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WITNESS. "No, sir--a heavy one, I should judge; for it appeared to cut open Mr. Wilkeson's lip, and bruise his cheek. The blood seemed to run down his face in a stream." Here little Pet exhibited signs of faintness, which good Mrs. Crull stopped by an instant application of the smelling bottle.
CORONER. "Mr. Wilkeson struck back a terrible blow in return, I s'pose."
WITNESS. "Yes, sir. He hit my father right in the eye, raising a black and blue spot as large as a hen's egg." The painful recollection of this part of the dream so overpowered the witness, that she burst into tears, but was soon quieted by the motherly attentions of Mrs. Crull.
FOREMAN OF THE JURY. "I don't want to hurt the young lady's feelin's, but this 'ere dream is all nonsense; and it strikes me we're a lot o'
fools to be listenin' to it. Why, Harry, you know, as well as I do, that there wasn't no bruise on the old man's face, exceptin' the big one on his forehead. No more is there a sign of a scratch on the prisoner's mug there. It's all gammon."
Three others of the jury nodded in approval of this sentiment. The remaining two shared somewhat in the coroner's reverence for dreams, and awaited further developments.
The coroner turned his quid uneasily. "You can think as you please, Jack," said he: "but we'll see--we'll see." The coroner, like many other men of greater claims to wisdom, used this enigmatical expression when he could not see anything.
A lawyer less crafty than Fayette Overtop would have protested against the reception of this singular testimony at the outset, and at intervals of a minute during its delivery. But he foresaw that, being a dream, it must be full of absurdities, which would surely betray themselves, and help his client. Besides, he was curious to hear all of the evidence, however ridiculous and worthless, against the prisoner.
The witness then proceeded to the close of her testimony, amid the silence of all hearers. The narrative of the dreadful grapple, the struggle for the club, and the death blow given by Mr. Wilkeson to her prostrate father--all delivered with an intense earnestness, broken only by occasional sobs and pauses of anguish--produced a powerful impression. As she finished, and fell, half fainting, into the arms of Mrs. Crull, the coroner nodded his head slowly, and said:
"What do you think of dreams now, Jack? Something in 'em, eh?"
The foreman shared in the general feeling of awe; but he had given his opinion that the dream was nonsense, and stood by it. "It's strange,"
said he. "It's what the newspapers call a 'strordinary quincidence,'
that the young lady should 'a' dreamed out this murder so plain. I do'
'no' much about the science o' dreams, but I think this one might be explained somethin' in this way: The young lady heerd the old man and Mr. Wilkeson here talkin' strong, when she come home that night. She went to sleep with their conversation ringin' in her ears. Part on it she heerd in her dreams, and the rest she 'magined. She says she was afraid there would be trouble between 'em when she went to bed. The fight, and the murder, and all that, which she says she saw in a dream, or vision like, might have grown out o' that naterally enough. That's my notion of it, off hand. I've often gone to bed, myself, thinkin' of somethin' horrible that was goin' to happen, and dreamt that it did happen."
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE INQUEST. MARCUS SPRINGS TO HIS FEET.]
This was precisely the theory upon which Fayette Overtop intended to explain the dream to the jury when the proper time arrived. He was glad that the foreman had done it instead; for he knew the tenacity with which a man, having given an opinion, defends it. To have so potent an advocate of his client's innocence on the jury, was a strong point.
"Very good, old boy," said the coroner; "but, if the prisoner didn't commit the murder, who did?"
This question, so manifestly unjust, and betraying the coroner's intention to sacrifice Marcus to a theory, roused that unfortunate man to consciousness, and he sprang to his feet. But the wiser Overtop placed his hands upon his friend's shoulder, whispered in his ear, and forced him reluctantly into his seat. Overtop knew that the argumentative foreman could best dispose of the coroner.
The foreman replied to the coroner's question:
"As to who did the murder, that's what we're here to find out. But, for one, I sha'n't bring in no man guilty till it's proved onto him."
The foreman's face was a dull one, but it became suddenly luminous with an idea:
"You say, miss, that you was waked by a noise as of somethin' heavy fallin' on the floor?"
"Yes, sir."
"You s'pose--as we all s'pose--that it was your father's body that fell, when he received his death blow?"
"Yes, sir."
"You say you heerd no one a-goin' out o' the room?"
"No, sir."
"That's not strange; for the murd'rer could 'a' slipped off his boots or shoes, and walked out puffickly quiet. I noticed, this mornin', and the other members of the jury can see for themselves, that the boards of the floor don't creak when you walk on 'em, nor the entry door neither when you open it. Didn't you never observe that succ.u.mstance?"
"Yes, sir; but it did not occur to me when I woke up. I thought, if the dream had been true, that I should have heard Mr. Wilkeson moving around in the room, or going out of the door. I listened for a long time, as I have already said, and, hearing n.o.body, I thought the dream was nothing but a nightmare, as father used to call it."
"One more question, miss, which may or may not be of some consekence.
Haven't you no idee about what time it was when you was waked up by this noise of somethin' fallin'?"
"No, sir; not the least. It might have been about midnight, I should guess."
"Think a minute, miss, if you didn't hear any sound outside that could give you some idee of the time." The foreman fixed his eyes piercingly on the witness.
She reflected a moment. "Yes--yes; I do remember, that when I jumped out of bed--which I did the very second that I woke up--and listened at the door, I heard the fire bells striking. Now, if anybody could tell what time that happened."
"At precisely twenty-five minutes of twelve," said the foreman, in a solemn voice. "It was for the seventh district--the only 'larm that night. It was a false 'larm, and only three or four rounds was sounded.
Did you hear the bell many times?"
"Only two or three, and then it stopped. The sound was very plain, sir, because the bell tower is only a short distance from here, you know."
"Exactly," said the foreman. "You woke up just as Uncle Ith was givin'
off the last round."
There was a deep, awestruck silence in the room; for all understood the object of these inquiries.
"Now, gentlemen," continued the foreman, in a trembling voice, "let the prisoner only prove that he was a half, or a quarter, or an eighth of a mile from here when that 'larm was sounded, and I rather think he will clear himself. Where are the policemen that the prisoner saw that night?"
A noise, as of heavy official boots, was heard on the stairs, sending a strange thrill through the hearts of all present.
"G.o.d be praised," said Fayette Overtop, "if the lieutenant has found them." It was the first time that the model young lawyer had shown any signs of emotion.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BENEFICENCE OF FIRE BELLS.
The door opened, and the tall form of the police lieutenant appeared, attended by two patrolmen. The patrolmen, on entering, looked directly at the prisoner, and seemed to recognize him. The police lieutenant appeared to be pleased with his success in finding the witnesses, after a hunt through several station houses; but he was not aware what importance the testimony which they could give had suddenly acquired.
The witnesses had been searched for at the suggestion of Fayette Overtop, with the vague hope of making them useful in some way.
The coroner scowled at the witnesses, for he feared that they would prove the man innocent, who, in his opinion, was the murderer. Having adopted this theory at the outset, and staked the whole issue upon it, he felt a natural reluctance to give it up.
The lieutenant explained to the coroner that the two officers could probably throw some light on the prisoner's movements, the night of the murder.
The coroner administered the oath to both of them, as follows:
"Holeup your ri't'an'. You swear to tell truth, th'ole truth, nothin'
but truth, s'elpyeG.o.d. Kiss the book."
The men complied with these impressive formalities, and the coroner then proceeded to interrogate one of them--a strapping fellow with an intensely Irish face.
"Name?" said the coroner.