two days went by. mr. drew, mr. schoolcraft and mr. kauffman were examined and cross-examined, and after them came the first of the expert accountants employed to go over the books. the situation continued to look black for mr. hildebrand—if anything a little blacker, for neither of the foregoing witnesses appeared to have been guilty of offending a lady to such an extent that her husband had to order him out of the house.
mr. drew received considerable unpleasant attention from the defendant’s counsel, but he came through pretty comfortably. he admitted that he “cleaned up more than half a million” on the deal with the insurance company, and that he was the husband of mr. stevens’ sister. he always had been sorry for mr. hildebrand, and even now was without animus. mr. schoolcraft acknowledged buying and selling the younger hildebrand’s shares, but was positive that there had been no collusion with mr. stevens.
the case began to drag. sampson lost interest. he attended strictly and no doubt diligently to the evidence, but when the expert accountants began to testify be found himself considerably at sea. he was not good at figures. they made him restless. the rest of the jury appeared to be similarly afflicted. politeness alone kept them from yawning. afterwards it was revealed that only one of the twelve was good at figures of any sort: the automobile salesman. he was a perfect marvel at statistics. he could tell you how many miles it is from new york to oswego without even calculating, and he knew to a fraction the difference in the upkeep of all the known brands of automobiles in america. he made sampson tired.
despite the damaging testimony that seemed surely to be strangling her grandfather’s chances for escape, miss hildebrand revealed no sign of despair, or defeat. she came in each morning as serene as a may evening, and she left the court-room in the afternoon with a mien as untroubled as when she entered it. .
there was quite a little flutter in the jury box—and outside of it, for that matter—when, on the third morning, she appeared in a complete change of costume—a greyish, modish sort of thing, sampson would have told you—very smart and trig and comforting to the masculine eye. sampson who knew more than any of his companions about such things, remarked (to himself, of course)—that her furs were chinchilla. chinchilla is nothing if not convincing.
it struck him, as he took her in—(she was standing, straight and slim, conversing with that beardless cub of an assistant-assistant district attorney)—that she was, if such a thing were possible, even lovelier than she was in the other gown. no doubt sampson failed in his sense of proportion. she was undeniably lovelier today than yesterday, and she would continue to go on being prettier from day to day, no matter what manner of gown she wore.
it also occurred to him that the young assistant-assistant was singularly unprofessional, if not actually fresh, in dragging her into a conversation that must have been distasteful to her. he wondered how she could smile so agreeably and so enchantingly over the stupid things the fellow was saying.
near the close of the noon recess he was constrained to reprove no. 7 for an act that might have created serious complications. he was standing in the rotunda finishing his third cigarette, when miss hildebrand approached on her way to the court-room. it had been his practice—and it was commendable—to refrain from staring at her on occasions such as this. a rather low order of intelligence prevented his fellow jurors from according her the same consideration. they stared without blinking until she disappeared from view.
now, no. 7 meant no harm, and yet he so far forgot himself that he doffed his hat to her as she passed. fortunately she was not looking in his direction. as a matter of fact, she never even so much as noticed the nine or ten jurors who strewed her path. no. 7 was mistaken, there can be no doubt about that. he thought she looked at him instead of through him, and in his excitement he grabbed for his hat. perhaps he hoped for a smile of recognition, and, if not that, a smile of amusement. he would have been grateful in either case.
“don’t do that,” whispered sampson, gruffly.
“why not?” demanded no. 7, blinking his eyes. “no harm in being a gentleman, is there?”
“you must not be seen speaking to her—or to any one of the interested parties, for that matter. do you want to have her accused of bribery or—er—complicity?”
“i thought she was going to speak to me,” stammered no. 7.
“well, she wasn’t. she has too much sense for that. good lord, if counsel for the state saw you doing that sort of thing, they’d suspect something in a second.”
“haven’t you read about those jury-fixing scandals?” exclaimed the chubby bachelor, surprisingly red in the face. he had almost reached his own hat when sampson spoke. four or five of the others glowered upon the offending no. 7. “we can’t even be seen bowing to anybody connected with the case.”
“i saw you throw your cigar away when she came in the door,” retorted no. 7, in some exasperation. “what did you do that for?”
the chubby bachelor looked hurt. “because i was through with it,” he said. “i don’t hang onto ‘em till they burn my lips, you know.” he deemed it advisable to resort to sarcasm.
“just remember that you are a juror,” advised no. 4 in a friendly tone. one might have thought he was compassionate.
“no harm done,” said no. 12. “she didn’t even see you. i happen to know, because she was lookin’ right at me when you took off your lid. you didn’t notice me fiddling with my head-piece, did you? i guess not. she don’t expect us to, and so i didn’t make any crack. i—”
“i’d suggest,” said sampson, with dignity, “that we devote a certain amount of respect to the ethics.”
it was a little puzzling. ethics is a word that calls for reflection. you’ve got to know just what it means, and after you know that much about it, you’ve got to fix its connection. several of the gentlemen nodded profoundly, and two of them said: “well, i should say so.” that night sampson sat alone in front of his fireplace, his brow clouded by uneasy, disturbing thoughts. a woodfire crackled and simmered on the huge florentine andirons. turple, coming in to inquire if he would speak with mrs. fitzmorton on the telephone, was gruffly instructed to say that he was not at home, and when turple returned with the word that mrs. fitzmorton was at home and still expecting him to dine at her house that evening, notwithstanding the fact that her guests and her dinner had been waiting for him since eight o’clock—and it was now 8:45—sampson groaned so dismally that his valet was alarmed. the groan was succeeded, however, by a far from feeble expression of self-reproach, and a tremendous scurrying into overcoat and hat. he reached mrs. fitzmorton’s house—it happened to be in the next block north—in less than three minutes, and he was so engagingly contrite, and so terribly good-looking, that she forgave him at once—which was more than the male members of the party did.
they were all married men and they couldn’t forgive anybody for being late. they were always being implored, either pathetically or peevishly, to stop complaining.
sampson had cause for worry. he had been slow in arriving at the truth, but that afternoon his conviction was established. miss hildebrand was depending on him to swing that jury!
she was counting on his intelligence, his decision, his insight, his power to see beyond the supposed facts in the case as presented by the witnesses for the state. he was sure of it. there was nothing in the cool, frank scrutiny that she gave him from time to time that could be described by the most critical of minds as even suggestive of a purpose to influence him, and yet he was sure that she depended on his good sense for a solution of all that was going on.
what disturbed him most was this: there was no distinction between the look she gave him when the state scored a point and when the condition was reversed. the same confident, reasoning expression was in her lovely eyes, as much as to say: “you must see through all this, no. 3—of course you must, or you couldn’t look me in the eye as you do.”
it was as clear as day to him: she was certain that her grandfather was incapable of doing the thing he was charged with doing, and she could not see how a man of his (sampson’s) perception could possibly think otherwise.
the revelation caused him to forget all about his dinner engagement. also it caused him to pass an absolutely sleepless night. when he closed his eyes she still looked into them—always the same clear, understanding, undoubting gaze that he had come to know so well. when he lay with them wide open, staring into the darkness, the vision took more definite shape, so he closed them tightly again.
turple noticed his haggardness the next morning and was solicitous. now, turple, at his best, was not entitled to a stare of any description. but sampson’s rapt gaze was so prolonged and so singularly detached from the object upon which it rested—turple’s countenance—that the poor fellow was alarmed. he had never seen his master look just like that before. later on, sampson told him to go to the devil. turple was relieved.
the accountants, the detectives and two bookkeepers who formerly had worked under mr. hildebrand testified and then the state rested. through it all the prisoner sat unmoved. sampson wondered what was going on in the mind of that gaunt, fine-faced old man. what would be his answer to the damning evidence that stood arrayed against him? what could be his defence!
he was sorry for him. he would have given a great deal to be able to rise now from his seat in the jury box and announce candidly that he did not feel that he could bring in a verdict against the old man, reminding the court and the district attorney that he had said in the beginning that he could not answer for his sympathies.
during the noon recess he took account of his fellow jurors. they were a glum, serious looking set of men. he knew where their sympathies lay and, like himself, they were depressed. the justice—even he—had lost much of the geniality that at the outset had warmed the atmosphere. he no longer smiled; no more did he exploit his wit, and as for his brisk moustache, it drooped.
to the amazement of every one, the defendant’s counsel announced that they had but one witness: the prisoner himself. and every one then knew that no matter what the prisoner said in his own defence, his testimony would be unsupported; it would have to stand alone against odds that were overwhelming.
slowly but surely it became evident to these more or less discerning men that james hildebrand’s plea would be for sympathy and not for vindication. by his own story of the dealings with stevens and drew and the others he hoped to reach their hearts and through their hearts a certain sense of justice that moves in all men’s minds.
sampson’s heart sank. while he was convinced that the old man had been cruelly tricked by his business associates, that they had squeezed him dry in order to profit by his misery, that stevens at least was actuated by a personal grudge which found relief in crushing the father of the man he hated, and that the others may have been innocently or pusillanimously influenced by the designs of this one man who sought control, there still remained the fact that hildebrand, according to the evidence, had violated the law and was a subject for punishment—if not for correction, as the prison reformers would have it in these days. in no way could the old man’s act be legally or morally justified. sampson, after hearing the announcement of his counsel, realised that he would have a very unpleasant duty to perform, and he knew that he was going to hate himself.
he had never spoken a word to alexandra hildebrand; he had not even heard the sound of her voice—her conversation with counsel was carried on in whispers or in subdued tones—and yet he was in love with her! he was the victim of a glorious enchantment.
and he knew that no. 7 was in love with her—foolishly in love with her; and so was the once supercilious no. 12; and the chubby bachelor; and no. 9 who wanted to stay off the jury because he had to get married in three weeks; and no. 8 who had two sons in the high school, one daughter in altman’s and two wives in the cemetery; and the sombre-faced no. 1; and all the rest of them! no. 2, who chewed gum resoundingly, no longer chewed. his jaws were silenced. he had an impression that miss hildebrand disapproved of gum-chewing, so he stopped. more than this, no man could sacrifice.
the spruce young men from the district attorney’s office were visibly affected—(they really were quite sickening, thought sampson); and the deputy clerk, the court-room bailiffs, and the stripling who carried messages from one given point to another with incredible speed, now that he had something to keep him moving.
all of them, in a manner of speaking, were in love with her. and she was not in love with any one of them. there could be no doubt about that. they meant absolutely nothing to her.
sampson wondered if she had a sweetheart, if there was some one with whom she was in love, if those dear lips—and he sighed bleakly. he hated, with unexampled venom, this purely suppositious male who harassed him from morning till night. common-sense told him that she must have a sweetheart. it was inconceivable that she shouldn’t possess the most natural thing in the world. she just couldn’t help having one. what sort of a fellow was he? of course, he didn’t deserve her; that was clear enough, assuming that the fellow actually existed. in his present frame of mind, sampson could think of only one man in the world who might possibly be deserving of her.
nevertheless, he felt that he was behaving in a silly, amateurish manner, falling in love with her like this. it was to be expected of ignorant, common louts such as no. 7—a very ordinary jackass!—and the other ten men in the box, to say nothing of the suddenly adolescent yet middle-aged horde outside. it was just the sort of thing that they would be certain to do. they were a fatuous—but there he stopped, scowling within himself. what right had he to call these other men fools? he was no better than they. indeed, he was worse, for he always had believed himself to be supremely above such nonsense as this. they made no pretentions. they fell in love with her just as they would have fallen in love with any pretty girl—and, heaven knows, pretty girls are always being fallen in love with. but that he, the unimpressionable, experienced sampson, should lose his heart—and head—over a girl who had never spoken a word to him, whom he had never seen until six days before, and who doubtless would go out of his life completely the instant the trial was over—why, it ought to have been excruciatingly funny. but it wasn’t funny.
it was very far from funny. putting one’s self in a class with no. 7 and no. 12 and the rest of them was certainly not sampson’s idea of something to laugh at. so he scowled ominously every time he chanced to think of any one of them—which happened only when miss hildebrand deigned to look at that particular individual.
and he would have to send her beloved grandfather to the penitentiary. he would have to hurt her; he would have to bring pain and despair and, worse than these, astonishment to her beautiful eyes. he knew that he would be haunted for the rest of his life by the look she would give him when the verdict was announced.
james hildebrand went on the stand on the afternoon of the sixth day. a curious hush settled over the court-room. men shifted in their chairs and then slumped down dejectedly, as if oppressed by the utter futility of the tale he would have to tell. alexandra hildebrand alone was bright-eyed and eager. her lips were slightly parted as the old man, grey and erect, took the oath. she knew that the truth and nothing but the truth could fall from the lips of this gentle old grandfather of hers. now they would have the truth! now the case would crumble! she sent one swift, reassuring look through the jury box, and, for the first time, gazed into no man’s eyes. she was puzzled. every face was averted. long afterwards she may have recalled the queer little chill that entered her heart, and stayed there for the briefest instant before passing.
0081
the defendant’s voice was low, well-modulated, unemotional; his manner simple and yet impressive. throughout the entire story that he told, his hearers listened with rapt attention.
she sent one swift, reassuring look through the jury box.
they were hoping that he could convince them. they watched his fine, distinguished face; they watched his sombre, unflinching eyes; they watched his steady hands as they rested on the arms of the chair; they watched him with fear in their hearts: the fear that he would falter and betray himself.
he entered a simple, direct denial of the accusation made against him. his story was not a long one, and it would have to go uncorroborated, for, as he said himself, there was no one upon whom he could call for support. in the first place, he declared that he did not know that he was suspected of having robbed his partners until after many months had passed. he was aware of the investigation, but it had never entered his head that he could be the person under suspicion. he admitted taking a hurried and perhaps ill-advised departure from new york, and, in answer to a direct question from his own counsel, declared that he would never reveal his reason for leaving so secretly and in such haste.
facing the jury he stated calmly, deliberately and in a most resolute manner that he would go to prison for the rest of his days, that he would suffer lasting ignominy and disgrace, before he would publicly account for this action on his part.
when he learned that a true bill had been returned against him by the grand jury, his first impulse was to return to his own country and fight the charge. reflection convinced him that he was safe as long as he remained in his sequestered home in switzerland, and he made up his mind to remain there and die with unlifted disgrace hearing down upon his good name rather than to return and face the probability of having to account for his absence. that, and that alone, was responsible for his decision to remain where he was. no one knew of his whereabouts, not even his own kith and kin. he was as safe as if he were already dead. then, in solemn, unforgettable tones he declared that he had never taken a penny belonging to the cornwallis realty and investment company, that he was innocent of the charge brought against him, notwithstanding the fact that appearances were sufficient to convict.
time brought a change in him. he decided to return and face his accusers. he did not hope to convince them that he was innocent. he only wanted the opportunity to stand before the world and proclaim his innocence. he had no testimony to offer. he could only say that he had not done this monstrous thing of which he was accused.
his testimony was given as a simple statement. he was allowed to tell his brief story without the interpolation of a single question by his counsel. succinctly but with scant bitterness, he recited the story of his own unfair treatment at the hands of his former partners. he touched very casually upon that phase of the matter, as if it were of small consequence to him now. there were no harsh words for the men who had tricked him. one could not help having the feeling that he looked upon them as beneath his notice.
he came home of his own free-will, after years of deliberation. he had been influenced by no one in this singular crisis. he was alone in the world. except for his beloved granddaughter, there was no one else who could suffer through the result of this trial. he was prepared to accept the verdict of the twelve gentlemen who listened to him and who had listened to the testimony of others before him.
there was not a sound in the court-room when he paused and drew a long deep breath. every eye was upon him. then, in a clear, resonant voice he said:
“gentlemen, i repeat that i am absolutely innocent of this charge. i ask you to believe me when i say this to you. if you do not believe me, i must be content to accept your judgment. i do not ask you to discredit the testimony of the men who have appeared against me. they have told all they know about the circumstances, i dare say, and i am convinced that they are honest men. they have only shown you that there was a colossal theft, that a large sum of money is unaccounted for in their business. they have not shown you, however, that i am the man who took it. they have only shown you that fifty thousand dollars is missing and unaccounted for. i admit i was responsible as treasurer of the company for the safe-keeping and guardianship of all that money. it disappeared. i can only say to you, gentlemen, that i did not take it.”
his voice was husky. there was a long pause, and then he settled back in his chair and turned wearily to the district attorney for crossexamination. it was then that the crowd knew he had finished his story. a deep breath came from the lips of every one, as if for many minutes it had been withheld.
sampson’s gaze involuntarily sought alexandra hildebrand’s face. he did not mean to look at her. he could not resist the impulse, however. it was stronger than the adamantine resolution he had made. the light of triumph was in her glowing eyes, the flush of victory in the cheek. her grandfather had cleared himself!
sampson’s heart ached as it sank to depths from which it would never rebound. he turned hopelessly to the man in the witness chair, and waited for the district attorney to open his grilling cross-examination. he knew what the state would demand: why did he go away? who replaced a large portion of the amount originally missing? why did he sell his real-estate and his interest in the business? a hundred vital questions would be discharged at him, and he would—but, even as he delved in these dismal reflections, the district attorney arose in his place and said, clearly, distinctly—although no man at first believed his ears:
“no questions, your honour.”
there was utter silence while this amazing announcement sank into the minds of the listeners. counsel for the defence sat rigid and uncomprehending in their chairs; the justice leaned forward and stared; the prisoner’s eyes widened for a second and then slowly closed. his chin fell; his attitude was one of acute humiliation. his story was not even worthy of notice! no questions! the acme of derision!
argument by counsel followed, the beardless “assistant-assistant” making the opening address to the jury. he floundered badly. sampson derived some consolation from his futile, feeble arraignment. if the principal attorney for the state didn’t do a great deal better than his singularly ineffectual confrere, there was still hope that the prisoner’s counsel might by impassioned pleas stir the hearts of twelve men to mercy. the sympathies of all were—but even as he speculated on the probable lengths to which sympathy would carry his companions in arriving at a verdict, there suddenly flashed into his brain a vast illumination. james w. hildebrand was not guilty! he was shielding some one else! his reluctance to tell why he left new york was explained. he could not tell without betraying a secret that must forever remain inviolate! sampson breathed easier. why, it was as plain as day to him! at least, it was something on which to base a conclusion. it might come in very handy too when the jury, in seclusion, began to grope for a favouring light. on reflection they would all agree that no witness actually had sworn that hildebrand took the money. the evidence was decidedly circumstantial. by deduction alone was he guilty. on the other hand he had solemnly sworn that he didn’t take it. and if he didn’t take it, who did? that, said sampson, was a very simple thing to answer: some person unknown to the jury.
miss hildebrand’s spirits undoubtedly fell after that significant move of the state. there was an anxious, bewildered expression in her eyes, and a rather pathetic droop at the corners of her adorable mouth.
the argument proceeded. mr. o ‘brien made the closing speech for the defendant. her spirits revived under the eloquent, fervent plea of the now brilliant irishman. sampson experienced a feeling of real affection for the earnest, though unkempt orator, who more than once brought tears almost to the surface of his eyes. he had great difficulty in suppressing a desire to blubber, and, when he saw her velvety eyes swimming in tears, he blew his nose so violently that he started an epidemic. no. 7, instead of blowing his nose, sniffed so repeatedly and so audibly that every one wished he’d blow, and have it over with.
and when her eyes flashed with indignation during the uncalled-for tirade of the assistant district attorney, sampson developed a hitter hatred for the man. when she appeared crushed and bewildered by the vicious attacks of the fellow, and shrank down in her chair like a frightened child, sampson wanted to take her in his strong, comforting arms and—but, of course, there wasn’t any use thinking about such a thing as that. it was not one of his duties as a juror.
the case went to the jury at four o’clock that afternoon, after a somewhat protracted and, to sampson, totally unenlightening charge by the justice, who advised the jurors that they must weigh the evidence as it was found and forbear allowing their sympathies to overcome their sense of justice. and so on and so forth. he made it very hard for the jurors. if they went entirely by the evidence, there wasn’t anything left for them to do but to find the defendant guilty. sampson had hoped for ameliorating suggestions from the learned justice on which he could base a sensible doubt as to the guilt of the defendant.
but, in so many words, the justice announced that the preponderance of the evidence was in favour of the state. he told the jurors it was their duty and privilege to take the defendant’s unsupported testimony for what they considered it to be worth and to place it in opposition to the evidence produced by the state. it was then their duty to render a fair and impartial verdict on the evidence.
as the twelve men filed out of the box on their way to the jury room, sampson shot a glance at alexandra hildebrand. he would not see her again until he returned to the seat he had occupied for six days, and after that she was to pass out of his life entirely. he hoped that she would not be there when he came back with his verdict. it would be much easier for him. he did not attempt to deceive himself any longer. if he lived up to his notions of honour and integrity, there was but one verdict he could return. (he wondered if his companions would prove to be as rigid in this respect as he.)
she was looking in the opposite direction, her chin in her hand. she did not meet his unhappy gaze. he was grateful for that.