A Master Hand Part 8

"Do you think that likely?" I inquired.

"No," he said, "I do not."

"Then," I continued, "why do you feel so sure that Winters killed him?"

After looking at me in a surprised way, he asked:

"If he didn't kill him, sir, who did?"

I admitted I did not know, but suggested that we ought not to be too hasty in our conclusions.

"Well, sir," he answered, "perhaps he didn't, but everybody thinks he did, and I think so too."

I felt that the examination was at an end, and that I had not made very much of it. If Benton was guilty he had successfully avoided giving evidence of it, and if he was innocent, then his att.i.tude was a pretty fair sample of the estimate the average man or juror would be apt to place upon my conjectures and theories.

"You may go," I told him; "I am much obliged to you for coming, and you must tell me anything more you may learn or that occurs to you about the case."

"I will, sir. Good-night, sir," he answered, and went out promptly and quietly, like the well-trained servant he had always been.

If it had not been for my horrible suspicions I should have liked to engage him myself. A man such as Benton is a great comfort to a bachelor--that is, under ordinary circ.u.mstances--but not when you think he may have murdered his last master.

When he was gone I looked at the clock, and saw it was after eleven. I had been in my room with my thoughts and with Benton for three hours, and I could not say that either companionship had been altogether pleasant. I determined to go downstairs now and see what was going on.

It was the time of the evening when the club was likely to liven up with men returning from the theatre or other places of amus.e.m.e.nt for an hour of cards or gossip, and I hoped to find diversion in their society.

As I descended the stairs, Ned Davis was standing in the hall, and he immediately locked his arms in mine and began talking of the case.

"Extraordinary, isn't it," he said, "that Winters should have done it?

Awful clever of the police, too, to ferret it out so soon, don't you think so?"

I was annoyed at this unhesitating a.s.sumption of Winters's guilt, and somewhat out of humor also, I have no doubt, and I asked him sharply:

"How do you know Winters did it?"

"Why, you haven't any doubt about it, have you?" he asked.

"Certainly," I said, "it isn't proven yet."

"Well, if it isn't proven, I never saw a case that was."

"Look here, fellows!" he called out to a lot of men who were seated nearby talking and who looked up inquiringly at his hail; "Dallas don't believe Winters did it."

I realized at once that a man holding my office could not afford to be quoted as an exponent of Winters's innocence, and therefore disclaimed any such expression of opinion.

"No," I said; "I merely decline to accept his guilt as a fact until he shall be convicted."

"That's all right, Dallas," one of them answered, "we all understand you mustn't express an opinion under the circ.u.mstances of course, but we all know what you really think, and we hope you will go in and convict the fellow quickly. Sit down and take a drink with us, we were just talking about the case."

I declined the invitation, pleading some excuse, and leaving Davis to accept it, walked on to the billiard-room, in the hope of escaping the subject in a game, but it was of no avail, for there, too, it held the floor.

As I entered the room I observed collected at one end a group, the personnel of which I at once recognized. It was made up of a cla.s.s of men such as are to be found in every club, men to whose words attaches no responsibility and who are accustomed to express themselves on all subjects, particularly sensational ones, in exaggerated language. They are of the sort that become especially enthusiastic over a jockey, a prize-fighter, or a detective, and on any provocation will indulge in flights of hero-worship. In such a clique are always to be found certain leaders who a.s.sert themselves and their opinions in aggressive tones and to whom the others render admiring homage. It was so now; one of the Solons was on his feet engaged in an argumentative review of the evidence in the case to an admiring audience. The tables were deserted, except for an old gentleman, who always played his "evening game for a little exercise before bed," but who now stood disconsolately leaning on his cue while his partner hung absorbed over the group of listeners.

"Now see here, Dallas," said the speaker on observing me, "wasn't that about the finest worked-up case you ever saw? Here was an instance where the police had absolutely nothing to go on but some missing money and a glimpse at a man peering in at a window on a dark night, and yet within forty-eight hours they run down their man and have him safe in jail.

There is no doubt of it, we have the finest police force in the world, and I always have said so. That man Dalton is a wonder."

"Yes," chimed in another before I had time to a.s.sent or dissent, "and what an eye he has; it pierces you like an eagle's when he looks at you.

He understands his business."

"Indeed he does," the first speaker continued, "and he leaves nothing undone. Did you read the testimony in the 'Extra' this evening? He has seized and exhausted each clue systematically. He hasn't left a loophole of escape for Winters." To which ultimatum, all a.s.sented heartily.

"So you think there is no doubt of his guilt?" a mild little man, anxious for a word, next ventured to ask in a deferential tone.

"Doubt of his guilt!" repeated the first speaker, in a tone of pitying indulgence; "why, man, the case is all over."

"Of course, the evidence proves that," the little man hastened to explain apologetically, "I only asked to get your opinion."

"That's all right," continued the speaker, mollified; "I am glad you asked. There can be but one opinion. Winters was a bad lot anyhow and bound to come to a bad ending."

"How soon do you suppose he will be tried?" he added, turning to me again.

I said I did not know, but I thought very soon. At which they all expressed satisfaction.

Then he began once more: "There is nothing like swift and sure justice,"

he announced, "and there now remains in the Winters case only the formality of a trial. The work of the Inspector has left nothing more to be found out."

He would apparently have gone on in this strain indefinitely, had he not been interrupted by Littell, who had come in un.o.bserved, and now quietly asked the speaker's opinion as to what the Inspector might have done with the other three fifty-dollar bills that had been left in the room.

"And pray what has the Inspector to do with them?" was the rejoinder.

"I don't know, I'm sure," Littell answered, "but you said the Inspector had exhausted every clue and left nothing more to be found out and I thought perhaps that if the tracing of one bill was sufficient to convict a man, the whereabouts of the other three might be of importance, too. When found, you see," he continued, "they might convict three more men."

A dead silence followed this explanation, and I fear I rejoiced maliciously over the evident discomfiture of the crowd while at the same time I was gratified by the apparent confirmation of my own views.

"Then you don't think Winters guilty?" some one timidly asked, after a while. I listened eagerly for the answer.

"I didn't say that," Littell replied, "I only wanted to find out if there might not possibly be something that the Inspector did not know."

He refused to be drawn into further discussion, rather suggesting by his manner that he did not think it worth while; and after an awkward pause, the party moved across the room to a more congenial atmosphere, whence in a few minutes I heard them with recovered a.s.surance again telling one another all about it. Evidently side remarks were not in order, particularly if they savored of incredulity.

After they had gone I took the opportunity to ask Littell if he thought the missing bills a serious defect in the case.

"I think it is important that they should be found, if possible," he said, "though I doubt if it would alter much the present status of the case. I only suggested their absence to these men, to show them how little they really knew about it, and that the police are not infallible."

I turned away disappointed: even Littell did not consider the missing bills of much real importance. Their absence might do to juggle with as a lesson to superficial talkers, but from a practical standpoint, it was immaterial.

CHAPTER VIII