The Mark of Cain

“That’s right,” and the judge took her words to mean denial, as she hoped he would. “There’s no use calling him in, for, dear, he is very clever, I am told, and if I do this thing, – this wrong,” the fine eyes clouded every time Hoyt referred to his projected plan, “Fleming Stone might discover it, – though Duane never will.”

“Then you’re afraid of Mr. Stone?”

“In that way, yes. If I do something secret to win our cause, – to win you, it must remain secret or be of no avail. If Stone were here and discovered my – my plan, – he would expose it, and I should be disgraced for life, – and our case would be lost.”

“You still think Kane guilty, then?”

“Avice! Who else is there to suspect? Where is any other possible way to look? And so, I must invent a suspect. I beg of you, my darling, do not impede or prevent my progress, – it is all for you. You asked of me what is practically an impossibility. If I achieve it, it will be at great, – at colossal cost. But I undertake it, for your sweet sake. Avice! Beloved! Can you imagine, have you the faintest idea of how I love you? Who else would sin for you? Do you know the impeccability of my past record? Do you know what it would mean to me to have the slightest smirch on my untarnished honor? Yet I chance this for you. I do not expect to be found out, but there is, of course, a risk. That risk I take, my glorious girl, for you. And I take it willingly, gladly, whatever the penalty, because – I love you.”

The last words, whispered, thrilled Avice to the soul. She did not love Judge Hoyt; her heart was bound up in Kane Landon, but this impassioned declaration, every word throbbing with truth, moved her, – as it must have moved any woman. She felt a guilty sensation at the thought of Fleming Stone’s connection with the case, but she was not willing to retract. It must go on. Kane must be exonerated, if possible, without Leslie’s help, and then she would be free to join her heart’s true love. And if Kane were freed by Judge Hoyt’s plans, – Avice shuddered to think of her promise. Well she knew that the judge would hold her to it, no matter how much Landon protested the contrary. Landon was determined, but his determination was a weak thing compared with the iron will of Judge Hoyt.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN KITO’S CARE

The case of “The People vs. Kane Landon” was before the court and jury. Few, if any, of the listening audience realized the great amount of time, thought and skill that had been expended in preparation or had any idea of the care with which the district attorney had framed his opening speech.

Whiting well knew the responsibility resting on the jury’s first impression of the case, and also their judgment of himself. He knew too, his jurors’ records, and he was alert and alive to all the effects of his short but comprehensive statement.

Judge Hoyt was warily on the defensive, and though Whiting had built up his case most carefully, Hoyt hoped to prove that the evidence was not crucial.

First came the details of the crime. Mysterious rather than revolting were the circumstances related of Rowland Trowbridge’s death.

Proceedings went on slowly, for the two lawyers were masters of their profession, and each foresaw and was prepared to evade the traps of the other.

Moreover the situation was difficult because of the lack of material. There were no star witnesses. The clues led only to conjecture and theory, and while facts were conceded, the inferences to be drawn from them were bitterly contested.

The two men eyed each other thoughtfully. Whiting, big and burly, with a stubborn jaw and belligerent air; Hoyt, tall and aristocratic, with the dominating manner of one accustomed to dictate terms.

When Whiting emphatically urged Landon’s motive, Hoyt assented, but added that since that alleged motive was merely to receive at once his legacy, any other beneficiary under the will must be admitted to have had the same.

Regarding the district attorney’s insistence on Landon’s opportunity, Hoyt agreed that the prisoner was in the woods at the time, but any one else might also have been there. And, moreover, the fact that the prisoner had voluntarily told of his presence there, was not a sign of a guilty conscience.

The quarrel between Landon and his uncle, Hoyt dismissed with the comment that that was the story of a boy who was an acknowledged prevaricator, and could not be taken into consideration.

“The evidence is vague, general and inconclusive,” he said; “It is not enough to condemn the prisoner, and indeed it in no instance connects the accused with crime. I myself knew Mr. Trowbridge well, and I knew he often used figurative language. It was entirely like him to say, ‘Cain killed me!’ meaning a reference to an unknown murderer. But it was utterly unlike him to say to the Swede, a perfect stranger, ‘Kane killed me,’ meaning his nephew. Why should he speak of Mr. Landon by his first name to a stranger? He never did any such thing! The similar sound of the two names is a mere coincidence, and must be regarded as such by all fair-minded people.”

Aside from the argument, Judge Hoyt was pinning his faith to his marvelously wide knowledge of the law governing every aspect of the matter in hand. He well knew that a prosecutor with a really clear case, may lose it because he has neglected to look up some points of law which may unexpectedly arise, and the defence was hoping for something of this sort.

Again, it is a fact, that juries are more likely to acquit in a murder trial than in case of other crimes. Unless the prisoner at the bar is of the depraved criminal class, a jury is inclined to give him every possible benefit of doubt.

And, knowing this, and knowing many other “tricks of his trade,” Judge Hoyt took advantage of every condition and every circumstance; and as the trial proceeded from day to day, the probabilities of the outcome vibrated from one side to the other largely in proportion to the oratorical eloquence of the two counsels.

Fleming Stone attended the trial only occasionally. He had his own agent there, reporting it for him, and he himself was busy untangling clues whose existence others were unaware of or had ignored.

On one particular afternoon, Stone had told Fibsy to meet him at his office at two o’clock, and the boy did not appear.

This was a most unusual thing, for Fibsy, working with Stone, had proved absolutely reliable in the matter of obeying orders.

After waiting fifteen minutes, Stone telephoned to the boy’s home.

“Why,” responded “Aunt Becky,” “Fibs went out an hour ago. Somebody telephoned for him, – I don’t know who, – and he flew right off. No, it must have been important, for he went off without his dessert.”

Like a flash, it came to Stone that there was something wrong.

But what it was, even his cleverness failed to fathom. He telephoned the Trowbridge house, Judge Hoyt’s office, the courtroom, and any place he could think of where there was a chance of finding Fibsy, but all without success. Then, setting detectives in search of the missing boy, Stone went on with his own work of drawing in his widespread net.

And Fibsy?

The telephone message had said that he was to come at once to the corner of Broadway and Thirty-second Street, where Mr. Stone would meet him in a taxicab.

Fibsy grabbed his cap and sped to the appointed place. There he found a waiting cab, whose driver nodded, and said, “Hop in.”

Fibsy hopped in, and found inside a Japanese boy apparently about his own age.

“All light,” the Japanese observed, with a stolid countenance. “Mr. Stoan, he tell me bling you. All light.”

Fibsy, though a little surprised, accepted it all, for Fleming Stone frequently sent for him in unexpected ways, and sent him on unexpected and strange errands.

The cab went quickly uptown, and turning into a cross street in the upper West Seventies, stopped before a rather fine-looking house.

“Get out,” said the Jap, briefly, and Fibsy obeyed. The house was not Mr. Stone’s, of that Fibsy was sure, but he was accustomed to obey orders, even through an emissary, and nothing had ever gone wrong by so doing.

The Japanese produced a latch-key, dismissed the cab, and the two went into the house.

“Mr. Stoan, he upstairs,” the taciturn guide vouchsafed, leading the way.

Fibsy followed, up two flights, and was ushered into a large room, in the location known as “the middle room”; that is, it was between the front and back chambers, and had no outside window, save on a small airshaft.

A little curious, but in no way alarmed, he entered, and the Jap followed him, and turned on an electric switch. By this illumination, Fibsy discovered that he was in a bedroom, a fairly well-appointed and tidily kept chamber, apparently in the abode of the well-to-do.

By this time, and perhaps more because of the expression on his companion’s face, than the situation itself, Fibsy felt a slight thrill of doubt.

“Where am I?” he said, pleasantly. “Where’s Mr. Stone?”

“No Mr. Stoan here,” and the Japanese grinned. “You fall in tlap. Hee, hee! You fall eas’ly! Well, Mr. Flibsy, you here to stay.”

“To stay! Trap! Whaddye mean, you yellow sneak? Lemme out this minute, or I’ll show you who’s who wit’ the wallop! I’ll fuss up that map o’ yourn till your own grandmother wouldn’t know it!”

“Aexcuse me, Mr. Flibsy, you don’ say nawthin’ ’bout my ancestors! They sacred to Jap’nese. You be p’lite or I thing I quarrel with you.”

“Oh, you thing you will, do you? Now, stop this nonsense, and – ”

“Aexcuse me. This not non-senze. Behole! You here, – here you stay. I bed you stay!” and the Japanese with low, mocking bow, went out at the door and began to draw it to after him.

“Here, you, come back here!” and Fibsy’s quick perceptions took in the fact that he had been trapped by some one, and that he was about to be locked in. “Come back, what’s-your-name?”

“My name Kito, an’ I ask you be rev’ren ’bout my august ancestors.”