Round the Block Part 45

"Patrick O'Dougherty, yer Honor."

The phrase "Yer Honor" produced its customary gracious effect.

"Do you spell O'Dougherty with a 'k,'?" asked the coroner.

"Hang me if I knows!" said the O'Dougherty. "I niver spilt it. Spill it to suit yezself, yer Honor."

"Spell it in the usual way, with a 'k'" said the coroner, turning to the reporters.

"Your residence, Mr. O'Dougherty?"

"Me what?"

"Your residence. Where do you live?"

"Oh! it's fare I live yer want to know. In Mulberry street, near Baxter."

"You belong to the perlice, I believe?" asked the coroner.

"It's quare ye should ax me that!" replied the O'Dougherty, with an enormous smile.

"Because you have the perliceman's hat, club, and badge? You forget,"

said the coroner, patronizingly, "that courts of justice doesn't know nothin' until it's proved to them. As a coroner, I shouldn't know my own grandmother, until she swore to herself."

"'Tisn't that, yer Honor; but becos yer got me onto the perlice yerself.

Don't yer 'member, on 'lection day, I smashed two ticket booths of t'other can'date, in the Sixth Ward, lickt as much as a dozen men who was workin' agen ye, an' din was put into the Tumes over night--bad luck to the Tumes, I say! Well, yer Honor, ye was 'lected coroner by a small vote; an', in turn for me services, ye got me 'p'inted--"

"Ah! oh! I remember, now," said the coroner, somewhat confused. "I did not know you in the perliceman's dress. Well, Mr. O'Dougherty, did you see the prisoner on the night of the murder?"

"I did, yer Honor. It was about twelve o'clock. I was sittin' on a bar'l in front of Pat McKibbin's store, corner of Washin'ton and ---- streets. I was watchin' the bar'l, yer Honor, becos Pat McKibbin had some of 'em stole lately, ye see."

"Could yer swear to him, Mr. O'Dougherty?"

"Could I shwear to me own mother?--Hivin rest her sowl! Bedad, I shud know him a thousan' years from now. Didn't he shtop and light his siggar at me poipe? And didn't his nose touch me own?"

"Did he look pale and excited?" asked the coroner.

"No, yer Honor; his face was red as a brick, an', though it was a cowld night, he looked to be warm wid fasht walkin'."

"Did he say anythin'?"

"No; he only axed for a light."

"Was his 'pearance 'spicious?"

"No, yer Honor, more'n yer own. No offince to yez."

"That'll do, Mr. O'Dougherty. Next witness."

"If you please, your Honor," said the smooth Overtop, rising, "you have accidentally omitted to ask one very important question. The prisoner stated, on his preliminary examination, you remember, that, when he stopped to light a cigar from the pipe of a policeman, he heard the sound of a fire bell commencing to strike. Miss Minford testifies, that when she was roused from sleep by the noise of her father falling to the floor, she heard the alarm for the Seventh District. McKibbin's store, at the corner of Washington and ---- streets, is more than half a mile from here. In view of these facts, I will, with your Honor's permission, ask Mr. O'Dougherty if he heard the fire alarm that night; and, if so, whether the prisoner was in sight at the time?"

"Shure, an' I heerd it," answered the O'Dougherty. "It was fur the Seventh District. An' wasn't this gin'leman here at the ind o' me poipe, jist when it begun to bang away?"

Overtop cast one triumphant glance at the jury, which was fully reciprocated by the foreman and four others.

"I have no more questions to ask, your Honor," said Overtop.

"Nor I," said the coroner, "as the witness's testimony has no great bearin' on the case, that I can see. What is jour name, Mister--er--"

"Thomas Jelliman," responded the second policeman, a stout, bluff, honest-looking fellow. He did not say "Your Honor," and thereby offended the coroner.

"Well, what's yer bizness, anyhow?" asked the coroner, curtly.

"I should think you would remember that I was a policeman," said the witness, looking the coroner straight in the eye.

The coroner, taking a second observation of the witness, recalled him as the identical officer who had arrested him, one Christmas night, for drunkenness, and locked him up in the station house. This little occurrence was before his election to the dignified and responsible office of County Coroner.

"If you don't remember me," said the witness, "I think I could bring myself to your mind easy. On a certain Christmas night, not many years ago--"

"Never mind the particulars, Mr. Jelliman," observed the coroner. "Come to look at yer, I recolleck yer very well. Ahem! What do you know about this 'ere case, Mr. Jelliman?"

"Nothing, sir, except that I can swear to having seen the prisoner, on the night of the murder, at the corner of West and ---- streets. He was smoking a cigar, and walking fast. As he pa.s.sed me, he said, 'A cold night, Mr. Policeman.' This made me notice him particularly, because it isn't very often that people throw away civilities on us. Just as he turned the corner below me, the alarm bells struck the last round for the Seventh District. They had struck three or four rounds. That is all I know about the affair."

"I have no other questions to ask, Mr. Jelliman," said the coroner, with great politeness.

The coroner was baffled. He had staked the whole case upon the theory of Marcus Wilkeson's guilt, and had made no attempt to procure other testimony than what would prove that supposition. He scratched his head and rolled his quid in a perfect quandary.

Another noise was heard on the stairs, as of several persons hurriedly ascending.

Then the door opened, and an excited group made its appearance. In advance was a slender young man, whose face was pale with debauchery.

His clothes were rich, and had an unpleasantly new look. As he stepped over the threshold, he glanced coolly about the room, and, his eyes resting on the coroner, smiled.

"Ah, Myndert, my boy," said the coroner, "what are you here for?"

CHAPTER IX.

AN OLD MAN'S OFFERING.

"Hang me if I know, Harry! It's the old man's work. He'll explain it to you."

Behind this easy young man came a strong policeman, who, immediately upon his entrance, received a nod of approbation from the lieutenant.

Behind the policeman walked, with bended white head and tottering limbs, the venerable Mr. Van Quintem. The old gentleman was partly supported, in his infirmity, by the boy Bog. It was a touching sight to see the confiding trust with which the weakness of sixty-eight clung to the strong arm of nineteen. Bog hung down his head modestly, and blushed. He was not seen even to look at the little veiled figure which sat in the middle of the room. But young Myndert Van Quintem looked at it, and bowed with the deepest respect. The bow was answered by a faint nod and a delicate blush. Mrs. Crull observed the interchange of recognitions, and frowned to herself.

"Mr. Coroner," said the old gentleman, straightening himself, and coming forward with a quick step, as one who was about to perform an unpleasant task, and would hurry through it, "this young man is my son. G.o.d knows what love I have lavished upon him from the day that he was born, and with what ingrat.i.tude he has repaid me. But--but that is neither here nor there. I have come here to deliver him up to you as a prisoner--"

"As a prisoner!" echoed the coroner; and he and all looked amazed at this strange announcement.