Part 4 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: Publicity.]
”Yes,” answered Benham, ”it is. But I tell you, Brown, she is no ordinary woman. The very conception of that murder had a stroke of originality about it that I very much admire. I do not remember anything like it in the annals of crime. It is the true way in which a murder should be committed. The very publicity of the occasion was a safeguard.
Think of poisoning a man at a dinner that he has given himself, in the midst of a score of friends. I tell you that there was a dash of bravery about it that commands my admiration.”
”Do you imagine Roland had anything to do with it?”
”Well, I had my doubts about that at first, but I think he is innocent, although from what I know of the man he will not hesitate to share the proceeds of the crime. You mark my words, they will be married within a year from now if she is acquitted. I believe Roland knows her to be guilty.”
”I thought as much,” said Brown, ”by his actions here, and by some remarks he let drop. Anyhow, our credit in the affair will be all the greater if we succeed in getting her off. Yes,” he continued, rising and pus.h.i.+ng back his chair, ”Madam Brenton is a murderess.”
CHAPTER V.
Brenton found himself once more in the streets of Cincinnati, in a state of mind that can hardly be described. Rage and grief struggled for the mastery, and added to the tumult of these pa.s.sions was the uncertainty as to what he should do, or what he _could_ do. He could hardly ask the advice of Ferris again, for his whole trouble arose from his neglect of the counsel that gentleman had already given him. In his new sphere he did not know where to turn. He found himself wondering whether in the spirit-land there was any firm of lawyers who could advise him, and he remembered then how singularly ignorant he was regarding the conditions of existence in the world to which he now belonged. However, he felt that he must consult with somebody, and Ferris was the only one to whom he could turn. A moment later he was face to face with him.
”Mr. Ferris,” he said, ”I am in the most grievous trouble, and I come to you in the hope that, if you cannot help me, you can at least advise me what to do.”
”If your trouble has come,” answered Ferris, with a shade of irony in his voice, ”through following the advice that I have already given you, I shall endeavour, as well as I am able, to help you out of it.”
”You know very well,” cried Brenton, hotly, ”that my whole trouble has occurred through neglecting your advice, or, at least, through deliberately not following it. I _could_ not follow it.”
”Very well, then,” said Ferris, ”I am not surprised that you are in a difficulty. You must remember that such a crisis is an old story with us here.”
”But, my dear sir,” said Brenton, ”look at the appalling condition of things, the knowledge of which has just come to me. It seems I was poisoned, but of course that doesn't matter. I feel no resentment against the wretch who did it. But the terrible thing is that my wife has been arrested for the crime, and I have just learned that her own lawyers actually believe her guilty.”
”That fact,” said Ferris, calmly, ”will not interfere with their eloquent pleading when the case comes to trial.”
Brenton glared at the man who was taking things so coolly, and who proved himself so unsympathetic; but an instant after he realized the futility of quarrelling with the only person who could give him advice, so he continued, with what patience he could command--
”The situation is this: My wife has been arrested for the crime of murdering me. She is now in the custody of the sheriff. Her trouble and anxiety of mind are fearful to contemplate.”
”My dear sir,” said Ferris, ”there is no reason why you or anybody else should contemplate it.”
”How can you talk in that cold-blooded way?” cried Brenton, indignantly.
”Could you see _your_ wife, or any one _you_ held dear, incarcerated for a dreadful crime, and yet remain calm and collected, as you now appear to be when you hear of another's misfortune?”
”My dear fellow,” said Ferris, ”of course it is not to be expected that one who has had so little experience with this existence should have any sense of proportion. You appear to be speaking quite seriously. You do not seem at all to comprehend the utter triviality of all this.”
”Good gracious!” cried Brenton, ”do you call it a trivial thing that a woman is in danger of her life for a crime which she never committed?”
”If she is innocent,” said the other, in no way moved by the indignation of his comrade, ”surely that state of things will be brought out in the courts, and no great harm will be done, even looking at things from the standpoint of the world you have left. But I want you to get into the habit of looking at things from the standpoint of this world, and not of the other. Suppose that what you would call the worst should happen--suppose she is hanged--what then?”
Brenton stood simply speechless with indignation at this brutal remark.
”If you will just look at things correctly,” continued Ferris, imperturbably, ”you will see that there is probably a moment of anguish, perhaps not even that moment, and then your wife is here with you in the land of spirits. I am sure that is a consummation devoutly to be wished.
Even a man in your state of mind must see the reasonableness of this.
Now, looking at the question in what you would call its most serious aspect, see how little it amounts to. It isn't worth a moment's thought, whichever way it goes.”
”You think nothing, then, of the disgrace of such a death--of the bitter injustice of it?”