CHAPTER XXVII.
So Justice, while she winks at crimes, Stumbles on innocence sometimes.
_Hudibras._
He who is false to present duty breaks a thread in the loom, and will find the flaw when he may have forgotten its cause.--HENRY WARD BEECHER.
About two o'clock on this day of the trial, when Geoffrey and all therest of the bank-clerks were hurrying through their work in order to getout to attend the police court, Mr. Dearborn came in unexpectedly, andtalked to Hampstead for a while. He said that the prisoner Cresswellwas very ill, perhaps dying, and had begged him to go and bring Geoffreyto see him--if only for a moment.
"All right," said Hampstead, "I'll speak to the manager about going, andwill then drop over with you."
He did so, and they walked to the police station together. Theydescended into the basement, and Mr. Dearborn unlocked a cell which wasvery dark inside.
"You'll find him in there," said the detective. "I'll have to keep thedoor locked, of course, while you are with him."
Geoffrey entered, and the door was locked on the outside. He lookedaround the cell, and then a fear struck him. He turned coolly to thedetective, who was still outside the bars, and said: "You have broughtme to the wrong cell. Cresswell is not in this one."
"Well, the fact is," said Mr. Dearborn, "a warrant was just now placedin my hands for your arrest, and, as they say you are particularly goodboth at running and the manly art, I thought a little stratagem mightwork the thing in nice, quiet shape."
"Just so," said Hampstead, laughing. "Perhaps you are right. I don'tthink you could catch me if I got started. Who issued the warrant, andwhat is it about?"
"Here is the warrant. You are entitled to see it. An information waslaid, and that's all I know about it. You'll be called up in court in afew minutes, and I must leave you now--to look after some otherbusiness."
At three o'clock, when the court-room was packed almost to suffocation,the magistrate mounted the bench, and Cresswell was brought up andremanded until the next morning. The spectators were much disappointedat not hearing the termination of the matter, but their interest revivedas they heard the magistrate say, "Bring in the other prisoner."
A dead silence followed, broken only by the measured tread of men's feetin the corridor outside. The double doors opened, and there appearedGeoffrey Hampstead handcuffed and accompanied by four huge policemen. Inten minutes, any person in the court could easily sell his standing-roomat a dollar and a half a stand, or upward.
There was no hang-dog look about Geoffrey. His crest was high. It wassurprising to see how dignified a man could appear in handcuffs.Suppressed indignation was so vividly stamped upon his face that allgained the idea that the gentleman was suffering an outrage. As heapproached the dock, one of his guards laid his hand on his arm.Hampstead stopped short and turned to the policeman as if he would eathim:
"Take your hand off my arm!" he rasped out. The man did so in a hurry,and the spectators were impressed by the incident.
A charge about the fifty thousand dollars was read out to Geoffrey,similar to that in the Cresswell case. That he did, etc.--on, etc.--at,etc.--feloniously, etc.--and all the rest of it.
Now Hampstead did not see how, when he was apparently innocent, andanother man practically convicted, he could possibly be thought guiltyalso. The case against Cresswell had been so complete that it wasimpossible for any one to doubt his guilt. Hampstead knew also that ifhe were tried once now and acquitted, he never could be tried again forthe same offense. He had been fond of talking to Rankin about criminallaw, and on some points was better posted than most men. He did not knowwhether Jack would be well enough to give evidence to-day, if at all,and if, for want of proof or otherwise, the case against him failed now,he would be safe forever. Jack might recover soon, and then the casewould be worse if he told all he knew. He did not engage a lawyer, asthis might seem as if he were doubtful and needed assistance. He was, hethought, quite as well able to see loopholes of escape as a lawyer wouldbe, so long as they did not depend on technicalities. Altogether he haddecided, after his arrest and after careful thought, to take his trialat once.
He elected to be tried before a police magistrate, said he was ready fortrial, and pleaded "not guilty."
About this time the manager of the Victoria Bank, who was very muchastonished and hurt at the proceedings taken against Geoffrey, leanedover and asked the county attorney if he had much evidence against Mr.Hampstead. The poor manager was beginning almost to doubt his ownhonesty. Every person seemed guilty in this matter. As for Jack andHampstead, he would have previously been quite ready to have sworn tohis belief in their honesty.
"My dear sir," replied the county attorney, "I don't know anything aboutit. Mr. Rankin came flying down in a cab, saw the prisoner Cresswell,swore out a warrant, had Mr. Hampstead arrested, sent the detectivesflying about in all directions, and that's all I know about it. He isrunning the entire show himself."
"Indeed!" said the manager. "I shall never be surprised at anythingagain, after to-day."
Nobody knew but Rankin himself what was coming on. Several detectiveshad had special work allotted to them, but this was all they knew, andthe small lawyer sat with apparent composure until it was time to callhis first witness.
Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote was the first witnesscalled, and his fashionable outfit created some amusement among the"unwashed." Rankin, with a certain malignity, made him give his name infull, which, together with his affected utterance, interested those whowere capable of smiling.
After some formal questions, Rankin unrolled a parcel, shook out awaistcoat with a large pattern on it, and handed it to the witness.
"Did you ever see that waistcoat before?"
"Oh, yes. It belongs to Mr. Hampstead. At least it used to belong tohim."
"When did you see it last?"
"Up in his rooms a few evenings ago."
"That was the night of the day the fifty thousand dollars was stolenfrom the bank?"
"Yes."
"What did you do with it then?"
"I took it out of his bedroom closet to give to a poor boy."
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought it was a kindness to Mr. Hampstead to take that very dreadfulwaistcoat away from him. I took this and a number of other garments togive to the boy."
"You were quite generous that night! Did Mr. Hampstead object?"
"Object? Oh, no! I should have said that he took them from me and gavethem to the boy himself."
"Now, why were you so generous with Mr. Hampstead's clothes, and whyshould he consent to give them to the boy?"
This was getting painful for Sappy. His manager was standing, as hesaid, plumb in front of him.
"Well, if I must tell unpleasant things," said Sappy, "the boy was sentout that evening to get us a little wine, and I thought giving him thatwaistcoat would be a satisfaction to all parties."
"You were perfectly right. You have given a great deal of satisfactionto a great many people. So Mr. Hampstead was entertaining his friendsthat night?"
"Yes. We dined with him at the club that evening, and adjournedafterward to his rooms to have a little music."
"Ah! Just so. Seeing how pleasantly things had been going in the bankthat day, and that his particular friend Cresswell had decamped withfifty thousand dollars, Mr. Hampstead was celebrating the occasion. Now,I suppose that, taking in the cost of the dinners and the wine--orrather, excuse me--the _music_, and all the rest of it, you got theimpression that Mr. Hampstead had a good deal of money that night?"
"That's none of your business," said Sappy, firing up. "Mr. Hampsteadspends his money like a gentleman. I suppose he did spend a good dealthat night, and generally does."
"Very good," said Rankin.
He then went on to ask questions about Hampstead's salary and hisprobable expenses, but perhaps this was to kill time, for he keptlooking toward the door, as if he expected somebody to come in. Final
lyhe let poor Sappy depart in peace, after making him show beyond anydoubt that Geoffrey wore this waistcoat at the time of the theft at thebank--that the garment was old fashioned, and that it had seemedpeculiar that Hampstead, a man of some fashion, should be wearing it.
Patsey Priest was now called, and he slunk in from an adjoining room, incompany with a policeman. He had a fixed impression in his mind thatGeoffrey was his prosecutor, and that he was going to be charged withstealing liquors, cigars, tobacco, and clothes. He was prepared to provehis innocence of all these crimes, but he trembled visibly. His motherhad put his oldest clothes upon him, as poverty, she thought, mightprove a good plea before the day was out. The difference between hisgarments and those of the previous witness was striking. His skin, asseen through the holes in his apparel, suggested how, by mere _laches_,real estate could become personalty.
"Where were you on Wednesday night last, about one or two o'clock in theevening?"
"I wus in Mr. 'Ampstead's rooms part of the time."
"Did you ever see that waistcoat before?"
"Yes, I did, and he gev it to me, so help me on fourteen Bibles, as Ikin prove by five or six gents right in front of me over there, and itsaltogether wrong ye are fur to try and fix it on to a poor boy as hasto get his livin' honest and support his mother, and her a widder--"
"Stop, stop!" called Rankin. "Did you get this other waistcoat at thesame time?"
"Yes, I did, an' a lot more besides, an' I tuk them all up and gev themto me mother just the same as I gives her all me wages and the hull ofthe clothes an' more besides give me fur goin' round to the Rah-seenHouse fur to buy the drinks--"
"That will do, that will do," interrupted Rankin. "You can go."
"Faith, I knew ye'd hev to discharge me, fur I'm as innercent as y'areyerself."
Mrs. Priest was called.
She came in with more assurance now, as she had become convinced, fromseeing Hampstead in the dock and guarded by the police, that the matterin question did not refer to her consumption of coal, or her legal rightto perquisites.
"Mrs. Priest, did you ever see that waistcoat before?" said Rankin.
"See it before! Didn't you take it out of me own hands not two hoursago? What are ye after, man?"
Rankin explained, that the magistrate wished to know all about it.
"Well, I'll tell his lordship the hull story: Ye see, yer 'anor, the boygets the clothes from Mr. Geoffrey and brings them up to me lastWednesday night begone and says they was give to him, an' the next day Iwus lookin' through them, and I thought I'd sell this weskit becas thepatthern is a thrifle large for a child, an' I puts me 'and into these'ere pockets on the inside an' I pulls out a paper--"
"Stop! Is this the paper you found?"
"Yes, that's it; 'an I thought it might be of some use, as it hedfigures on it and writin'. An' I says to Mr. Renkin, when he come intomy room to-day fur to get a cup--"
"Never mind what I came in for," said Rankin, coloring.
"An' I says to Mr. Rankin, sez I, 'Is this paper any use, do you think,to Mr. 'Ampstead.' An' he looks at it awful hard and sez, 'Where did yerget it? An' then I ups and told him (for I wus quite innercent, and sowus the boy) that I had got it out of the weskit--out of these 'ereinside pockets. An' then I shows him that other weskit an' how thelining of one weskit had been cut out and sewn onter the other--asanybody can see as compares the two--an' I never saw any weskit withfour long pockets on the inside before, an' I wondered what they wusfur.
"An' I hedn't got the words out of me mouth before Mr. Renkin turned aswhite as the drippin' snow and says, 'My God!' an' he grabs the twoweskits widout me leave or license, an' also the paper, an' I thoughthe'd break his neck down the stairs in the dark. An' that's all I knowabout it until the cops brought me and the child here in the hack, afterwe put on our best clothes fur to be decent to answer to the chargebefore yer lordship; an' if that's all yer lordship wants ter know, I'dlike to axe yer lordship if there'll be anythin' comin' to me fur comin'down here widout resistin' the cops?"
As Rankin finished with Mrs. Priest, the police magistrate reminded theprisoner that he had the right to cross-examine the witness.
Hampstead smiled, and said he had no doubt all she said was true.
Rankin then read the marks on the piece of paper. It was a longish slipof paper, about three inches wide, and had been cut off from a largesheet of office letter-paper. There had been printing at the top of thissheet when it was entire. On the piece cut off still remained theprinted words "Western Union." On the opposite side of the paper, whichseemed to have been used as a wrapper and fastened with a pin, were thefigures, in blue pencil, "$50,000," and, below, a direction ormemorandum: "For Mont. Teleg. Co'y. Toronto." These words had had a penpassed through them.
The excitement caused by this evidence was increased when Hampsteadarose and requested to be allowed to withdraw his consent to be triedbefore the magistrate.
"I see," he said, smiling, "that my friend Mr. Rankin has been ledastray by some facts which can be thoroughly well explained. But I musthave time and opportunity to get such evidence as I require."
The magistrate rather sternly replied that he had consented to his trialto-day, and said he was ready for trial, and that the request for achange would be refused. The trial must go on.
The Montreal Telegraph clerk was then called, and identified the wrapperas the one that had been around the stolen fifty thousand dollars. Hehad run his pen through the written words before depositing the money inthe Victoria Bank. He again identified by their numbers the twoone-thousand dollar bills found on Jack, and he was then told to standdown until again required.
The receiving teller of the bank could not swear positively to thewrapper. He remembered that there had been a paper around the bills withblue writing on it, which he thought he had not removed when countingthe bills.
Rankin then requested the police to bring in John Cresswell.
Want of proper nourishment had had much to do with Jack's mentalweakness. Besides the exhaustion which he had suffered from, he had not,until his friends looked after him, eaten or drunk anything for overforty hours. He had neglected the food brought him by the police.
As the constable half supported him to the box, he was still a pitiableobject, in spite of the champagne the fellows had made him swallow. Ashis bodily strength had come back under stimulant, his intellect hadreturned also with proportional strength, which of course was not great.His ideas as to what was going on were of the vaguest kind. He lookedsurprised to see Geoffrey in custody, but smiled across the room to himand nodded.
After he was sworn, Rankin asked him:
"You went away last Wednesday on a schooner called the North Star?"
"Yes."
"Did any person tell you to go in this way, instead of by steamer orrailway?"
"I think it was Geoffrey's suggestion at first. I had to go away onprivate business. I think we arranged the manner of my going together."
"Did any person tell you to take your valises to the yacht club early onWednesday morning?"
"I think it was Hampstead's idea originally, and I thought it was a goodone."
"You wished to go away secretly?"
"Well, we discussed that point. I was going by rail, but Hampsteadthought the schooner was best."
"You evidently did everything he told you?"
"Certainly, I did," said Jack, as he smiled across to Geoffrey."Hampstead has the best head for management I know of."
"Quite so. No doubt about that! Now, since the accident to the boats inthe lake some bills were found upon you. Are those your bills?"(producing them).
"Yes, they look like my bills. The seven one-hundred dollars I gotmyself, and the two for one thousand each I got--" Jack stopped here andlooked troubled. He looked across at Geoffrey and remained silent. Itcame to him for the first time that Hampstead was being charged withsomething that had gone wrong in the bank about this money.
The magistrate said sharply "I wish to
know where you got that money.You will be good enough to answer without delay."
Jack looked worried. "My money was all in smallish bills, and eitherGeoffrey or I (I forget which) suggested that I had better take thesetwo American one-thousand-dollar bills, as they would be smaller in mypocket. He slipped these two out of a package of bills which I imaginewere all of the same denomination."
Rankin evidently was wishing to spin out the time, for he glanced at theside door whenever it was opened.
He went on asking questions and showing that Geoffrey had been at thebottom of everything, and in the mean time three men appeared in theroom, and one of them handed Rankin a parcel.
"During your trial this morning I think I heard you say that the billsyou saw on Hampstead's desk were all dark-green colored?"
"I think they were all the same color as these two. He ran his fingerover them as he drew these two out."
"I have some money here," said Rankin. "Does this package look anythinglike the one you then saw?"
"I could not swear to it. It looks like it."
Even the magistrate was excited now. The news had flown through thebusiness part of the city that Geoffrey Hampstead had been arrested andwas on trial for stealing the fifty thousand dollars. The news stirredmen as if the post-office had been blown up with dynamite. Thecourt-room was jammed. When word had been passed outside that thingslooked bad for Hampstead, as much as five dollars was paid by a brokerfor standing room in the court. It had also become known that MauriceRankin had caused the arrest to be made himself, and that nobody but heknew what could be proved. People thought at first that the bankauthorities were forcing the prosecution, and wondered that they had notemployed an older man. The fact that this young sprig, professionallyunknown, had assumed the entire responsibility himself, gave a greaterinterest to the proceedings.
The magistrate leaned over his desk and asked quietly:
"What money is that you have there, Mr. Rankin?"
Maurice's naturally incisive voice sounded like a bell in the death-likestillness of the court-room.
"These," he said, "are what I will prove to be the forty-eightthousand-dollar bills stolen from the bank."
The pent-up excitement could be restrained no longer. A sound, halfcheer and half yell, filled the room.
Rankin had not been idle after he left Mrs. Priest that day. He firstwent in a cab to Jack, and simply asked him if Geoffrey had worn thelarge-patterned waistcoat on the day he went away. Jack rememberedhearing Sappy talking about his wearing it. Rankin then drove to theMontreal Telegraph clerk, who identified the wrapper. Then he had thewarrant issued for Hampstead's arrest, and also subpoenas, which werehanded to different policemen for service, with instructions to bringthe witnesses with them if possible. The Priests, mother and son, hesecured by having a constable bring them in a cab. He then requested themagistrate to hear the case at once.
He supposed, rightly enough, that Hampstead, on becoming aware that thenumbers of the stolen bills were all known would be afraid to pass anyof them, and would still have the money somewhere in his possession. Sohe had three detectives sent with a search warrant to break inGeoffrey's door and search for it. He thought it was by no means certainthat they would find the money, and he was anxious on this point, but heknew that, even if he failed to secure a conviction against Hampstead,he had at least sufficient evidence to render Jack's convictiondoubtful. In the case against Hampstead, Jack's evidence would be heardin full, and Rankin felt satisfied that in some way it would explainaway the terribly damaging case that had been made out against him inthe morning.
The sudden shout in the court had been so full of sympathy for Jack andadmiration for Rankin's cleverness that for the first time in hismagisterial existence "His Worship" forgot to check it, and the call toorder by the police was of the weakest kind. All the bank-clerks of thecity were jammed into that room, and for a moment Jack's friends werewild.
A few more questions were put to Jack, but only to improve his positionbefore the public as to the charge against himself.
"Are you aware that you have been made a victim of in a matter where theVictoria Bank was robbed of fifty thousand dollars?"
"No," said Jack, looking dazed. "I am not."
"Are you aware that you were tried this morning for stealing thatmoney?"
"I seemed at times to know that something was wrong. Once I knew I wascharged with stealing something or other, but I did not know or care. Imust have been unconscious after the collision in the lake. The firstthing I knew of, they said we were at Port Dalhousie. We must havesailed there with nothing drawing but the forward canvas, and that musthave taken a good while."
Jack was now allowed to stand down, but he was not removed from thecourt-room.
To clear up Jack's record thoroughly, Rankin called Detective Dearbornand, before the magistrate stopped the examination as being irrelevant,he succeeded in showing that Jack had been delirious for twelve hoursafter his arrest. The fact that Dearborn had not mentioned thesecircumstances placed him in a rather bad light with the audience, whileit showed once again what a common habit it is with the police tosuppress and even distort facts in order to secure a conviction.
The telegraph clerk identified the recovered forty-eight bills, and thereceiving teller, gave the same evidence as in the Cresswell case, andthen the detective who found the money in Hampstead's room was called.
As soon as he heard his first words, Geoffrey knew what was coming androse to his feet and addressed the magistrate:
"I suppose, Your Worship, that it is not too late to withdraw my plea ofnot guilty and at this late hour plead guilty. This will be my onlyopportunity to cast a full light on this case, and, if I may bepermitted, I will do so."
The magistrate nodded. Geoffrey continued:
"Of course, it is perfectly clear that Cresswell is quite innocent. Forprivate reasons, in a matter that was entirely honorable to himself,Cresswell wished to leave Canada. He was going through the States toCalifornia, and did not intend to return, and would have resisted beingbrought back to Canada. There was no law existing by which he could beextradited. He could only be brought back by his own consent. From theway I sent him on the schooner, his arrest before arriving in the UnitedStates was in the highest degree improbable. If he had afterward beenarrested in the States I could have at once arranged to be sent by thebank to persuade him to return. I had it all planned that he nevershould return. He would have done as I told him. Even if he insisted oncoming back I then would be safe in the States. Of course, I did notknow that identification could be made of the bills--which could nothave been foreseen--and my object in giving him two of them was thatsuspicion would rest temporarily on him, which might be necessary togive me time to escape. As it turned out, if Cresswell had insisted onreturning to Canada he would be returning to certain conviction--part ofthe identified money being found on him.
"So far I speak only of my intentions at the time of the theft. But Ihope no one will think I would allow my old friend Jack Cresswell to goto jail under sentence for my misdeeds. To-night I intended to cross thelake in a small boat and then telegraph to the bank where to find allthe money at my chambers. This, with a letter of explanation, would haveacquitted Jack. I had to save him--also myself, from imprisonment; butthere was another matter worth far more than the money to me which Ihoped to be able to eventually make right. If I had got away to-nightthe bank would have had its money to-morrow.
"On the day before the theft I had lost all my twelve years' earningsand profits in speculation. If I had been able to hold my stocks untilthe evening of the theft I would have made over seventy-five thousanddollars. For weeks during the excitement preceding my loss I had beendrinking a great deal, and when the chance came to recoup myself fromthe bank I seemed to take the money almost as a matter of right."
As Geoffrey continued he was looking up out of the window, evidentlyoblivious of the crowd about him, thinking the thing out, as ifconfessing to himself.
 
; "I know that without the liquor I never would have stolen, and that withit I became--"
His face grew bitter as he thought of his thieving Tartar uncle and hismother who could not be prevented from stealing. But he pulled himselftogether and continued: "It would have been open to me to call men fromthis gathering to give evidence as to my previous character, and I haveno hesitation in leaving this point in your hands if it will do anythingto shorten my sentence. On this ground only am I entitled to ask foryour consideration, and you will be doing a kindness if you will passsentence at once."
As Hampstead said these words he looked abstractedly around for the lasttime upon the scores of former friends who now averted their faces.There was no bravado in his appearance. He held himself erect, as healways did, and his face was impenetrable. His eyes claimed acquaintancewith none who met his glance. Some smiled faintly, impressed as theywere with his bearing, but he seemed to look into them and past them, asif saying to himself: "There's Brown, and there's Jones, and there'sRobinson, I wonder when I will ever see them again?"
There were men in that throng who knew, when Hampstead spoke of theeffects of the liquor on him, exactly what was meant, who knew frompersonal experience that, if there is any devilish tendency in a man orany hereditary predisposition to any kind of wrong-doing, alcohol willbring it out, and these men could not refrain from some sympathy withhim who had partly explained his fall, and somehow there were none whothought after Geoffrey's statement that he would have sacrificed Jack toimprisonment under sentence.
The magistrate addressed him:
"Geoffrey Hampstead, I do not think there has been anything against yourcharacter since you came to Toronto. That an intelligence such as yoursshould have been prostituted to the uses to which you have put it is oneof the most melancholy things that ever came to my knowledge. I can notthink you belong to the criminal classes, and I would be glad to be outof this matter altogether, because I feel how unable one may be to dealfor the best with a case like yours. It may be that if you wereliberated you would never risk your ruin again. I do not think youwould; but, in that case, this court might as well be closed and thepolice disbanded. I am compelled to make your case exemplary, and Isentence you to six years in the Kingston Penitentiary."
A dead silence followed, and then his former friends and acquaintancesbegan to go away. They went away quietly, not looking at each other.There was something in the proceedings of the day that silenced them.They had lost faith in one honest man and had found it again; andanother, on whom some nobility was stamped, they had seen condemned as aconvict. As they took their last look at the man whom they had oftenenvied and admired, they wished to escape observation. So many of themwere thinking how, at such a time in their lives, if things had notluckily turned out as they did, they, too, might have fallen under somekind of temptation, and they knew the sympathy that comes from secretconsciousness of what their own possibilities in guilt might have been.
Geoffrey received his sentence looking out of the window toward the bluesky and the swallows that flew past. Every word that the magistrate hadsaid had in it the tone of a friend, which made it harder to bear. Whilehe heard it all vividly, he strained to keep his attention on the flyingswallows in order that he might not break down. Outside of that window,and just in that direction, Margaret, the wife that never would be, waswaiting for him. The man's face was like ashes. Oh, the relief to havedashed himself upon the floor when he thought of Margaret!
Yet he held out. He felt it would be better for him to be dead; but hemet his fate bravely, and now sought relief in another way. He caughtRankin's eye, and motioned to him to come near.
With a face that was afraid to relax its tension, he said, with aneffort at something like his ordinary speech:
"Rankin, you forsook me sadly to-day, did you not? But I can still counton you to do me a good turn--if only in return for to-day."
"Go on, Geoffrey. Yes, I have disliked you from the first. But now Idon't. You make people like you, no matter what you do. You take it likea man. What do you want?"
Rankin could not command his countenance as Geoffrey could. Now that hehad accomplished the work of convicting him, it seemed terrible that onewho, with all his faults, appeared so manly a man, and so brave, shouldbe on his way to six years' darkness.
Geoffrey pulled him closer and whispered in his ear: "Go to Margaret--atonce--before she can read anything! Take a cab. Tell her all. Break itto her. You can put it gently. Go to her now--let her know, fairly,before you come away, that all my chances are gone--that she isreleased--that I am nothing--now--but a dead man."
His head went down as the words were finished with a wild effort, andhis great frame shook convulsively for a moment. The thought of Margaretkilled him.
During the day, before his arrest, he had seen that he would have toreturn at least part of the money to corroborate his story and to saveJack. And he could not abscond with the balance, because that would meanthe loss of Margaret. By returning the money and saving himself fromimprisonment, he had hoped that eventually she would forgive him. Andnow--
Maurice could not stand it. He said, hurriedly: "All right. I'll see youto-morrow." And then he dashed off, out a side door, and into a cab. Andon the way to Margaret he wept like a child behind the carriage curtainsfor the fate of the man whom he had convicted.