A Master Hand Part 7

The police believed they had established their case against Winters and all their future efforts would be directed against him. If, therefore, his conviction was to be avoided, it would most likely have to be through such a.n.a.lysis of facts arrayed against him as should demonstrate the possibility of another theory of murder and not by direct evidence of his innocence, for such would probably not be forthcoming.

Could I do this? Would an a.n.a.lysis of the facts and testimony afford the opportunity? I could but try.

My thoughts were in confusion, and I was unable for a time to direct them or to clearly define for contemplation the different elements in the case. After a while, however, as the personalities of the different witnesses faded from my mind and the vivid impression I had brought away from the scene of the court-room grew dim, I succeeded in concentrating my attention on the subject in the abstract. I now concluded to review the whole case and to determine upon what, if any, reasonable theories Winters could be innocent.

The strength of the case against him was plain. The Inspector's method of procedure had been such as to present it strongly and allow of no part being overlooked; and I recognized also that the evidence had probably all been true and that any effort to reach a different conclusion would have to be premised upon an admission of his facts and be made consistent with them. I had set myself a hard task, but its very difficulties only incited me to greater effort.

While the evidence against Winters was very strong it was not conclusive. This much I felt, and I, therefore, meant to proceed upon the theory of his innocence.

The facts were that he had been at White's house that night and that he had possession of one of the bills Van Bult had left on the table, but it did not necessarily follow from them that he had killed White. He might have taken the money, while he slept, and without disturbing him.

Such an hypothesis was consistent at the same time with the facts and with Winters's innocence.

Such being the case why should he not be innocent? These two facts, his presences at the house and possession of the bill, were in reality all that had actually been proved against him, although as the evidence had been presented at the hearing, it had seemed almost conclusive of his guilt.

Having reached this conclusion it still remained necessary, in order to make his innocence a reasonable hypothesis, to demonstrate in some way that some one else had probably been there that night also; and thus make possible another theory of the murder.

There was one fact in the case that I thought did suggest--sufficiently at least for argument--the presence of a second person on the scene.

Van Bult had left four fifty-dollar bills on the table, and of these only one had been traced to Winters, and the remaining three were missing and unaccounted for. If it could be demonstrated with reasonable certainty that Winters had not taken them, it must follow that some one else had done so, and the presence of this other party would thus be established.

Under these conditions, until such person could be found, and his innocence shown, the chances of Winters's guilt or innocence of the murder would be equally divided.

Of course I recognized the fact that Winters might have taken them all, but it seemed very unlikely. It was clear from the evidence that between the time the officer saw him leaving the vestibule and the time he rejoined his friend in the saloon on Sixth Avenue but a very brief period could have elapsed, not enough under any ordinary circ.u.mstances to account for the disposal of a hundred and fifty dollars. There was no suggestion that he had spent any while with his friend before they visited the gambling house, and he had lost but one of the bills there.

If, then, he had secured more than one of them, he must have kept the balance in his possession; but to admit this was to conclude that he had abandoned his gaming while he had plenty of money in his pocket, which was highly improbable in a man of Winters's habits and temperament; such was not the way with his kind. I concluded, therefore, that it was not unreasonable to a.s.sume that he had not taken all the bills and that some one else had probably been on the scene that night, in which case the police must either negative this a.s.sumption or find that other person, and establish his innocence, before they could with any certainty establish Winters's guilt. At least so I reasoned.

As I further reflected, however, there occurred to me another explanation of the disappearance of the money that did not involve the intervention of a third party. White had apparently gone out that night.

Why should he not have disposed in some way of all but the one bill during his absence? It was possible, just as possible as any other hypothesis, and would undoubtedly suggest itself to the prosecution when the question arose. There would still, of course, remain some doubt as to the true explanation of their disappearance; and every doubt, no matter how small, was a cloud upon the State's case; but I felt it would be insufficient to weigh against the other evidence unless corroborated by additional facts. I was thus compelled to look further for the evidence I sought.

The only other tangible factor in the case that seemed to suggest in any way the presence of a third party was the ulster. My former theory that its absence from the scene--since it had not been taken by Winters--proved the presence of a third party, failed now since it had evidently been worn out by White himself, and apparently left by him at Belle Stanton's; but this last conclusion I was not yet quite prepared to admit. Of course, Belle Stanton's home was a place where White might well have left it, had it been likely that he would have left it anywhere; but I thought it highly improbable that any man would have walked back nearly two blocks on such a rainy night, and in evening dress, without an overcoat; that is, unless he was out of his mind, and White was certainly not that when I had parted from him less than an hour earlier. Furthermore, I reasoned, if he had done so his clothes must have shown the effect of exposure to the weather and as far as I recalled, they were immaculate when I saw him the following morning. On the whole I was not ready to admit that White had left the ulster there.

a.s.suming, therefore, that he had not done so, I turned my thoughts to the consideration of some other means by which it could have gotten there. It must have been taken out by some one with intimate knowledge of White's habits and private life, and also by some one having access to his several establishments, to at once secure the ulster and dispose of it in a place so suggestive of the action of White. The very conditions of the problem suggested the answer. I knew of but one man who possessed the knowledge and opportunities required. That man was Benton.

With the recognition of this fact came a very disagreeable sensation. I was anxious to establish Winters's innocence, but I recoiled from the thought of hunting down another man in his place, especially when I realized that while the conclusion of my reasoning might raise a doubt as to Winters's guilt, it was entirely insufficient to do more than cast an awful suspicion upon Benton.

I sat long in reflection over the situation. I was at first inclined to abandon the whole thing, but then I recognized the obligation to fulfil a duty I had undertaken, especially since it had disclosed a theory of the murder that might be the means of saving an innocent man's life.

Could I, to spare the feelings or even to spare the reputation of another man who might be either innocent or guilty, leave Winters to the fate I felt must overtake him if I did not interfere?

My duty was plain; miserable as was the task, I must go on with it to a conclusion one way or the other, but I determined that so long as I could, I would pursue the investigation alone, and thus spare Benton trouble and mortification if it should develop that he was innocent.

Time enough to submit it to the police when I had something more tangible to go upon than mere speculation based on the fitting of acts to opportunities. Furthermore, I knew the police would not be grateful to me for upsetting or even casting doubt upon their well-worked-up case, and would depart upon the investigation of a new clue with very little enthusiasm for the work.

At this point my reflections were interrupted by a servant who came to tell me that Benton would like to see me.

I almost jumped from my chair. What irony of fate had brought this man--the one I wished least of all to see--to me at this moment? I felt guilty at the mention of his name. How should I treat him? What should I say to him? At first I was inclined to refuse to see him, but then I reflected that it was as well to have an interview with him now as another time. I need ask him no direct questions, do nothing to alarm him, but could listen to what he might have to say. The interview being unsolicited, on my part, he could have no idea of my suspicion and might therefore be led to talk freely. My determination thus taken, I told the servant, who had been patiently waiting on me, to bring Benton to my room. By the time he appeared I had composed myself and was prepared to take advantage of any opportunity that might offer to further my investigation.

On entering he was so eager to impart his news that barely waiting for me to signify my readiness to hear him, he began telling it in a hurried and nervous manner.

"I came, Mr. Dallas," he said, "because after I saw at the trial this afternoon that the police had caught Winters and that he was the man, I thought I ought to tell you at once what I know about it. I would have told it when I testified, but did not think of him at all then. Mr.

Winters," he continued, "was always coming to Mr. White's rooms, at all times of the day and often late in the evening, too, and he always wanted money, and Mr. White always gave it to him; sometimes a good deal, and sometimes a little, just according to what he had with him; and he had generally been drinking, more or less, and sometimes he would beg and cry, and sometimes, when Mr. White didn't have as much money to give him as he wanted, he would get mad, and say it was all his money by right anyhow, and that Mr. White had as good as robbed him of it and such like; but Mr. White would never say much to him, but just give him the money and be kind to him, and tell him to come again when he needed more; and indeed it seemed to me he was always coming, sir, and it used to bother Mr. White, I am sure, for he seemed worried and out of sorts after Mr. Winters had been there." He paused for a moment and then went on. "That is all I wanted to say, but I thought I ought to tell you, sir. I tried to see you after the trial, but you got away too soon, and so I thought I would wait until you got through your dinner, and had time to see me. So I came around now."

He had rattled on till he was out of breath, and now stood in some embarra.s.sment waiting for what I might have to say.

I sat looking at him. I was puzzled as to his character. Either the man was simple and straightforward in nature and worked up at the moment to a high pitch of nervous and pleasurable excitement over the murder, as is apt to be the case with his cla.s.s; or else he was a worse man and a deeper one than I had conceived him to be.

"Sit down, Benton," I said at last, pointing to a chair opposite me; "what you have told me is of much importance, and I want to talk to you further about it."

"Yes, sir," he said, and sat down obediently. I felt I had a delicate task in hand. I must on no account alarm him or in any way arouse his suspicion, and yet the opportunity of questioning him was too good to lose.

"It is very important," I continued, "that I should learn all I can of Mr. White's habits. I knew him well, of course, but as his servant, you knew more about him than any one else. How long, now, had you lived with him?"

"More than a year," he answered.

"Did you know this Miss Stanton, who testified to-day?" I continued.

"Yes, sir, I did; he had been going with her ever since I knew him."

"Do you know whether he was in the habit of visiting her house often late in the evening?"

"I think so, sir, but I do not know just how often. I used to take notes for him to her house, and sometimes she would come to his rooms and take supper with him."

"Did she have any key to his rooms?" was my next question.

He said he did not think so, because she always rang for admission when he was there.

I inquired then if he knew of any one who had keys to White's room.

He said he did not think any one had except, probably, the landlady and himself.

"I think," I said, "you testified that you found the door unlatched when you went to the rooms the morning of Mr. White's death. How do you mean it was unlatched?"

"I mean," he answered, "that the catch was so fixed that it could be opened from the outside without a key. This was hardly ever the case that I remember, and never before over night."

I asked him how the catch was fixed when he left, and he answered that he could not say because the door was open, and Mr. Davis still in the room.

"And you did not go back that night?" I asked.

"No, sir," he answered promptly, "certainly not. You saw me going home yourself."

"So I did," I admitted; "and how about the front door when you left, was that unfastened, too?"

He said that he had closed the door after him when he went out, but did not know whether it was fixed to open from the outside or not as he had not tried it, but that it was fastened when he returned in the morning because he had to use his key to get in.

"Had Winters a key?" I asked.

"No," he admitted, "I am very sure he hadn't."

"Then in case the door was locked," I said, "how could he have gotten in?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, but brightened up, and suggested that Mr. White might have let him in, as he never refused him admission.

"But in that case," I suggested, "Mr. White would have been awake and he was apparently asleep when he was killed." He had nothing to say to this, except to suggest rather doubtfully that Mr. White might have laid down and gone to sleep again while Winters was there.