Part 40 (1/2)
”Six times? You have had your hair cut lately?”
”This morning, sah. Wife said I wasn't looking 'spectable enough to come into court before genteel gemlen.”
”And you introduced Miss Lamb and Mr. Aronson about the second hair-cut before that?”
”Yes, sah, third-last time. 'Scuse me.”
”It must have been four months ago, then. That will do. Mr. Hardwood.”
A business-looking old gentleman took the stand.
”You are a member of the firm of Hardwood & Lockwell?” asked Badger.
”Senior member.”
”What is your business?”
”Safemakers.”
”How long have you been established?”
”Thirty-seven years.”
”Do you recollect filling an order for a safe from Prof. Arnold?”
”I do, sir. It is the first order on our books.”
”Are those books in existence to-day?”
”They are, sir,” said the old business man, with pride.
”Do you happen to know whether that safe ordered by Prof. Arnold was still used by him at the time of the fire which destroyed his home?”
”I have reason to believe so. I remember seeing it and reminding him of the circ.u.mstance in his house within a year.”
”You regarded it as in a way the foundation stone of your business prosperity?”
”It was our first sale.”
”What, if you recollect, was the number of the safe--an old-fas.h.i.+oned article, I presume?”
”Somewhat antiquated in style, sir. I have consulted our books, at the request of the officer--Mr. McCausland, I think. The number of the safe sold to Benjamin Arnold was 1863.”
”Were you here,” asked s.h.a.garach, ”when Prof. Borrowscales read out the number which was jotted down upon a sheet of paper in Floyd's desk?”
”I was. I was struck at the ident.i.ty.”
”You have no means of knowing, however, whether or not that number was a memorandum of the date in the life of Bakunin, the anarchistic writer?”
”I have not.”
”Mr. McCausland, again,” said the district attorney.
For the third time the inspector came to the box from the ante-room through the door at which he watched and listened.
”You occupied a cell adjoining that of the prisoner in the state prison at one time?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Will you state any conversation relevant to this trial which you may have overheard?”
”It was a soliloquy rather than a conversation.”
”Describe this soliloquy, then.”
”Floyd used to talk at night a good deal. He wasn't sleeping well.” The court was hushed at this strange introduction. ”There was a communication between our cells and by listening carefully one night I managed to make out what he was saying.”
”And what was he saying?” asked the district attorney, while Floyd studied the witness' face with more curiosity than he had yet at any time shown.
”'Don't tell anybody, Aronson.'”
To the surprise of everybody the accused burst out into a hearty laugh, which rung through the court-room and evidently nettled the whole prosecuting force. Then he bent over to s.h.a.garach and whispered in his ear. s.h.a.garach jumped to his feet, promptly as usual, for the district attorney had finished. His opportunity had come.
”What crime had you committed, Mr. McCausland, that the state should isolate you in one of its prison cells?”
”I was a voluntary prisoner,” answered the detective. He had put his neck in the noose and must bear the strangling as cheerfully as possible.
”For what purpose?”
”A professional one.”
”You were there to win the confidence of the accused and extort a confession of guilt from him if possible?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Did you succeed?”
”Owing to the cleverness of the prisoner and his having been forewarned, I failed.”
”Not owing to the fact that he is innocent, you think?”
”I think not.”
s.h.a.garach seemed satisfied not to press this further and asked for the blotter, which was in the foreman's hand.
”You were requested to state any conversation relevant to this cause which you had with the accused while in prison. You answered with a few meaningless words p.r.o.nounced in sleep. I confess the relevance of all this later testimony escapes me,” said s.h.a.garach.