Your picture is not of a joyride at all. It is really high speed--backwards! It is too raw, tooraw."
"You don't think people are going to swallow all that stuff, do you?"asked Dorgan coolly, in spite of the exposures. "What of it all?" heasked surlily. "I have nothing to do with it, anyhow. Why do you cometo me? Take it to the proper authorities."
"Shall I?" asked Kennedy quietly, leaning over and whispering a fewwords in Dorgan's ear. I could not hear what he said, but Dorganappeared to be fairly staggered.
When Kennedy passed out of the Boss's office there was a look of quietsatisfaction on his face which I could not fathom. Not a word could Iextract from him on the subject, either. I was still in the dark as tothe result of his visit.