The Holladay Case Part 6
"It's incomprehensible!" I sighed, after a moment's confused thought.
"It's----"
"Yes--past believing."
"But the coachman----"
"The coachman's evidence, I fear, won't help us much--rather the reverse."
I actually gasped for breath--I felt like a drowning man from whose grasp the saving rope had suddenly, unaccountably, been s.n.a.t.c.hed.
"In that case----" I began, and stopped.
"Well, in that case?"
"We must find some other way out," I concluded lamely.
"_Is_ there another way, Lester?" he demanded, wheeling round upon me fiercely. "_Is_ there another way? If there is, I wish to G.o.d you'd show it to me!"
"There must be!" I protested desperately, striving to convince myself.
"There must be; only, I fear, it will take some little time to find."
"And meanwhile, Miss Holladay will be remanded! Think what that will mean to her, Lester!"
I had thought. I was desperate as he--but to find the flaw, the weak spot in the chain, required, I felt, a better brain than mine. I was lost in a whirlwind of perplexities.
"Well, we must do our best," he went on more calmly, after a moment.
"I haven't lost hope yet--chance often directs these things. Besides, at worst, I think Miss Holladay will change her mind. Whatever her secret, it were better to reveal it than to spend a single hour in the Tombs. She simply _must_ change her mind! And thanks, Lester, for your thoughtfulness. You've put new life into me."
I cleared away the debris of the lunch, and a few moments later the room began to fill again. At last the coroner and district attorney came in together, and the former rapped for order.
"The inquest will continue," he said, "with the examination of John Brooks, Miss Holladay's coachman."
I can give his evidence in two words. His mistress had driven directly down the avenue to Washington Square. There she had left the carriage, bidding him wait for her, and had continued southward into the squalid French quarter. He had lost sight of her in a moment, and had driven slowly about for more than two hours before she reappeared. She had ordered him to drive home as rapidly as he could, and he had not stopped until he reached the house. Her gown? Yes, he had noticed that it was a dark red. He had not seen her face, for it was veiled. No, he had never before driven her to that locality.
Quaking at heart, I realized that only one person could extricate Frances Holladay from the coil woven about her. If she persisted in silence, there was no hope for her. But that she should still refuse to speak was inconceivable, unless----
"That is all," said the coroner. "Will you cross-examine the witness, Mr. Royce?"
My chief shook his head silently, and Brooks left the stand.
Again the coroner and Singleton whispered together.
"We will recall Miss Holladay's maid," said the former at last.
She was on the stand again in a moment, calmer than she had been, but deadly pale.
"Are your mistress's handkerchiefs marked in any way?" Goldberg asked, as she turned to him.
"Some of them are, yes, sir, with her initials, in the form of a monogram. Most of them are plain."
"Do you recognize this one?" and he handed her the ghastly piece of evidence.
I held my breath while the woman looked it over, turning it with trembling fingers.
"No, sir!" she replied emphatically, as she returned it to him.
"Does your mistress possess any handkerchiefs that resemble this one?"
"Oh, yes, sir; it's an ordinary cambric handkerchief of good quality such as most ladies use."
I breathed a long sigh of relief; here, at least, fortune favored us.
"That is all. Have you any questions, Mr. Royce?"
Again our junior shook his head.
"That concludes our case," added the coroner. "Have you any witnesses to summon, sir?"
What witnesses could we have? Only one--and I fancied that the jurymen were looking at us expectantly. If our client were indeed innocent, why should we hesitate to put her on the stand, to give her opportunity to defend herself, to enable her to shatter, in a few words, this chain of circ.u.mstance so firmly forged about her? If she were innocent, would she not naturally wish to speak in her own behalf? Did not her very unwillingness to speak argue----
"Ask for a recess," I whispered. "Go to Miss Holladay, and tell her that unless she speaks----"
But before Mr. Royce could answer, a policeman pushed his way forward from the rear of the room and handed a note to the coroner.
"A messenger brought this a moment ago, sir," he explained.
The coroner glanced at the superscription and handed it to my chief.
"It's for you, Mr. Royce," he said.
I saw that the address read,
For Mr. Royce, Attorney for the Defense.
He tore it open, and ran his eyes rapidly over the inclosure. He read it through a second time, then held out the paper to me with an expression of the blankest amazement. The note read:
The man Rogers is lying. The woman who was with Holladay wore a gown of dark green.
CHAPTER IV
I Have an Inspiration
I stared at the lines in dumb bewilderment. "The man Rogers is lying."
But what conceivable motive could he have for lying? Besides, as I looked at him on the stand, I would have sworn that he was telling the truth, and very much against his will. I had always rather prided myself upon my judgment of human nature--had I erred so egregiously in this instance? "The woman who was with Holladay wore a gown of dark green." Who was the writer of the note? How did he know the color of her gown? There was only one possible way he could know--he knew the woman. Plainly, too, he must have been present at the morning hearing.
But if he knew so much, why did he not himself come forward? To this, too, there was but one answer--he must be an accomplice. But then, again, if he were an accomplice, why should he imperil himself by writing this note, for it could very probably be traced? I found myself deeper in the mire, farther from the light, at every step.