The Case and Exceptions Part 15

Martin had watched Blagden's career with a jealousy but little removed from positive hatred, and every word of this indiscriminate praise fretted him almost past endurance. He felt himself as able a man as his rival, he knew many lawyers more worthy of distinction and, smarting under the injustice of these sudden acclamations, he began to grow contemptuous of public esteem.

It was not long, however, before he awoke to the danger of brooding over such thoughts. The world was big enough for them both, and the mighty metropolis was a world so wide that the blotting out of any face was only the matter of a step in the crowd. This man should not spoil or embitter his life.

From the moment of that resolution Blagden disappeared from his horizon, and Martin began to view life again from his normal standpoint.

It was only when business threatened to bring him into Blagden's Court that he experienced the old feeling of bitterness. But then it returned with a rush. One such lesson had been sufficient to warn him however, and Martin thereafter appeared before Judge Blagden by proxy only.

It was just as well, he thought, as he felt the hot blood surging through his veins, that Allison didn't insist upon his arguing _Phelps_ vs. _Orson_. It would have been impossible to address that Self-Satisfied Piece of Humanity with respect. Thank goodness he could escape by handing the papers to the Clerk!

He rose and pa.s.sed along the rear of the Court Room. In the far corner sat a newspaper artist sketching the Judge and the scene about his desk.

Martin glanced sharply at the man, but he was absorbed in his work and obviously not on the outlook for green-covered law papers. Nearer the front, however, sat a young fellow studying every movement behind the rail, and sometimes even rising nervously from his seat in his efforts to keep a clear view. This was undoubtedly the youth whose place depended on his vigilant watch of the Bench. What the devil was it all about? In an instant his old newspaper instinct had carried everything before it and Martin pa.s.sed down the middle aisle, seating himself immediately behind the young reporter.

"_Phelps_ vs. _Orson_."

Martin started at the sound of the Judge's voice, every fibre in his body tingling with instant defiance.

The defendant's attorney answered "Ready," but Martin made no response.

He knew he did not intend to argue the case and should promptly state the fact.

"_Phelps_ vs. _Orson_?" repeated the Justice inquiringly.

"Ready!" answered Martin, yielding to the call of sheer perversity.

It was childish, petty, absurd--and he knew it. But at that moment to defy custom, to oppose everything and everybody, to hamper and obstruct the Court in every possible manner, no matter how futile, seemed absolutely essential to the a.s.sertion of his independence and the maintenance of his self-respect.

Some one vacated a seat immediately in front of the nervous reporter who hastily gathered his papers together and moved into the empty chair.

Martin at once rose and took the journalist's place. As he did so he felt something crackle beneath him, and rising picked up a crumpled piece of paper from the seat. It was a sheet torn from a reporter's pad, and as he lazily unfolded it Martin saw it was covered with writing in a weak, boyish hand. To the initiated the scribbles were unmistakable studies in newspaper captions or headings--the "makeup" of which Martin recalled as a fad of his cub-reporter days.

The first attempt was as follows:

"A CANDIDATE CORALLED."

Then came several other "settings:"

"A SUPREME COURT SCANDAL."

"A JUDICIAL JUDAS."

"A DANIEL COME TO GRIEF."

This last effort apparently satisfied the embryo city editor, for his sub-headings were written below:

"AN EXTRAORDINARY COURT ORDER UNEARTHED BY _The Guardian_."

"It Bears the Initials of the Hon. Charles Blagden, Candidate for Judicial Office."

"A Searching Investigation to be Inst.i.tuted. Lawyers Indignant.

Litigants Astonished."

Martin read the words with savage satisfaction.

So, the Hon. Justice was playing tricks, was he--and not very good tricks either? He was on the point of being exposed--was he? Well, it was about time something happened to those noiseless wheels of the little tin G.o.d! People were beginning to believe there was something miraculous in his transit. It had long been heretical to suggest either pull or push. But both agencies have to be paid for in one way or another, and at some time.--To pay whom or what was this green-covered order required?--What a shock it would be for the worshippers to see their metal divinity wobbling on his stand and to hear the shrieking of his squeaky rollers! Fortunately for him some of his triumphs were secure, but it would be interesting for at least one person to discover---- No, she would never discover anything. Charlie would tell her it was all right--and that would make it so.--"Charlie,"

indeed!--Ugh!

A sharp movement in front of him aroused Martin from his bitter musing.

The young reporter was leaning forward in his chair, staring at a little clean-shaven Hebrew who had entered the room and was leaning on the rail, a green-covered legal paper in his hand.

Van took the doc.u.ment from the messenger, shook it open and placed it at the bottom of the pile of orders on the Judge's desk. The Court had already begun to hear arguments, and as the Counsel talked the Judge occasionally took up one of these orders and signed it. Clerks kept entering the room from time to time, handing papers and orders to Van, who added them to the rapidly-increasing pile on the Judge's desk.

Meanwhile Martin stared at the green edge of the order in which _The Guardian_ took such a lively interest. How did that paper come to know its contents? _The Guardian_ was politically opposed to the Judge's party--was, indeed, the semi-official organ of the enemy. It could not be in the confidence of the Judge's friends. No avenue of exposure would be more carefully watched than that which led to the columns of _The Guardian_. There must be a traitor in the camp. Or perhaps some honest man, despising underhand methods, had given the clue to the most effective police. But if an honest man desired to protect his party, would he not frustrate the scheme rather than expose it after it was accomplished? Yes, some traitor must be selling information to the opposition. _The Guardian_ certainly would not hesitate to buy dirty secrets. It was savagely partisan--unscrupulous and daring. It fairly s...o...b..red with the froth of sensation--lived on scandal, and obtained its pabulum by any and every means. Thus far there had been little to feed upon in the career of the Hon. Charles Blagden. But it would not shrink from providing itself with carrion if a touch of one of its underground wires would suffice.--Might not _The Guardian_ know the history of the green-covered order at first hand?

Martin dismissed the thought again and again, but it gathered strength and substance and forced itself upon him. He recalled the words of the Boss Reporter about Blagden's never having sat at Chambers before. He had explained that that was "just the point." And the point was--?

Obviously that the work at Chambers was hurried, and that a novice would be apt to sign papers without due deliberation.

What could be easier for a sheet like _The Guardian_ than to trump up a legal proceeding of some sort, and to concoct, with the aid of cunning lawyers, an order un.o.bjectionable on its face, but which would compromise the reputation of any Judge who signed it? If the plot miscarried, the conspirators could readily cover their tracks and make good their escape.--It was a dangerous game but not a new one.

And if all this were so, what had he, Martin, to do with it?

Of course if Blagden was playing tricks he deserved to get caught and no one but the hero-worshippers could be expected to cry.--But if he was being tricked?--That was just the question to be decided. He, Martin, was merely a spectator, interested in the event, it is true, but still only an onlooker.--Was that true? Had not that role been forfeited when he acquired special information? Was his att.i.tude a perfectly pa.s.sive one? If any other man than Blagden was on the Bench would he not instantly communicate what he had heard? Would he feel no disappointment whatsoever if Blagden refused to sign the order? Frankly--was he not waiting to see his enemy walk into what he believed was a trap?

Martin flushed at the silent self-accusation and instantly p.r.o.nounced it absurd. What could he do? Any man who goes on the Bench has to a.s.sume grave responsibilities and take the risk with the honours. Blagden's att.i.tude had always been a silent boast of needing no help from anyone.

Would not interference give him an opportunity for retorting that "he had the office and Martin the officiousness." How he would roll that under his tongue!--No, Blagden could take care of himself. He would never thank anyone for playing nurse for him.

The papers on the Judge's desk were piling higher and higher, and he began to sign or reject them more rapidly as the time wore on. Martin glanced at _The Guardian's_ order. It was still buried under a dozen others.

Why did he think of it as "_The Guardian's_ order"? He had no proof of the matter. But were not his suspicions strong enough to excuse a warning? What did he fear? A snub? Well, that was better than "_the laughter of the soul against itself when conscience has condemned it, which the soul never hears once in its fulness without hearing it forever after_."

How often he had repeated those lines to himself! What a hopeless, haunting sound they had in them! He hated this man--but was he willing to wear the _The Guardian's_ mask and hear forever after the hideous laughter of the soul?

Martin glanced again at the Judge's desk, and then rapidly writing a few words on a piece of paper, folded and addressed it to the Hon. Charles Blagden, and carried it to the Clerk's desk.

Van, restored to his usual good humour, met him with a smile.

"Why didn't you come earlier for your papers, Mr. Martin?" he whispered.

"I've had them here for you ever since Court opened."

"Much obliged, Van. Just hand this note up to Judge Blagden--will you?"

"I can't do it, Mr. Martin. His Private Secretary says it's one of his fads. He won't even let us hand him telegrams when he's on the Bench."

"But this is more important than a telegram, Van," replied Martin in a low tone. "Hand it up to him and I'll a.s.sume all the responsibility."

"I'd like to oblige you, Mr. Martin, but----"

"You will not be obliging me, Van, but him."

The veteran clerk gazed at the earnest face of the lawyer for a moment, and then reached out his hand for the letter.