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Master Hand

<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> <h3>THE INQUEST CONCLUDED</h3> Whatever my inclination may have been, I had no opportunity the next day to work on the case and scarcely any for thought of it. An important business matter took me out of town by an early train and kept me away over night so that I got back only in time to attend poor White's funeral the morning following, and then to hurry to the adjourned hearing before the Coroner. In some respects I regretted my absence, as I might have become more familiar with the case in the interim had I been at hand, but I felt fresher for the change and diversion and ready and keen to make the most of every bit of evidence. The crowd in the little court-room was greater and the interest seemed more intense than upon the first day. The morning papers had hinted vaguely at newly discovered important evidence and a possible clue to the identity of the murderer and a glance at the face of Inspector Dalton confirmed them. It was confident, almost triumphant, in expression, and I had misgivings that it boded no good for Winters. Indeed, I looked over my shoulder to see if the police had a prisoner, but it was not so. Standing a little aside from the crowd were my three friends talking quietly together and nearby Benton, as also two women closely veiled and several rather seedy looking men,—witnesses, undoubtedly. When the jurors were all in their seats the Coroner requested Dalton to proceed with the evidence and Van Bult was called. He advanced promptly but without haste and, taking the oath, faced the jury. He was perfectly composed, and gave his testimony in a clear low voice without hurry and without hesitation. It differed very little from that of Davis and Littell and threw no new light on the case. When he concluded he turned to the Inspector for further questions. Dalton asked him what were the denominations of the bills he had left on White's table and if he remembered where he had obtained them. He answered they were fifty-dollar bills and that they were new ones which he had obtained from the American National Bank where he had drawn five hundred dollars in fifties. On being asked if he had any of them with him, he took one from his pocket-book and handed it to me. The Inspector here turned to one of the policemen and despatched him on some errand. He then asked the witness where he had been at the time of the preceding hearing, and was answered that he had gone to Buffalo by an early train the morning of the murder and returned only the succeeding evening, too late to attend. Dalton asked him if his trip had not been a sudden one, and what had taken him. He replied that his trip was not unexpected and that it had been on personal business. The Inspector seemed inclined to push his questions but changed his mind and allowed him to leave the stand. I felt relieved, for I had seen by Van Bult's expression that he was not disposed to submit to further questions concerning himself and I knew his temper would not brook insistence from the Inspector. The night-officer, the substance of whose testimony had been told to me in the Inspector's office as I have related, then testified. He gave his account of the happenings of the night just as I had heard them and in answer to a few direct questions stated positively that it was not later than a quarter after one o'clock when White left the house that night wearing the cap and ulster, that he had seen him wear them more than once and knew them. That it was about a half-hour later when he had seen a man looking in White's window and some little time later, probably still before two o'clock, when the same man came out of the vestibule and hurried away, turning up Sixth Avenue. That he wore a light coat and brown derby hat and that he thought he could recognize him if he saw him again. The witness impressed me as honest and painstaking in his work but not as especially clever. The effect of his evidence upon the jury and all present was plain. They had hung on his every word with breathless attention. To them it evidently seemed, as to the police, that they had fixed upon the criminal. At my request the Inspector asked the officer if the man he had seen leaving the vestibule had White's ulster with him, and he answered positively that he had not. My intention, of course, was to call to the notice of the jurors its unaccounted-for disappearance. I was not, however, encouraged to hope I had been successful, for from the indifferent expression with which the answer was received by most of them at least, they apparently thought it gratuitous and I realized that it would require a lucid argument to awaken them to its importance. As the officer left the stand, I wondered whom the next witness would be, and if I was ever to hear anything further of the ulster or if its disappearance was to remain unexplained, to be ignored! I remembered, however, Detective Miles's promise, "We will find it if it is not destroyed," and felt sure he would keep his word, and this expectation was promptly confirmed. "Call Mrs. Bunce!" and one of the ladies I had previously observed came forward. She was past middle age and plain but respectable looking. "Where do you live?" she was asked. She gave her residence—a house on Nineteenth Street, west of Sixth Avenue, on the north side and only a block west of White's house. She kept a lodging-house, she said. An officer, by order of Dalton, now unwrapped a large package and produced the ulster. Miles smiled at me and I nodded my approval. The witness was asked if she knew anything about it. She identified it immediately and explained that she had found it lying over a chair in her front hall when she came down early the morning of White's death. She did not know how it came there; it was not there when she retired about eleven o'clock. No inmate of the house owned such an article that she knew of. In fact no one lived in the house but herself and one other lady—and she looked toward her companion,—and a servant girl. The Inspector asked her nothing further, and Miss Stanton was then called. When Mrs. Bunce left the stand, a slight, graceful woman came quickly forward and took her place and as she lifted her veil to take the oath, a very pretty face was disclosed. She was young, not much more than twenty, I should say, and had the dark hair and the blue eyes of the Irish type. The gray hat she wore with the big tilted brim had a jaunty look, while it cast a softening shadow over her face, and a close-fitting tailor gown of gray home-spun fitted well her trim figure. Altogether she was a very attractive-looking woman. When she spoke her voice was low and not unrefined, but there was a slight metallic tone to it and a lack of sensitive modulation that was a bit disappointing. Her eyes, too, when she looked at you, though undeniably handsome, were too direct and persistent in their glance to be altogether pleasing; there was also a little hard look about the mouth that should not have been there in a woman. I had never seen her before, but I knew of her quite well as the somewhat questionable friend of White's of whom we had been talking on the night of his death, and I took perhaps a greater interest in her on that account than I might otherwise have done. I noticed, too, that Davis, Littell, and Van Bult were also observing her closely, the latter with his monocle critically adjusted. So far as I was aware, however, none of them knew her except by reputation. I was amused to see the Inspector straighten up and unconsciously plume himself a little as he prepared to question her and his voice was gentler and his manner more deferential than it had been. "This is Miss Stanton, I believe, Miss Belle Stanton?" and he smiled encouragingly. "Yes, Inspector," she answered. "We will not detain you any longer than necessary, Miss Stanton, and you must not be nervous," he continued, still with the same reassuring manner, and she smiled sweetly at him in return. I felt myself getting out of temper. What business had Dalton indulging in gallantry and platitudes when engaged on an official investigation that involved life and death? I fear my manner or expression must have suggested my feelings, for he resumed his business-like tone and conducted his examination from then on more tersely, though he could not quite abandon a little gallantry of manner. "I believe, Miss Stanton, that you reside with Mrs. Bunce?" The answer was in the affirmative. "And have you any knowledge of the finding of that ulster?" "I understand from Mrs. Bunce that it was found in her hallway, though I did not see it there till later in the morning, and I do not know how it came there," was the answer. "Did you ever see it before or have you any knowledge of its owner?" "Yes," she said, "I have seen it a number of times when worn by Mr. Arthur White." "Then you knew Mr. White," Dalton asked. "Yes, I have known him for about a year"; and the questions and answers continued in rapid succession: "Was he a particular friend of yours?" "He was." "Was he in the habit of visiting you and sometimes in the evening, rather late, perhaps?" "He was." "As late as one o'clock?" "Yes, sometimes, not often." "Did Mr. White have a latch-key to the house?" "He did." "Had you seen him on the evening or night before the ulster was found?" "I had not, nor for a couple of days." "Have you any knowledge of Mr. White or of any one else having been at your house late that night or any knowledge of how the ulster came there?" "I have not." "It was through you, was it not, that its discovery was reported to the police?" "It was; I heard of Mr. White's death, and considered it my duty to have so curious a coincidence reported." "Thank you, Miss Stanton. I think that is all; we won't trouble you any longer," Dalton concluded. The witness smiled her thanks brightly to her interrogator as she left the stand, but I thought she seemed troubled and somewhat sad too in spite of her apparent indifference. As she rejoined her companion she replaced her veil and, turning her back to the room, stood looking pensively out of the window. The Inspector evidently considered that he had exhausted the witness, but I was far from satisfied and I meant sometime to see more of Miss Stanton; I felt that through her might yet be found a clue that would explain the presence of the ulster in that house. Miss Stanton was succeeded on the stand by a flashy-looking man of the gambler type who gave his name as James Smith, and his occupation as dealer at a faro lay-out on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-seventh Street. He was asked if he had charge of the game on the previous Monday night and said he had. The Inspector then handed him a fifty-dollar bill and asked if he had seen it before and, if so, under what circumstances. Smith carefully examined the bill, reading off it the name of the bank—the American National—and the number. He then answered that he had given that same bill the previous night to the Inspector, who had come to his place to get it. In answer to another question, he said that he had obtained the bill about two o'clock or a little later Tuesday morning from a man who had lost it at his game. He stated further that the man was unknown to him, but that he thought he could recognize him should he see him again. Then pointing to one of the witnesses, he said: "That man was with him!" All eyes were turned in the direction he indicated where a shabby, dissipated looking young fellow was standing by himself pulling at his mustache with an air of assumed bravado. "That will do," said Dalton, and the witness stepped hurriedly down, looking relieved over his dismissal. The bill the witness had identified, together with the one Van Bult had given me, were then compared by the officials and the jury, and they proved to be of the same bank issue and series. I saw the jurors looking with admiration at the Inspector, and I felt myself that much credit was due him. The police work had been quickly and well done. Their case was indeed thoroughly "worked up," and I had to confess to myself, despite my disapproval of the method, that if they had not started with the assumption that Winters was the guilty man, they would not have found the money or secured any evidence to direct the verdict of the jury; but the question still remained, was its conclusion to be the true one? Time would tell. Almost before the sensation created by the last evidence had subsided, Dalton called to the stand the man pointed out by the witness. He came forward slouching and ill at ease and the looks cast upon him from all sides were not reassuring. Having taken the oath, he stood sullenly awaiting the questions. In answer to the usual question he gave his name as Lewis Roberts. "You were in Smith's place Tuesday morning," the Inspector stated, rather than asked him. "I was," he answered. "You were with another man," he continued in the same peremptory tone. "I was." "Did you see him lose that fifty-dollar bill," pointing to the one Smith had identified. "I saw him lose a fifty-dollar bill—I do not know that it was that one." This was plainly a difficult witness. The Inspector leaned toward him, looking him straight in the eyes, and put his next question slowly and with emphasis on each word. "Who was that man?" Just as slowly and firmly came the answer, each word falling distinctly in the stillness. "I do not know." It was almost a sigh of relief that escaped from the audience, but Dalton continued: "Then how did you meet him and when?" "That night in a saloon on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Twenty-Fourth Street; we got to drinking together there." "And where did he get this money?" The witness seemed inclined to answer more freely now, and replied that it was suggested that they go and play the bank, but neither of them had any money, and then his companion said he knew where he thought he could get some and went off saying he would be back before long. "What time was that?" the Inspector interrupted. The witness thought "it was some time after one o'clock," and continuing said, "the man was gone about half an hour and then returned with the fifty dollars and we went to Smith's place and lost it." "And what did you do next?" he was asked. "We had no more money and so we left. We parted outside and I did not see him again." "And so," said the Inspector, "you don't know him? Do you think you would know him if you saw him again?" "I do not know." "That is all," said Dalton; "go back to your place. We may want you." The tone implied a threat and the witness answered it with a defiant look. He had evidently been lying, but not to shield himself, I thought. I wondered who the next witness would be; there did not seem occasion for many more for already the police had pretty nearly put the noose around the neck of their man. Turning, after a few minutes delay, to Dalton to see what might be the cause of it, I saw he was in earnest conversation with a sergeant. He was evidently receiving some important report, for he listened attentively and gave an order in response which despatched the officer rapidly from the room. Then giving his attention again to the proceedings, he called another witness. It was the paying teller of the American National Bank. His evidence required but a few minutes. He stated he had paid Mr. Van Bult five hundred in "fifties" on the morning before White's death, and that they were new bills just received by the Bank from the Sub-Treasury. On being shown the bill produced by Van Bult and that recovered from the gambling house, he identified them as two of the bills thus received by the Bank, though he said he could not state positively they were the same drawn by Van Bult as a few others had also been paid out. However, it was hardly necessary that he should do so as every one was satisfied the bill obtained from the gambling house was one of those left by Van Bult on White's table. It only remained now for the man who had lost it to explain how he came by it. Would the explanation be satisfactory? That was the one material point. When the paying teller had concluded it was late in the afternoon. It was dark out-of-doors and the gas had been lighted within, but the crowd had not diminished; on the contrary, it had been steadily augmented wherever a new spectator had found a chance to wedge his way into the throng. So intense was the interest that neither the Coroner nor a juror had suggested any recess. They sat scarcely moving in their seats, intent only on the words of each succeeding witness. All felt something final must come soon. The evidence was logical and dovetailed perfectly; it all pointed to one man. Who was he? The police must know, they could not have failed in this one vital particular after succeeding so fully in all others. I could read these thoughts in the faces of those about me, in their expectant attitudes; and I felt they were not to be disappointed. The police had done their work thoroughly and the Inspector had submitted its results with telling effect. If it were his purpose to work his evidence up to a climax he had succeeded and the moment had now come for the crowning of his success,—the identification of the man. After that there would be little left apparently for the lawyers of the State to do; but I felt there might be something for some one to undo. There was a slight disturbance among the spectators at one side of the room near the door; "another spectator struggling for a nearer view," I thought to myself; and then amid an expectant hush the night-officer was recalled to the stand. "Officer," said Dalton, "you said you thought you would recognize the man you saw that night if you should see him again; look about you now! Do you see him?" The officer let his gaze pass over the jury and witnesses and slowly on to where the spectators were gathered at the farther end of the room,—men retreating before the searching glance as from the eye of fate,—and then he leaned forward and fixed his look on a man standing where the retreating crowd had left him almost alone: "That is the man," he said. I looked; it was Winters! He wore the light coat and was fingering nervously the brown derby hat which he held. His head was bent, but one could see that his face was very pale and his eyes dull and heavy from drinking. It was a pitiful sight, this helpless accused man, seemingly unconscious of his position, and I turned away; but the crowd stared as though fascinated even while they shrank from him. The Inspector next recalled the witness Smith. "Can you identify among the persons present the man who lost the fifty-dollar bill at your gambling table?" he asked. Without hesitation he also pointed to Winters and said that he was the man. There was a moment's delay, and I knew Dalton was hesitating to put his question of identification to the witness Roberts, for fear of damaging his case by a denial, but professional duty prevailed, and he called him up and asked him pointedly if that was not the man who was with him Tuesday morning and lost the fifty-dollar bill. The witness at first seemed disposed to evade the question, but his courage failed him and in a low voice he admitted that it was. Then Dalton turned slowly and faced Winters and said: "Henry Winters! You are under suspicion of having killed Arthur White. Have you anything to say?" I looked at Winters again. He had not changed his position, but his glance was turned to Dalton with a look of dumb appeal and then it went wandering round the room as if he were struggling to understand it all, but he made no answer, and after a moment his eyes fell again and he relapsed into his former insensibility. At a signal, an officer who had been standing back of him advanced, and handcuffing him, led him without resistance from the room. The crowd had been silent during this scene, but when he was gone there was that stir among them that is heard when people rouse themselves after an ordeal. By an effort I recovered my self-possession in time to give appropriate attention to the closing proceedings. The Inspector was announcing in his former business-like tone, that the evidence was all in and the jury at liberty to find their verdict. There was no doubt as to what it would be. They withdrew and were gone a few minutes for form's sake only and on returning the foreman announced the verdict: "The jury find that Arthur White came to his death on the morning of January the —, 1883, in the city of New York, through a wound deliberately inflicted by Henry Winters." That was all. The jury was dismissed, the crowd dispersed, and the first stage of the case had closed. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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