Hand and Ring

the prosecution has not shown you, and what it now devolves upon me to show, is that this path which the prisoner is allowed to have taken is one which no man could traverse without encountering great difficulties and many hindrances to speed. It is not only a narrow path filled with various encumbrances in the way of brambles and rolling stones, but it is so flanked by an impenetrable undergrowth in some places, and by low, swampy ground in others, that no deviation from its course is possible, while to keep within it and follow its many turns and windings till it finally emerges upon the highway that leads to the Quarry Station would require many more minutes than those which elapsed between the time of the murder and the hour the prisoner made his appearance at the Quarry Station. In other words, I propose to introduce before you as witnesses two gentlemen from New York, both of whom are experts in all feats of pedestrianism, and who, having been over the road themselves, are in position to testify that the time necessary for a man to pass by means of this path from Mrs. Clemmens’ house to the Quarry Station is, by a definite number of minutes, greater than that allowed to the prisoner by the evidence laid before you. If, therefore, you accept the testimony of the prosecution as true, and believe that the prisoner took the train for Buffalo, which he has been said to do, it follows, as a physical impossibility, for him to have been at Mrs. Clemmens’ cottage, or anywhere else except on the road to the station, at the moment when the fatal blow was dealt.

“Your Honor, this is our answer to the terrible charge which has been made against the prisoner; it is simple, but it is effective, and upon it, as upon a rock, we found our defence.”

And with a bow, Mr. Orcutt sat down, and, it being late in the day, the court adjourned.

XXX

Byrd Uses His Pencil Again

Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I shall do that that is reason.

Merry Wives of Windsor

“Byrd, you look dazed.”

“I am.”

Hickory paused till they were well clear of the crowd that was pouring from the courtroom; then he said:

“Well, what do you think of this as a defence?”

“I am beginning to think it is good,” was the slow, almost hesitating, reply.

“Beginning to think?”

“Yes. At first it seemed puerile. I had such a steadfast belief in Mansell’s guilt, I could not give much credit to any argument tending to shake me loose from my convictions. But the longer I think of it the more vividly I remember the difficulties of the road he had to take in his flight. I have travelled it myself, you remember, and I don’t see how he could have got over the ground in ninety minutes.”

Hickory’s face assumed a somewhat quizzical expression.

“Byrd,” said he, “whom were you looking at during the time Mr. Orcutt was making his speech?”

“At the speaker, of course.”

“Bah!”

“Whom were you looking at?”

“At the person who would be likely to give me some return for my pains.”

“The prisoner?”

“No.”

“Whom, then?”

“Miss Dare.”

Byrd shifted uneasily to the other side of his companion.

“And what did you discover from her, Hickory?” he asked.

“Two things. First, that she knew no more than the rest of us what the defence was going to be. Secondly, that she regarded it as a piece of great cleverness on the part of Orcutt, but that she didn’t believe in it anymore⁠—well, any more than I do.”

“Hickory!”

“Yes, sir! Miss Dare is a smart woman, and a resolute one, and could have baffled the penetration of all concerned if she had only remembered to try. But she forgot that others might be more interested in making out what was going on in her mind at this critical moment than in watching the speaker or noting the effect of his words upon the court. In fact, she was too eager herself to hear what he had to say to remember her role, I fancy.”

“But, I don’t see⁠—” began Byrd.

“Wait,” interrupted the other. “You believe Miss Dare loves Craik Mansell?”

“Most certainly,” was the gloomy response.

“Very well, then. If she had known what the defence was going to be she would have been acutely alive to the effect it was going to have upon the jury. That would have been her first thought and her only thought all the time Mr. Orcutt was speaking, and she would have sat with her eyes fixed upon the men upon whose acceptance or nonacceptance of the truth of this argument her lover’s life ultimately depended. But no; her gaze, like yours, remained fixed upon Mr. Orcutt, and she scarcely breathed or stirred till he had fully revealed what his argument was going to be. Then⁠—”

“Well, then?”

“Instead of flashing with the joy of relief which any devoted woman would experience who sees in this argument a proof of her lover’s innocence, she merely dropped her eyes and resumed her old mask of impassiveness.”

“From all of which you gather⁠—”

“That her feelings were not those of relief, but doubt. In other words, that the knowledge she possesses is of a character which laughs to scorn any such subterfuge of defence as Orcutt advances.”

“Hickory,” ventured Byrd, after a long silence, “it is time we understood each other. What is your secret thought in relation to Miss Dare?”

“My secret thought? Well,” drawled the other, looking away, “I think she knows more about this crime than she has yet chosen to reveal.”

“More than she evinced today in her testimony?”

“Yes.”

“I should like to know why you think so. What special reasons have you for drawing any such conclusions?”

“Well, one reason is, that she was no more shaken by the plausible argument advanced by Mr. Orcutt. If her knowledge of the crime was limited to what she acknowledged in her testimony, and her conclusions as to Mansell’s guilt