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Master Hand

<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>THE TRUTH AT LAST</h3> It was nearly two weeks after my little dinner that I sat late one afternoon alone in my office. The rain without pattered dismally against the single window that looked into a deserted court and within the room was dimly lighted by the fading daylight and the fire that flickered on the hearth. The gloom of the close of a rainy winter's day was over everything and my thoughts and heart seemed full of the vague shadows that haunted the room. I was awaiting the coming of Miles, who that morning had sent me word that he had something to report. During the past fortnight he had been persistently engaged in working on his new theory of the case, but with what results I did not know, for he had told me nothing. I also had at first made an effort to accomplish something along the same lines, for I had found inaction almost unbearable, but it proved to no purpose. The time had passed for analyses of conditions; what was now needed was expert detective work, and this I could not do, and so I had to give it up and in despair resign myself to idly waiting on Miles. I might have sought the companionship of Van Bult and Davis, for they were about as usual, doing the same old things in the same old way, but I was not disposed to engage in their amusements and I doubt much if they were anxious for the society of a man in a condition of mind such as mine. From Littell I had only heard once since his departure and that letter recently received from Florida was but to tell me that he was about starting for home. He was coming back, he wrote, to again conduct the defence of Winters; if it were so, it would prove but a wasted errand, I feared, for there seemed little likelihood of Winters needing our services again. He was very ill, and no longer confined in a cell, but in the hospital ward of the prison to which he had been removed by the physician's orders after the trial. His strength was gone, and it did not need the professional eye to see that he was dying. As soon as I had learned of his condition I had gone to him, not once but almost daily, and each time I had spent long hours at his bedside. No one was ever with him but his jailors and nurses; they were attentive, considerate, but to them he was only a criminal whom they had in charge and they performed their duties and no more. I was his only visitor, his only friend; even the hysterical women whose habit it is to shower their attentions and tears on hardened criminals found nothing heroic enough by the silent bedside of this dying man to call for their ministrations. His case, now become but a nine day's wonder, forgotten or neglected by the press and public, furnished no longer a gallery to be played to. Poor fellow! he must have spent many weary hours alone on that prison bed with only his wasted life and his wrong-doings and his wrongs to think of, but when I visited him he had always a smile and a pleasant word with which to greet me,—there was never a complaint. Sometimes he would talk of himself and of his early life when he and I had been at college together, and he would ask about his old friends and the outside world, and all in the manner of a man who had done with it, but he seldom referred to the charge against him or to the death of White. Once he asked me about Littell and Miles and when I assured him of their continued interest in his behalf he shook his head and bade me tell them to think no more of it—"they have been very kind," he said—and I knew he meant he would not live for a second trial, and I could not contradict him. Sometimes during these days I would doubt, too, if it were worth while—this task I had set myself—of hunting down the murderer, for it could no longer avail to help Winters and must only bring more trouble in its trail. The authorities would be content to let it pass with the death of Winters into the long category of undetermined crimes and why should not I also? and I would be tempted to call Miles from his work, but always something—a vague fear I wanted quieted, held me back. I would recall many things that had happened and that had made little impression on me at the time, but which seemed now in the hours of my solitude and depression to be fraught with some strange significance. That speech of Littell's to the jury in which he had described the murderer as a friend of White's, and his strange words of admonition to me at our dinner, and the refusal of Miles to let me longer share in his work, and the presence of the detective, lurking near our club when my friends took their leave, what did it all mean? Was there something in the background which I did not know and which they did not wish me to learn? I feared for that which I knew not and which was coming with a fear that gripped my heart, yet I would not lift a hand to stay it, but waited for it with passive submission. Such thoughts, such feelings as these possessed me as I sat alone in my office this gloomy afternoon waiting for Miles. After a silence that seemed ages he had at last sought me and I knew he had succeeded in his task and was coming to tell me of it. As the hour drew near for his arrival my vague fears grew stronger and would not be shaken off. I had a premonition of evil—I tried and tried again to convince myself that I was morbid and fanciful, but the thoughts and the fears would return and each time with deeper and more sinister meaning. They crowded on me as I sat bowed over my desk till I could bear them no longer and I got up and walked to the window and, pressing my head against the cool glass, stood looking with unconscious eyes through the rain into the darkening court. How long I stood thus I don't know; every faculty was absorbed in the one dreadful thought: "What if Miles has discovered the murderer and is coming to tell me he is some one I know, a friend"—I could get no further, just that train of thought, never finished, but repeated and repeated, till cold and trembling I turned at last from the window. As I did so I faced the detective; the hour had come. There was just a moment of hesitation, and then I steadied myself. "Well," I said, "what news." "Let us sit down," he replied, "it is a long story." I walked to my desk and resumed my chair, and he seated himself opposite to me. By this time the room was in darkness, except for the flickering light of the fire, and though I tried to study his face I could not do so for the shadows. "Well!" I repeated,—for he had not answered me,—"what news?" He leaned forward and put his hand on my arm, but I shook it off and straightened myself—"What news?" I said again sharply, though my voice was hoarse and my words hardly articulate. "I have discovered the murderer," he replied. I tried to ask the name, but could not, and turned away to look into the fire and watch with abstracted gaze the little yellow tongues of flame as they darted here and there over the dark surface of the coal. They seemed to me to be like tiny serpents at play and I smiled at their antics, but underneath in the dull glow of the deep fire I found a silent sympathy with my mood and there my gaze lingered while I thought. The secret I had worked so long and hard to know was mine for the asking and I was silent. I could feel Miles was looking at me and could read my thoughts and thought me a coward, but what did it matter to me then? I must think if I could think. A man may stop and wait and still not be a coward—and so we sat in silence. At last something, perhaps it was pity, made him offer a last chance of escape. "I alone know the name of that man," he said; "and I need never tell it." I listened and I knew then that my struggle was over and won, and I turned back to him and leaning across the desk looked him in the eyes: "No," I said; "tell me his name." "Littell," he answered. I sank back in my chair; it had come at last and I knew now what it was that I had feared and that, unacknowledged to myself, that fear had been with me ever since,—well, no matter when, for I hardly know, but I had guessed it, and it was not a secret that I had feared to hear, but the sound of a name. So for a long time we sat there while the hissing of the fire alone broke the silence and the shadows deepened in the room. My thoughts were travelling back over the years through which I had known and looked up to the man who was now charged with crime. He had been my friend and guide, and he had fallen. He was a murderer, and I must denounce him. My nature recoiled from the dreadful thought. "There must be some mistake," I said, "it cannot be"; and I looked at the detective for some sign of wavering or uncertainty, and he understood me, for his eyes fell pityingly, but the grave face gave no hope. "I must have proof, then," I said. For answer he extended a roll of paper he had been holding. I took it mechanically and unrolled it, and, smoothing it out before me, sat staring blankly at it in the darkness till he got up and lighted the gas and then I saw it was his report. "Read it," he said, and I obeyed, and read it deliberately, dispassionately, each word. There was no need for question or comment, it was all too plain, and when I handed it back to him I knew Littell was guilty. This is what I read: <h3>THE REPORT OF MILES</h3> "This report relative to the case of the death of Arthur White covers the period of my work from the time of the trial of Henry Winters to date. The facts discovered before the trial were presented in the evidence and need not be re-stated. "They pointed to Winters as the criminal, but I did not believe him guilty. If Winters was not guilty, theft was not the object for which the crime was committed, for all the money missing not traced to him was otherwise accounted for. This made it likely that the crime was committed by a higher order of criminal, some one who had a personal motive for wishing White out of the way. Such a man should be looked for among White's associates. Mr. Littell had taken this line in his defence, and it seemed sound. I was satisfied that the facts would not lead me to the criminal: that course I had tried, and it had failed. I therefore determined to try and find the criminal and trace him to the crime. The method, though not generally approved, is not so haphazard as it might seem to be, and I have tried it successfully before when only circumstantial evidence was available. "White's closest associates were Van Bult, Littell, and Davis, and they had all been with him the night of his death. I therefore immediately put detectives on each of them and began my work on the case of Van Bult. I went to his rooms and interviewed his servant. Van Bult left his rooms about seven o'clock on the evening of the murder. His servant, who slept elsewhere, did not see him again till the following morning about half-past six, when he went again to the rooms and found Van Bult there and assisted him in his preparations for a journey, served his breakfast, and saw him off by the eight o'clock train from the New York Central Depot for Buffalo. He had been told by Van Bult the evening before of his intended trip to Buffalo, and had come early that morning by his order. He had not seen Van Bult again till the next succeeding evening, when he had met him at the depot, in obedience to a telegram sent from Buffalo in the name of Van Bult. "Van Bult's actions on the night of the murder still remained to be accounted for, and I sought information of them elsewhere. The rooms adjoining Van Bult's are occupied by a gentleman named Dean, who is a friend of his. I interviewed Dean. He recalled the night of the murder and stated that on that night Van Bult had returned to his rooms about one o'clock. He recalled the hour because he had been up and Van Bult had come to his room and they had remained together talking for nearly an hour and afterwards he had heard Van Bult for some time moving about in his own rooms. "In the meanwhile I had sent a man to Buffalo to trace his actions while there. He reported that Van Bult had arrived there on the afternoon after the murder, stopped at the Wilson House till the following morning, and had then taken a train for New York. While in Buffalo he remained most of the time in the hotel, but made a visit to a private insane asylum, of which his wife had for two years been an inmate. "Van Bult's actions were thus accounted for fully and I was satisfied of his innocence. "Next I took up the case of Littell. He parted from Mr. Dallas a little before one o'clock on the night of the murder in Madison Square and apparently continued up Fifth Avenue. He testified at the Coroner's inquest that he walked directly to his hotel, The Terrace, near the Park entrance. It was first important that I should determine about this fact. For that purpose I went to the hotel and interviewed the desk clerks. There are two of them who divide the night work, one relieving the other at 1.30 A.M. Littell, on that night, had not reached the hotel during the hours of the first clerk; he did come in about fifteen or twenty minutes after the second one had taken the desk; therefore he arrived about ten or fifteen minutes before two o'clock. There was no trouble in fixing the occasion with the witnesses I interviewed. Littell's association with so sensational a case had made all his actions of that night a matter to be remembered by those who had seen him. I had thus established the fact that nearly an hour had elapsed between the time Littell left Mr. Dallas and that at which he arrived at his hotel. It was altogether improbable under these circumstances that he had gone directly home as he said he had done, but this was still unimportant unless I could track him to the neighborhood of White's house. It was evident that I could not expect to actually locate him there, but I had another means available of establishing his probable presence on the scene if such were a fact. The hour that intervened between his parting with Mr. Dallas and his arrival at the hotel was too much time to have been consumed in a direct walk there, but it was insufficient to admit of his returning to White's house unless he later used some quicker means of reaching the hotel than by walking. In such event he must either have taken the elevated road or a cab. The former seemed the more probable and the easier to determine, so I tried it. I found that at about half-past one o'clock on the night of the murder, a man wearing a long light coat and a soft gray hat, such as Littell had on, took a north-bound train at the Eighteenth Street station. This I learned from the night-guard, whose attention had been especially directed to the passenger because of the necessity of changing a five-dollar bill to make the fare. By itself this was not sufficient to establish the identification but I had a further means at hand. If that man was Littell he must have gotten off at some station near his hotel. At the Fifty-eighth Street station on the same night about ten minutes later Littell got off a north-bound train. The night-guard at this station knew him and spoke to him, for he had been using the station almost daily for several years. I had thus located him at four points within an hour, that is Madison Square, a little before one o'clock; Eighteenth Street elevated station about half after one; Fifty-eighth Street, about ten minutes later, and at the hotel about a quarter before two. I then accounted for his movements in the following way: he had consumed about half an hour from the time he left Madison Square till the time he took the train at Eighteenth Street. Of this period, he was about five minutes returning to White's house; he was there about ten minutes; the remaining fifteen minutes were divided between a journey to Belle Stanton's and thence to the station. "This all required action, but Littell is a man of quick action. Note that I allowed time for him to have gone to Stanton's. I did this because I have always believed that it was the murderer who left the ulster there. "The man the night-officer saw leave White's house about a quarter after one o'clock was not White as he supposed, but the murderer wearing his ulster and cap as a disguise. Note again the hour, a quarter past one o'clock; the same at which my calculations place Littell there. There remained another point to be determined. "If my theory was correct and Littell the man who left White's house, disguised in the ulster, and if he disposed of it at Stanton's house, some explanation had to be found of his means of access to the house. If he had such access it was most likely he secured it through Stanton, with whom he was acquainted. "From her I learned that Littell probably possessed a key to the front door of the house where she lived; she told me that shortly before the murder Littell had taken her home from a supper somewhere and that she had given him her key to let her in and that he had failed to return it to her. With this key in his possession his means of access to the house is explained. With these facts brought out I had accomplished all I could expect to from the events of that night. "I could not actually fix the crime on any one because no one saw it committed,—but I had demonstrated: "1st. That Littell had testified falsely as to his movements on that night. "2d. That he had been in the neighborhood of the scene of the crime and the place where the ulster was found, because he must have passed that way to get from Madison Square to the corner of Sixth Avenue and Eighteenth Street. "3d. That he occupied over half an hour in covering the distance, which is but six blocks, and therefore must have delayed in some way. "There are also many peculiar circumstances in the case all explainable on the theory of Littell's guilt: "1st. The criminal secured admission to White's rooms, although the doors were generally locked. Littell was there that night and had opportunity to fix the catches so as to permit of the doors being opened from the outside. "2d. If White did not leave the ulster at Belle Stanton's house the criminal did, and his object in so doing was plainly to convey the impression that White had done so, and such purpose suggests a man intimate with White and having knowledge of his personal affairs. "3d. If White did not wear the ulster and the cap out that night the criminal did, but the cap was back in White's room in the morning. The criminal therefore must have found some opportunity of returning the cap. Littell was on the scene and by the divan where the cap was found before it was discovered the following morning. "A strong circumstantial case was thus made out against Littell, but the necessary motive was still lacking. "For this motive in the case of a man like Littell, it was necessary to look into White's life and actions, for the motive would not be of an ordinary kind. The evidence had disclosed the fact that White had some trouble of some kind and that another was involved in it; it had also disclosed the fact that White felt under some great obligation to his cousin Winters and the language used in the will, that he left his estate to Winters as 'the reparation of a wrong,' pointed to the disposition of his uncle's estate as the possible explanation of it all. It was extraordinary under any circumstances that a father should leave practically all of a large fortune to a nephew and cut off his only child with almost nothing. I therefore investigated the circumstances under which the will of Winters, Sr., was made. The will was witnessed by the butler and a trained nurse who was in the house at the time, and was made on the testator's death-bed. I found the butler and the nurse and from them learned the following facts: "On the morning of his death the testator in the presence of the nurse told White he meant to leave him a bequest of ten thousand dollars and asked him to go for his lawyers, who were Dickson & Brown. White departed on the errand and returned in about an hour with Littell. "The butler let them in and knew the latter. "The nurse heard the testator ask White why he had not brought his lawyers, to which White replied that they were both out of town. The testator then instructed Littell as to the provisions of the will; his voice was very weak and the nurse could not distinguish what they were. Littell then left the room with White, and they went to the library, where the butler provided them with materials for drawing the will. They returned to the room of the testator and Littell read the will to him. The nurse was standing in the embrasure of a window near the bed and heard the will read. She remembered distinctly that as read by Littell it gave to White the ten thousand dollars the testator had promised. The testator did not read the will himself, he was not able to do so. The will was thereupon duly executed by the testator and the witnesses, and the former directed that it be given into the custody of Dickson & Brown, who, as afterwards appeared, were named as executors. The testator died that afternoon. I did not in any way suggest anything to the nurse about the provisions of the will,—merely asked her if she remembered them and she volunteered the statement about the bequest of ten thousand to White. She did not even know that the will actually gave to him a hundred thousand, for she had never given it further thought or heard of it again. I visited the law firm of Dickson & Brown, and from them learned that after the death of the testator but on the same day White had delivered the will to them and also that they were neither of them out of town on that day. "Six months after the death of the testator they distributed the estate. White received from them his bequest of one hundred thousand dollars and deposited it in the bank as I on inquiry learned; within a week he withdrew fifty thousand dollars and the succeeding day Littell deposited that amount in a bank in Jersey City, subsequently withdrawing it and depositing most of it—forty-odd thousand—in his own bank in this city. This latter fact I learned from his New York bankers and through them I was enabled to trace the deposit in the Jersey City bank, from which bank the transfer had been made direct. "The witnesses necessary to substantiate the foregoing facts are all at hand and can be produced at any time. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Respectfully submitted, </div> <div class="stanza"> "C. Miles. </div> <div class="stanza"> "New York, March —, 1883." </div> </div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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