Calamity Town

* * *

Thomas Winship, head cashier of the Wrightsville National Bank, testified that James Haight had always used a thin red crayon in his work at the bank, and produced numerous documents from the files of the bank, signed by Haight in red crayon.

The last exhibit placed in evidence by Bradford?a shrewd piece of timing?was the volume Edgcomb’s Toxicology, with its telltale section marked in red crayon . . . the section dealing with arsenic.

This exhibit passed from hand to hand in the jury box, while Judge Martin looked “confident” and James Haight, by the old lawyer’s side at the defense table, grew very pale and was seen to glance about quickly, as if seeking escape. But the moment passed, and thenceforward he behaved as before?silent, limp in his chair, his gray face almost bored.

* * *

At the close of Friday’s session, March the twenty-eighth, Prosecutor Bradford indicated that he “might be close to finished,” but that he would know better when court convened the following Monday morning. He thought it likely the People would rest on Monday.

There was an interminable conversation before the Bench, and then Judge Newbold called a recess until Monday morning, March the thirty-first.

The prisoner was taken back to his cell on the top floor of the Courthouse, the courtroom emptied, and the Wrights simply went home. There was nothing to do but wait for Monday . . . and try to cheer Nora up.

Nora lay on the chaise longue in her pretty bedroom, plucking the roses of her chintz window drapes. Hermy had refused to let her attend the trial; and after two days of tears, Nora had stopped fighting, exhausted.

She just plucked the roses from the drapes.

But another thing happened on Friday, March the twenty-eighth. Roberta Roberts lost her job.

The newspaperwoman had maintained her stubborn defense of Jim Haight in her column throughout the trial?the only reporter there who had not already condemned “God’s silent man,” as one of the journalistic wits had dubbed him, to death.

On Friday, Roberta received a wire from Boris Connell in Chicago, notifying her that he was “yanking the column.”

Roberta telegraphed a Chicago attorney to bring suit against News & Features Syndicate.

But on Saturday morning there was no column.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Ellery Queen.

“Stay on in Wrightsville. I’m one of those pesky females who never give up. I can still do Jim Haight some good.”

She spent the whole of Saturday morning in Jim’s cell, urging him to speak up, to fight back, to strike a blow in his own defense. Judge Martin was there, quite pursy-lipped, and Ellery; they heard Roberta’s vigorous plea in silence.

But Jim merely shook his head or made no answering gesture at all?a figure bowed, three-quarters dead, pickled in some strange formaldehyde of his own manufacture.

Chapter 22

Council of War

The whole weekend stood between them and Monday. So on Saturday night Nora invited Roberta Roberts and Judge Eli Martin to dinner to “talk things over” with the family.

Hermione wanted Nora to stay in bed, because of her “condition”; but Nora said: “Oh, Mother, it will do me lots more good to be up on my feet and going through some motions!” So Hermy wisely did not press the point.

Nora was beginning to thicken noticeably about the waist; her cheeks were puffy and unhealthy-looking suddenly, and she walked about the house as if her legs were stuffed with lead. When Hermione questioned Dr. Willoughby anxiously, he said that “Nora’s getting along about as well as we can expect, Hermy.” Hermy didn’t dare ask him any more questions. But she rarely left Nora’s side, and she would go white if she saw Nora try to lift so much as a long biography.

After dinner, which was tasteless and uneasy, they all went into the living room. Ludie had tightly flapped the blinds and lit a fire.

They sat before it with the uncomfortable stiffness of people who know they should say something but cannot think of what. There was no solace anywhere, not even in the friendly flames. It was impossible to relax?Nora was too much there.

“Mr. Smith, you haven’t said much tonight,” remarked Roberta Roberts at last.

Nora looked at Ellery beseechingly, but he avoided her eyes.

“There hasn’t been too much to say, has there?”

“No,” the newspaperwoman murmured. ”I suppose not.”

“As I see the problem before us, it’s not intellectual or emotional, but legal. Faith isn’t going to acquit Jim, although it may bolster his spirits. Only facts can get him off.”

“And there aren’t any!” cried Nora.

“Nora dearest,” moaned Hermy, “please. You heard what Dr. Willoughby said about getting upset.”

“I know, Mother, I know.” Nora glanced eagerly at Judge Eli Martin, whose long fingers were bridged before his nose as he glowered at the fire. ”How does it look, Uncle Eli?”

“I wouldn’t want to deceive you, Nora.” The old jurist shook his head. ”It looks just as bad as it possibly can.”

“You mean Jim hasn’t got a chance?” she wailed.

“There’s always a chance, Nora,” said Roberta Roberts.

“Yes,” sighed the Judge. ”You can never tell about a jury.”

“If there was only something we could do” said Hermy helplessly.

John F. burrowed more deeply into his smoking jacket.

“Oh, you people!” cried Lola Wright. ”Moaning the blues! I’m sick of this sitting around, wringing our hands?” Lola flung her cigarette into the flames with disgust.

“So am I,” said Pat between her teeth. ”Sick as the devil.”

“Patricia darling,” said Hermy, “I’m sure you’d better stay out of this discussion.”

“Of course, Momsy,” said Lola with a grimace. ”Your baby. You’ll never see Pat as anything but a long-legged brat who wouldn’t drink her nice milk and kept climbing Emmy DuPre’s cherry tree!”

Pat shrugged. Mr. Ellery Queen regarded her with suspicion. Miss Patricia Wright had been acting peculiarly since Thursday. Too quiet. Over-thoughtful for a healthy extrovert. As if she were brewing something in that fetching skull-pan of hers. He started to say something to her but lit a cigarette instead. The Gold Rush of ‘49, he thought, started with a battered pan in a muddy trickle of water. Who knows where the Fact may be found?

“Ellery, what do you think?” pleaded Nora.

“Ellery’s been mulling over the case looking for a loophole,” Pat explained to Judge Martin.

“Not legally,” Ellery hastened to explain as the Judge’s brows went up. ”But I’ve been handling crime facts so long in fiction that I’ve?uh?acquired a certain dexterity in handling them in real life.”

“If you juggle these with any success,” growled the old lawyer, “you’re a magician.”

“Isn’t there anything?” Nora cried.

“Let’s face it, Nora,” said Ellery grimly. ”Jim’s in a hopeless position. You’d better prepare yourself . . . I’ve gone over the whole case. I’ve sifted every grain of evidence in the hopper. I’ve weighed every known fact. I’ve reexamined each incident a dozen times. And I haven’t found a loophole. There’s never been so one-sided a case