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NYPL RESEARCH. LIBRARIES


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THE MAN
IN THE JURY BOX


Books by
RoBERT ORR CHIPPERFIELD
THE SEcond BULLET
UNSEEN HANDs
THE MAN IN THE JURY
Box


THE MAN
IN THE JURY BOX
BY
S
. E Osſºnder
- --
------
--- T -----
NEW YORK
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO.
&o
1921


Copyright, 1921,
by
RoBERT M. McBRIDE & Co.
-
Tſii. xi.W YORK
Pt. SLIC LIBRARY
1292.12B
Astor Lººſ, X AM.)
Tilº I Cºrion's
n 1941 L.
P r in t e d in
t he
United States of America
PRoPºry
OF THE
NEW YC. §
SOCIETY Lis, . . . . "
P u b 1 i s h e d ,
1 9 2 1


_*u.
CHAPTER
II
III
IV
VI
VII
VIII
IX
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
CONTENTS
WHERE THE BROOK TURNED
ATA QUARTER PAST NINE .
THE CALFSKIN BAG .
A BIT OF BROWN FUR .
THE MAN AT THE STATION .
THE Voice FROM THE Doorway
THE THREAT OF SUN HSU .
THE RED MITTEN
THE SHADows
THE INQUEST
THE VERDICT
ODELL’s LONE HAND
BY ORDERs of THE CHIEF .
To PROTECT HER
UNDER NIGHT SKIES
SUN HSU DECIDEs .
THE CONFERENCE -
IN THE NAME OF THE LAW .
THE DOUBLE TRAIL .
WHERE THE CLUE LED .
THE LONG ARM .
Sworn TESTIMONY .
THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE .
THE MAN IN THE JURY Box
Page
14
26
41
54
70
82
95
107
121
132
147
161
172
188
196
214
230
242
249
259
273
291
305





THE MAN IN THE JURY Box
CHAPTER I -
WHERE THE BROOK TURNED
F Jimmie Vail's Uncle Phineas hadn't given him a
pair of skates for Christmas, and if he hadn't been
laid up for more than a month thereafter with meas-
les, he would not have ghosen that early February
morning to steal away to the pond on the Willow
Brook estate, and discovered that which was to make
him for a space the most important small personage
in all Sunnymead. … "
His discovery did not please him; as a matter of
fact, it frightened him so that he dropped the shining
new skates and scurried like a hunted rabbit through
the frozen hedge and out upon the hard-packed snow
of the highroad. His mother's dingy little brown
cottage, together with its chicken coops and pigsty
and narrow strip of bare truck garden, elbowed for
space between the stately country homes of two of
the village's wealthiest commuters, and thither Jim-
mie's thin legs carried him as fast as they could
travel.
1


2 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
It was not until he was well within the gate, how-
ever, that he lifted up his voice.
“Mal—Oh, ma, come quick!”
Mrs. Myrtille Vail had appeared in the doorway
with a pail of hot water to clean off the porch steps,
and she surveyed him with ominous disapproval.
“I thought I sent you out to feed them pigs,” she
observed. “It’s most school time—”
“Ma-a! Up at the Latimer's place, lyin’ down by the
pond with blood all 'round!” Jimmie's breath came
in gasps and his eyes seemed protruding from his
head. “C'm on an’ see him!”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Mrs. Vail put
down the pail. “What's up by the pond, and what
were you doing there?”
“A man with a big fur coat!” Jimmie ignored
the final question. “He’s lyin' with his face in the
snow and there's somethin’ that looks like blood—l
Ma, I don't feel well in my stomach!”
Jimmie sat down suddenly on the lowest step, but
his mother bent over and shook him vigorously.
“You just tell me what you mean! I never saw
such a boy! Is somebody sick? Did you speak to him
or touch him?”
“No, 'm. I was comin’ along an' I seen him, an’—
an’ then I ran! He didn’t move nor nothin'!”
Mrs. Vail stepped past him and went swiftly down
to the gate as the milk wagon approached with a whim-
ing creak of wheels in the frosty air.
“Sam, you been up to the Latimers’?”
“No, Mis' Vail, I didn't stop.” The shock-headed


WHERE THE BROOK TURNED 3
youth pulled up with a jerk. “They got a lot of fancy
cows of their own. Why? What's the trouble?”
“I don’t know as there's any.” She hesitated.
“Jimmie may be telling fibs again, but he says he's
just been up by the Latimer's pond and there's a man
lying there with his face all blood. The man didn't
move and Jimmie ran away.”
“Golly! I’m going right back up there and see!
Want to come along?”
Without waiting for a second invitation Mrs. Vail
drew the old coat which had belonged to her late hus-
band more closely about her and climbed sturdily up
over the wheel.
“You come along, too, Jimmie, and show us where
you found the man, and if you're telling a story I'll
'tend to you!” she called. “Hurry, now!”
Jimmie scrambled up beside her and Sam turned
short in the road and whipped up the horse.
“Who was it?” he asked. “Do you guess he's hurt
bad?”
“I dunno. I don’t wanna look at him again! I was
up there just to—to-um!” Jimmie remembered all
at once what he had left in his hurried flight. “Just
to hide my skates so’s I could get 'em easy after school,
an' I seen him with the blood all over!”
Repetition was dulling his fastidious sensibilities,
and he amplified his story with evident relish.
“There's an awful lot of blood, Mister Jenks, and
he's got his face down in it, like he'd been lyin' there
forever. That's the place I went in; there where the
hedge is gone!”
He slipped down before the wagon stopped and led


4 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
the way through the gap in the hedge, around empty
flowerbeds and clumps of skeleton shrubbery, to the
artificial pond which lay like a sheet of glass fringed
with naked willows.
Just on the edge of the bank, among the stark trees,
a figure lay sprawled face downward. The voluminous
greatcoat which enveloped it was spread out like the
wings of some huge, fallen bird, and the limbs which
protruded from beneath the coat were twisted in a
manner that would have seemed grotesque save for a
certain strange rigidity that lent them dignity, and
for the spreading blotch of brown that stained the
snow about the spot where the head rested.
Mrs. Vail drew back with a gasp and Jimmie took a
gingerly step or two forward, but Sam Jenks ad-
vanced to the prone figure and, seizing the shoulders,
turned it over with a mighty wrench.
“It's Gilbert Latimer himself, by gosh!” he ex-
claimed.
“He isn't dead!” Mrs. Vail approached, pushing the
reluctant Jimmie aside. “You don't think he's dead,
Sam 7”
“Dead as a doornail! He's frozen solid! Look
where his forehead's all smashed in 1” Sam's ruddy
countenance had paled, but his eyes snapped with ex-
citement. “Mis' Vail, you run up to the house and
tell the folks! No fall on the snow could have stove
his head in that way even if there is lumps of ice
underneath. I’m going for the constable just as fast
as I can get over the road!”
“I wanna go with you! I don't wanna stay here!”
wailed Jimmie, unnerved.


WHERE THE BROOK TURNED 5
“Hitch on, then!” Sam ran for the wagon and
called back over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in no time,
Mis' Vail!”
But Mrs. Vail was already half way across the white
expanse of the lawn, ignoring the winding driveway
that offered a more devious route to the old Colonial
house whose staunch pillars showed between the
gnarled gray trunks of the trees which surrounded it.
She hurried up the shallow porch steps and lifted
the brass knocker, letting it fall with a clanging jar.
It reverberated upon the still, frost-laden air, and as
the clamor died away brisk footsteps sounded within
and a smug-faced man-servant opened the door.
“Mr. Latimer! He's been hurt! He's lying down
by the pond!” Mrs. Vail announced breathlessly.
The butler eyed her disheveled bare head and the
rough ulster drawn about her ample form in some
disdain.
“Impossible, ma'am!” His tone was calmly aloof.
“Mr. Latimer is away—”
“What is it, Bangs?” A clear, flute-like voice
sounded from the rear of the hall, and a young woman
came forward. She was clad in a violet gown of some
soft, clinging material banded with dark fur, and the
pale gold of her hair glowed in the shaft of wintry
sun which came through the bay window. “Why,
you are a neighbor of ours, aren't you?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Mrs. Vail stammered. “I live down
the road a piece. My little boy found a man lying
by your pond, and the milkman says it's Mr. Latimer
and that he's—he's hurt bad!”
Somehow she could not say “dead” with those calm


6 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
blue eyes gazing into her face, but the agitation in
her manner communicated itself to the other woman,
and two slim hands flew to the violet-covered breast.
“There must be some mistake! Mr. Latimer went
to town last night—!” Mrs. Latimer caught herself
up. “Bangs, is Sidney or Henry in the house?” .
“Yes, madam. They are both having their break-
fast in the kitchen,” the butler replied.
“Tell them to go at once and see what the trouble
is, and if someone is hurt have him brought to the
house,” she directed. Then, turning once more to her
visitor, she added: “Won't you come into the library
and warm yourself? There is a fire there, and you
must be cold. It was good of you to run up—”
“But it's Mr. Latimer!” Mrs. Vail burst out.
“Aren't you coming to see? He's got on that fur coat
I’ve often seen him drive past in, on his way to the
station, and—and Sam Jenks has gone for the con-
stable—”
“The constable!” Mrs. Latimer whispered. The
butler had departed upon his errand, and as the two
women faced each other Mrs. Vail could see that the
other was controlling herself by a visible effort. “Why?
Surely you don’t mean—!”
“Whoever he is, ma'am, he's dead!” Mrs. Vail
cried. “I couldn't tell you right out flat, but he has
fallen down or—or been hit on the head with some-
thing. There, ma'am, don't!”
For Mrs. Latimer had wavered and clutched at the
back of a tall cathedral chair for support. The next
instant she had recovered herself and, turning, tore


WHERE THE BROOK TURNED 7
open the door of a closet beneath the staircase and
dragged out a great fur cloak.
“Come!” she breathed as she struggled into it.
“Come quickly! You must show me where he was
found!”
Her slender fingers felt like bands of steel as she
gripped Mrs. Vail's plump arm, and the latter glanced
down at her feet.
“You’ve only got them thin slippers on—!”
“What does it matter?” There was a rising note
of hysteria now in the younger woman's tone, and her
eyes glowed feverishly. “It cannot be Mr. Latimer,
but I must see! I must know!”
As they hastened down the driveway two men hur-
rying before them disappeared into the thick growth
of willows which screened the pond from their view,
and a distant shout came from the highroad beyond.
“That's Sam Jenks!” Mrs. Vail panted. “Maybe I
hadn’t ought to have gotten you out here, Mis’ Lati-
mer! Maybe you'd ought to have waited in the
house——!”
But Mrs. Latimer had dropped her arm and sped
lightly forward, vanishing between the stunted wil-
lows, and the other followed, stumbling over the frozen
hummocks of snow.
When she reached the scene of the tragedy she
found two men standing beside the rigid figure on the
ground. One was tall and lanky, with a chauffeur's
cap pushed far back on his dark, curly head, and the
other of middle age, thick-set and stooping, with his
shock of grizzled hair bare to the winds. Mrs. Lati-
mer stood a little apart as though turned to stone,


8 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
staring down at the still form, and the snow about
her was no whiter than her face.
“Is it—?” Mrs. Vail appealed to the young man
with the cap. “Is it Mr. Latimer?”
“It’s him all right!” he responded in a stunned
fashion. “And I drove him to the station myself last
night! God! I feel as if I was seeing things! He's a
goner, Henry!”
The thick-set man nodded gravely and turned as a
sound of excited masculine voices came from the di-
rection of the highroad and three more men burst
through the thicket of shrubbery with the ubiquitous
Jimmie in tow.
Sam Jenks led the way, followed by the constable,
Wex Price; and a third man brought up the rear, a
man whom Mrs. Vail had never seen before. He was
a brisk, clean-cut, boyish-looking young man with
sparkling blue eyes and just the hint of a scar above
one brow; and after the first glimpse of the prone
figure he paused in the background, taking in the
scene before him with a lightning glance which seemed
to miss no detail.
“Jimmie, come here!” Mrs. Vail called peremptorily
and then approached the other woman.
“Mis’ Latimer, it won’t do any good for you to stay
here now, you know. They'll bring him up to the
house in a few minutes. Do you want me to go back
with you? Is there anything I can do?”
Mrs. Latimer shook her head dumbly and wrenched
her eyes away from her husband's stark form. They
were dry and tearless and very bright, and her
blanched lips moved but no sound came from them.


WHERE THE BROOK TURNED 9
The two latest comers had knelt by the body, and
now the constable rose and turned to her, jerking off
his moth-eaten seal cap.
“You’re Mrs. Latimer?” he asked huskily, his fat
face red with excitement and importance. “You iden-
tify this—this man as your husband?”
She shuddered and passed one hand over her face.
“Yes. I–’’ her breath came in a sobbing gasp.
“I cannot understand! He left for the city last night.
It seems impossible, but it is hel”
“Then I'll ask you to go back to your house, ma'am,
and wait there till I come,” Constable Price ordered.
“You take her, Mrs. Vail, and then see that Jimmie
goes home and stays to home! Don't have him gab-
bing around—”
“But what is it?” Mrs. Latimer interrupted, her
gaze returning as though fascinated to the body.
“What happened to my husband? Did he fall and
strike his head on the ice—?”
“No, ma'am,” the constable replied bluntly. “We
don’t have to wait for the doctor to come and tell us
that no ice made that wound! He's been struck on
the head by some heavy, sharp instrument. It's
murder, ma'am!”
“Catch her!” The strange young man sprang for-
ward, but he was too late, for at the word “murder”
Mrs. Latimer had swayed and slipped down with a
soft, silken rustle into the snow.
“Here! You let me have her!” The thick-set man
strode forward. “I’m Henry Eaves, the gardener;
I'll take her up to the house. It's a pity you couldn't
have broken it to her a little easier!”
*


10 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
He spoke with rough compassion and, stooping,
gathered the slender figure up in his long arms and
started for the driveway. His companion prepared to
follow, but the constable stopped him.
“You’re the chauffeur, ain't you?”
“Sure he is!” Sam Jenks spoke up before the other
could reply. “He’s been down to my brother's garage
more than once since they come here!”
“What's your name?” The constable ignored the
interruption.
“Sidney Curry,” the other responded. “Gee, this is
fierce, isn't it? How’d he get back here? I drove him
to the station last night to catch the eight-fifty and
left him on the platform with his bag in his hand.
He said he'd 'phone out from town and let me know
when to meet him today. How d'you s'pose he got
back here, and what happened to him? He hasn't
been robbed, for there's his stick-pin—”
He halted suddenly, and Constable Price observed:
“So the 'phone's been put in? Well, you go up to
the house, Curry, and call up Sheriff Pettingill, Sunny-
mead four-six, and Doc Hale, number one-eight. Tell
'em to get right up here, that there's been murder
done! How many do the Latimers employ 'round the
place, inside and out?”
“Well, there's me and Henry and Bangs, the butler;
that's three. Then there's the cook, Virgie, and Ruth,
and Mrs. Latimer's own maid, Maggie. That's all now,
because the family has just moved in, but the boss
was saying only yesterday that he was going to hire
two or three more gardeners when the frost breaks,
and a mechanician to help me 'round the garage. He'd


12 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
were fresh and soft the footprints alone might have
told the story, but I don’t think our friend here put up
much of a fight.”
He was nosing about the spot where the body lay,
and the other two men watched him curiously.
“Never did take much stock in footprints myself.”
The constable stamped and beat his hands together
softly, for the cold was penetrating. “We’ve got to
find out why Mr. Latimer came back from the station
instead of taking his train, and what he was doing here
away off from the main drive. Do you s'pose he was
knocked on the head somewhere else and carried
here?”
Sergeant Odell shook his head.
, “No. You can see where his heels cut through the
crust on the snow here when he spun half way round
and then crumpled and dropped—but I forgot; you
don't take any stock in footprints. I wonder what
became of his bag.”
“What bag?”
“The chauffeur said he left him standing on the
station platform with his bag in his hand,” Odell re-
minded the other.
“By George, that's so!” The constable glanced hur-
riedly about him. “Maybe it was robbery, after all.
Maybe somebody was after something he had in that
bag! But what do you s'pose he was hit with? It
might have been a hatchet, by the looks of that gash
in his forehead!”
Mrs. Vail and Jimmie had long since moved off down
the road, and Sam Jenks' horse was nibbling patiently
at the frosted hedge while Sam himself still stood


WHERE THE BROOK TURNED 13 .
gaping in awed fascination at the detective sergeant
from the city. Now he roused himself to volunteer a
suggestion.
“Couldn't have been that anchor, could it?”
“What anchor?” The constable rounded on him.
“I thought you'd gone along on your route, Sam!”
Sam ignored the hint and pointed with a mittened
hand to an ice-coated rowboat drawn up on the edge of
the pond a few feet away.
“That there. There’s a rusted old anchor in the
bow of it, and the rope's broke. I saw it while you
were talkin’ to Mis’ Latimer.”
“I was going to have a look at that rowboat myself
in a minute!” the constable remarked in a vexed tone.
“Who’s that coming down the road? Land, I s'pose
the whole town'll be here before a body can turn
around!”
“It's Doc Hale's car!” Sam announced, and he made
for the gap in the hedge as the constable turned to the
boat. A small anchor lay in the seat at its bow with
a few inches of frayed, brittle rope attached to it, and
as he picked it up he saw that the tip of one fluke was
stained a dull brown over the frost which glazed it.
“Look here, Mr. Odell!” he called. “What do you
make of this?”
But he received no answer. Some thirty feet away
in a thick clump of holly trees the sergeant was gazing
reflectively at something which he had plucked from
a thorny, low-hanging branch. It was a tiny frag-
ment of moleskin, a soft, brown bit of fur which had
evidently been torn from some garment in passing.
And Mrs. Latimer had worn a moleskin coat!


CHAPTER II
ATA QUARTER PAST NINE
OHN PETTINGILL, sheriff of North Shore
County, was a long-sparred, cadaverous individual
with a straggling, sandy mustache just tinged with
gray and a mild, drawling voice that belied the alert
brown eyes and the firm set of his square jaw.
He clambered in a leisurely manner out of the coro-
ner's little red runabout and halted before the excited
Jenks.
“What are you doing here, Sam?”
“I found the body! Leastways, Jimmie Vail did,
and he told his mother and she stopped me as I was
going by!” Sam began breathlessly. “I brought 'em
back up here in the milk wagon and we found him
lying stiff and stark!”
“Who is it?” the coroner demanded. “Who’s dead?
A man who called himself “Bangs' telephoned and
said there'd been an accident up here.”
“He’s the Latimers’ servant, and it's Mr. Latimer
himself that's dead. Wex Price says it's murder!”
The coroner, who combined the duties of that office
with the general medical practice of the village, was
an elderly man and not over-agile, but now he turned
without further words, and scrambling, with the
elasticity of half his years, over the frozen ditch and
up the bank beyond, he vanished through the hedge.
The sheriff paused.
14


ATA QUARTER PAST NINE 15
“You haven’t seen anything of Barry Odell, have you,
Sam? You know the young man from the city who
is visiting me? I wanted to bring him along, but I
couldn’t find him anywhere.”
“You mean that police fellow?” Sam grinned. “He’s
here already. He was talking with the constable out-
side the county clerk's office and they both came back
with me in the wagon. I went for Wex as soon as I
saw the body and turned it over. I'll show you,
Sheriff—l”
“Never mind. You'll be no more good on your route
for the rest of the morning anyway, Sam, and I want
people kept back till we’ve gone over the ground,” the
sheriff replied. “I’ll deputize you to stand here and
order them not to obstruct the road. Better blanket
your horse, for there come the first lot!”
A cutter and a ramshackle little car were descend-
ing the hill from the direction of the village followed
by straggling groups on foot, and Sam Jenks, well
pleased with the new importance thrust upon him, took
up his stand in the middle of the road while the sheriff
turned to the gap in the hedge.
Constable Price met him, anchor in hand, and gave
him a voluble account of what had taken place; and
at his approach “Doc” Hale rose from beside the body.
“Been dead all night, I guess,” he announced briefly.
“Eight or ten hours anyway. Fracture of the frontal
and left temporal; it must have taken a powerful blow
with a sharp-edged implement to produce such a
wound.”
The sheriff gazed frowningly down at the body.


16 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Then there's no chance that he fell, striking his
forehead?” he asked.
“Not unless he fell from an airplane, and landed on
the upturned edge of a plow!” the coroner retorted.
“They’ve got a small station truck up at the house
and the body can be brought down this afternoon for
the autopsy, but it's murder, all right, John. There's
no way Latimer could have done that to himself—
Who's this?”
An angular, middle-aged woman had thrust herself
through the willows. Without so much as a glance at
the body she addressed them.
“Is one of you the doctor? Mrs. Latimer's sick, and
Bangs said—”
“I’ll go right up with you.” Dr. Hale turned. “Wait
till I get my bag; it's in the car.”
“Who are you?” the sheriff asked.
“I’m Maggie, Mrs. Latimer's maid.” The woman
still kept her face averted from the rigid form on the
ground, and shivered as the biting wind cut through
her thin black gown. “Bangs is a coward; he would
not stir a foot to save him, and the poor mistress
going from one fainting fit to another! Cook's in
hysterics and Ruth's packing!”
“Well, she'd better unpack again!” the sheriff ob-
served grimly. “Wex, give me that anchor and go up
to the house with this woman and the doctor; see that
no one leaves it until I come. Where's Barry Odell?”
“The last I saw of him he was going up that way,
where the brook turns by the holly trees,” the con-
stable replied. “Look at the tip of that anchor, Sher-
iff; do you think—?”


ATA QUARTER PAST NINE 17
“I haven’t begun to think yet!” retorted the other.
“Mind that not a soul leaves that house!”
As the doctor and constable departed with the maid
Barry Odell sauntered into view. Both hands were in
his pockets and he was whistling softly to himself,
but when he saw the sheriff he hurried forward.
“There you are, John! Hope you don’t mind my but-
ting in, but I couldn’t resist it when Price asked me.
This is bad business, isn’t it?”
“Glad to have you here; I was looking for you to
bring you along myself,” the sheriff responded heart-
ily. “What does it look like to you?”
Odell shrugged.
“Very pretty little problem.” he replied. “What do
you know of these Latimers?”
“Not much; they’re strangers here. This is the old
Hopewell place, and they bought it a month or so ago
and moved out from the city. Nobody seems to know
much about them, and they've kept to themselves.”
“How many are there in the family?”
“Only Latimer and his wife, I guess. At least, if
there are any children they must be away at school.”
The sheriff paused. “One or two of the middling
people have called, so I heard; families who have left
the city and settled here for all the year 'round. The
country club bunch and the old inhabitants have both
held off because they don’t know which crowd they
belong to. That's the talk that's gone around, any-
way.”
“What was Latimer’s business?” asked Odell. “Does
anybody know?”
“He was a manufacturer of something to do with


18 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
airplanes; got offices in New York and went to town
every day. Maybe some of the neighbors who take the
same commuters’ train could give us a line on him if he
was inclined to be sociable.” John Pettingill pulled at
his ragged mustache thoughtfully. “He must have
money, for old Hopewell held this place at twenty-five
thousand, and I understand it's free and clear of mort-
gage. Mrs. Latimer's a pretty little woman and he
wasn't a bad looker, though quite some years older
than her, I guess. Wex Price found this anchor in that
old boat there; do you think this is blood on it?”
“I’ve been looking for that—or something like it!”
Odell took the anchor from his friend and scrutinized
it closely. “I didn't expect to find blood on it, though.
Better have the doctor analyze that brown stuff that’s
caked on the fluke before the coating of ice underneath
melts and washes it off; it's cracked already, you see.
Unless we can find something else this rather upsets
my calculations, John; that's the trouble with theories,
I vow every time that I’ll never make 'em, and then no
sooner do I get on a new case than I begin to recon-
struct it to suit myself!”
He smiled ruefully and the sheriff stared at him.
“What did you think this had been used for, if not
to kill Latimer?” he demanded.
“To crack something harder than his skull!” Odell
retorted. “I’ve got a rather curious thing to show you.
I suppose you know that Latimer was to have gone to
the city last night on the eight-fifty; the chauffeur,
Curry, told us that he left him and his bag at the sta-
tion, and so far that is the last we know of anyone


ATA QUARTER PAST NINE 19
seeing him. Well, I’ve found the bag, all right! Come
this way.”
He led his companion through the cluster of holly
trees to where the brook turned before it emptied into
the pond. The ice there was thinner and broken by the
swift flow of the current beneath, and just at the edge
a jagged hole as big as the bulk of a man's torso had
been cut through the crust. On the bank lay a tan calf-
skin week-end bag, sodden and already filmed with ice.
The sheriff's eyes traveled swiftly from it to the hole
in the frozen surface of the brook.
“You fished for it down there?” he asked, adding:
“You must have, for your arms are wet to the shoulder.
Is the brook as deep as that there?”
“Yes. The bank shelves abruptly,” Odell responded,
glancing down at his coat-sleeves, which glistened with
a powdering of frost. “I tried to open the bag, but the
lock sticks if it is not fastened, and my fingers were too
numb.”
“You think whoever dropped it down there may have
chopped the hole with the anchor?” Pettingill took it
from the other's hand and weighed it reflectively.
“It’s heavy enough, all right, and the tip of the fluke is
sharp. But then, what is the brown stain on it?”
“That's what gets me,” Odell admitted frankly.
“I’ve looked all around and there doesn’t seem to be
anything else in sight that could have been used to
break through that ice; of course if that is really froz-
en blood–l”
He halted and a smile broke once more over his face.
“What is it?” the sheriff inquired curiously.
“Nothing; I'm not sure yet.” The younger man


20 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
turned away. “I don't believe there is anything more
to be done here except to take charge of the valuables
on the body. No one has touched it yet but that man
Jenks, and he only turned it over, I understand.”
They retraced their steps, and the sheriff, kneeling
down, removed the scarf-pin from the vivid tie below
the still, colorless face and then went rapidly through
the pockets, grunting as he shifted the rigid body from
side to side to get at those on the hips.
“That's all, I guess; pin, watch and fob, key-ring, wal-
let, cigar-case, match-box and three-sixty in loose
change besides his commutation ticket and this hand-
ful of papers,” he summed up. “We can look them
over at the house and I’ll send down to have his body
brought up at once.”
“There's a ring on his right hand,” Odell suggested.
“That’s so.” The sheriff tugged at it and then shook
his head. “Can't get it off. He must have worn it a
long time—you can see how the flesh has fattened out
around it. Come up to the house now; I want to talk
to the servants and to Mrs. Latimer if she is able to
be questioned. You carry the bag, Barry, and I'll
bring the anchor.”
Taking the dead man's silk handkerchief, he spread
it over the mutilated face, tucking it behind the head
at each side; then, turning, led the way to the drive.
As they approached the house Odell's hand went ten-
tatively to his pocket where reposed that fragment of
fur, but he shook his head. While there was the possi-.
bility of a simple explanation of its presence on that
holly branch he would not speak and prejudice the hon-
est, but somewhat narrow, mind of his friend.


ATA QUARTER PAST NINE 21
Bangs opened the door for them, and his pasty face
went a shade more pale as he recognized the sheriff.
“Mrs. Latimer cannot see anyone, sir!” he began.
“This horrible thing has broke her down completely,
and the doctor is with her now—l”
“That's all right; it isn't Mrs. Latimer that I want
to see just at present,” the sheriff interrupted. “I
want a statement from everybody in this house, and I'll
begin with you. Take us somewhere that we can talk.”
The butler hesitated.
“I don’t know anything at all about it, sir!” he pro-
tested at last. “Mr. Latimer went away last night,
and that is the last anybody here heard till that woman
came running up to the house.”
“Never mind. You'll answer my questions,” Pettin-
gill said firmly as he placed the anchor on the floor of
the porch beside the door. “Have you got an open fire
anywhere? My friend's wet through.” -
The servant's eyes bulged as they rested upon the
bag which Odell carried, but he turned without further
demur and led the way into a spacious library which
opened from the center hall. It was furnished in black
walnut of an indeterminate period and hung with gay
chintzes, and a wood fire crackled cheerily on the wide
hearth.
The sheriff stationed himself with his back to it,
while Odell seated himself at one side and spread out
his hands to the glowing warmth. Bangs hovered
uncertainly on the threshold.
- “Come in and shut that door,” Pettingill ordered.
“Now what is your name?”
“Alfred Bangs, sir.”


22 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“How long have you worked for the Latimers?”
“Almost a year, sir. Ever since they got back from
their wedding trip.”
The sheriff darted a swift glance at his companion
and then back to the man before him.
“Where did the Latimers live before coming here?”
“In New York. They had an apartment on Madison
Avenue.” The butler shifted from one foot to the
other. “I have the very best of references, sir—”
“Never mind that. How long have the other ser-
vants been with the Latimers?”
“Ruth, the housemaid, came the same time I did, but
they had three cooks before they got Virgie, six
months ago,” Bangs replied. “Sidney Curry, the
chauffeur, was with Mr. Latimer and Maggie with Mrs.
Latimer before ever they were married.”
“Those are all in the household except the family?”
“All in the household, sir,” the butler repeated and
then hesitated. “The chauffeur sleeps in the garage,
of course, and then there is Henry Eaves, the gar-
dener.”
“He doesn't come from around here,” the sheriff re-
marked.
“No, sir. Mr. Latimer engaged him in town, but I
don't know where he came from. He ain’t sociable-
like at all, but Mrs. Latimer seems well satisfied with
him.”
There was a sudden significance in his tone which
made the sheriff eye him sharply.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded.
“Nothing particular, sir. Mrs. Latimer talks to him
a lot, but then he's in full charge of laying out the


ATA QUARTER PAST NINE 23
£rounds for the spring.” He paused. “Mr. Latimer
was going to put in greenhouses and make extensive
improvements, I understand, sir.”
“Mr. Latimer was a manufacturer, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir, of airplanes. He has a factory over in
Jersey and another in Connecticut; that's why he's
away so much. He liked to drop in at the works when
they wasn't expecting him; he was that kind.” There
was a resentful note in the man's tone but he suppress-
edit quickly. “He’d start out at a minute's notice, the
way he did last night.”
“Then he hadn't planned to go to town?”
“I don’t think so, sir. At least, I didn't hear him
say anything about it to Mrs. Latimer when I was serv-
ing dinner—but then, they didn't talk much.”
Again there was that odd, significant note in his
voice as though he could have added to his statement
but discretion held him back.
“Do you mean that they’d quarreled?” the sheriff
asked bluntly.
“Oh, no, sir! But Mrs. Latimer is the quiet kind
and Mr. Latimer is all for business—was, I should say,”
Bangs corrected himself. “He was a very positive
man with a high temper, if I may say so, but it takes
two to quarrel, and Mrs. Latimer never argued any
with him.”
“What happened yesterday?” Pettingill changed the
topic. “Did Mr. Latimer receive any message calling
him to town?”
“No, sir. He went in on business in the morning
and came out at his usual time; about half past five.
I served dinner at seven, and right afterwards he sent


ATA QUARTER PAST NINE 25
“You told Mrs. Latimer of the message this morn-
ing? What did she say?”
“I told Maggie, but she declared that Mrs. Latimer
had gone straight to her room and to bed!” Bangs
sniffed. “I knew better, for I'd knocked loud enough
to wake the dead, but there's no use trying to talk to
that person! I’ve been on the point of giving notice
more than once on her account. I’ve been boss wher-
ever I’ve worked before and looked up to by the other
servants, but that Maggie thinks she can run every-
thing because Mrs. Latimer spoils her!”
“Did Miss Agnew leave any message?”
“No, sir. She just said for Mrs. Latimer to call her
up today.”
“You say this telephone call came a little after
nine?”
“It must have been only two or three minutes after,
sir, for I was a good while knocking at Mrs. Latimer's
door and looking in the other rooms; and when I finally
gave it up and went back to tell Miss Agnew I took note
of the time from the clock on the mantel just behind
you, so that I could report when the call was made.
It was exactly a quarter past nine.”


CHAPTER III.
THE CALFSKIN BAG
-
HERE were a few rather interesting points in that
conversation,” Odell commented as the butler
withdrew.
“I didn't get ’em if there were,” the sheriff con-
fessed. “The man's too darned careful in what he
says to suit me.”
“That's what made it interesting.” Odell smiled.
“We may have this much, anyway, that may or may not
be of value: he and Mrs. Latimer's own maid are at
sword's point because he's jealous of her influence over
their mistress. The Latimers have only been married a
year and they're tired of each other already, or there's
a rift in the lute somewhere.”
“How do you make that out?”
“I’ve seen Mrs. Latimer. She is an extraordinarily
pretty woman, and a man wouldn't neglect her for his
business, or to try to pick quarrels with her, as Bangs
insinuated, if everything was well between them. That
man meant more than he was willing to explain when
he spoke of Henry Eaves, the gardener; it was he who
carried Mrs. Latimer up to the house when she fainted,
you know. She has two loyal servants, anyway—I
don’t think Bangs wholly approved of either his master
or mistress. Did you get what he said about Latimer
being the kind to like to surprise the workers in his
26


THE CALFSKIN BAG 27
factories when they didn't expect him, and about his
high temper? I shouldn't wonder if Latimer had been
a hard task-master; he looked like a ruthless, domineer-
ing sort of fellow, even in death.”
“That's all just servants’ gossip,” Pettingill declared.
“The one thing of any importance seems to me to be
that Mrs. Latimer could not be found last night at a
quarter past nine.”
A light, flurried tapping at the door intervened before
Barry Odell could reply, and a pretty, rather vacuous-
looking woman appeared. A lock of her hair had
strayed down on her collar, and her apron was askew.
She straightened it with trembling fingers as she raised
frightened eyes to those of the sheriff.
“You sent for me, sir? I'm Ruth Oliver, the house-
maid, but indeed I don’t know anything—”
“Nobody does!” Pettingill interrupted brusquely.
“You’ve worked for the Latimers for the past year,
haven’t you?”
“A year come next month. It's only the second
place I was ever in, and to think of a terrible thing
like this—” She put a corner of her apron to her eyes.
“I want to go back to my sister's just as soon as ever
I can! I wouldn't be here now only that horrid con-
stable made me stay!”
“Did you like it well enough before this happened?”
Odell leaned forward suddenly and his tone was sym-
pathetic.
“Well, sir, it was all right in town, for there wasn’t
much to do and I could go out evenings.” The girl
turned with relief to the younger man. “It’s different
with a big house like this, and then I never did like the


28 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
country; you can't even get to a picture show from
here unless Mr. Latimer lets Sid take one of the cars.
Not that it's a hard place to work in, but it gets on my
nerves. Mrs. Latimer always going around as quiet
as a mouse and nobody ever knowing when Mr. Latimer
was going to blow up!”
“He had a bad temper, then?” The sheriff had
moved aside and Odell continued the interrogation.
“Oh, dreadful, sir!” Ruth shivered. “It wasn't often
that he got angry, but when he did you'd like to've
died from fright!”
“Was he ever violent? I mean, did he ever hurt any-
body?”
“N–no, sir, not that I know of, but he looked almost
as though he could !” she stammered. “He’s dead now
and I suppose I ought not to say anything.”
The young man pondered for a moment and then
asked:
“Did the Latimers entertain very much?”
“Not out here yet; they’ve only just been getting
things in order. But in town they did, now and again.”
“Did they go out frequently?” Odell persisted.
“Yes, at first, to theaters and things. Not often
lately, though, except to dinner at one of the big
restaurants or hotels with somebody Mr. Latimer had
business with.”
“And it was Mr. Latimer's business associates that
they entertained in their own home?”
The girl nodded.
“I guess so. Most of the talk that I heard was about
business. They didn’t seem to have many real inti-
º


THE CALFSKIN BAG 29
mate friends, and I don’t think Mrs. Latimer cares
very much for society.”
“Do you know a Miss Doris Agnew'?”
“Yes, sir. She is a great friend of Mrs. Latimer—.”
Ruth paused in some confusion, and Odell asked
quickly:
“You knew that she telephoned last night?”
“Not until this morning, sir. I heard Bangs and
Maggie having an argument about it.”
“Did you know that Mr. Latimer started for the
city last evening?”
“Yes, sir. I was upstairs turning the beds down for
the night when he came up for his bag; that bag
there, sir!” She pointed to the hearth. “He must
have been in an awful hurry at the last minute.”
“Why?”
“Because he threw things all around, and he's us-
ually real neat about his belongings.”
“Did he seem real angry about anything?” Odell
saw a faint flush creep up over the girl's face, and
she shook her head.
“No, sir. I was tidying up his dressing-room, and
he was in the bedroom packing; he stamped around
a lot, but once I heard him laughing to himself. Then
I went on into Mrs. Latimer's room.”
“Do you know when she retired last night?”
“Well, she went up to her rooms just as I was going
down; I passed her on the stair a few minutes after I
heard the car go off down the drive.” The girl began
to finger her apron nervously. “She said “good night’
to me and I didn’t see her any more after that. Sid
Curry had promised to take me to the movies in the


30 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
village, but Mr. Latimer's needing him to drive to the
station put an end to that, and there wasn't anything
else to do, so I took a book and went to my room early.
I—I sleep at the top of the house, and—my win-
dows look out over the pond.”
She added the last remark in a low, constrained
tone. The sheriff uttered a surprised exclamation
under his breath, but Odell asked quietly:
“There is something you want to tell us? You
saw or heard something from your windows last
night?”
She nodded and her color deepened.
“I don't know whether I ought to speak of it or not.
I’ve never been mixed up in anything like this before,
but I guess I had better tell you about it—though I—I
couldn't swear to anything.”
“Go on,” Odell urged as she hesitated. “We aren’t
asking you to swear to anything.”
“I looked out of my window when I first went up-
stairs and saw the lights of the car and heard it going
along the drive and around to the garage, and then
the house got all dark and everything was terrible
still. I couldn't read nor sleep, either, I was so lone-
some and blue, and after a while I got up and sat by
the window again. There was no moon, but the stars
were out and the snow kind of lighted everything up;
it was awful dreary! I could see the pond shining like
a piece of glass over the tops of the willows, and all
at once I heard a shout from down that way; not a
loud shout, but there was something about it that
brought my heart in my mouth!”


THE CALFSKIN BAG 31
“Do you know what time this was?” The sheriff
could keep silent no longer.
“N–no, sir! I don’t know how long I had been sitting
there; it seemed like a dreadful long time, but it may
have been only a few minutes. When I heard that
shout I opened my window and wrapped the quilt
from my bed around me and waited; but I didn't
hear anything more and I was getting chilled through.
I was just going to shut my window again when I
saw a tiny light moving down among the willows.”
“What kind of a light?” the sheriff demanded.
Ruth stared. -
“How should I know, sir? It winked like a big fire-
fly, but it wasn't going out, just moving behind the
trees. Theh it stopped almost steady for about five
minutes, it seemed to me, and finally went out alto-
gether. I was nearly froze when I shut my window
and went back to bed.”
“Was that all you saw, just a moving light?”
Pettingill bent forward earnestly. “Think! Did you
see anybody sneaking around down there?”
The girl averted her eyes from his gaze.
“No, sir. I couldn't have been sure if I had, for
there was enough wind last night to blow the
branches of the trees about and the shadows were
changing on the snow all the time. I—I don’t want to
spend another night in this house!”
“Did anything else happen last night?”
“I don’t know, sir. I went to sleep then. Every-
thing seemed just the same this morning till Virgie
came tearing up while I was making Mrs. Latimer's
bed, saying that a strange woman had come to the


32 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
house with the news that something was Wrong
down at the pond, and Henry and Sid had gone to see
about it. I thought right away of that cry I’d
heard in the night, but I never connected it with Mr.
Latimer, of course, thinking he was in town, until
they brought Mrs. Latimer home.”
“Were you there when they brought her in?”
“Yes, sir. Henry was carrying her, and she looked
like death! They took her straight up to her room,
and I would have helped, but Maggie wouldn't let me
get near her. She sent me back to the kitchen, and
Virgie was going on so that I got to crying, too!—
Please, can I go to my sister's in town? I just can't
stand it here!”
“Not till after the inquest,” the sheriff replied
sternly. “You go tell the constable I want to see
him and then send Virgie in here.”
Ruth departed, weeping afresh, and Pettingill turned
to his young colleague.
“What do you think of that cry she heard and the
moving light? Why didn't the fool look at her clock?
I should like to know. That would have pretty near
fixed the time of the murder.”
“I’m not so sure.” Odell shook his head. “She
may have imagined all that, you know. The contents
of this bag may tell us something as soon as it is
thawed out sufficiently for the catch to work.”
The constable entered at that juncture followed by
the coroner, and the former was dispatched to see
that the body was brought to the house.
“I’ll be getting on myself,” Dr. Hale observed as
the door closed behind Wex Price. “There's nothing


THE CALFSKIN BAG 33
more for me to do here. Don't excite Mrs. Latimer
any more than you have to, for she is on the verge
of a mental collapse.”
“How has she taken it?” the sheriff asked. “Is she
still faint or hysterical?”
The coroner shook his head.
“No. She is quite calm and a little dazed, but she
realizes what has happened all right and she seems
to be forcing herself to keep up by sheer will-power.
The breakdown is sure to come, but she is fighting
against it with all her strength. Let her off as easy
as you can today, John; I want her at the inquest
sure.”
“I’ll remember,” Pettingill promised. “Come out-
side; I want to show you something.”
He led the coroner out to the porch where he had
left the anchor, but Odell did not follow. Instead, he
stooped and examined every inch of the bag at his
feet, and as he lifted it experimentally once more a
low whistle escaped him.
It was drowned in a lugubrious gulp from the hall,
and an exceedingly fat female figure filled the door-
way, her round brown face shining from recent tears.
“Is yo' askin’ fo' me, boss? Dat constable man done
lock me in mah own kitchen 'twell now, an’ I cert’n’y
gwine fix him fo' it when I lay mah han’s on him!
Who done kill Mistuh Lat’mer?”
“You are Virgie, the cook?” asked Odell.
“Name Virginia Jefferson!” she responded with
dignity. Then her emotions got the better of her
once more and her ample form swayed from side to
side. “Lawsy! what has done come to dis yere house?


34 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Mistuh Lat’mer gone an’ got hisse’f killed an' po’ Mis’
Lat’mer scared clean outen her haid! How come
you-all ain’t grab de murd’rer?”
“Give us a little time!” Odell smiled good naturedly.
“You’ve been with the family for six months, haven’t
you?”
“Yassuh! Ain't never wu'ked fo' a nicer lady dan
Mis' Lat’mer, but dat gemman cert’n’y got his come-
uppance at las'! He was fine an' free-handed, but
presents don’ make up fo' ha'd words, an’ he had de
worstest dispersition ever I see! She held her haid
high, but he didn’t treat her right, suh; he didn’t treat
nobody right, an' I calls it de Lord's jedgment on him!”
“Do you know of any enemies Mr. Latimer had?”
Odell eyed her closely.
“Don’no nothin' 'bout no enemies, but I reckon he
did have, suh. It's Mis Lat’mer I been cryin’ fo', but
I don’ guess she gwine grieve when she gets oveh de
fust of it. I seen enuff from mah kitchen to know dat
he wasn’ fitten to wipe her shoes.”
“Do you mean that Mrs. Latimer was unhappy?
That Mr. Latimer ill-treated her?” Odell spoke hur-
riedly, for he heard the sheriff's returning footsteps.
“‘Unhappy?’” Virgie snorted. “Ain’t I seen her
jest er-fadin” ever sence I come? She's pretty an’
young an’sweet, but he act like she wasn’ on earth, or
else he was hollern' at her, an’ wust! I aims to min’
mah own bus'ness in dis worl’, but de nex” time yo”
see her, boss, yo' jest look at her wris'! Dat’s all I is
got to say—jest look at her wris'! Whoever done fit
wid him down by de pon' mus' of had good reason, an’
dat’s de truf!” -


THE CALFSKIN BAG 35
The sheriff appeared in the doorway at this moment
and took a hand in the proceedings, but he succeeded
in eliciting little further information. Virgie had
cleaned up her kitchen the night before and gone
straight to bed. She had known nothing of Mr. Lati-
mer's ostensible departure for town until the morning,
and the first intimation she had had of trouble was
when Bangs interrupted the breakfast of Henry and
Sid with the story of someone being hurt out by the
pond. She hoped to die where she stood if she knew
anything about Mr. Latimer's death.
When she had been dismissed with the injunction to
send in the chauffeur, they caught a glimpse through
the closing door of Maggie's angular figure going rap-
idly down the hall. There was something almost fur-
tive in the manner in which she slipped past, and the
sheriff turned to his companion.
“Did you see that maid of Mrs. Latimer's just now?
Think I'll call her in; she ought to know more about
Latimer's affairs than any of the other servants—”
“I wouldn’t,” Odell cautioned. “It might be worth
while to find out where she is going; she certainly
didn't want us to see her just then. You get Curry's
story out of him. I'll be back in a minute!”
He opened the door softly and disappeared while
the sheriff paced the floor thoughtfully. He had
an abiding faith in his young friend who had made
so brilliant a record for himself in the metropolitan
police department; yet he favored more direct me-
thods himself, and a theory was gradually forming in
his mind.
“I’m here, sir.” The chauffeur's voice sounded from


36 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
the doorway. “I spose you want my pedigree. I’ve
been with Mr. Latimer for six years except my time
in camp and overseas. He said I was a fool to go,
but he took me back, all right. I can't tell you any-
thing about what happened last night. I left him
at the station and that's all I know.”
“No, it isn't!” the sheriff retorted. “Who did you
drive for before you came to Mr. Latimer?”
“Nobody. I was always a nut about machinery
and gasoline engines in particular, and I got a job in
. Mr. Latimer's factory. He only had one then, over
in Jersey. He found me there and took a liking to
me, and I’ve been driving for him ever since ex-
cept when I told you.” Curry spoke slowly as though
still in a daze, and an unaccustomed pallor showed
beneath the freckles which covered his countenance.
“It wasn’t everybody could get along with him, but I
did, and he treated me fine!”
“You were with him, then, before he was mar-
ried?”
“Sure. He didn't even know Mrs. Latimer when
I enlisted, and I came back to find him engaged and
going to be married in a week. Gee! You could have
bowled me over with a hard look! I never thought
the boss would get hooked. He was a sport for fair,
and crazy about his plant, too. Those airplanes were
like living things to him, and he wanted to make
them the best in the world. I can’t believe he's dead
yet! I ain’t got over seeing him lying there—!”
“You drove him to the station yesterday as usual
and met him at half past five last night?”


THE CALFSKIN BAG 37
Curry nodded and passed his hand over his fore-
head.
“Sure I did! He was telling me going down in the
morning that the new model was nearly ready, and he
was full of plans for trying it out.”
“How was he when you met him in the afternoon?”
the sheriff asked. “The same as usual?”
“About!” A faint grin appeared for an instant on
the chauffeur's face. “He was cussing out the train
Service, and the ice in the road, and the cigar lighter
that wouldn't work, but I knew his ways and didn't
bother. I just thought something must have gone
wrong during the day, and I drove as fast as-well,
it's a good thing your constable didn’t see me! I took
out the light roadster as he'd told me instead of the
limousine, and I can tell you she bounced so I could
hardly keep her in the road, but Mr. Latimer kept cuss-
ing at me to get more speed out of her. I came near
running a man down, though, and he let up on me
after that.”
“He didn't say anything to you then about going
back to the city last night?”
“No. It must have given him a turn when that man
jumped out of the ditch right in our path; it did me,
and I’ve had some narrow squeaks,” Sidney Curry
replied. “He stood there for a minute right in the
glare of the lamps, then he threw up one arm and
shouted something as he jumped aside just in time.
Mr. Latimer turned and stared after him, and I guess
he forgot to say anything to me about last night. For


38 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Bangs came to me after dinner and said I was to have
the car around at the door at half past eight.”
“Did he seem upset in any way when you drove him
to the station for the last time?”
“No. He didn't speak at all on the way down ex-
cept to ask me if I’d noticed that man in the road that
afternoon; if I’d seen his face. He said he ought to be
prosecuted for not keeping to the sidewalk and that
he wished I’d run him down, but that was just talk!
Mr. Latimer was all right if you knew how to take
him.” -
“Did you see the man's face?” Odell had been
listening on the threshold and now he came forward.
“Would you know him again if you saw him?”
“No. He was smooth-faced, and he didn't have any
overcoat on; that's as much as I could tell about him,
and I wouldn’t know him again if I fell over him,”
the chauffeur responded. “Mr. Latimer's train wasn’t
due for some minutes when I got him to the station,
and I left him on the platform.” º
*You sleep over in the garage, don’t you?” Odell
asked before the sheriff could speak.
“Yes, but it happened that I didn't last night.” The
young man's dazed tone had quickened. “I drove
straight home from the station and found Henry, the
gardener, in the garage. He isn't much of a talker,
but he often comes out for a smoke with me. He
helped me to put up the car, and then he asked me to
come to his room to look over some catalogues he'd
got of a new road-grader and lawn-roller and some
other machinery to use on the place. He sleeps' in


THE CALFSKIN BAG 39
the right wing of the house, you know. We talked
late, and the upshot of it was that I spent the night
there with him.”
“Where is the right wing? Toward the pond?”
“No. It's on the other side of the house.” Curry
looked his surprise. “Say, you ain’t trying to make
out that we had anything to do with what happened
to Mr. Latimer, are you?”
His tone was suddenly truculent, but Odell smiled
disarmingly.
“No, Sid. I was just wondering if you heard any-
thing during the night, or saw anyone out there under
the trees.” He gave the sheriff a warning glance and
added: “That will do for now, but stick around; we
may want you again.”
“Well, 'you'll find me right here!” The chauffeur
turned to the door. “I’m not going to run away! I'd
like to have a crack at the guy that killed Mr. Latimer
myself!”
“Did you find Maggie?” the sheriff demanded when
Curry's footsteps had died away down the hall. “What
was she doing?”
“Talking to the gardener. We'd better have a talk
with him ourselves later, but first I want to see if we
can’t open the bag.—Do you see this? I didn't notice
it myself until while you were out on the porch with
the coroner. It's a wonder the handle didn't break
while I was carrying it up to the house.”
He pointed to the leather handle, and his companion
saw that one side of it was wrenched almost from
it's fastening.


CHAPTER IV.
A BIT OF BROWN FUR
OGETHER they gathered up the miscellaneous ar-
ticles scattered on the floor and returning them to
the bag thrust it for the time being beneath the daven-
port in a corner, just as a footstep sounded on the bare
floor of the hall outside and the stairs creaked.
Odell opened the door and caught the middle-aged
maid, Maggie, midway the ascent.
“Just a moment, please,” he said authoritatively.
“Doctor Hale has assured us that Mrs. Latimer is able
to see us now, and we would like a word with her.”
The woman's sharp, acidulous face hardened.
“What does he know? A country doctor!” There
was ineffable scorn in her words “Mrs. Latimer can’t
see anybody, and I’m not going to have her bothered!”
“Come down here!” the sheriff ordered. “I want to
ask you a few questions.”
Unwillingly enough the woman obeyed and stood de-
fiantly before him.
“Well, what is it? I suppose you're bound to potter
around and ask a lot of fool questions, but I ought to
be with Mrs. Latimer right now! She shouldn't be left
alone for a minute!”
“What's your last name?” He cut short her flow
of protestation.
41


42 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
*
“Ruggles. I’ve been with Mrs. Latimer for sixteen
years.”
“Who was she before she was married? Where
does she come from ?”
“She was Miss Margery Fairfield, of Fairfield Harbor,
Massachusetts,” Maggie replied loftily. “Fourteen
years old she was when I first went to take care of
her, and I ain’t been away from her for a day since!”
“Has she any relatives she would like to have sent
for?” Odell suggested.
“She hasn’t a relation in the world. Her mother
died when she was born, and her father was in buſsi-
ness in Boston and lived at a club there until his death
ten years ago. Mrs. Latimer lived with her aunt,
Miss Peabody, in the house that’s been in the Fair-
field family since witchcraft days.” Maggie paused
and added: “I lived on a farm a few miles away, and
I’ve known about her all my life.”
“Miss Peabody is dead also?”
The woman nodded.
“Twelve years ago, when Miss Fairfield—Mrs. Lat-
imer—was eighteen. I took care of the house and
her, too, after that.”
“How long has Mrs. Latimer lived in New York?”
“Only since her marriage. She visited the Agnews
there before; that's how she met Mr. Latimer.”
“Who are the Agnews?” Odell continued as the
sheriff made no move to assume command of the in-
terrogation.
“City folks who built a big country place up near
Fairfield Harbor.” Maggie clipped her words short.


A BIT OF BROWN FUR 48
“I don’t see what all this has got to do with Mr. Lat-
imer's death! He probably fell down and cut his head
open on the ice, and why there should be such a
to-do—!”
“Miss Doris Agnew, who telephoned last night, was
one of that family?” Odell interrupted her brusquely.
“Yes. There's only her and her brother left. I
don’t know what she wanted; Mrs. Latimer was in
bed and asleep when she called up.”
Maggie volunteered the last statement with an ag-
gressiveness which challenged doubt, and Odell ob-
served:
“The butler says that he knocked loudly and repeat-
edly at Mrs. Latimer's door and he is sure she could
not have been there or she would have heard him.”
The woman's gray eyes snapped.
“Bangs is a fool! He'll go packing now, thank good-
ness, as soon as Mrs. Latimer begins to take hold of
things again! We've had enough and to spare of his
sneaking ways, but Mr. Latimer found him useful.”
She stopped suddenly, biting her lips, and Odell
asked quickly:
“How ‘useful'? In what way?”
“How would any pussyfoot butler be useful that
knew how to mix drinks?” she sniffed. “Mr. Latimer
has got his cellar stocked up for five years to come!
Bangs has been dipping into it, too, on his own account,
I'll be bound, and that's what was the matter with him
last night if you ask me. Mrs. Latimer had a head-
ache, and as soon as Mr. Latimer left for the city she
went upstairs. I put her to bed myself, and she went


44 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
fast asleep almost at once. If Bangs did go up and
knock at her door he must have given it just one tap
and then gone back to the telephone and said that
she was out; he isn't one to give himself any extra
trouble!” -*
“Has Mr. Latimer any relatives who should be no-
tified of his death?” Odell changed the subject.
“No one that I ever heard of, at least in this coun-
try. He was an Englishman, and I never heard him
talk of his people, but Mrs. Latimer would know, of
course.”
Odell rose and glanced toward the sheriff.
“We will go to her now,” he said in a manner which
brooked no further opposition. “We will not annoy
her any more than is necessary, but there are some
facts we must learn that only she can tell us.”
“Come, then.” Maggie shrugged and turned to the
door. “I’ll ask you to remember, though, that she's
in no state to be worried, and if she's down sick in
her bed you folks will be to blame.”
She led the way up the stairs and to a door at the
front of the house which she opened softly; and Odell
marveled at the gentle note in her voice.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Latimer, but the men are here that
the constable sent for; the sheriff, and a young man
with him. They say they’ve got to see you—”
“Of course, Maggie,” Mrs. Latimer's low, clear
tones replied without a tremor. “It is quite all right;
let them come in.”
They found her lying on a couch drawn up by a win-
dow which looked out over the snow-covered hills to


A BIT OF BROWN FUR 45
the bay, and her figure seemed pathetically small and
helpless in the dull gray house-gown which swathed it;
but her delicate face was perfectly composed as she
nodded slightly and gestured to two chairs.
“You wished to see me, gentlemen? I shall be glad
to give you any assistance in my power, but you can
realize that the shock has almost prostrated me.”
“I understand, and we are sorry to intrude upon
you at such a time—but every moment is of value
in an investigation of this sort.” Odell smiled depre-
catingly. “This is Sheriff Pettingill, of North Shore
County, and I am a friend who is temporary associated
with him. My name is Barry Odell. We have been
interviewing your maid Maggie in order to spare you
as much routine detail as possible, but there are a few
questions which the sheriff must ask you.”
“I will tell you anything I know,” she replied. “But
first are you positive that my husband was — was
killed? Is there no possibility that he fell and injured
himself?”
“None, ma'am,” the sheriff asserted gravely. “He
was struck down face to face and we’ve got the weapon
that was used.”
“You have the-the weapon?” She half raised her-
self on her pillows and her voice had sunk to a mere
whisper. “Oh, what was it?”
“That'll all come out at the inquest,” Pettingill re-
plied firmly. “First of all, isn't there someone who
ought to be notified? Your girl says that Mr. Latimer
hadn't any relations in this country, but there's his


46 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
attorney and his business associates. Did he have any
partners?”
“Of course! How stupid of me!” She passed a
slim hand across her eyes. “My brain seems to be
numb, I cannot think; I cannot even seem to feel!
Lefferts and Crewe on Broad Street, New York, are our
attorneys. They must be sent for at once. Mr. Lat-
imer owned the controlling stock in his company, but
the next principal stockholder should be notified, and
the directors. If you will get Lefferts and Crewe on
the telephone they will attend to all the details. I—I
do not feel that I can talk to them, but please ask if
Mr. Crewe can come out to me.”
“I will do so.” The sheriff shifted somewhat un-
easily in his chair. “Mrs. Latimer, I hope you will
be perfectly frank with us and remember you are not
accusing anybody in replying to our questions. It is
up to us to find out who committed this crime and per-
sonal opinion cannot make an innocent person guilty.
Had Mr. Latimer any enemies that you knew of 2*
She raised her eyes steadily to his.
“What manufacturer controlling the destinies of
hundreds of workmen and struggling with relentless
competition has not, in these times?” she asked calmly.
“There have been strikes and all sorts of trouble at
the factories, and Mr. Latimer's life has frequently
been threatened, I believe, but he only laughed at the
thought of danger. I really know very little of his
business affairs; he did not believe that a wife should
have any share in that side of her husband's existence,
and it was only through others that I have learned of


A BIT OF BROWN FUR 47
the threats which had been made against him. I
begged him to carry a pistol, but he ridiculed the idea.
—I really can tell you nothing definite, but perhaps
Mr. Crewe–" -
Her voice trailed off into silence, and after a time the
sheriff prompted her.
“Was it this lawyer, Mr. Crewe, who told you of the
threats against your husband?”
*Oh, no. When we-we were engaged, Mr. Latimer
took me over his factories, and it was the superinten-
dent in one and a foreman in the other who mentioned
them. They were made by ignorant workmen and
strike delegates, I understand.”
“When I spoke of enemies, Mrs. Latimer, I did not
mean only in a business way,” Sheriff Pettingill said
slowly. “Had he any personal enemies? Was there
anyone who would have benefited by his death or who
could have wished him out of their path?”
Her eyes grew larger till they seemed to swallow
up the small face, and her hands clenched among the
soft folds of her gown. For a moment there was si-
lence in the room, and her quickly drawn breath was
plainly audible. Then she replied hurriedly:
“I do not understand! My husband and I were alone
in the world. Who could have wished him out of the
way? He was a man's man, and had many friends.
No one could have benefited by his death, and there
is no one to step into his shoes at the manufacturing
plants. He was a comparatively young man, just for-
ty-two, and had built up his business solely by his


48 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
own efforts. They may have been considered ruthless,
but most things are in life; and I–I do not believe that
he ever consciously hurt anybody.”
Even as she spoke she flung out her hands in a little
gesture as of one warding off a blow, and the dainty
lace frills fell away from about her slender wrists, dis-
closing faint purplish marks. Odell recalled the words
of Virgie, the cook, and a wave of compassion swept
over his consciousness; but he put it sternly from
him and his eyes sought a chair by the door, beyond
her range of vision, across which had been carelessly
thrown the moleskin coat in which she had appeared
at the scene of the tragedy. Under what pretext could
he examine it?
“Is there no one else you wish sent for besides your
lawyer?” The sheriff leaned toward her in a kindly
manner. “No woman friend, Mrs. Latimer? I under-
stand that the lady who telephoned to you last night,
Miss Agnew, was your most intimate friend—”
“Oh, no!” The figure upon the couch had started up
with a cry in which there was something akin to ter-
ror; then with an effort she controlled herself. “I
mean, Miss Agnew is my friend, of course, and that is
just why I do not want her sent for!—I shall be all
right with Maggie to take care of me, and I would not
think of dragging anyone else into this terrible affair.
I must go through with it alone!”
Her eyes had wandered from his face out through
the window over the dreary monotony of the white,
undulating hills and seemed to gather something of


50 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
during dinner. I–I had a headache, and I am afraid
I was not very good company. He grew restless and
began thinking of some detail which should be at-
tended to at the factory early in the morning. After
dinner he followed me into the library and told me that
he had decided to go in on the eight-fifty to see some
man at his hotel and remain in the city overnight, so as
to make an early start today to the plant.”
“Who was the man he expected to see, and what
hotel did he stop at?”
“Really, I can't tell you. It was no one I knew,
no one whose name I had ever heard before, and it
made no impression on me.” She put out her hands
once more in the little helpless gesture which was now
becoming familiar. “I have told you that Mr. Latimer
from the first discouraged any interest I might have
had in his business, and I had grown inattentive when
he mentioned details.”
“You say that your husband frequently remained in
town overnight since you came out here to live, Mrs.
Latimer.” The sheriff hitched his chair closer. “Where
did he stay? At a club, or a hotel, or with some
friends?”
A faint flush crept up over her colorless face.
“At-at a hotel,” she faltered. “He had no favorite
one which he patronized, but he was fond of changing
about.”
“So that you could not have located him at night
if anything had gone wrong out here?” Pettingill
pursued with brutal directness.
“It never occurred to either of us that anything


A BIT OF BROWN FUR 51
might.” The flush deepened painfully and she bit
her lip, but replied with a sudden return of animation.
“I have had no occasion to summon him.”
“Can you think of any reason why Mr. Latimer
should have returned from the station last night?”
Mrs. Latimer shook her head.
“I have been asking myself that question over and
over,” she said. “I can only think that he must have
forgotten something, some paper or memorandum,
which he would require in the morning. But that does
not explain why he walked back from the station when
there were conveyances of all sorts to be had, nor how
he came to be down there by the pond, so far from
the drive. I cannot understand! It may be that he
saw someone prowling about and went to investigate,
but he would not have walked home unless he had sud-
denly decided to abandon his trip to the city until
today. Ever since I regained consciousness these ques-
tions have been beating at my brain until it seems
that I must go mad!”
Her voice had at last risen beyond the calm, level,
controlled tones, and at the warning note of hysteria
in it the sheriff arose. Odell had been watching her
closely, however, and now he stepped forward.
“Just one question, Mrs. Latimer, and then we will
trouble you no longer at this time,” he said. “You
remember when Mrs. Vail came this morning with the
news of what her little son had found down by the
pond? You sent Henry and Sidney down first to in-
vestigate, did you not, and then you decided to go
yourself, and Mrs. Vail accompanied you?”


52 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Yes.” Mrs. Latimer fastened her gaze upon him
questioningly.
“How did you go from the house here? Straight
across the lawn or on the drive?”
“Why, I scarcely remember!” She paused. “Down
the drive, I think, until we came opposite the willows
which border the pond, and then across. I was intent
only on reaching there as quickly as possible to see
for myself who had been hurt, and that was the most
direct way.”
“Then you did not go near the brook where it emp-
ties into the pond?” Odell's tone was casual, but the
sheriff started and stared at him in sudden wonder.
“No. I–I’m quite sure I did not go near the brook.”
Mrs. Latimer's reply was uttered in a faint voice, but
her eyes still held his as though fascinated. “Why do
you ask, Mr. Odell?”
“We have been locating the footprints as well as
we were able on the frozen crust of the snow,” he ex-
plained. “We thought we had found some of yours
leading to that clump of holly trees, but we must have
been mistaken. They were so faint that nothing con-
clusive could have been drawn from them, anyway.
Good morning, Mrs. Latimer. I hope that our inter-
view has not disturbed you, and that you will be able
to get a little rest.”
He bowed and turned to the door, but as he passed
he reached out quickly and caught up the moleskin
coat.
The sheriff followed him out into the hall and closed
the door carefully behind him.


A BIT OF BROWN FUR 53
“We’re almost through here now,” he announced as
they went downstairs. “What do you think of her,
Barry?—Hello, what are you doing with that coat?”
“I’ll show you in a minute.” Odell led the way back
to the library once more and spread the coat out over
a huge chair. At one side of the front, a few inches
from the bottom, a long rent appeared in the soft, fine,
perishable fur.
“What the 7” The sheriff paused as Odell drew
from his pocket the fragment of moleskin which had
reposed there for the past hour, and fitted it into the
gaping tear.
“I found this clinging to one of the lower branches
of a low-growing holly tree in that clump where the
brook flows into the pond,” he explained. “It was
only a few feet from the bank where the bag had been
submerged. I didn’t speak of this before, John, because
I did not want you to jump to conclusions while there
was a chance for her to explain.”
“Good Lord!” The sheriff stared once more. “Barry,
you don’t mean—!”
“I mean that unless Mrs. Latimer can prove that
she or someone else wore that coat down among those
holly trees within the last day or two, for you can
see that the tear is a fresh one,—we had better take
it along with us as Exhibit A. Bangs may not have
been mistaken, after all, when he knocked at her door
last night!”


54 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
CHAPTER V.
THE MAN AT THE STATION
“I. GOING back upstairs and face her with this
now!” Sheriff Pettingill started for the door, but
Odell laid a quick, restraining hand upon his sleeve.
“And lay your trump card on the table at this time?”
He took the moleskin coat and the fragment of fur
from the hands of the excited official. “Mrs. Latimer
doesn't even know that the coat was torn and that tell-
tale bit of evidence left behind; why forewarn her?
She might easily claim that she went out for a walk
about the grounds in that coat yesterday or the day
before and wandered down by the pond, and that maid
Maggie would go the limit in corroborating her
whether her statement was true or false. You'll have
to have proof that she wasn’t there at any other time
lately before you can spring this, John. Taken with
the butler's testimony it is strong circumstantial evi-
dence of her presence there, but it isn't enough to make
out a case against her at this stage of the game.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” the sheriff admitted. “She’s
a smart woman, I'll say that for her; she may be on
the point of collapse, as Doc Hale says, but she was
able to think straight enough to suggest the main
question we've got to find the answers to. She tried
to explain one of them herself, do you remember?


THE MAN AT THE STATION 55
She said that she couldn't think of any reason why
Latimer returned from the station last night except
for something he might have forgotten, but you might
put another construction on that. What if he'd never
intended to go to the city at all? What if his going
as far as the station was just a blind and he meant
all the time to come sneaking back?”
“I’ve thought of that.” Odell smiled. “The butler
said he liked to drop in at the works when the people
weren't expecting him, that he was that kind; and the
man's tone suggested resentment against a spying
propensity on the part of his master. That theory
would account, too, for the fact that Latimer walked
home instead of taking a conveyance. It’s a good
two miles, isn't it?”
“Maybe a little more,” the sheriff replied reflectively.
“He would hardly take the trouble in all that cold
and with a bag, too, just to spy on the servants. It
looks clear enough that he was watching Mrs. Latimer;
and what would she be doing down in that lonely place
by the pond at such an hour except to meet some-
body—?”
“Steady, there!” Odell cautioned. “That's all right
in theory, but we'll have to have proof, you know, and
this house isn’t the best place to talk things over. It
would help if we could trace his movements from the
time he got out of his car at the station last night.—
But first we ought to telephone to her attorneys for
her.”
“Sure. Lefferts and Crewe, she said, didn't she?”


56 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
The sheriff motioned toward the telephone. “Go to
it, Barry.”
Odell shook his head.
“I’m not on this case, you know,” he reminded the
other. “I couldn't take even a minor hand in it officially;
my place is on the metropolitan police bureau, and
my sick-leave expires anyway in a week. I'm sorry,
for it promises to be as nice a little problem as any I
ever encountered in town and I’d like to see it through,
but it isn’t possible.”
“Nonsense! That bullet hole you got through the
shoulder when you caught Killer Jordan ain’t half
healed yet and you can get an extension of leave,” the
sheriff urged. “Of course I don’t say we can’t handle
this by ourselves out here, but it looks now as if it
were going to be some job, and I’d like you in on it.”
“We have a week, anyway, and I'll stick around,”
Odell promised. “It’s nearly eleven; hadn't we better
hear what Henry Eaves has got to say for himself and
then see what we can learn of Latimer's movements
last night?”
The sheriff thumbed over the telephone book and
called up the offices of Lefferts and Crewe in New York.
Mr. Lefferts, he was told, was in court, but the junior
member of the law firm, Foster Crewe, received the
news of his client's death with the proper expressions
of shocked concern and promised to come out on the
noon train.
“Now let's go and find Henry.” The sheriff locked
the moleskin coat in a closet near one of the bookcases
and pocketed the key together with the torn strip of


THE MAN AT THE STATION 57
fur. “There's not much for a gardener to do around
a place like this in winter time, but maybe he's a sort
of handy man.”
They passed out through the kitchen and rear porch
and eventually discovered the object of their search
emerging from the cowstable. He paused at sight of
them and setting down the feed-pail which he was car-
rying stolidly awaited their approach.
“I didn't know Mr. Latimer kept any livestock,
Henry,” the sheriff observed.
“He was just starting, sir,” the man replied respect-
fully. “We have three prize Jerseys, but two of them
are dry now. Would you care to see them, sir?”
He turned and led the way into the clean, alry,
steam-heated stable and pointed out the three cows in
their stalls. Save for them and a huge dog chained
to a staple and lying on a pile of straw in a corner the
place was empty.
“Mr. Latimer was planning to breed and raise Jer-
seys, sir.”
“Didn't he have a man to take care of them?” the
sheriff demanded. “I though you were a gardener.”
“I am, but I understand all about cattle, too, and
there isn’t enough to do around the place for Mr. Lat-
imer to have employed any more men. He meant to
when the frost broke, of course.”
The dog stirred, rattling his chain, and his great
eyes fixed themselves questioningly on the newcomers.
“Is that the watchdog?” Odell asked suddenly.
“Great Dane, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Henry nodded. “He’s kind of stodgy now;


58 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
had his first good meal in I don't know when. You
can see how thin he is. Mr. Latimer kept him half
starved on purpose so he'd be savage, but he wasn't
cut out to be any watchdog; he's too friendly by na-
ture.”
As though conscious that he was the subject of
conversation the dog raised his head, and his tail
thumped the straw lazily.
The sheriff shot a meaning glance at his young
friend and then asked:
“Do you turn him loose at night?”
“Yes. At least, those were Mr. Latimer's orders,
but Mrs. Latimer didn't like it; it always made her
nervous to think of him prowling about and maybe
springing on somebody who was only taking a short
cut across the property. He's never hurt anybody
yet, but you can't tell what a dog will do if he's kept
hungry enough.”
“How long has Mr. Latimer had him?”
“Paladin? That's his name.—Mr. Latimer bought
him for me to bring down here when he sent me on
ahead of the rest of the staff.” Henry paused. “I’ve
been here since just after Thanksgiving and the fam-
ily didn't move out until nearly Christmas.”
“Thanksgiving!” the sheriff repeated. “I thought
Mr. Latimer only bought the place from the Hopewells
in December.”
“I don’t know anything about that, sir.” Henry
shrugged. “Maybe the sale wasn’t recorded till then,
but Mr. Latimer must have had possession, for he


THE MAN AT THE STATION 59
took me only a few days before Thanksgiving and told
me to get ready to come out here.”
“How did Mr. Latimer come to engage you?” Odell
interposed for the second time. “Through an agency?”
For an instant the man hesitated and then replied:
“No, sir. He knew of me from Mrs. Latimer. I
used to work at her old home in Massachusetts and
he—he sent for me.”
“You worked on the Fairfield place, at Fairfield
Harbor?” Odell demanded quickly. “How long?”
“For fifteen years, sir. I left about five years ago
and married, but my wife died and I rented my farm.
Mrs. Latimer heard I was looking for a place as head
gardener again and she got Mr. Latimer to take me
on.”
The man spoke hurriedly now and his eyes wandered
everywhere but to the face of his interrogator.
“Do the other servants know that you are an old
employee of Mrs. Latimer?” Odell persisted.
“I don't know, sir.” The man raised his eyes. “Mag-
gie has been with Mrs. Latimer always, but as for
the others, I never discussed it with them that I re-
member. Curry is the only one I talk with now and
then, and I’m usually one to keep my business to my-
self.”
Odell advanced a step or two and his voice was
very grave.
“Was there any reason, Henry, why the others
shouldn’t have known?”
The man squared his bent shoulders in unconscious
defiance of the other's imputation.


60 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Certainly not! What reason could there be? I
never thought whether they knew or not, nor that it
mattered. It’s none of their business where I worked
before and they’re none of them my kind.”
“Well, Henry” — Odell relinquished the topic –
“what do you know of last night's affair? When was
the last time you saw Mr. Latimer alive?”
“The last time Italked to him was yesterday morn-
ing before he went to town,” the other replied hastily
in evident relief. “He came out to give me some in-
structions about the cows. I saw him when he got
out of the car at the door late yesterday afternoon on
his return, but not to speak to him. That was the last
time.” -
“You knew that he started for the station again
later?” f
“Yes. I was at dinner with Curry when he was sent
for and told to have the car around at half past eight.
When he'd gone I came out here to give Paladin a bit
of meat I'd saved for him and then went to the garage
and waited for Curry. We had a smoke together,
and then I took him to look over some catalogues, and
he slept over night in my room; the steam heat wasn’t
working right in the garage and it was too cold for him
to stay there.”
“Was Paladin loose last night?”
The man shook his head and a dull flush crept up
beneath the tan on his weather-beaten countenance.
“No. He should have been, but I–I forgot. I was
busy thinking of some new farm machinery. I'm sure
neither Curry nor me saw anything amiss around the


62 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
that short cut since I can remember, and the Hope-
wells were always neighborly about it; they won't
take kindly to having a city man move out here and
block it up.”
“Well”—Henry shrugged again and for an instant
a grim suspicion of a smile hovered about his rugged
lips—“maybe they can keep on using it now.”
He turned to one of the stalls and began stroking
the velvety nose of its bovine inmate as though the
interview were over, and the sheriff drew Odell to the
door.
“You’ll hold yourself in readiness to appear at the
inquest if you're called,” he announced from the
threshold.
“I’ll be ready,” Henry responded.
“Well, what do you think of that customer?” the
sheriff asked as they made their way down the drive.
“Funny thing he forgot to turn the dog loose last
night of all times, wasn’t it?”
“It may mean a lot, or nothing.” Odell kicked at a
lump of frozen snow in his path. “The most signifi-
cant thing is that none of the other servants except
Maggie seemed to know that he had been in Mrs. Lat-
imer's employ years ago; certainly Bangs wasn't aware
of it or he would have mentioned it. There must be
some reason why it was kept from them.”
He stopped abruptly as they turned into the high-
road. Sam Jenks was fulfilling his appointed task
valiantly and seemed thoroughly enjoying his new
importance and authority. He had drawn his milk
wagon straight across the road, effectually blocking


THE MAN AT THE STATION 63
it, and was haranguing the indignant owners of several
small cars which were dammed up against it. Save
for a tenacious group huddled together the crowd had
scattered before the still, penetrating cold that had
seemed to increase when the wind of early morning
subsided.
“Sheriff's orders!” Sam was announcing in a loud
voice. “I’m here to see that nobody passes, and that's
all there is to it! You can turn and go around by the
other road if you're in a hurry, Asa; I guess you ain’t
been sent for yet up to the Latimers'!”
Asa Grinnell, the village undertaker, growled a surly
response from the driver's seat of his small, somber-
looking truck and was turning the wheel when the sher-
iff hailed him.
“Going back, Asa? Odell and I will ride down with
you as far as Main Street. Sam, you can get along,
too, now. There's nothing more for anyone to see up
at the Latimer place and nobody'll be allowed in the
house. Come on, Barry.”
They squeezed themselves into the narrow seat
beside the undertaker, and the latter remarked sourly:
“Got old man Moore to bury on the Valley Creek
turnpike tomorrow and he ain't even laid out yet; I
been too busy. I wasn't looking for the Latimer trade,
anyhow; they'll likely get some big firm out from the
city. Was he pretty well messed up?”
He spoke with professional interest, and as the
sheriff replied to him Odell sat back and mentally re-
viewed the case as it had presented itself to his trained
mind.


64 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Latimer had not been liked by his employees and
certainly he had not been loved by his wife to the ex-
tent of any uncontrollable display of grief at his tragic
death. What rendezvous had he kept there by the
frozen expanse of that lonely pond? Had he come
as a principal or as eavesdropper, and whose hand had
struck him down?
Did any of the servants know more than they had
told? The chauffeur and gardener had mutually sus-
tained alibis, the housemaid and cook had evidently
been only too anxious to unburden themselves, and
Bangs' testimony, although prompted by malice, ap-
peared on the surface to be sincere as far as it went.
The New England spinster, Maggie, with her shrewish
tongue and obvious devotion to her mistress, would
bear further examination, but Odell doubted if any-
thing could be wrung from her by artifice or surprise
which would be damaging now that she was on her
guard.
It was Mrs. Latimer herself who presented the
greatest problem. Frail, yet strong with a strength
which she seemed to summon by sheer force of will,
stunned and yet rallying instantly to the exigencies of
the moment, shrinking and helpless, on the point of
collapse, but composed enough to face the tragic prob-
lem squarely and try to reason it out, she was an
anomaly which made him shake his head.
If her husband had ill-treated her, if those faint
bruises upon her wrists had been made by his hands
in one of those fits of rage to which most of the serv-
ants had borne testimony, it was not to be wondered


THE MAN AT THE STATION 65
at that whatever love she might have had for him
at the time of their marriage had died. But there
was no indication that she had been directly con-
cerned in his death and scarcely sufficient motive for
a woman of delicate sensibilities to descend to mur-
der even if she possessed the physical strength
to have struck that blow. Only the butler's inability
to obtain a response from her when he had knocked
on the door the previous night, and that bit of fur
clinging to the holly tree, could be construed as cir-
cumstantial evidence of her possible presence at the
scene of the crime.
Odell mentally shook himself as they rattled past
the clustering village dwellings and slued along the
trolley tracks of Main Street. Why was he trying
to find flaws in the suppositions which filled his
thoughts even before they assumed the proportions
of an actual theory? After six years' experience on the
biggest criminal cases in the annals of the New York
police department, was he becoming impressionable?
The investigation had scarcely begun and not a tithe
of the necessary data was in his hands; need he re-
mind himself like a tyro that he must preserve an
open mind?
Before the door of the undertaker's establishment
the sheriff and his friend alighted and made their
way to the station. It was almost train time, but
there were few travelers at that hour, and the ticket
agent waxed loquacious when he recognized the official.
“Hear Mr. Latimer was found dead up by the pond
on his place today!” he began in tones which pene-


66 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
trated to the farthest recesses of the waiting room.
“Jim Snell got it from Sam Jenks when he came down
for the constable. Is it true?”
The sheriff nodded.
“That's about the size of it. Were you here after
eight o'clock last night?” -
“No. Didn't come round after supper; my young-
est kid's sick and the wife felt kind of nervous about
her, so Hiram said he'd "tend to the tickets and the
telegraph as well as looking after the baggage. You
Rnow yourself that there's precious little doing around
at night, especially in winter.” His face reddened
and he added avidly: “Why? Wasn't any foul play
about Latimer's death, was there? Jim Snell said
something about ‘murder,’ but I thought it was just
his talk. I haven’t heard tell of any strangers hang-
ing around the station last night, if that's what you're
getting at.—Here's Hiram now.”
The lanky, sandy-haired baggage man had sauntered
into view through the door of the ticket office which
connected with the trunk room. He started when he
saw the sheriff's head protruding through the aper-
ture, and at the latter's imperative gesture he turned
and went hurriedly out to the platform where Pettin-
gill and Odell met him.
“Look here, Hiram,” the sheriff began, “how long
were you in charge here last night?”
“Till six this morning.” Hiram’s eyes bulged.
“What's the matter? Thieves? There wasn't a soul
around here after ten o'clock until the agent relieved
me today. I been asleep in bed ever since and I ain’t


THE MAN AT THE STATION 67
heard any news. Everything looks all right in the
baggage-room—!”
“There's been no robbery,” the sheriff responded.
“I just want to know who was around the station last
night. What time did you take charge?”
“I was here at six, but the agent didn't go off till
seven, and then he sent one of his little boys down
to ask me if I’d look after things for him for the
evenin’. Travel was light and I didn’t mind. There
were only two trains between seven and eight from
the city, and most of the commuters had come out
earlier. There were two the other way, too, but no-
body got off.”
“And after eight?”
Hiram removed his cap and scratched his head
reflectively.
“Well, there was the eight-twenty from the city,
but nobody came on that except Mr. Farwell and old
Mr. Kingsley. Mr. Farwell nodded to me and hurried
off, and I don’t wonder, for it was almighty cold; but
Mr. Kingsley stopped for a little talk like he always
does whenever he gets back from the city.” Hiram
paused and frowned as though his mental processes
required strenuous effort. “Let me see! That was
all, until that new fellow out at the Hopewell place,
Mr. Latimer, drove up in his little car.”
“What time was this?”
“Along about twenty minutes to nine, I reckon,
because I was just wheeling out Mis’ Price's sister's
trunk, that was going to Brooklyn on the eight-fifty.
º::
ºf ºs
Naº'y A * * *
* . . . . . Y. L; --


68 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
The car went kiting away and left Mr. Latimer on the
platform.”
“Did he say anything to you? How did he seem?”
the sheriff asked impatiently.
“Why? What's he been doing?” Hiram demanded
in his turn. “I never did like him since he first come,
ordering folks around as if they was dirt. That may
go in the city, but out here a man's as good as the
next one! I didn’t pay any 'tention to him till he
came up and asked me if the train was on time; I
told him it wasn't no limited, and they didn't usually
wire on ahead unless there'd been a washout!”
He guffawed at his own witticism, but the sheriff
broke in sharply:
“Why didn’t he take the train?”
“Didn't he?” Hiram stared. “I was busy loading
on that trunk so I didn't notice. He wasn't here after
the train left, I know. Maybe he went off with the
other fellow.”
“What other fellow?” The sheriff almost bellowed
the question, and Hiram's jaw dropped for a minute.
Then he replied:
“I don't know who it was; didn't notice him in par-
ticular. It was after Mr. Latimer had spoke to me
and I’d walked away from him that I saw a fellow
come out from behind the baggage truck where he
must have been loafing and go up to him. The last
I saw of either of them they were talking together.”
“What did the man look like? It’s a pity you
couldn't have kept your eyes open!” the sheriff fumed.


THE MAN AT THE STATION 69
“Don’t you remember anything about him at all?”
The baggage man spat contemplatively.
“There wasn't nothing about him to remember!”
he said defensively. “He was dressed up in city clothes
—dark overcoat and derby hat—and he seemed to
be just middling height; I didn't see his face, but he
seemed to know Mr. Latimer all right. He called him
by name.—Seems to me there was one thing I sort
of recollect, though; he had a nasty kind of cough!”


CHAPTER VI.
THE WOICE FROM THE DOORWAY
NABLE to elicit any further information from
the wondering baggage-man, the sheriff and Odell
left him to be enlightened by the ticket agent as to
the cause of their interrogation, and passing between
the gaping groups in the waiting-room of the station
started up the street in the direction of the county
jail.
“I’ll send a deputy up to the Latimer place now for
the bag we left under the couch and that fur coat,”
the sheriff announced. “He can jam the coat in the
bag, I guess, and get it out of the house without the
butler or anyone seeing him. We'll go back there
later, Barry, after the lawyer comes. I want to get
a line on Latimer from him, but in the meantime I’ve
got to see the district attorney.” -
“In that case—” Odell stopped. “Suppose I look
around a bit myself for a time? It may be that I can
pick up the trail from the station last night. We
haven’t got much to go on; a man of average height,
in average clothes, with a cough!”
“He was a stranger, though,” the sheriff remarked.
“There aren’t many around here in winter time. Some-
body else must have seen him if he hung around.”
“It doesn't necessarily follow that he was a stranger
because that Hiram can't identify him.” Odell shook
- 70


THE VOICE FROM THE DOORWAY (71
his head. “He merely said that he didn't notice him
particularly. The fact that the man was a stranger
might have penetrated even his dull consciousness and
aroused his curiosity, but if there had been something
vaguely familiar about him his presence would have
been less likely to impress the baggage-man.”
“That's too deep for me!” The sheriff laughed. “Go
at it your own way, though, Barry; I'm mighty glad
of your help. I'll meet you at the house for dinner
and we'll go up to the Latimer place again together.”
Odell retraced his steps to the station and from there
started back up Main Street in the direction which
Latimer must have taken on the previous night, study-
ing the solid phalanx of shop-fronts on either side
and mentally orienting himself. During the fortnight
of sick-leave in which he had been the guest of his
old friend Sheriff Pettingill, he had come to know this
curious little village from the standpoint of a mere
sojourner; but now he regarded it with professional
interest.
Originally a settlement which dated back to Colonial
days, it had become the local trade center and county
seat, and in later years the bucolic charm of the sur-
rounding hills had been discovered by an opulent class
of former city dwellers. Large and more or less pre-
tentious estates had swallowed up many of the smaller
farms, and a smart country club set had sprung up
mushroom-like among the staid older inhabitants.
The village of Sunnymead itself, however, had evi-
dently changed very little. A garage or two, an or-
nate link of the chain of surburban drugstores, a mo-
tion picture theater and an Italian importer of fruits


72 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
and condiments marked the only spots of invasion;
and the rest of Main Street valiantly maintained its
array of modest, mildly progressive shops, and ton-
sorial and billiard parlors.
Only the latter would have been open in the
evenings during that season of the year, Odell decided,
and he paused before the first one from the station.
The proprietor, a fat, jolly-looking individual, was
sweeping off the steps and looked up with a friendly
nod.
“Right cold, ain’t it?” he observed. “Fellow come
in here awhile ago and said Latimer had been killed
and you was up there with the constable. I only
knew him by sight, but it was sure a sudden taking
off. How’d it happen?”
“We don’t know yet,” Odell replied frankly. “He
went down to the station last night for the eight-fifty
train, but never took it. I don’t suppose you saw him
pass by on his way home?”
The fat man nodded again in naive triumph.
“That's just what I did do!” he exclaimed. “A
crowd of the fellows had been in here playing, and
between their smoking and the stovepipe not working
right you couldn't draw a breath! I opened the door
to let in a little fresh air, and it come to me that the
eight-fifty was almost due, and I stood there wait-
ing for it to come in. Mr. Latimer passed, walking
real quick and slapping his feet down on the side-
walk like he was mad or excited about something, and
he never looked up. I remember thinking that he
must have just got in from the city because he was
carrying a bag, but there hadn't been no train since


THE VOICE FROM THE DOORWAY 73
the eight-twenty, and I wondered what he'd been
hanging around the station in the cold for all that
time. Then one of the fellows hollered about the
draught and I shut the door, just as the eight-fifty
pulled up at the station.” -
“Was Mr. Latimer alone?”
“Sure he was. The whole street was deserted as
far as I could see; it was too cold for folks to be out
unless they had to. Who do you s'pose killed him?
We ain’t had any excitement like that around here
since the post office was broke into!” -
Odell disclaimed any prescience as to how the mys-
tery would turn out, and continued on up the street.
What had become of the other man with whom Lat-
imer had talked at the station? Had he taken the
eight-fifty back to town, or skulked behind the other
those two bleak miles to Willow Brook and done him
to death there by the pond?
The detective stopped here and there and chatted
with the drugstore clerk, a garage man, and bluff,
hearty William McMahon, who ran the hotel; but no-
where did he glean any further information. Since
he passed the billiard parlor Latimer had been seen
by no one whom Odell could discover, and his erstwhile
companion at the station had apparently vanished into
thin air.
As he left the hotel he heard the whistle of the noon
train from the city, and a few minutes later a jitney-
bus passed him in reckless haste and rattled out along
the road which led in the direction of Willow Brook,
which the natives still spoke of as “the Hopewell place.”
Odell caught a glimpse in its swaying interior of a


74 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
sleek but troubled white face with huge tortoise-
rimmed glasses above the upturned fur collar of an
overcoat, and concluded that Mrs. Latimer's legal ad-
viser had arrived upon the scene.
He found the sheriff awaiting him in his pleasant
white house set back in a grove of gaunt maples, and
the steaming mid-day dinner was already on the table.
Mrs. Pettingill was a plump, smiling little woman with
sufficient tact to minister to their appetites before
she gave voice to her curiosity; and Odell detailed for
her edification such facts in the case as were already
common talk in the village.
“I suppose it's no use to ask you if you’ve found
out anything!” she remarked when he had finished.
“John is always as close-mouthed as a clam when
anything's been happening around here, but we don't
often have murders, thank goodness! It don’t seem
right for that poor woman to be up there all alone
with just the hired help at a time like this, but I’d
be the last person she'd let be neighborly, on account
of John; she'd think I was there to spy on all of them.”
Odell remembered a chance bit of gossip he had
heard earlier and remarked:
“I understand that some of the families about have
called on Mrs. Latimer, and perhaps they'll go to her
now, but I don’t believe she wants to see anyone. Who
were they, do you know, Mrs. Pettingill?”
“The Presbyterian minister was one; she went to
church there once or twice when she first came, but
she hasn’t been since he called. Then there were the
Wagners, that keep that department store in Brooklyn
and have been trying so hard to get in with the hunt-


THE VOICE FROM THE DOORWAY 75
ing and country club people, and Mrs. Weed, who al-
ways calls on new folks when they move out here.”
Mrs. Pettingill cut a generous second helping of pie
and passed it to their guest. “That's all I’ve heard
about. The town people think the Latimers are a
little too rich and fashionable to travel with them, I
guess, and the country club set were kind of holding
off.”
“Why?” asked Odell. “I understand that Latimer
was a wealthy manufacturer—”
“Oh, well, it isn't only the money,” she commented
shrewdly. “I guess they were waiting to see what
sort of folks they entertained. It did look sort of
funny, their not having a big house-party down over
Christmas like most of the others did, but I s'pose
they weren't settled yet.”
“Do any of them—the country club people—live
near the Latimers?”
“Only Montgomery Robbins, the broker. There's
just him and his wife, and they have that great big
place this side of Mrs. Vail's cottage. The Prestons
is on the other side, but it is closed for the winter;
they're the only estates owned by society people be-
tween the village and the Latimers'. Some commut-
ers who don’t go in for the country club sports have
built nice all-year bungalows, though. Mr. Farwell's
is just across the road from Mrs. Vail's, and the Ruy-
terdahl's beyond.” -
“What is opposite the Latimer place?” Odell made
a tentative move to rise as the sheriff glanced mean-
ingly at the clock. “I didn't notice particularly, but
I don’t think I saw any house near.”


76 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“You didn't.” Mrs. Pettingill pushed back her chair.
“That land is all part of the old Beauregard farm and
extends for two miles or more beyond, before you
come to the remains of the house; it was destroyed
by fire years ago. — Mind you boys aren't late for
supper!”
In the sheriff's own little car the two returned to
the Latimer place, and on the way Odell mentally lo-
cated each home of which Mrs. Pettingill had told
him. The Montgomery Robbins residence was a pre-
tentious affair set on a rise of ground in a stiff, formal
garden; Mrs. Vail's humble cottage snuggled almost
apologetically between its tall, ornate iron palings and
the squat, substantial stone fence of the Prestons’
more conservative estate on the other side. Across
the way a small, wide-verandaed concrete bungalow
stood behind a trim hedge of box, and Odell recalled
that it belonged to one of those whom Mrs. Pettin-
gill designated as “commuters.”
The baggage-man had spoken of a Mr. Farwell as
being one of the two men who came out on the eight-
twenty train from the city on the previous night, but
he had hurried home. It had been the other, Kings-
ley, who stopped for a few words of greeting. Odell
determined, if other clues failed, to interview both
these gentlemen.
Bangs admitted them in answer to their ring and
there was an air of such conscious mystery in his
manner that the sheriff halted him on the way to an-
nounce their arrival.
“What's up now?” he demanded “Has anything
new developed since we were here this morning?”


THE VOICE FROM THE DOORWAY 77
“I’m sure it’s not for me to say, sir.” The butler
pursed his lips smugly. “It was you brought in Mr.
Latimer's bag, and your man that called later must
have taken it away with him, for it's not to be found.
Mr. Crewe says that some papers are missing that he
knows to have been in Mr. Latimer's possession yester-
day; at least, that's what I gathered, sir. I'll tell Mr.
Crewe you are here.”
He ushered them into a dim, widely spaced draw-
ing-room in which solid but delicately lined pieces
of old mahogany were grouped, and on the hearth at
the farther end of which a bed of red coals glowed
in the grate.
“Did you examine the bag again when your man
brought it down to your office?” Odell asked when
he and the sheriff were alone.
The other nodded.
“There wasn't a bit of paper in it; nothing but
toilet articles and a change of linen,” he replied. “I
looked carefully over the handful of papers we took
from his pocket, and I have them here with me if
the lawyer wants to examine them. I couldn't see
that they could have had any bearing on the murder.”
The door opened again and Mr. Crewe entered.
Odell's surmise of the morning was correct, and he
recognized at a glance the man he had seen in the
jitney driving at such a furious rate from the station.
“Gentlemen, this is a horrible affair!” The new-
comer advanced, nervously fingering the broad, black
ribbon from which his tortoise-rimmed glasses were
suspended, and his near-sighted brown eyes turned
questioningly from one to the other of them. He was


THE VOICE FROM THE DOORWAY 79
lieve Mrs. Latimer has told you, and he had put
most of his available capital into the venture, at the
same time shutting down upon his output of other
models; so that his income has been nil for the past
few months.”
“What, in round figures, would you say is the value
of the estate, Mr. Crewe?” the sheriff asked.
“That is a difficult question to answer.” The attor-
ney motioned to two chairs and dropping into a third
crossed one immaculately creased trouser leg over
the other. “The controlling stock of which Mr. Lat-
imer stood possessed in his corporation at the moment
of his death is worth approximately half a million
dollars. If this new project proves successful, it will
advance, of course, and if unsuccessful, proportionately
decrease. He had drawing accounts in several banks,
and until they are balanced no estimate can be
made.”
“He had no other holdings?”
“None of which we are aware except this estate,”
the attorney responded cautiously.
“To your knowledge, did Mr. Latimer leave a will?”
“Mr. Lefferts, my senior, executed one for him at
the time of his marriage, but you will comprehend
that I could not divulge its contents, if I were cogni-
zant of them, until the proper time.” Mr. Crewe drew
himself up slightly.
“Naturally!” Odell interposed, with his boyishly
genial smile. “I hope, sir, that you won't mind my
asking a question or two with the sheriff's authority?”
Mr. Crewe bowed again.
“Of course the court records of the states of New


THE VOICE FROM THE DOORWAY 81
prove to be an important factor in the case. Suppose
I put the question in another way. Has Mr. Latimer
brought suit against anyone for any cause whatso-
ever? Has he called upon the law to protect him in
any way?”
Mr. Crewe's face reddened with offended dignity.
“He has not, sir!”
“We know that he had made enemies; Mrs. Lat-
imer has told us that he has been threatened more than
once.” Odell spoke still quietly but with a note of
determination. “Has he spoken of bringing suit, or
having anyone placed under bonds to keep the peace?”
“Mr. Latimer has-er—anathematized the disturb-
ing element in his factories, and mentioned cranks
and deluded would-be inventors from time to time.”
Mr. Crewe had regained his surface urbanity of man-
ner, and he replied with a simulation of candor. “His
industry was of a nature to bring him into contact
with such individuals, and in moments of exasperation
he may have uttered assertions which he had really
no intention of carrying out in fact. I cannot recall
the name of any particular person between whom and
himself there existed such a degree of mutual enmity
as would have reached the pitch of assault with in-
tent to kill.”
“I can, Crewel.” A new voice, strong and virile,
rang out from the doorway. “I’m not accusing any-
body—the man may have been a thousand miles away
—but how about Sun Hsu 7”


82 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
-
CHAPTER VII.
THE THREAT OF SUN HSU
ITH a common impulse they turned to discover
a fourth man standing on the threshold. He
was in the early thirties, long and lean and lithe, and
he bore himself with the well poised erectness of mili-
tary training, unmistakable even in mufti. His face
was thin and tanned, with a hint of sensitiveness in
the finely chiseled nostrils and mobile but firmly held
lips; and his gray eyes studied them with a steady,
unwinking gaze.
“Mr. Agnew!” The attorney rose precipitately. “I
did not know that you were—that you had been—l”
“I brought my sister out,” the other explained. “She
insisted on coming as soon as she learned of Mr. Lat-
imer's death, and I wished to offer my services. I
must apologize for my intrusion, and withdraw.”
“Just a moment!” The sheriff halted him. “Your
name is Agnew'?”
The newcomer bowed.
“Starr Agnew.”
“I’m the sheriff of this county,” Pettingill announced.
“This is an associate of mine—Mr. Odell. I take it
you're a friend of the family; any objections to an-
swering a few questions?”
Mr. Agnew advanced with a slight smile.


THE THREAT OF SUN HSU 83
“And I take it that it wouldn’t do me much good
if I had, Sheriff! As a matter of fact, I'll be glad to
tell you anything I can.”
“Now you’re talking!” the sheriff exclaimed approv-
ingly with a side-glance at the perturbed attorney.
“Naturally we're starting blind in an investigation of
this kind, and we've just been trying to see if the
late Mr. Latimer's lawyer, here, couldn't suggest any
lead. You spoke of Mr. Latimer's death; did you learn
that he had been murdered?”
“Not positively. I heard that he had been found
dead out in the grounds here somewhere, with a wound
in his forehead.” Agnew turned to the attorney. “I
say, Crewe, I'm sorry if I’ve interrupted a conference.
If you and the sheriff agree I'll wait in the library
until you've finished—” -
“I have nothing of a private nature to discuss with
the authorities relative to Mr. Latimer's affairs at this
time,” Crewe responded coldly. “The situation is in
the hands of the sheriff.”
“Exactly,” the latter individual interposed dryly.
“Mr. Agnew, you said you arrived with your sister.
May I ask if she is Miss Doris Agnew'?”
“Yes!” There was surprise and a shade of reserve
in the younger man's tones. “She is with Mrs. Latimer
now, I think. Why do you ask?”
“Because a Miss Doris Agnew has been mentioned
to us as one of Mrs. Latimer's closest friends, and as
having telephoned out here to her at about nine o'clock
last evening.”


84 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“She did.” Mr. Agnew nodded. “I understand that
the butler said Mrs. Latimer was not at home—”
“She had retired!” the attorney interrupted hur-
riedly. “It was a mistake on the butler's part, but a
trivial one.”
The sheriff exchanged glances with Odell and the
latter bent forward in the chair which he had re-
sumed.
“Mr. Agnew, will you tell us, please, who the person
is to whom you referred just now on entering? The
name sounded Chinese.”
“It is. Perhaps it was indiscreet of me to mention
it since Mr. Crewe had not seen fit to do so—”
“I did not think it of sufficient importance,” the
attorney interrupted once more, biting his lips. “Sun
Hsu was one of the cranks who has annoyed Mr. Lat-
imer with impractical inventions, Sheriff. He is a
young Chinaman who was educated in this country,
a university graduate, I believe. He had worked out
some sort of theory in regard to airplanes—I know
nothing of such matters myself—and besieged Mr.
Latimer for months with plans and specifications.
Hundreds of such crack-brained ideas were constantly
being foisted on Mr. Latimer, and he saw that this
was as impossible as the rest. Later this Sun Hsu
became obsessed with the notion that Mr. Latimer
had—er—appropriated his device, or whatever it was,
and made a nuisance of himself, but for some months
now he has dropped from sight. Personally, I think
he was slightly deranged. That is really all there
was to the matter; he was merely one of many such


86 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
I am anxious to know just what documents relative to
Mr. Latimer's business affairs were in his immediate
possession at the hour of his death. Will you permit
me to go over them, or will it be necessary for me to
obtain an order to do so?”
“You have access to them after the inquest, Mr.
Crewe,” the sheriff responded.
“But, my dear sir, it is imperative that I have an im-
mediate opportunity to examine them!” Mr. Crewe
flushed. “I am willing, of course, to do so in your
presence and that of any other official, and they shall
be left in your custody if you can show any valid
claim to their retention as evidence. I merely wish to
assure myself that a certain document has not been
lost.”
“Or stolen?” Odell interposed quietly. “As one of
the attorneys for the estate, Mr. Crewe, you may as
well know in advance a certain matter which will be
brought out at the inquest. Mr. Latimer's bag had
been ransacked and thrown into the brook.”
Starr Agnew uttered a low, surprised exclamation,
and the lawyer gripped the arms of the chair.
“You are certain of this?” the latter gasped.
“Yes. A hole had been chopped in the frozen sur-
face of the brook and this led to the discovery of
the bag. Its contents showed plainly that it had been
subjected to a hasty search. What leads you to the
conclusion that the document you mention must have
been either in the bag or upon the body?”
“The process of elimination—but I do not say that
Mr. Latimer “must have had it with him. I con-


THE THREAT OF SUN HSU 87
sider it possible, since I have been unable to dis-
cover it among the papers in his desk or safe here,
and I was under the impression that he brought it out
with him from town yesterday.” There was a dry
note of renewed caution in Mr. Crewe's tones. “Were
there any documents in the bag when it was found?”
He addressed the sheriff, and the latter shook his
head.
“No. Only clothing and toilet articles. However,
I have here with me the letters and memoranda which
I removed from the body, together with a list of the
other belongings which are in the coroner's charge.
I brought the papers in order to ask Mrs. Latimera
few questions concerning them, providing she were
able to be interviewed.”
From one of his own capacious pockets he produced
a large manila envelope from which he took several
smaller ones and a note-book and check-book. The
envelopes had all evidently been sent through the
mail and their tops slit, while upon the backs of one
or two, figures and other memoranda had been scrawled
in bold, black characters.
He handed them without comment to the attorney,
while Starr Agnew started forward in his chair with
a swift, involuntary movement and then settled back
again.
Mr. Crewe glanced hastily through them and handed
them back impatiently.
“The document is not here! You are certain these
are all that you found?”
“Quite.” Sheriff Pettingill drew from another


88 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
-
pocket a typewritten list and read conscientiously:
“‘Pearl and platinum stick-pin, platinum watch with
gold fob, gold key-ring, wallet containing one hundred
and thirty dollars, platinum and gold cigar case and
match box, and three dollars and sixty cents in silver.”
—You'll notice among those envelopes Mr. Latimer's
commutation ticket, and there is also upon one of his
fingers a gold ring which we were unable to remove,
but the coroner will do so. It is pretty conclusive from
this that robbery wasn’t the motive for the crime;
that is, any ordinary robbery. What was that docu-
ment you are so anxious about, Mr. Crewe?”
The attorney hesitated, and it seemed that he
avoided the gaze of Mr. Agnew as well as that of the
sheriff and Odell.
“It was quite large,” he said at length, slowly and
very deliberately. “Several typed sheets bound in a
light blue cover and folded across once, as I remember.
It would scarcely have fitted into that envelope in
which you enclosed all the others, Sheriff, and Mr.
Latimer would have been unlikely to carry it in one
of his pockets; that was why I thought it might have
been in his bag. You are sure that the lining is not
loose?”
Sheriff Pettingill ignored the question.
“Look here, Mr. Crewel” he said sternly. “I didn’t
ask you what that paper looked like; I asked you what
it was!”
“I should be very glad to tell you, Sheriff, if I knew
myself!” The attorney shrugged, but he sat well back
in his chair as though all at once he found the re-


THE THREAT OF SUN HSU 89
flected glow from the coals upon the hearth to be dis-
concerting. “I have described it to you as well and
as fully as I am able.”
The sheriff stared at him.
“If you don’t know the nature of it why are you
so anxious to find out whether it has disappeared or
not?” he demanded.
“Because Mr. Latimer called at our offices yesterday
afternoon, and he had that document, with others,
in his brief case. I caught a glimpse of it when he
opened the case to remove a contract which he wished
to leave with us, and he mentioned its importance
in a general way without disclosing its nature.” Mr.
Crewe paused and then added:
“When he left he said that he was going immediately
to his train, and as it was after four o'clock then I
suppose that he did so if he reached here at half past
five. I really know nothing more about it.”
“What did he say about that document?” The sher-
iff brought his clenched hand down upon the arm of
his chair, and at the sound of the impact Mr. Crewe
straightened and setting his glasses firmly upon his
aquiline nose stared haughtily at the bucolic official.
“Really, I do not remember,” he replied with delib-
rate intent. “I gathered merely that it had some con-
nection with work then in progress in his factories;
I cannot recall his exact words as my attention was
fixed upon the contract.”
The sheriff opened his lips for a heated rejoinder,
but Odell quickly forestalled him.
“No doubt it is in the house somewhere; you can


90 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
scarcely have had time for an exhaustive search,” he
said smoothly. “To return to the affair of Sun Hsu
—can you tell us when he first approached Mr. Lati-
mer with his invention?”
“I cannot, sir!” the attorney retorted. “I heard
nothing of the matter until Mr. Latimer complained
that the fellow was annoying him.”
“When did you first hear of this annoyance?”
“About March of last year, when Mr. and Mrs. Lat-
imer returned from their honeymoon, I think. I can-
not be more definite because, as I have said, cranks
were continually subjecting Mr. Latimer to petty per-
secution of one sort or another.” Mr. Crewe spoke
with cold distaste and boredom. “He spoke of the
fellow from time to time thereafter in terms of er—
irritation until some time during the late summer. I
do not know when the man ceased to annoy Mr. Lat-
imer; I simply do not recall hearing his name men-
tioned since that period.”
The sheriff would have spoken again but Odell
darted a warning glance at him and rose.
“Very well, Mr. Crewe. We will not detain you
any longer. It is unnecessary, of course, to remind
you that under the circumstances nothing—no papers
or documents of any character—may be removed from
the premises except by special permission from the
local authorities. Does anyone beside yourself know
the combination of Mr. Latimer's safe here?”
“I really couldn't say.” Mr. Crewe had also risen
and now he moved toward the door. “Mr. Latimer


THE THREAT OF SUN HSU 91
gave it to both my partner and myself in the event
of an emergency.”
“‘An emergency?’” Odell's repetition of the last
two words with an interrogatory inflection halted the
attorney on the threshold.
“If he were unavoidably detained on one of his busi-
ness trips and some document were needed before his
return,” the other explained. “Mrs. Latimer was un-
acquainted with the details of his manufacturing in-
terests and would therefore not have known what was
required.—I shall remain here until time for the six
o'clock train back to town, and if I can be of any fur-
ther service to you I trust that you will let me know.”
He bowed and turning crossed the hall to the library
and closed the door after him with a subdued but em-
phatic thud.
“Pompous ass!” muttered Mr. Agnew; then, ad-
dressing the sheriff, he asked in a scarcely louder
tone: “How is Mrs. Latimer? I haven’t dared in-
quire about her yet. Gad, it must have been a ter-
rific shock to her!”
“She was bearing it quite calmly when I interviewed
her this morning, an hour or two after the discovery
of the body,” the sheriff responded. “How did you
and your sister learn of the murder, Mr. Agnew?
There could scarcely have been time for the news to
have appeared in the city papers.”
“It reached us by underground channels, I might
say.” Agnew's lips curved for an instant in a half
smile. “The butler here, Bangs, is interested in my
sister's maid, and he could not resist telephoning to
-


92 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
her. Of course she told my sister at once, and Doris
summoned me from my office and insisted that I bring
her out immediately; Mrs. Latimer is one of her closest
friends, and she could not leave her alone in her
trouble.”
“You have known Mrs. Latimer for several years,
have you not?” Odell asked. “Her maid tells us
that your family had a country place near her home
in Massachusetts.”
“Yes.” Agnew's reply was brief, but he eyed his
questioner candidly. “We have known Mrs. Latimer
for-let me see—for seven years.”
“And Mr. Latimer?”
“Oh, I met him in England in 'sixteen. He was
negotiating to sell battle-planes to the British govern-
ment, and I was in training with the R. F. C. I couldn’t
wait for us to get started over here.”
“You’re an aviator, then?” Odell felt a sudden
quickening of interest.
“Instructor.” The other shrugged. “I was a bit
old for the game, you know; twenty-seven then.—
But you want to know about Latimer. I thought him
a capital fellow, and when I met him in New York
we renewed our acquaintanceship and I brought him
'round to the house.”
“It was at your home that he met Miss Fairfield?”
“Yes.—Shocking thing, that he should have been
killed like this! I suppose it's no good asking if you've
any idea who did it?”
“Tell us what you know of this Sun Hsu,” Odell
countered, with one of his swift smiles.


94 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
for that upward quirk of his eyes at the corners he
might pass for a sallow European; spoke with not
a trace of an accent, I remember.” Agnew paused.
“Latimer had told me about the fellow hounding him,
and I warned him to be careful, but he only laughed
at me. I went West last summer, and when I returned
I asked Latimer about Sun Hsu one day, and he said
he heard the chap had gone back to China.-I don’t
know why I should have thought of him just now
except that hearing the way Latimer had died recalled
one of his picturesque threats to my mind.”
“What was it?” Odell asked quickly.
“Oh, just nonsense, of course.” Agnew looked some-
what uncomfortable. “It was a poetic little intimation
that he would pierce the walls of the brain which had
stolen his invention, that the Sun-God might pluck
it forth and return it to his own keeping.”
Odell and the sheriff gazed at each other and before
them both arose the picture of the morning, when
Gilbert Latimer lay with crushed forehead pillowed
against the reddened snow.


CHAPTER VIII
THE RED MITTEN
KNOCK at the door heralded the appearance of
Bangs, with the announcement that Miss Ag-
new would like to speak to her brother; and when that
young man had taken his departure from the room the
sheriff observed reflectively:
“I don’t know about that, Barry, though it did give
me a turn for a minute! If it was one laundryman
banged another one over the head with a flat-iron, I
could get it, but not any of this Sun-God stuff. What
do you think?”
“That our friend Crewe knows very well what that
document is that is missing, but for some reason he
won't admit it; and that although Agnew may be
shocked, he isn't any more deeply grieved over his
supposed friend's death than anyone else we have en-
countered so far,” Odell replied. “It’s a puzzle, all
right, John, and nobody seems anxious to help us
solve it. If Miss Agnew remains here with Mrs. Lat-
imer we shall have an opportunity to interview her
later, and I doubt if her testimony will give us any
data of value, anyway. The man at the station who
talked to Latimer last night is our one best bet if
we can unearth him, but I'd like to go over the ground
of the murder again while it is still light.”
95


96 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Go on, then,” the sheriff acquiesced good-naturedly.
“I’m going to pump Bangs some more; I may get
some inside information as to what took Mrs. Latimer
down to that pond last night.”
“If that suggestion is made at all, mind you let
it come from him and not from you, or you'll give the
show away!” Odell laughed. “I won’t be more than
an hour.”
He slipped into his overcoat and let himself out
the front door, going down the driveway to a point
opposite the grove of willows and then cutting across
to the pond. It lay like a shimmering sheet of glass
beneath the lengthening rays of the afternoon sun,
and the wind, which had risen once more, rustled the
brittle twigs of the undergrowth and set little clouds
of powdered frost eddying about his feet.
Silent and drear, wrapped in its wintry mantle, the
scene was one which might well have been deserted
by man for countless days; and no hint remained of
the tragedy which the morning had disclosed save
that spattering of sinister stains near the bank.
Odell went carefully over every foot of the frozen
ground from the gap in the hedge to the clump of holly
trees and back; but except where here and there a
hummock had been kicked aside by one of the group
which had surrounded the body in the morning, no
traces were discernible. For some minutes he bent
over the bow of the rowboat on the thwart of which
the anchor had rested. Its outline was plain where
it had lain embedded in the frost of the protracted


THE RED MITTEN 97
cold spell, and all at once Odell stooped and looked
closer.
Surely there was the mark of some sharp but lighter
instrument that had been used to pry the anchor
loose! He wondered at the time of its discovery that
the anchor had not been frozen solidly to the thwart,
but could have been so readily snatched up to do its
murderous work. If it had been necessary to pry it
loose as these marks indicated, his own private sur-
mise, which the dried blood upon its fluke in no way
militated against, might prove to be the correct solu-
tion of one puzzling detail, after all.
But what instrument could have been so used? It
could not have had a sharp blade like a knife, for it
had been necessary to crush and scrape away the
frozen snow in order to insert it beneath the anchor,
as the result showed. It had been heavy enough for
that, evidently, but not sufficiently so to break that
jagged hole in the ice of the brook through which
the bag had been dropped.
Leaving the weather-worn hulk of the craft, Odell
made his way once more to the holly clump and
through it to the shore of the brook. In which of
three directions had the steps of the person who
afterward submerged the bag turned—to that gap in
the hedge which led to the high road, to the house it-
self, or back farther into the Willow Brook estate,
possibly toward the garage or other outbuildings?
There was no sign to guide him, and the fine powder
of dried particles of frost which had swirled and
drifted down from the thorny, low-hung branches of


98 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
the trees would have obliterated any trace of a foot-
print; yet Odell turned and wandered idly in the third
direction that had not heretofore been considered.
Beyond the hollies the ground rose in an undulating
hill around the base of which the brook wound on its
way to the pond. Odell followed its bank until it nar-
rowed to a mere trickle whose tinkling could be heard
beneath the thinning veil of ice, and finally vanished
in an impenetrable thicket of bushes.
His eyes swept the white, low-lying hills and fields
broken only by the lines of hedge-rows, and he dis-
covered that he had come out far behind the stables
and farm buildings of the estate with nothing before
him but a faint smudge of smoke arising from a dis-
tant clump of trees which denoted the presence of
the nearest neighbor to the south.
The clear, frosty air brought to him a new sound
besides the crunching of the hard snow beneath his
solitary feet. It was the faint quacking as of multi-
tudinous ducks and it came apparently from the spot
where the smoke arose from a chimney. His inter-
view of the morning with Henry Eaves, the gardener,
returned to Odell's thoughts, and he realized that that
must be the dwelling of Chris Vorn, the morose duck
farmer who occasionally used the short cut through
the Willow Brook property.
No sign of a path was visible, but to the left a field
stretched away larger than the others surrounding
it. Could that be the south pasture of which Henry
Eaves had spoken? There was a narrow, ragged gap
in the hedge which bordered it, and Odell pushed his


THE RED MITTEN 99
way through, noting as he did so that the twigs were
bare of frost rime.
On the farther side a slight but unmistakable de-
pression appeared leveled out between the higher
ridges of snow and winding away across a corner of
the field toward the distant group of trees. Odell
followed it until he came to the bordering hedge once
more. It was comparatively unkempt and straggling,
as though little effort had been made by the late
owners to cultivate it as trimly as the others nearer
the main part of the estate. The subdued quacking of
the ducks had become louder, and through the trees
ahead Odell saw a road that was little more than a
cart-track and the rear of a weatherbeaten, unpainted
dwelling, with dilapidated outhouses clustered close.
Runways formed of sagging, rusted wire fencing
led down to a small, ice-coated pond which was evi-
dently a mere hollow of inundated marshland, for
tufts of brown grasses stuck up stiffly through the
slate-colored crust. With its suggestion of deteriora-
tion and failure the little farm presented the dreariest
aspect imaginable, and Odell was turning back when his
eye was attracted by something bright which had
caught upon one of the twigs of the hedge just where
the path led through the gap. It was a huge red
woolen mitten, much worn and of obvious home manu-
facture, for the misshapen thumb had been badly
turned and unskillful attempts had been made to draw
the torn palm together.
While Odell stood examining it a door at the rear
of the house opened creakingly, and a little girl ap-
129212}}


100 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
peared staggering beneath the weight of two pails
which seemed about to pull her thin arms from their
sockets. On a sudden impulse the detective thrust
the mitten into the pocket of his overcoat and cross-
ing the road pushed open a gate which hung by one
hinge and entered the yard.
The child had approached the larger of the sheds
from which the quacking of fowl emanated, but as he
advanced she set her pails down upon the ground and
awaited his coming stolidly. When he was quite close
to her she raised her eyes gravely to his without a
trace of shyness, and he saw that they were a clear,
limpid gray and so large as almost to swallow up the
pallid little face.
“We haven't any eggs to sell,” she announced primly.
“The ducks ain't laying hardly at all yet, and Daddy
wants to keep them for hatching.”
Odell smiled.
“I haven’t come about eggs today,” he said. “Those
are pretty heavy pails for you to carry, aren't they?”
“Nope,” she responded. “I always feed the ducks,
but I’ve just had measles and I ain't strong yet. Most
everybody's had it at school; it's the first time in my
life I ever had anything the other kids did!”
She spoke with distinct pride untinged by any note
of self-pity, and the unconscious pathos of it stung
Odell; but he put the softening influence sternly from
him.
“Do you live here alone with your father?” he asked.
“Mostly.” She turned toward the house. “Do you
Want him?”


THE RED MITTEN 101
“No.” Odell drew the mitten from his pocket. “I
thought perhaps this belonged to someone in your
house; I found it over there in the pasture.”
“Oh!” The child pounced upon it with a delighted
cry. “It’s Daddy's! I looked for it all the morning—!”
“What is dis?” A gruff, guttural voice broke in
upon her childish treble, and a gaunt, bent-shouldered
man with a surly, lowering gaze came around the
corner of the nearest shed. “What you want?”
“Oh, Daddy, the man found your mitten that’s been
lost all day!” the little girl exclaimed, holding it out
to him. “Now you won’t get your hands all frost-bit
before I can knit another pair!”
The man took the mitten in silence and turned it
over with trembling, clumsy hands. At length he
looked up surlily.
“Where you find dis?” he demanded.
“In the Willow Brook pasture, just across the
road—” Odell was beginning, but the other cut him
short.
“It ain't mine!” he declared, thrusting it out as
though in sudden resentment. “I ain’t been over there.
What for you come here, anyway?”
“But it is yours, Daddy!” the little girl insisted,
rescuing it before it reached Odell's hand. “Look,
there's where I mended it only yesterday—!”
“Hold your tongue!” The man turned on her in a
low-voiced fury. “Always I say it, you are getting too
fresh for your years! Do I not my own things know?
Throw down that mitten and go in the house. I will
the ducks feed.—And you! You take yourself off!”


102 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
He made an awkward, threatening gesture at Odell,
but the latter merely smiled once more.
“There's nothing to get mad about, is there?” he
asked coolly. “What's the harm if you did use that
short cut through Latimer's place? He never kicked,
did he?”
The man eyed him suspiciously.
“That short cut I have used for many years, but
now since the new people come I go around by the
road. What is it to you that you bring here that
dirty mitten? That child, she talks silly; it is not
mine!”
“Well, it's nothing to me.” Odell shrugged. “I
suppose you’ve heard the news?”
“Never is there news, and I want none of it!” the
other retorted savagely. “My own business I mind,
and other peoples better mind theirs! Peaceable I am,
and I ask nothings of nobody but to be let alone!—
Get along with you!”
“Then you don’t know that Latimer has been mur-
dered?” Odell asked casually, ignoring the rough
command.
“Murdered!” The man stood as though dazed for
a moment. Then his chin with its bristling beard
was thrust slowly outward as he brought his eyes
nearer and nearer to those of Odell, in a gaze of in-
credulity in which horror gradually dawned. “What
devil's talk is dis?”
“It is true, Vorn,” Odell replied quietly. “He was
killed last night down by the pond. It’s a wonder
you didn't see the body when you passed that way.”


THE RED MITTEN 103
“Me!” The man threw up his arms as he retreated
a step or two, and in his threadbare short-coat he
looked like some gaunt scare-crow. “But I did not pass
that way, I am telling you! I go by the village, yes,
but I do not use the short cut! Today I have work to
do, I stay by my house; my little girl can tell you!
How should I hear if that man is dead?”
His guttural tones had risen wildly, but it was not
that which caused Odell to stare at him for a moment
in silence. The unconscious gesture with which Vorn
had repudiated the suggestion of his possible presence
at the scene of the murder had brought back vividly
to the younger man's mind a totally different picture
which had been described to him. Could Vorn have
been the central figure in that?
“News usually travels fast in the country,” Odell
responded with a laugh and turned as though to go,
but halted. “As long as that mitten isn't yours, will
you ask your little girl to give it back to me?”
"Vorn stood rubbing his ear in obvious perplexity
and suspicion, and finally he demanded:
“What you want it for? A dirty, worn-out thing
that some tramp dropped?”
“Because we're going to find that tramp, and we'll
need that mitten as evidence against him,” Odell re-
plied with an assumption of candor. “I’m working
with Sheriff Pettingill to find out who killed Latimer,
and the man who dropped that mitten passed by the
pond either in the late afternoon or the evening. If
it was in the afternoon, of course, he couldn't have
known anything about it, for Latimer wasn't killed
º


THE RED MITTEN 105
there I do not go! Give the mitten to the sheriff and
tell him that Chris Vorn says “may devil take him”!”
Without a backward glance he turned and stumped
into the house again, banging the door behind him; but
as Odell went through the rickety little gate once more
and crossed the road he felt a vague but insistent
consciousness of eyes watching him from those blank,
unlighted windows he had left behind.
That the mitten was indeed Vorn's Odell did not
doubt, for the child's identification had been sure, and
corroborated by her father's attitude if not by his
words. It might be a simple matter to prove that he
had been in the village during the afternoon, but
if he had used the short cut then, why had he denied
the fact even when assured that no suspicion could
be attached to him for his presence on the Latimer
property at that time?
Could there have been bad blood between Latimer
and himself? When he had flung out his arms in that
wild gesture, the picture it recalled to Odell's mind
was that of the man without an overcoat who had
leaped in front of Latimer's car on the way back from
the station late the previous afternoon, whom Curry,
the chaffeur, had mentioned. Vorn was morose and
excitable, and according to the sheriff embittered
against the world because of a domestic tragedy. Was
he also a trifle mad?
When Odell reached the Latimer house once more
the sheriff was waiting in his car with the engine
running and lamps lighted.
“Where in the world have you been?” the latter


106 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
grumbled. “I’ve been down to the pond looking for
you, but you weren't in sight. What have you got
there?”
For Odell had stooped and was examining in the
rays from the lamps a shapeless red object which he
held in his hands. After a moment he straightened
and remarked with a rueful laugh:
“I’ve been nabbing city crooks for a matter of six
years, John, and I had to come out here to be tricked
by a farmer! You've an old country saying about
‘getting the mitten,' haven't you? Well, I've got it
all right, but it's not the one I had before! I've been
buncoed!”


CHAPTER IX.
THE SHADOWS
HE ride back to the sheriff's home was a compara-
tively silent one, for Barry Odell had laughingly
declined to explain yet where and how he had come
into possession of the red mitten, and the older man
seemed enveloped in an air of grim self-confidence
which he maintained throughout supper.
When the meal was finished, however, the latter
suggested to the city detective that they go over to
the coroner's and learn how his individual investiga-
tion was progressing, since no word had come from
him, and Odell assented with alacrity. The village
practitioner's shrewd analysis of Mrs. Latimer's men-
tal reaction following the discovery of the tragedy
had made him curious as to the stand the official would
take at the inquest.
They found Dr. Hale in the small room back of his
combined office and “parlor” which served as a labor-
atory pacing the floor deep in thought; and when his
elderly maiden sister showed them in he greeted them
with an abstracted nod and spoke as though continu-
ing a conversation which had been uninterrupted be-
tween them.
“If the object were heavy enough, a light blow
107


108 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
would have done the trick; but of course it would have
had to be pretty hefty—” *
“What on earth are you getting at, Doc?” The
sheriff seated himself and putting his hat on the floor
beside him reached in his pocket for a cigar. “What
trick? Caved Latimer's skull in, you mean?”
Odell's quick eyes darting around the room had
lighted upon the anchor lying on a plain deal table
in the corner, and he nodded in comprehension.
“That occurred to me, too,” he observed. “The
sharp point of that fluke would have gone in like a
harpoon.”
“Exactly.” The genial, elderly face of the doctor
beamed upon him, and then the latter turned to the
sheriff. “That was dried blood all right on the anchor,
John; human blood, at that; and yet I am not satis-
fied that it was the weapon with which the murder
was committed. The autopsy showed that Latimer
had been dealt a blow that might have been heavy
or comparatively light, the strength behind it depend-
ing upon the weight of the instrument used. The
fluke of that anchor is so sharp that if it had been
brought down with all the strength of an angry or
desperate man it would have been likely to have split
Latimer's head clean in two!” -
“But you said yourself—” began the sheriff.
“That it must have taken a powerful blow with a
sharp-edged instrument?” Dr. Hale interrupted. “I
know I did, but I'd only had a chance for a superficial
examination then. The frontal and left temporal were
cracked like an egg-shell, but the wound was more
*


THE SHADOWS 109
crushing that penetrating. A child could have done
it with a sledge-hammer, provided any child could have
had the strength to lift such a thing, do you see?”
“Then what was he killed with if it wasn’t the an-
chor, and how did the blood get on it?” the sheriff
demanded. “What's become of the weapon?”
“‘Who killed Cock Robin?’” retorted the coroner
good-naturedly. “Not that anybody seems to be claim-
ing the honor of the achievement in this case, but
we’ve got more questions to answer than that before
we get at the truth. I’ve set ten o'clock tomorrow
morning at the Latimer house for the inquest, and
sent the body back this afternoon. Have you boys
stirred up anything?”
“You got the bag and the fur coat with the piece
torn from it that I sent over to you by the constable?”
Pettingill asked.
The coroner nodded gravely.
“Yes, John. I’ve had a talk with Bangs, too, and
those visitors who arrived this afternoon; the lawyer
and that brother and sister named Agnew. I don't
know yet what steps you’ve taken in the matter, but
nobody’ll leave the Latimer place tonight; I’ve seen
to that. You didn't get much from Hi Claggett at
the station, did you?”
While the sheriff and Dr. Hale compared notes Odell
allowed his attention to wander about the room. It
was a curious, homely place, and there appeared to be
an odd sort of methodical arrangement even in its
apparent disorder which shed an illuminating side-
light on the character of its occupant. Every inch of


110 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
wall space within reach was covered with shelves filled
with vials and retorts, and upon a long table beside
the sink antiquated paraphernalia of an earlier medi-
cal school hobnobbed with some of the latest inven-
tions and surgical appliances which to the detective's
knowledge had been introduced only recently in the
hospitals of the city. Evidently this country doctor
in the simple, monotonous round of his daily practice
had not permitted himself to rust. So far as his lim-
ited resources availed, he had kept abreast of his
profession at least.
The moleskin coat which Mrs. Latimer had worn
that morning was spread carefully across a chair in
the corner, and the bag that he himself had fished
from the brook was open on the floor beside the deal
table on which its former contents, together with the
anchor, had been placed. Odell's gaze caught also the
glint of gold and platinum trinkets and a little heap of
coins, and he was on the point of rising and strolling
over to examine them more closely when a remark
of the sheriff's arrested him.
“But the man with the cough who was talking to
Latimer at the station wasn’t seen after the eight-
fifty went through to the city. Strangers can’t get
around this part of the country much without being
remarked, especially in winter. I should think it was
pretty certain he beat it away on that train.”
“Nobody saw him come, yet he was there; and as
far as I have been able to find out, nobody saw Latimer
between the station and his own home grounds, but
he didn't fly to the pond in one of his own airplanes,”


112 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
for him, but I'm afraid it'll have to stand till the in-
quest is over. We can't expect any definite verdict,
with only that evidence over there to go on.”
He gestured toward the deal table in the corner,
and Odell drew slowly from his pocket the red mitten.
“Not being officially connected with the investiga-
tion, I thought it would be fair game to keep this to
myself until I had satisfied my own doubts concerning
it,” he remarked as he handed it over for inspection.
“However, I'll tell you about it on condition that you
will give me until half an hour before the inquest to
look into the matter unhindered; I'll meet you then,
Doctor, and put you in possession of whatever further
facts I may have been able to discover in the mean-
time.” -
He told of what had happened from the finding of
the mitten to his interview with the taciturn Vorn,
and the coroner and sheriff listened with keen inter-
est. When he had finished, the latter observed:
“Chris has been grouchy and queer for a long time,
but I don't think he's crazy, and there could be only
one reason for his exchanging the mittens like that;
there must have been something on the first one that
you didn't notice.”
“Blood, maybe?” The coroner started and then
shrugged. “Vorn's an ignorant fellow and surly, but
I don't believe he's dangerous. I'd like a look at that
other mitten, but I suppose it was in the stove be-
fore you got back to the Latimer place. If he passed
through the south pasture in the afternoon, he is prob-
ably afraid to admit it for fear he'll be dragged into


THE SHADOWS 113
this in some way. Wish you would find out all you can
about it, Sergeant.”
“I’ll do my best,” the young man replied as he slipped
the road map into his pocket. He was on the point
once more of rising when the sheriff asked:
“Going to put Mrs. Latimer on the stand tomor-
row, Doc?”
“Of course, if she is well enough to testify.” Dr.
Hale stared. “I mean to find out how that piece of fur
came to be hanging on a branch in that clump of holly
trees.”
“We—ell,” the sheriff smiled slowly, and the look
of grim significance which Odell had observed earlier
returned to his lean countenance. “If you can kind
of get around to it, find out how well she knows these
Agnews and what she thinks of them, particularly
the brother, Starr Agnew.”
“What's that?” The coroner sat back in his chair.
“I don’t take much stock in a man on a station plat-
form who can't be found after a certain train has
pulled out, but I do in a torn piece of fur practically
on the scene of the murder, especially when we’ve got
the garment it belonged to, and the word of a witness
that he knocked for nearly ten minutes on a locked
door without getting any response from inside. You
said that a child could have struck that blow which
killed Latimer if it could have lifted anything heavy
enough to do the trick. There's the anchor, and you
admit that there was human blood on it. A child
mightn't have lifted it to the height of Latimer's
head, but a woman could, and she might have put just


114 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
enough strength in the blow to crush his forehead.”
“Hold on there, John!” the coroner exclaimed, and
his genial face had become very grave. “I know what
you're driving at, of course, but it's a pretty nasty
job to accuse a delicate, sensitive woman—”
“Oh, Lord!” Pettingill cried impatiently. “That's
the sentimental tomfoolery that has made women think
they can do anything and get away with it by making
eyes at the jury! I'm talking facts!”
“So am I,” the coroner returned equably. “I haven’t
been a doctor for thirty years for nothing, John, and
I know what neurotic, hysterical women are capable
of; but where's the motive? Granted that Latimer
was from all accounts a good deal of a brute and she
wasn't over happy, there isn't any reason for her to
have taken his life! She could have gone back with
her two old servants to where she came from, and if
he pestered her, got a legal separation.”
“Separation don't mean freedom.” The sheriff
chewed vigorously on his unlighted cigar. “You were
with me, Barry, when I talked to her this morning.
Did she give me a direct answer when I put it to her
straight if she knew of anyone who might want him
out of the way? She looked me in the eye and asked
me who could wish it! I think I'm getting to the an-
swer to it now, and whoever killed Latimer, man or
woman, is going to pay for it so long as I’m sheriff
of this county! There isn’t going to any mawkishness
about this case, nor any fool made of me! Suppose she
wanted her freedom for a fresh start that she'd maybe
passed up before or didn't realize until it was too late?


THE SHADOWS 115
I guess we’ve found out enough about Latimer's char-
acter to know that he wouldn’t give up anything
that belonged to him without a fight, and he'd put
up a good one! This afternoon when you had gone down
to the pond I had another talk with Starr Agnew,
and from one thing and another I gathered that he's
in love with Mrs. Latimer and always was. He said
in your hearing, Barry, that Latimer's death was
‘shocking,” but he didn't then or later make the slight-
est pretense at regret over it; and do you remember
the very first question he asked us after the lawyer
had left him alone with us?”
Odell nodded.
“He asked how Mrs. Latimer was.”
“Exactly. Nothing about the murder, nor how
it happened, nor anything! His first thought was of
her! I guess he didn’t know what I was driving at
when Italked with him later, and he gave himself dead
away. Latimer's dead and she's free; that one fact
was too big in his own eyes for him to begin to bother
with details yet, and he's taken it for granted that the
educated Chinaman or some other of Latimer's enemies
did it. No, if we can sound her and find out whether
she cares for him or not—”
“And how she knew that Latimer was going to turn
back from the station last night, and why she went
out in the cold and waited for him by the pond when
she had plenty of time and opportunity to kill him
comfortably in the house if she had wanted to, and
trump up some burglary story!” the coroner inter-
rupted. “You might as well figure that Agnew was


116 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
the man at the station last night, and followed him
home and knocked him on the head!”
“I know it.” The sheriff smiled again. “The motive
would have been the same. That idea occurred to
me, too, with such force that I’ve sent a wire to the city
to have Mr. Starr Agnew's movements last night
looked up pretty thoroughly! The only thing Hi Clag-
gett noticed about the fellow at the station last night
besides his hat and coat was that he had a nasty kind
of a cough; so has Agnew.”
“So has every second person you meet, in such
weather as this!” the coroner remarked. “I could
have made my everlasting fortune this winter if I’d
been a quack! I talked with Agnew, too, remember,
and as you say he doesn’t make any pretense of grief
over Latimer's death; but neither has anybody else.
Agnew's straightforward and clean-cut; if he'd had
murder on his soul he wouldn't have talked to you
with such unguarded frankness, John. That's your
answer. If he turns out to have been the man at
the station, I'll listen to your theory; but just now
I think he's out of it even if he does care for Mrs.
Latimer, as you believe.”
“And Mrs. Latimer?” the sheriff asked. -“You’d
know if she was used to taking drugs, wouldn't you?
If she wasn't, why couldn't that butler make her hear
when he pounded on her door? And can you get
away from that piece of fur torn from her coat?”
“No, and I’m not going to get away from the last
person Latimer was seen with alive, either!” retorted
Dr. Hale. “This isn't the first time you and I have


THE SHADOWS 117
looked at a case from different angles, John. Some-
times you were right and sometimes I was, and some-
times we were both barking up wrong trees; but if
this wasn't an official matter I’d lay you a nice little
wager on it!”
The sheriff rose and Odell followed suit.
“All right,” the former said. “We’ll be at the in-
quest tomorrow and see what that brings out; but
take a little tip from me, Doc—watch Mrs. Latimer's
face when you spring that torn coat on her! 'Night!”
As they trudged back toward the sheriff's home
Odell asked:
“Has Worm got any relatives? His little girl told
me that she and her father lived alone mostly.”
“‘Mostly?’” Pettingill echoed. “There ain't a soul
on earth belonging to him besides that kid that I
know of, and you saw yourself how cordial he'd be likely
to be to company. There hasn’t been anybody else
around his place that I’ve heard of since his wife ran
away about five years ago, and I heard that she'd
died out West, somewhere. — Here, where're you go-
ing?” *
“I won't be in just yet, if you don't mind,” he smiled.
“You told me to take a hand in this case in my own
way, you know. Don't let Mrs. Pettingill worry or
leave the door on the latch, for I may not be in all
night. A thaw's set in, anyway, so I won't freeze
to death, and I want to satisfy myself about some-
thing.”
“You and Doc Hale!” the sheriff chuckled. “Still
hanging on to the idea of that red mitten, are you?


118 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Well, look out if you go prowling around the Latimer
place that some one of the deputies don't take a pot
shot at you in the dark! I'll bet Doc's got the grounds
policed, and I know I sent a few of the boys out there
myself at sundown to keep an eye on things. If you
don't show up by breakfast time I'll come and look
for you; can’t trust you city detectives around these
desperate parts by yourselves.”
With a laughing wave of his hand he turned up the
street toward his own home, and Odell continued on
alone. The thaw of which he had spoken was apparent
not only in the mildness of the air but in the melting
of the hard crust which had covered the snow. Trees
and the eaves of the already darkened houses dripped
in an incessant, multitudinous tinkle, and now and
then there came the soft rushing impact of a minia-
ture snowslide from some slanting roof.
The inhabitants of Sunnymead had evidently talked
themselves out for the time being on the subject of .
the murder and had retired, for no light, except the
infrequent street lamps, shone before any door on
Main Street until he came to the drugstore.
Here a brilliant ray cut across the sidewalk, and
through the show-window Odell could see a sleepy-
eyed clerk engaged in shutting up shop. He paused
and drawing from his pocket the road map which the
coroner had given him, he scanned it hastily.
Having located the county seat it was a simple mat-
ter to trace Marsh Road winding westward from the
station, and an ejaculation escaped him as he saw that
it skirted the village and crossed a minor road which


THE SHADOWS 119
ran due east to the south of the road upon which the
Latimer place was situated and almost parallel with it.
That second, narrower road must pass the front of
Vorn's duck farm and other small dwellings, and it
was to avoid that long detour, in all probabilities, that
the short cut through the then Hopewell property had
first come into use.
The light within the drugstore was extinguished
suddenly, but Odell had learned all that he desired;
and folding the map he returned it to his pocket and
struck out once more, past the deserted station and
along Marsh road.
He soon learned how that thoroughfare had come by
its name, for passing the closely huddled frame cot-
tages of this evidently poorer outlying section of the
village he found himself in a region of scattered home-
steads which rose on either hand from dank, frozen
swamplands. The outlines of the houses were plainly
visible against the lesser darkness of the sky, and
when Odell had trudged for the better part of two
miles, as accurately as he could judge, upon the nar-
rower turnpike into which he had turned from Marsh
Road, he began to scrutinize each dwelling on his left
as he neared it, trying to recall the general contour
of the ramshackle Vorn cottage as he had seen it from
the rear in the afternoon.
He need have had no fear of missing it even in the
darkness, for as he at length approached the low, sag-
ging-roofed house with its huddled sheds on the edge
of the marsh the subdued, sleepy quacking and stir
of innumerable ducks reached his ears.


120 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
No light had been visible from any of the farmhouses
which he had passed for the last half hour or more,
but from between the broken shutters of a tiny side
window of the Vorn dwelling a faint, flickering ray
stole across the darkness. Odell left the road and
crept toward it.
There were no trees in the bare side yard, but ir-
regular clumps of ragged bushes screened his approach
from any possible watchful eye, and his footsteps made
no sound on the softening snow.
The sill of the window was about a foot above his
head as he stood beneath it, but an old wooden tub
lay near. Overturning it, Odell stepped up on it and
put his eye to the rift in the shutter. The glass pane
of the window had long since been broken, but a cheap
shade of light paper had been drawn carefully down
over the opening; and all that met his gaze was a
blank expanse of dim light which flared fitfully like
a guttering candle.
He heard the low, muttering rumble of Vorn's voice
and wondered for an instant if the man could be talk-
ing to himself. Then all at once there came a stir
within the room, the light fluttered, and two shadows
appeared against the blind; the shapes of two tall,
stoop-shouldered, shambling figures, strangely alike,
which faced each other against the candle's flickering
gleam.


CHAPTER X.
THE INQUEST
Y NINE o'clock the next morning, although the
thaw had rendered the roads almost impassable,
every route which led in the direction of the Latimer
place was clogged with rattling motors and straining
teams, and with difficulty a path was forced up the
driveway for the sheriff's small car. Pettingill and
Odell were admitted to the house by the constable,
who had been standing guard at the front door.
“Doc Hale's waiting for you in the library,” the
latter announced. “I never saw such a crowd! The
whole country's here a'ready, and more a-coming!”
“Has the Latimer lawyer returned yet this morn-
ing?” the sheriff asked.
“Both of them, senior and junior,” replied Wex
Price. “That young lady visitor that came yesterday,
Miss Agnew, stayed over night and she's with Mrs.
Latimer now, I guess. Her brother went back to
the city with Mr. Crewe on the six o'clock train last
evening and came out with him and the older lawyer
an hour ago. I guess maybe you'll find them with
the coroner in the library now.”
But they found Dr. Hale alone, pacing up and down
before the hearth in his customary abstraction. He
halted as they entered and closed the door carefully be-
hind them.
121


122 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“What the dickens did you two mean by that 'phone
message this morning?” he demanded. “Who's this
fellow you’ve got in jail, and what has Chris Vorn and
his red mitten to do with the case, after all?”
“That's for you to find out, Doc?” the sheriff
chuckled. “You are running the show today. About
the man in jail, he's Chris Worn's brother, Conrad.
We've got that much out of him, or rather Barry Odell
has; I'm not taking any credit for it. Conrad Worn
is the man who got off the four o'clock train on the
afternoon before the murder.”
“You remember, Doctor, that the sheriff told you
of our conversation with Mr. Crewe, the junior member
of the law firm which acted for Mr. Latimer?” Odell
asked, and at the coroner's nod he went on: “Mr.
Crewe was very anxious to know if among the effects
found on the body or in the bag there was a certain
document.”
“I remember,” Dr. Hale remarked.
“You know that according to Mr. Crewe this docu-
ment was not to be found yesterday in the house, and
when the sheriff and I fished the bag up from the
brook its contents bore every appearance of having
been pretty thoroughly ransacked,” Odell continued,
drawing from his pocket a thick wad of crumpled
sheets of paper bound in a pale blue cover which bore
marks of obviously rough handling. “...he constable
told us just now that Mr. Crewe arrived an "-our ago.”
“Yes.” The coroner stared. “Do you mean to say
that is the missing document?”
“I would like Mr. Crewe's opinion on that point, with


THE INQUEST 123
your approval, Doctor,” responded Odell. “I wrested
this from Conrad Vorn's possession last night.”
“Then it was he who searched the bag and dropped
it into the brook!” the coroner exclaimed. “If he did
that—!” -
“Perhaps, if he wore his brother's/mittens.” Odell
smiled. “Much against his inclination, Chris Vorn
has been brought over from his duck farm and is
under guard of a deputy in the garage waiting his
turn to appear before you at the inquest.”
“But this can’t be the paper Crewe was after! I
understood you to say that he described it as being
typewritten; these papers look more if the letters on
, them had been printed with a very fine brush by hand,
and there are some crude drawings here, besides!”
“A camel's hair brush and India ink. If you remem-
ber, Crewe claimed that he obtained merely a glimpse
of it. Those crude drawings resemble mechanical plans
of some sort, I think, and recalling Latimer's own
statement to Crewe that they were of importance in
connection with some work now in progress in his
factories, it is safe to infer that they are designs, in
part at least, of the small “flivver' planes upon which
the manufacturer's hopes were centered.”
Dr. Hale stepped to the door and called the con-
stable, who appeared with suspicious promptitude.
“Wex, will you find Mr. Crewe and ask him to step
here for a moment?” When the door had closed again
he added: “Whatever this document is, it seems to
be an original; I wonder why Mr. Latimer didn't have
copies made of it, if it is of such importance?”


124 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“It may be that he did not care to trust it to anyone
else even for a time,” Odell responded.
A light tap at the door announced the arrival of Mr.
Crewe, who entered and stood gazing from one to
another of them with an expectant air not untinged
with anxiety.
“Mr. Crewe.” The coroner advanced. “You men-
tioned yesterday a certain document which was miss-
ing from the effects of your late client. May I ask
if you have discovered it?”
“No, sir. I have not.”
“Is this it?” Dr. Hale held out the blue-covered
sheaf of papers and the other started forward.
“Yes!” he cried eagerly and held out his hand for it;
then as if realizing the precipitancy of his action he
drew back cautiously. “At least, it resembles closely
the document which Mr. Latimer displayed in our
office on Tuesday. You have examined it?”
“Yes, and the same privilege will be extended to
you after the inquest, which will shortly be held,” the
coroner responded. “Your statement that this resem-
bles closely the document which you then saw is all
that I desire from you at the present moment.”
Mr. Crewe did not accept or even resent the hint.
“It resembles it merely as one conventionally bound
document resembles another,” he demurred. “I may
have been over hasty in my partial identification. I
should prefer not to be placed on record—”
“You shall not be, Mr. Crewe.” The coroner folded
the document and placed it on the mantel beside the
torch. “I am ready now to proceed with the inquest.”


THE INQUEST 125
There was nothing for the attorney to do but to
withdraw, and Dr. Hale, together with the sheriff
and Odell, after the latter had told the others some-
thing more of his experience of the previous night, re-
paired to the drawing-room, which, together with the
dining-room which opened from it, was packed with
the morbidly curious inhabitants of the neighborhood.
Taking his place behind a table at a cleared space
at one end of the room, the coroner opened proceed-
ings by picking a jury at random from among the vil-
lagers and farmers who formed the audience. When
they had viewed the body he turned to Wex Price, who
with preternatural gravity wreathing his countenance
stood at one side, and ordered:
“Call Jimmie Vail.”
Jimmie Vail was duly sworn and testified to the
finding of the body. He was corroborated by his
mother and Sam Jenks, the latter attesting to its iden-
tification as that of Gilbert Latimer, and they were
followed in turn by the gardener and chauffeur, the
testimony of neither of whom brought out the slightest
fresh detail.
There was a little expectant stir among the specta-
tors when Mrs. Latimer was called and she entered
from the hall clad in a straight black gown which em-
phasized her slenderness and habitual pallor. Her
small head with its bands of dull gold hair was held
proudly erect, and her calm, blue eyes fixed themselves
upon the coroner as though she were unconscious of
the presence of the others.
The bevy of reporters from the metropolitan dailies


126 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
scribbled madly, and the country folk stared with all
their eyes; but her testimony was devoid of sensa-
tion, being under the coroner's shrewd, benevolent
guidance a mere repetition of what she had already
told of her movements on the night of the murder
and the previous day.
Thinking her examination over, she had turned as
though to leave the stand when Dr. Hale leaned for-
ward suddenly.
“Mrs. Latimer, when were you last in the vicinity
of the pond, near the scene of your husband's death,
previous to the discovery of his body?” The coroner
spoke sternly as though having done with fencing,
and a little gasp like a prolonged sigh ran around the
crowded room while the woman in the witness chair
turned a shade more pale. But she held her head still
proudly erect and her eyes did not waver as she re-
plied:
“I cannot remember; certainly not since the last
heavy snowstorm made walking difficult. Before that
I frequently strolled about the grounds.”
“Sheriff.” The coroner turned to Pettingill, who was
seated just behind him. “You know the fur coat there?”
For answer the sheriff produced the moleskin coat
with its torn side turned carefully inward, and while
the crowd gaped Dr. Hale held the garment out to the
witness, but just beyond her reach.
“Mrs. Latimer, do you identify this?”
Instinctively she extended her hands toward it and
then drew back, moistening her lips with the tip of her
tongue.


THE INQUEST 127
“Yes, it is mine. At least I think that it is. I
have a moleskin coat–" Her voice died away in her
throat and for the first time her eyes wavered. “Of
course it must be mine! But I have not worn it in
some time; I have not been out of the house except in
the car for more than a fortnight—!”
As though conscious that her protest was ill-timed,
she caught herself up abruptly and waited in a tense
silence for the next question, but it was not forthcom-
ing. Instead, the coroner nodded gravely. -
“That will do, Mrs. Latimer. You are excused. Ser-
geant Odell!”
In a daze Mrs. Latimer rose and turned, her eyes
searching the curious, eager faces clustered close about
until they came to rest upon those of an elderly man
of imposing bearing and a mass of snow-white hair
falling over a high, prominent forehead who stepped
forward and offered her his arm.
He led her from the room as Odell advanced, and the
latter observed that they were joined in the doorway by
Crewe. Evidently the elderly stranger was Lefferts,
the senior member of the law firm which had acted for
Latimer and now represented his widow.
The young detective, being sworn, testified to the
torn fragment of fur which he had found hanging on
the holly branch, and before the staring eyes of the
jury and the spectators it was fitted into the rent in
the coat. The murmur which followed was rising to a
hubbub when the coroner sternly demanded silence
and created a diversion by producing the bag and draw-


128 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
ing from Odell the story of its recovery from the
brook.
Proceedings thereafter slumped once more in inter-
est for a time as the Sergeant was followed by Bangs;
the housemaid, Ruth Oliver; Maggie Ruggles; and Hi-
ram Claggett, the station-master. During the noon
recess which immediately followed the latter's testi-
mony, the jury was herded off by itself into the recep-
tion room and the coroner gesticulated toward it hope-
lessly.
“I told you!” he addressed the sheriff. “They're
mixed enough on the testimony as it stands now, but
what with the good lunch which Bangs is stuffing
them with at the present moment and after they hear
Chris Worn and his brother dodge the issue, as they're
bound to do, about the only fact the jury will settle
on is that Latimer is dead, and that because they’ve
seen the body!”
“I don't know,” the sheriff responded thoughtfully.
“Next to the weather, about the most uncertain thing
I know of is a jury. I've known them to spring some
surprises in my time, and I guess you have, too, eh,
Barry?”
Odell nodded. ,
“You’re handing them a lot of seemingly unrelated
facts and uncorroborated statements, which can’t be
helped under the circumstances, and you can scarcely
hope for any definite result.”
They lunched hastily and when the inquest was re-
sumed the first witness called was Christopher Vorn.
He took his place with a lowering, sullen air which


THE INQUEST 129
did not change as he muttered a guttural response to
the oath administered to him and shot a malignant
glance toward Odell, who had once more taken up his
stand in the background among the spectators.
“Chris,” the coroner began unceremoniously, “you
knew Mr. Latimer?”
“Sure, I knew him by sight, and I spoke to him once.”
There was surly defiance in his tone. '
“When was this? On what occasion?”
“When he ordered me off his land not a month ago!
No harm was I doing, but he said that we who live on
the back road may no longer go by the short cut to
the village. Always the Hopewells were willing, glad
that we use that narrow path through the south pas-
ture that cuts off more than a mile and saves time that
is money for us who work, but he must come and buy
this place and say that we must not put foot upon it!”
“Do you mean that you quarreled with him?” the
coroner asked quickly, but Chris shrugged.
“Why should I quarrel? He is right, the land is his.
I just tell him that I come no more where I am not
wanted, and I keep my word. When I have need to
go to the village or my little girl, she goes by the school,
it is the road we use; the neighbors, they can tell
you that!” He squared his shoulders and gazed out
over the crowded room. “By myself I keep, asking
favors of no man, but none can say that I have set
foot on land that is not mine since that time!”
Despite the truculence of his tone there was an un-
conscious, clannish appeal in his words which struck
a chord among the gaping villagers, and here and there


130 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
a voice arose: “Chris is right! He ain’t used the short
cut! I seen him myself goin' 'round by the road more’n
once!”
The coroner pounded sharply on the table before
him.
“Silence, or I'll have the room cleared!—Now, Chris,
when was the last time you went to the village?”
“The day before yesterday, Tuesday. Feed for my
ducks I need, and flour and brown sugar and a new
length of stove-pipe. Plenty peoples, they see me;
by the back road I go, both ways.”
“You went in the afternoon?”
“Late, yes. Almost is it supper time when I get
home.”
“What did you wear on your hands?”
The suspicion of a crafty smile lighted the dull
features for an instant, and then they resumed their
habitual stolidity.
“Nothing. My mittens, they have been lost since
the day before when I go to gather wood along the
shore. By the rocks I leave them and forget, and it
must be that the tide carries them out. I do not miss
them until the next day, and my little girl, she cannot
find them around the house. Such a business to be
made about a pair of old mittens!”
“Then you went to the village and back on Tuesday
afternoon barehanded, Chris?” The coroner bent for-
ward. “You swear to that?”
“Sure I swear to it! That smart feller who came
around yesterday afternoon—"
“Wait a minute. When you got horne on Tuesday


THE INQUEST 131
afternoon, whom did you find in your house besides
your daughter?”
“My brother Conrad.” Chris shifted in his chair and
his voice lowered.
“Did you expect him?”
“No.”
“What did he come for?”
The man's glowering temper suddenly flamed out.
“What for would he come? He is my only liv-
ing relative besides the child! Why should he not
want to see us, to pay us a visit?”
The coroner paid no heed to the impertinence of the
retort. Instead, he demanded suddenly in a tone which
brooked no evasion:
“Chris, where does your brother Conrad work?”
For an instant a tide of crimson flooded the heavy,
lowering face, and it was averted from the public gaze.
The next, Chris had straightened, gripping both arms
of his chair, and flung back his head defiantly.
“Conrad, he works in Mr. Latimer's factory, in New
Jersey!”


CHAPTER XL
THE WERDICT
HE CORONER quelled the incipient riot of ex-
citement which followed Chris's revelation and
asked:
“Didn't he come to visit you in order to get some-
thing which Mr. Latimer had? Didn't he mention it
to you?”
“If he did, I did not hear him.” Chris's small eyes
narrowed to a mere slit. “I do not remember that any-
thing was talked of last night except family matters
until all at once a man he breaks in through my win-
dow! He comes so quick that I do not see it is that
young feller from the sheriff's office. I think it is a
thief, a robber, and when I go for him he knocks me
by my head and I don’t know nothings more. For that,
Mr. Coroner, there shall be damages! When I wake up
I am tied with my own clothes line and my brother
too, and that crazy young feller, he talk a lot of non-
sense I don't know nothings about! I am a respectable
man, I mind my own business, why should I be so
treated?”
He spread his hands out in an injured fashion, and
his tone was that of one bewildered and maligned;
but his eyes furtively swept the jury and then darted
toward the door. It was obvious that to the best
of his ability he was playing safe for himself in spite
132


THE VERDICT 133
of what his brother had disclosed or might still dis-
close.
“You say that you and your brother were discussing
family matters, Chris; what family matters? Do you
deny that he wanted to go away and you tried to pre-
vent him, that you were afraid to have him seen leav.
ing your house?”
“No!” Chris snarled. “And for why? Because in
the afternoon that same smart young feller come by
my house with a red mitten, and my little girl says
it is mine. Then he says it is found on Latimer's place
and that Latimer is dead, murdered! It is not my
mitten, and I have not been on the land which Lati-
mer owns, but I am a poor man with no friends, and
Imake no secret that I am angry the short cut is closed.
That smart young city feller with the big head, he
wants to make for himself a name out here, he is ready
to say that I, an honest man, killed Latimer! If he
knows that my brother works for Latimer and he
sees him leaving my house at night like he was running
away from somethings, he will try to say next that
Conrad did it! I want no trouble, I tell my brother
better he lose another day's work than that we get
mixed up in somethings we know nothings about!”
“Chris, have you ever seen this before?” The coro-
ner suddenly produced the crumpled, blue-covered
sheaf of papers, and in spite of himself the witness
shrank back slightly in his chair.
“That young city feller, he showed me one like that
last night, but I don't know nothings about it!” he mut-
tered. “I never seen it before!”
“How about this?” The coroner reached beneath the


134 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
table and then held out the anchor. “When did you
last have this in your hand?”
Slowly Chris Vorn's weatherbeaten face whitened,
but he shook his head stubbornly once more.
“Never! It is for boats, and plenty of them have I
seen down by the shore, but mostly bigger.” He was
breathing heavily and now he swallowed with a visible
effort. “Never have I had it in my hand!”
Tenaciously the coroner continued his questioning,
but Chris refused to be drawn out further. He was at
length permitted to leave the stand, although the con-
stable did not immediately remove him from the room
but waved him to a chair against the wall apart from
the spectators, where he sat in stolid resentment.
The next witness called proved a surprise to the
sheriff and Odell as well as the others.
“Edward Bemis.”
A small man, slightly bald, stepped forward spryly.
He deposed that he was the remaining partner and now
sole proprietor of Bemis & Son, Hardware and House-
hold Furnishings, of Sunnymead, that Christopher
Vorn entered his store between four and five o'clock
on the afternoon of the previous Tuesday and pur-
chased from him personally a length of stove-piping,
and furthermore that the said Christopher Vorn was
at the time wearing a pair of red worsted mittens.
Chris Vorn, recalled to the stand, declared flatly that
the testimony of Ed. Bemis regarding the mittens was
several profane kinds of a lie, and there the coroner
permitted the question to rest, motioning for Chris
to be removed from the room.
When he had disappeared, Conrad Worn was called.


THE VERDICT 135
Once more an ill-restrained rumble and stir of excite-
ment filled the room, and there was a general cran-
ing of necks to view the stranger. Conrad was heavier
and apparently several years older than his brother,
and although in his stoop-shouldered, bony frame and
shambling gait there was a family resemblance, he was
better groomed and far less uncouth in appearance and
Inanner.
He took the oath with the alacrity of a man anxious
to clear himself of suspicion and gazed at the coroner
and jury in a wide-eyed assumption of candor.
“You work in the Latimer Airplane Company's fac-
tory at Latimer, New Jersey?” the coroner asked.
“What is your position?”
“I’m a mechanician; work in the assembling room.”
He spoke crisply with no trace of the guttural note
which characterized his brother's tones. “I got a
couple of days off and came out here to see my
brother.”
“Have you paid him a previous visit lately?”
“No, sir, not in years. Chris and I–well, we ain’t
been exactly chummy, not since we was boys. Not that
there was a word between us!” he added hastily. “But
Chris ain't progressive, and he never was what you'd
call up and coming. I've been knocking around from
one job to another for the last twenty odd years.”
“Why did you come to see your brother now?”. The
coroner leaned forward over the table. “Did he send
for you?”
“No, sir. It was what you might call a surprise
visit.” Conrad Vorn bent nearer also, and although
his voice lowered confidentially it carried to every lis-


136 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
tening ear. “You see, I ain’t been easy in my mind
about him for some time past, and I wanted to make
sure ever'thing was all right with him on account of
the little kid, and all.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the coroner. “What
could be wrong with him?”
The witness tapped his forehead significantly.
“Chris ain’t never been real bright.” His gaunt,
seamed face flushed darkly. “I’m his brother and it’s
rotten, I know, to seem to be knocking him like this,
but I guess you and all the neighbors know how queer
he's been acting, especially since his trouble came and
his wife ran away from him. There wasn’t anything
wrong with him before that; he was just kind of
stupid; but since then he's been brooding, and I was
afraid from his letters he was getting a little—well,
touched. I worried about it, him and the kid here all
alone, and at last I made up my mind I’d run out and
see how they was getting along.”
“You knew that Mr. Latimer, the head of the com-
pany which employed you, lived here?”
Conrad Vorn met the coroner's keen gaze frankly
with a quick nod.
“Sure I did, but I never gave it a thought until yester-
day afternoon when Chris came bursting in the house
with the story that a man had come from the sheriff
with the news that Mr. Latimer had been killed. I
began worrying about my job then and wanted to get
on back to Jersey, but Chris wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Why 7"
“The sheriff's man had rattled him and he was scared
stiff for fear one or the other of us would be suspected


THE VERDICT 137
of knowing something about the murder, on account
of me working for Mr. Latimer and him being sore
about the short cut being closed. That was all rot,
of course, and nobody had a better reason for knowing
it and being able to prove it than I had, but he was
so upset I thought I had better humor him for awhile,
anyway.” Conrad Vorn paused, and then straighten-
ing and gripping the arms of his chair he added delib-
erately: “I’m glad I did, sir! If either of us was
going to be framed, I'm glad they tried it on me in-
stead of on him, for I'm better able to take care of
myself.”
“No one has attempted to frame either of you, as
you call it!” the coroner's tone thundered. “You are
making a graver charge than you realize, Vorn. At
what time did you arrive on your surprise visit to
see if your brother was in his right mind?”
There was a broad note of sarcasm in his tones in-
tended patently to counteract in the minds of the jury
the dramatic impression created by the outburst of the
witness. That it did not wholly fail was evident in
the sheepish smile which appeared here and there on
the faces of the more alert members of that body.
Worn grasped its import also, and he flushed darkly
Once more.
“I got here at four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon.”
His sudden truculence betrayed that the mask of can-
dor had fallen, and he was plainly on the defensive. “I
worked in the factory till noon and then got two full
days’ leave from the foreman; you can telegraph to
him and find out if I ain't telling the truth. I went
around by the road from the station to my brother's


138 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
house because I didn't know anything about the short
cut. I told you I haven’t been here or seen Chris in
years.
“When I got to the farm I found the little girl alone,
and she said my brother had gone to the village for
supplies. He came in just before supper and a few
minutes’ talk with him showed that I’d been worrying
for nothing; he was a little queer, maybe, from being
alone so much, but he ain't actually crazy by a long
shot, and I’d like to see anybody try to prove it!”
“You are the only one who has even suggested it,
Vorn,” the coroner reminded him. “You said that you
had a better reason for knowing and being able to
prove that neither you nor your brother had anything
to do with the murder of Mr. Latimer than anyone
else. That is the subject of this inquiry, and I ask
you now what your reason is, and where is your proof?”
“Because when my brother got back from the village
at supper time on Tuesday, Latimer was alive and well;
you’ve got plenty of witnesses to prove that. From
then until half an hour on the next afternoon when
Chris was in the yard tending to his ducks and that
smart Aleck from the sheriff's office came, which was
long after Latimer had been found dead and frozen
stiff from all accounts, my brother and I was never
out of sight of one another, not for a minute, and we
wasn't even out of his house! That's my reason, Mr.
Coroner, and that's my proof.”
He sat back self-confidently with a calculating eye
upon the jury, and the coroner remarked in shrewd
haste:
“Your testimony as a stranger among us, unveri-


THE VERDICT 139
fied, except as it may be by that of a man about whose
sanity you admit having doubts, isn't proof on the
face of it, Conrad Vorn. Go on with your story. What
excuse did you give your brother for your visit?”
“There ain’t any necessary when a fellow comes to
see the only relations he has in the world, is there?”
Vorn leered.
“Was Mr. Latimer's name mentioned between you
on Tuesday night?”
“No, I don't remember that it was—sir.” The last
word was added grudgingly, as though the witness
sensed the veering attitude of the jury. After all,
he was a stranger, and the coroner was to them also
a physician who had proved his friendship in time
of direst need and never pressed them for payment.
Vorn braced himself once more doggedly in his chair.
“When your brother first returned after you arrival,
did you notice whether or not he was wearing
mittens?”
For the merest fraction of time the witness hesitated
and then replied firmly:
“No, sir. I didn't.”
“Why did you think that your brother would be ac-
cused of killing Mr. Latimer?” The coroner's quiet
tones cut the tensity of the room like a knife-thrust.
“Ain’t I been telling you, sir?” Vorn spoke now with
patient reproach. “Chris had told me the neighbors
was looking cross-eyed at him for keeping by him-
self and that everybody knew he was sore about the
short cut being closed. That fellow making all that
fuss about the mitten showed what a fix the sheriff
was in to find somebody to blame for the murder,


140 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
and it looked to me like they'd try to make a goat of a
poor man who hadn't any friends to speak for him.
I’m no fool, and I knew what kind of a case could
be made out against Chris if I hadn't been here to
prove that he hadn’t even been near Latimer.”
“Yet last night you were anxious to leave?”
“On account of my job; I was due back at noon to-
day. Besides, I'd had time to figure that the sheriff here
wasn’t fool enough after all to try to make Chris
the goat.” Worn chuckled sneeringly. “I never
thought that city fellow would try to hang it on me,
or pull the raw stuff he did!”
The sheriff glanced somewhat uneasily at the cor-
oner. He realized the shrewd cunning of Conrad Vorn
in emphasizing to the jury that Odell, too, was a
stranger among them. He saw clearly what the man
intended to claim and knew the value of first impres-
sions. Upon Doc Hale's personality alone depended
the value of the circumstantial evidence presented
by the finding of that blue-covered document. "
“You admit that your brother was afraid to have
you seen leaving the house, was afraid to have your
very presence there known because you worked for
Mr. Latimer. If he had no more reason for those fears
than you claim, do you still pretend to think that he
is sane and accountable for his actions?” The coroner
spoke still quietly, but he drove each point home with
telling effect. -
“I don’t pretend, I know it!” Vorn retorted harshly.
“After supper last night Chris and I played cards with
the kid till she went to bed, and then we sat and talked.
I got to thinking about getting the last train so’s I


THE VERDICT 141
could be out to my boarding place this morning and
ready to go on with the noon shift today, and Chris
and I were arguing—”
“You weren't fighting, struggling?” The coroner
interrupted sternly.
“No, sir!” Worn's eyes flashed. “We was just talk-
ing when that sheriff's guy comes through the win-
dow, frame and all, and jumped me!”
“Why didn’t you go to your brother's help and put
out this man whom you claimed had attacked you
both without cause?” demanded the coroner, and one
or two of the jurors nodded emphatically.
A slow and wary smile twisted the thin lips of the
witness.
“Because I recognized this bird—excuse me, sir, I
should say the city fellow the sheriff had called in
—from what my brother had told me about him in the
afternoon, and it was up to me to spot this guy's game
if I could. I made up my mind I’d let him go as far as
he liked and then tell the truth about it afterwards.
I ain't afraid to face any fair-minded, honest men in
this World!”
He gazed triumphantly at the jury; but the canny
skepticism he read in the double row of faces showed
him that he had failed to score with his argument,
and he went on hurriedly:
“The fellow came over to where I was lying, and on
the way he picked something up from the table. When
he got over to me I saw that it was some safety pins
of the kid's. Then he pulled out of his pocket a long,
thick, folded paper, light blue or gray, and stuck it
up under my vest and pinned it there with the pins,


142 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
watching me all the time to see if I’d woke up and was
onto him.—I’m telling the truth, so help me!”
He added the last as an ominous murmur rose from
those in the back of the room and one of the jurors
leaped excitedly to his feet. …
“Sit down!” commanded the coroner, and no one pres-
ent had ever heard quite that quality in those usually
patient, fatherly tones before. “Silence there!—Go on,
Worn!”
For once the witness’ bravado appeared to fail him,
and beads of perspiration started visibly on his lined
forehead; but he wiped them away with a defiant
gesture and continued doggedly:
“I didn't know what that paper was, I don't know
now, but I did think it had something to do with Lat-
imer, and I supposed the fellow was going to leave
it there and tie me up like Chris, so it would be found
on me. Right away, though, he unpinned it and looked
at it real careful before he put it back in his pocket
and it came over me all of a sudden how slick he was
and what he'd done that for! It was so there'd be pin
holes in that paper and pin holes in my vest that would
match, and he could pretend that he had taken it away
from me!”
He sprang to his feet and flinging his coat over the
back of his chair tore off his waistcoat and held it
out. At a sign from the coroner the constable took
it and brought it forward. Producing the crumpled
document, the coroner gravely compared the perfor-
ations in it with those in the worn garment and then
gestured to have the two exhibits passed on to the
Jury.


THE VERDICT 143
“Gentlemen,” he said solemnly, “the subject matter
of the paper does not matter at this time. I will ask
you to examine carefully the holes in it and in the vest
to which the witness has alluded and to bear them in
mind, for later I shall submit evidence to you of
another sort concerning them.—Proceed, Vorn. You
still made no attempt to act?”
The contemptuous incredulity in the coroner's tones
stung Vorn, and he retorted:
“Yes, I did! I got mad then,_any man would have
at such a mean trick,-and I forgot I was trying to
beat him at his own game! I fought him, but I'm a
peaceable workingman, I ain't a trained scrapper like
the city police! When the fellow began at me I told
him the truth about who I was and where I worked
and no more; if he says I did, it's a lie! When he
found he couldn’t get anything out of me that he could
twist around to hurt either of us, he went off and got
a couple more deputies and had me hauled off to the
jail and then brought here this morning. I ain't seen
Chris or the kid since, and that's all I’ve got to say,
sir. It's the truth, and I leave it to you and the jury
if a frame-up has been tried on me or not!”
He held out his hand expectantly for his waistcoat,
but the coroner shook his head.
“I guess we'll keep that vest of yours as evidence
for awhile anyway, Vorn. How long have you worked
at the Latimer Airplane Factory in New Jersey?”
“For nearly two years, sir; since April, nineteen-
eighteen.” He shrugged and resuming his coat but-
toned it and sat back in his chair.
“Did you know Mr. Latimer?”


144 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“By sight, yes.”
“Did you ever hear of Sun Hsu?”
The mildly grave, gentle tones of the coroner struck
upon the witness with a curious effect. He blinked,
and for an instant his jaw hung limply while his hands
worked nervously.
“Heard of what, sir?” he said at length.
“A person named Sun Hsu; a man who once had a
paper like this one which you claim was pinned under
your vest,” the coroner explained.
“I don’t think so, sir; I don’t recollect the name.”
Vorn shook his head, adding: “I don’t know anything
more about any paper than I have told you.”
“All right. Did you ever see this before?” The cor-
oner held up the electric torch. “The initials C. V.
are scratched on it. Constable, let the witness examine
it and then pass it on to the gentlemen of the jury.”
Vorn's lip curled.
“I’ve seen a hundred like this!” he declared. “It
don’t belong to me.”
“Very good.” The coroner, too, sat back in his chair.
“You’re excused, Conrad Vorn.”
The witness gave an involuntary start of surprise
and then with a smile of conscious triumph turned to
the door; but the smile faded when the sheriff laid a
hand upon his arm and motioned to two of the depu-
ties who were waiting in the hallway.
“Look here, you can’t hold me!” he blustered. “The
coroner let me go, and you’ve got nothing—!”
His protests died away and were abruptly shut off
by the thud of a closing door.
The coroner then convened the inquest to the scene


THE VERDICT 145
of the murder itself, and in the falling dusk described
to the jury the circumstances of the finding of the
body, and later the bag and the anchor. When they
returned to the house, the jurors were locked in the
dining-room to deliberate, and Odell and the sheriff
met in a small smoking-room.
“Where in time did you go to right after Chris's
brother accused you of framing him? I had three
deputies looking for you!”
“I was on hand when the coroner wanted me again,
wasn't I?” laughed Odell. “I admit that accusation
was a surprise, but it only goes to show that Conrad
Vorn is going to give us good hunting. He's alert and
plausible and bold and as clever as they come; I’m go-
ing to enjoy this, John.”
“I’m glad somebody is.” grumbled Pettingill. “To
my way of thinking, Doc Hale hashed up this inquest
and that dumb jury may have clean lost sight of the
two main clues.”
“What are they?” Odell was still smiling.
“Why, the torn fur coat and the telephone call that
Mrs. Latimer couldn't be found to answer,” the sheriff
responded. “That set of plans or whatever they are
that you found on Conrad Worn may have been stolen
from the house here or from the factory, but in spite
of what you heard those two brothers talking about
through the window I don't believe that either of them
killed Gilbert Latimer!”
“Neither do I,” agreed Odell unexpectedly.
Pettingill stared.
“Coming around to my idea at last?” he exclaimed.
“Beginning to see that Mrs. Latimer—?”


146 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
He got no farther, for a rush of feet in the hall
outside and a subdued but rising clamor drew them
both irresistibly out to learn that the verdict had been
reached. Gilbert Latimer had come to his death by
the hand of a person or persons unknown.


CHAPTER XII.
ODELL’S LONE HAND
tº º ELL, John, it appears to be up to you, now.”
Dr. Hale settled back comfortably and drew
upon his pipe. “I did my part, and like most juries
at an inquest, mine—er, passed the buck this after-
noon. What are you going to do about it?”
It was Thursday evening, and again the coroner, the
sheriff and Barry Odell were gathered in the doctor's
study in an unofficial discussion of the Latimer Case,
as the murder had already come to be known through-
out the countryside and in the sensational metropolitan
dailies.
“I’m going to find out who killed Gilbert Latimer,
just as I told you I would!” John Pettingill retorted.
“I’ve had the two Worns held in the county jail on sus-
picion, but I’m not going to get side-tracked from my
original opinions! Even Barry don't think either of
them did it; he admitted as much to me today.”
Dr. Hale glanced at Odell, who nodded.
“When the sheriff invited me to sit in this game,
Toctor, he told me that I might play a lone hand if I
wanted to, you know, and I’ve taken him at his word.
I have my own theory of the case now, but I must
confess it is a negative one. There are several people
that I think did not commit the crime, but I haven’t
an idea of the actual identity of the one who did,
147


148 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
though I have indications which I hope may lead to
the truth.”
“But you heard Conrad Vorn say there was danger
in his being found in his brother's house!” Dr. Hale
expostulated. “You heard him say he'd got what he
came to Sunnymead for, and you found that set of
plans and specifications on him which Crewe claims
Latimer had when he left the city for home on the day
of his death and which could not have legitimately
come into Conrad's possession!”
“Granted. I also told John this morning that I
thought we had the man who wielded the anchor, and
I still think so; but none of these clues point conclus-
ively in my mind to the person who necessarily killed
Latimer,” Odell responded. “There's a contingency
which both of you gentlemen have overlooked and
which would seem so remote and improbable to you
now that I won't go into it; but I do most strongly ad-
vise that the two Vorns be held in custody or at least
under surveillance, for I think they will be wanted on
a criminal charge, anyway.”
“They'll have to come up before the magistrate in
a day or two and be discharged if I don't get anything
definite to hold them on,” announced the sheriff gloom-
ily. “I’ll have a couple of deputies trail them after
that as long as they stay in the county, but that's all
I can do.”
“All!” repeated Dr. Hale. “I’m not trying to inter-
fere with you in the performance of your official duty,
John, but I should think the sergeant's testimony and
Crewe's identification of the plans would be enough


oDELL's LONE HAND 149
to have them both held for the grand jury on a charge
of murder.”
“Not if I get a warrant for somebody else and have
them held on the same charge!” the sheriff declared.
“If I get no further evidence against the Vorns and
that Conrad sticks to his lie about a frame-up, the
case wouldn’t hold water and you know it. Barry
himself can’t even suggest who the murderer is, but
I can, and I’m not going to let hysterical sentiment
stand in my way, as I told you before. The folks of
this county who put me in office don't expect chivalry
from me; they expect results, and they’re going to
get 'em! There's nothing “remote’ about the evidence
of that fur coat, nor ‘improbable’ about a love affair
that's as plain as the nose on your face, and I'm going
to work along those lines, watch Willow Brook, and
dig up what I can about Mrs. Latimer and Starr Ag-
new. You've known me since we were both boys,
Doc, and you know I’m not looking for notoriety at
the expense of any innocent person, especially a
woman; but neither am I going to dodge my plain
duty. If I get enough circumstantial evidence to
strengthen the case with the only real clues I’ve got
now, just as soon as the Vorns are let off I’ll get a
warrant for Mrs. Latimer. I'm telling both of you this
in confidence.
“I think you'll be making a big mistake, John,” Dr.
Hale remarked gravely.
Odell sat lost in thought for a minute and then
looked at the sheriff.
“You’re not taking into consideration, then, the man
with whom Latimer talked at the station, the last


150 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
person with whom he was seen alive?” he asked. “If
Mrs. Latimer is ever brought to trial the defense will
play that up big, you know.” w”
“I’m scouring the country for him, Barry, and I’m
going to keep on,” replied the sheriff. “He wasn’t
seen after the eight-fifty pulled out for the city,
though, and if he didn't go on her in spite of what the
conductor said, I'm inclined to think you were right.”
“I Q"
“Yes. If you remember, when we were talking
about it and about Hiram Claggett saying the fellow
was a stranger, you said it didn’t necessarily follow
that he was because Hiram couldn't identify him; that
if he really was, the fact might have aroused Hiram’s
curiosity so that he would have noticed him more
particularly and been able to describe him. If there
was something vaguely familiar about him, like there
might be about anyone who lived around here but who
Hiram didn't know well, he might just have glanced
at him and forgot about him. At least, that’s what
I gathered you meant, and I’ve been thinking it over;
I shouldn't wonder but you hit the nail on the head.”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you, then, that someone else
beside poor, stupid Chris Vorn who lives around here
might have a grudge against Latimer?” Odell asked.
“Possibly the man who was talking to him, for in-
stance?”
“There's something in that,” Dr. Hale urged. “Don’t
go off half cocked at the first apparent clue that comes
your way, John. As far as you’ve told us you haven't
even a scrap of circumstantial evidence that Mrs. Lat-
imer and this Mr. Agnew are in love with each other


ODELL’S LONE HAND 151
except your hastily formed personal opinion, and that's
the only possible motive you’ve advanced for Latimer
having been put out of the way. That piece of fur
torn from the coat merely proves that someone wore
it lately near the scene of the crime. If such a love
affair did exist, you said last night that Agnew would
have had as urgent a reason for committing the mur-
der as the man's own wife, and you were having
Agnew's movements on the night of the crime looked
up. I take it that you haven’t had much success along
that line?”
The sheriff bit savagely into his unlighted cigar,
and his lean face flushed.
“You’re right, I didn't,” he admitted honestly. “Starr
Agnew was in his club, the Commonwealth, from four
until nearly five o'clock on Tuesday afternoon. He
left there in his own car, a fast roadster with a mighty
silent engine, and the authorities in town can’t get
any trace of him after that until he drove into his
garage at midnight. Seven hours or more out in the
bitter cold in an open car! It don't sound reasonable
to me. He'll run out to Willow Brook again tomorrow,
—his sister is still staying on with Mrs. Latimer,
and I’m going up myself and have a talk with him. I
didn't think it was good policy to try it today even if
I had had a chance.”
“You won't find it easy to get any incriminating
statement from him, supposing that such evidence
might exist,” Dr. Hale said reflectively. “As the fam-
ily friend, of course, he'll be hand in glove with Lef-
ferts and Crewe, Mrs. Latimer's attorneys, and they'll
coach him if necessary. In introducing that torn mole-


152 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
skin coat as evidence at the inquest today it goes
without saying that we have shown them which way
the wind may possibly blow.”
“That's all right!” the sheriff retorted tenaciously.
“I only want to know where Starr Agnew went in his
car on Tuesday evening, and if he won't tell a straight
story if will be because he can’t. I suppose you real-
ize that he would have had time to motor out here,
talk with Latimer at the station, follow him out to
the pond at Willow Brook and still get back to his
garage at midnight?”
“A man doesn't usually motor through the country
in the dead of winter in an ordinary dark overcoat and
derby hat, John, but have it your own way,” the doctor
observed good-naturedly. “As for me, I'm off on my
old round tomorrow; this sudden thaw is the sort of
weather to fatten the churchyards if we medicos don't
watch out. By the way, the Latimer funeral has been
set for Saturday morning, I hear.”
“Yes, so Crewe told me.” Pettingill nodded. “Natur-
ally it is going to be private, and they want to keep
the time a secret because of the notoriety. They've
got an undertaker and minister from the city, and the
body is to be removed immediately and interred in
Greenlawn; the whole thing will be over before nine
o'clock in the morning, but I’ll be there.”
“Will you, Sergeant?” Dr. Hale turned to Odell once
In Ore.
“Not I'” The latter shook his head. “I could not
attend in an official capacity, you know, and I doubt
if I would learn anything that would help along the
line of investigation I have butted into. I'm off to the


154 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
while ostensibly eying the dreary, grayish-white land-
scape which scudded past, listened to the desultory talk
going on about him.
Of the three men who sat together, one was fat
and red-headed with a brisk, hustling air, and the rest
addressed him as “Jim.” The second was of middle age
with one angular shoulder held habitually higher than
the other and the deprecating manner of the typical
office clerk. The last was small and wiry, with a griz-
zled stubble of beard outstanding upon his chin, and
he spoke in a loud, nasal, self-assertive tone.
The state of the weather had been exhausted as a
topic of anathema, and it was natural enough that the
next subject of conversation should be the murder
which was the sensation of the day.
“Wonder when they'll bury Latimer?” The loud-
voiced man spoke above the rumble of the train. “Like
enough they'll sneak the body away today sometime,
to get rid of that raft of reporters who've been hang-
ing around. Were you at the inquest yesterday, How-
ard?”
The middle-aged man coughed deprecatingly.
“I couldn't get in, there was such a crowd. Who
do you suppose killed him, anyway?”
“I hope they find out before the bungalow season
opens!” the stout, red-haired man declared. “It’ll sure
put a crimp in the renting business this summer if
they don't!”
“You needn't worry, Jim,” the first speaker re-
marked. “Chris Vorn has been jailed for it already and
the grand jury sits next month; the whole thing’ll be
over before summer. It's a lucky thing after all that


ODELL’S LONE HAND 155
I didn't nail Latimer for life insurance! I called on
him when they first moved out to get him and maybe
his wife to take out a policy, but he told me he was
carrying all the insurance he wanted to; he was the
toughest prospect I ever tried to handle, and he acted
like he owned the earth. He didn't make himself any
too popular to start off with, closing up the thorough-
fare through the south pasture and all!”
Jim chuckled. -
“He made himself popular with me by doing it, all
right!” he exclaimed. “The county will have to get
after that back road now and improve it, and I’ve got
two sections of building lots on it that haven’t been
worth the taxes on them!”
“I can hardly believe Chris did it,” ventured How-
ard. “Never heard of that brother of his before, and
that story about being framed-up couldn't have been
true; we all know John Pettingill, and there hasn’t
ever been a straighter sheriff in office. Chris isn’t
neighborly, but he has had a lot of trouble and that
soured him; he, wouldn't hurt a cat. What makes
you think he did it, Blair? I don't believe they'll ever
get a jury in this county to convict him.”
The self-assertive little man smiled knowingly.
“I didn't say I thought Chris was guilty!” he dis-
claimed. “Of course, his brother lied, but we don't
know what the sheriff has got up his sleeve. Maybe
he's just trying to gain time. I’ve got my own ideas
about this case, but I guess I won't do much talking;
not just yet.”
Histone was that of one inviting inquiry, and Odell
heard a quick rustle of paper as the train slowed at


156 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
a way station. He glanced across the aisle at the
fourth man who had boarded the car at Sunnymead
and saw that although he had turned a page of his
newspaper he was not reading, and there was a keen,
introspective look upon his lean, tanned face as though
he were listening intently.
Observing him more closely, Odell noted that al-
though there were deeply drawn lines about his gray
eyes, his alert, well-poised figure was that of a man
in the early thirties. His nostrils and smooth-shaven
lips were thin, but the chin above the upturned collar
of his overcoat was full, and the fingers of the un-
gloved hand holding the newspaper up before him were
long and tapering, while the thumb was thick, fleshy
and spatulate. The detective was speculating idly on
the contradictory indications of the artistic and prac-
tical, ascetic and sensual, when he became conscious
of a vague sense of familiarity. He could not recall
ever having spoken to the man, yet possibly he had
encountered him in the village during his stay, or
had seen him among the crowd at the nquest the pre-
vious day.
No newcomers entered the car, and as it pulled out
once more the red-haired man called Jim exclaimed:
“Forgot my matches again! Got any, Blair?”
The little man searched his pockets fussily and
shook his head, and Howard remarked:
“I’ve kind of given up smoking since the boss made
everybody cut it out at the office, and my wife don't
like it smelling up the house in winter.”
On a suddenly-formed decision Odell drew a match-


ODELL’S LONE HAND 157
box from his pocket and crossing the aisle offered it
to the red-haired man.
“Excuse me; have a light?” He added easily: “Could-
n’t help hearing you ask for one, sir; I forgot to get a
paper at the station at Sunnymead, and I’ve got noth-
ing to do but twiddle my thumbs and look out of the
window till we get to the city! Does this rattler stop
at every telegraph pole on the way in?”
“Thanks.” Jim accepted the match and looked up
with a brisk eye to business. “You ought to have
taken the commuters’ special, next train to this, a fine
one. You a stranger in Sunnymead? Been looking
our little town over? It's growing faster than any
in this section of the country; got great business and
residential possibilities—”
“You’re the sheriff's man, ain't you?” Blair inter-
rupted accusingly. “Heard you testify at the inquest
yesterday!”
Odell smiled with the boyish candor which had won
him many a reluctant confidence and replied:
“I’m an old friend of John Pettingill; been visiting
him while I got over the effects of a scrap in New York.
I'm on the police force there, and John asked me to
help him get the dope on this Latimer murder for
him, but it was almost too easy!”
The man called Howard moved over to widen the
empty fourth seat.
“Sit down,” he invited. “I couldn't get in at the
inquest. So the case is settled, is it?”
Odell laughed.
“Guess so!” he remarked with careless assurance.
“Must have been that crazy Dutchman that owns the


158 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
duck farm. I'd like to have seen the business through,
but the captain of my bureau sent a hurry call for me
and I’ve got to hike it out West after a gunman; that's
more in my line, anyway.”
He accepted the vacant seat and after a prolonged
scrutiny of his apparently guileless countenance Blair
settled back as though satisfied. The expressions of
the other two of the original trio showed plainly that
they, too, had taken the city detective for the cock-
sure, dull-witted routine man he pretended to be.
“Still, I've been telling my friends here that I’m not
so sure about Chris Vorn being guilty.” Blair rose
aggressively to the bait. “Latimer was a stranger
among us, and although he paid his local bills promptly
and was accounted a rich man nobody really knew
anything about him. How can we judge what enemies
he may have had? It's kind of lonely by Willow Brook,
especially in winter, with plenty of roads leading past,
and anybody could have got out there afoot or in a
machine at that time of night without being noticed
particularly. What gets me is how Latimer happened
to be by that pond when he was supposed to be on
his way to the city.”
To give the others time and opportunity in which
to express a possible opinion, Odell produced a box of
cigarettes and selecting one leaned out in the aisle
to light it, at the same time stealing a quick glance
at the fourth man; but he had seemingly resumed his
perusal of the paper and his attitude suggested utter
lack of extraneous interest.
“I guess we can leave it to the sheriff and the dis-
trict attorney,” Jim said comfortably. “If Latimer


ODELL’S LONE HAND 159
had any enemies, and anybody else but Vorn was
guilty of the murder, I believe they'll ferret out the
truth.”
“I think they'd ought to have taken more thought
to the last man Latimer was seen talking to, the one
at the station,” the office clerk, Howard, observed in a
mild tone. “Whoever he was, he might have had
reason to know that Latimer would take that eight-
fifty back into town that night and waited around to
see him. Hiram Claggett as much as said he must have
been hiding behind the baggage truck; that no one
was in sight at the station at all after Mr. Kingsley
and Mr. Farwell there arrived from town on the eight-
twenty and went on home.”
As he mentioned the latter name he gestured with
a thumb toward the man with the newspaper, who
gave no sign of having heard, and Blair asserted con-
fidently:
“Well, I reckon we haven’t seen the end of the ex-
citement, even if Vorn and his brother are in jail.
I told you I had my own idea, but I wasn’t talking yet.
You wait and see!—There, we're getting in, and four
minutes late! That’s better than usuall”
Casual farewells were said, and as the train pulled
into the huge station Odell marched briskly off by
himself, careful to seem bent strictly upon his own
affairs. He ascended to the vast waiting-room with-
out a glance behind at his late fellow travelers and
traversing it was mounting the second pair of wide,
shallow stairs to the street level when a hand fell
lightly upon his arm and a pleasant, cultivated, youth-
ful voice sounded in his ear.


160 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Excuse me, Mr. Odell. I wanted to get a chance
to speak to you on the train, but our rural friends
monopolized you. If you're not in an imperative hurry
may I walk along with you? I'm a neighbor, and a
slight acquaintance of the man whose death you are
investigating, and I'm naturally interested. My name
is Roscoe Farwell.”


CHAPTER XIII.
BY ORDERS OF THE CHIEF
DELL smiled, too, and held out his hand.
“How are you, Mr. Farwell! I'm on my way to
Headquarters to report, but I took an earlier train than
necessary because, being a stranger, I hadn't any too
much respect for the accuracy of your time-table;
so I’ve a little time to spare. I heard of you from
Mr. Claggett, of course, and I believe that one of the
men I got into conversation with on the train just
now mentioned your name, but I'm afraid you’ve got
me wrong; I never had any official connection with the
case. I was only visiting John Pettingill during my
leave and trying to help him out, and my time's up.”
“And Sergeant Barry Odell, who refused a captaincy
after solving the last celebrated murder case New York
had merely so that he might work with a freer hand,
is going to pass up all interest in an equally celebrated
case in what might be termed the suburbs just be-
cause his leave has expired?” the other asked with a
twinkle in his gray eyes. “That may go with the
village wiseacres, and I’m not asking you to tell me
anything you don't want to, Sergeant; but I don't
mind telling you that this little excitement is a god-
send to a man of different caliber and experience.—
You've had your breakfast, of course, but I know what
Ma Pettingill's coffee is! Have you time to come and
161


162 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
have a second cup with me in a little place near here
that's been famous for more generations than you or
I will ever see?”
Odell assented, and when they were seated in the
celebrated, oak-beamed tavern with steaming cups and
crisp rolls before them, he eyed his host in quick,
covert appraisal. That this interview had been sought
with some definite purpose in view was patent. It
could not have been from mere idle curiosity. Who
was this man Farwell? Even as he cogitated, the
latter answered the unspoken question.
“I suppose you'll wonder what I’m doing in a God-
forsaken hole like Sunnymead, among natives who are
admittedly not my sort,” he began frankly. “See those
fine lines about my chin and down the side of my jaw?
They are practically the only indications left of the
old face I had in nineteen-seventeen. Wonderful chaps,
the British surgeons are! I was in the camouflage
corps, and a gun on which I was working exploded.
That's the answer. When I got to looking at some-
body else in my shaving mirror I went back to my old
trade, painting, and picked out Sunnymead; you'd be
surprised what possibilities its shore line and stretches
of rolling hills have to an artist's eye!”
“It’s a pretty place, all right, or all that rich crowd
wouldn't have built summer homes there and a country
club.” Odell kept carefully in character. “Don’t your
family find it lonesome in winter with nobody but the
townspeople, though, if they're used to the New York
Bohemian bunch”
“I haven't anybody but my sister, and she's a globe-
trotter with money enough of her own to gratify her


164 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
hood is the one just across from Mrs. Vail's, whose
kid Jimmie discovered the body.”
Farwell nodded.
“That’s where I live.”
“Then it's on the straight road from the station
to Willow Brook. You got back from town that night
on the same train with a man named Kingsley, didn’t
you?”
“Yes. He's the naturalist and has done some pretty
work in grafting; the real thing, you know, fruit trees
and flowers.” Farwell laughed again with a boyish
flash of his white teeth. “He’s rather noted in his line,
but a prosy old chap, and I read most of the way from
town. Lord, but it was cold! I hurried home from the
station and in spite of the bad going I must have done
my mile and a half in pretty good time, for I was well
toward home when Latimer passed me in his little car.”
“Did he see you?” asked Odell.
“Guess not; he didn't bow, anyway, and it was pretty
dark just there. Have a cigarette?” Farwell offered
a plain silver case, and his companion accepted one of
the slender, imported Xerxes with which it was half
filled. “Mrs. Vail comes over to ‘do for me,’ as she
expresses it, by the day, but she'd left my lights turned
off and my furnace was low. I had a devil of a time
getting it going again and starting the hearth fire
in my studio; I guess that's why I didn’t hear Lati-
mer's car return, or notice that anyone passed that
evening.”
“I see.” Odell flicked the pale ash into his coffee
cup. “But you said you wanted to speak to me; got
any theory to spring, Mr. Farwell? You know about
g *


BY ORDERS OF THE CHIEF 165
the Vorns having that document that Latimer was
supposed to have brought out from town with him that
afternoon, but Conrad might have worked it through
Chris to get in cahoots with one of the Latimerservants
to let one or both of them in the house to steal it; or it
may have been a case of plain burglary, they know-
ing nothing of what went on down by the pond. We
run up against just such coincidences here in cases
every day. I might put a flea in the sheriff's ear with-
out committing official trespass!” -
“Well, Sergeant, I won't go so far as to say I have
a theory, exactly, but when I heard the particulars of
the murder I asked myself why Latimer didn't go home
if he had intended to do so; why he turned off down
to the pond, I mean. I wondered if he had a private
appointment of some sort, or caught sight from the
driveway of something down there that ought to be
investigated. Then, when it came out at the inquest
yesterday about a piece of Mrs. Latimer's fur coat
having been found torn off and hanging on a bush
at the scene of the crime, and the butler's testimony
which amounted virtually to the fact that she was not
in her room or anywhere in the house where he
searched around nine o'clock or after, I began asking
myself another question.”
“Exactly.” Odell nodded in eager acquiescence as
though the other's train of thought were in accord
with his own. “What question, Mr. Farwell ?”
“Whether that suppositious appointment might not
have been made between two other people, and Mr.
Latimer, apprised of it at the station, might not have
returned either prematurely or in time to make a very


166 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
bad third.” Farwell chose his words with evident
care. “Remember, Sergeant, this is not even a theory
but the mere idle thought of a curious neighbor who
has nothing better to do than paint indifferent daubs
of snow scenes and wait until the spring opens up to
give him fresh inspiration for his canvases.”
Odell rose, still holding his half smoked cigarette.
“I must get on down to Headquarters, but I'm mighty
glad to have had this little talk with you. Of course,
we deal only with facts, and I’ve nothing to do with
the Latimer case anyway; but the ideas of anybody
that's different from that hayseed bunch down there
are good to hear, Mr. Farwell. If I get a chance and
the trial ever comes off I may run down to Sunnymead
before the finish.”
“If you do, run in and see me!” Farwell invited
cordially as they shook hands. “I’ve followed some of
your big cases with interest, and I’d like nothing better
than to hear how you pulled them off.”
Odell crossed rapidly to Broadway and down to
Headquarters, going over in retrospection each word
of the late interview. Had Farwell tried to tip him off
about something without himself being dragged into
the notoriety of the case as a witness? He seemed
a decent enough fellow, and it was a dirty mess to
accuse a woman of murder, especially such a woman
as Mrs. Latimer. Still, could the sheriff be right, after
all? Was he, Odell, still laboring against his better
judgment?
Hurrying up the steps at Headquarters, Odell strode
down the wide corridor to the homicide bureau at the
farther end and met a rapid fire of greeting from the


BY ORDERS OF THE CHIEF 167
various desks behind the rail. When he had replied in
kind a stockily built young man approached and ob-
served confidentially:
“The chief wants to see you, Barry.”
“Me!” exclaimed Odell indignantly. “And my leave
not expired for four days yet!”
“A fine use you’ve made of it, from this morning's
papers!” the other retorted with a grin. “Is it your
idea of a rest to go get yourself mixed up in a new
murder case, with Killer Jordan's bullet only just
pried out of you? What's that bulging the side of your
Coat?”
“A little souvenir I brought from the country.” Odell
grinned in response and then his face grew grave.
“You are not kidding about the chief? How did he
know—?”
“Oh, I rather guess he suspected you'd be hanging
around this morning,” the other interrupted. “Any-
way, that's the word that has been passed, and it's no
kid, either.”
Slightly dazed, Odell made his way to the office of
the captain and was not at first enlightened by his
reception.
“Like Sunnymead, Sergeant?” the chief asked when
the more formal greetings had been exchanged. “As
a winter resort it seems to have done you a great deal
of good; so much, in fact, that I think you had better
return on an extended leave.”
“What's the idea sir?” Odell shifted from one foot
to the other. “If you refer to the Latimer case, I was
an involuntary witness at the inquest as a private
individual. I’ve been visiting the sheriff of North-


168 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Shore County: he and his family are friends of mine,
and I’ve still four days of my leave—”
“I know all that!” the chief interrupted grimly.
“It was as a private individual and his guest, I suppose,
that the sheriff swore you in as his deputy and you
pulled off that stunt at the duck farm? I’m not call-
ing you down for that, Sergeant; on the contrary, I'm
offering you a month's extended leave of absence and
suggesting that you spend it at Sunnymead.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” Odell remarked, but a
gleam of comprehension had come to him. “Is some-
body after cooperation in an unofficial capacity?”
“You’ve hit it!” the chief assented. “In plain words,
the district attorney down there is yelling for help.
Your friend the sheriff and the constable are both
good men, as I understand it, with an inflated opinion
of their own jobs and a desire to keep in with their
constituents. Well, we've seen that sort of thing right
here in our own town, eh, Sergeant? This case seems
to be a little too big for them to handle, and the D. A.
doesn’t want to make a charge, when this present move
of theirs has failed as it's bound to do, and go to trial
with insufficient evidence so that this case will be just
another fiasco.”
Odell shook his head obstinately.
“Please send another man down instead, sir,” he
said. “The magistrate won’t hold the Vorns, and it
was to ask you to send one or two of the boys down
there, unofficially, to trail those two brothers till I
could clear up the matter of their connection with the
case that I dropped in today. As a matter of fact, I
don’t think they’ve anything to do with the actual


BY ORDERS OF THE CHIEF 169
murder, but I think I do know what the sheriff as well
as the district attorney have in mind, and—I’d rather
somebody else helped it along. But I’d be grateful
for that month's leave of absence, just the same.”
“What's the matter?” asked the chief coldly. “I
never knew you to lay down on a job before, Sergeant.”
“No, sir, and you never knew me to play politics
and disgrace my stripes!” Odell retorted with vigor.
“The sheriff's honest, but he's bull-headed, and he
thinks a certain party is guilty; he is going to disre-
gard every other clue to prove that he's right. If he
can, and the district attorney can get a conviction, it
will mean a walk-over for them both at the next elec-
tion. This Latimer case is make or break with them
and they know it. I’d not quarrel with that if the
party they have in mind were guilty, but I’ll help to
send no innocent person to the chair, maybe, while
the one who killed Latimer goes free!”
The chief sat back in his chair toying with a pencil,
and there was a peculiar expression upon his face.
“Then you don’t think Mrs. Latimer killed her hus-
band?” he asked at length.
“The present evidence doesn’t prove it, sir,” re-
sponded Odell.
“I never knew you to take a case yet, even in your
early days, that you didn't see through to a finish,
Sergeant.” The chief looked up and there was an un-
mistakable twinkle in his eyes. “Why did you want
that month's extended leave of absence?”
“To find out who killed Latimer, sir,” Odell added
hurriedly. “I know it is irregular, but I would act


BY ORDERS OF THE CHIEF 171
have to report to the district attorney or the sheriff?”
“That's up to your own discretion. I’ll see that two
of the boys are on hand when the magistrate dis-
charges the Worns and tail them until you come.”
“Thanks, Chief. I don't think I'll be long clearing
up that matter, but the main part of the case may take
some time, and I can’t tell now just when I'll show up
again in Sunnymead. You'll tell the district attorney
that I'm on the job?”
“I will, and good luck, Odell!”
“Thanks, sir!”
Odell left the great, echoing building as though he
were treading on air and took the nearest route for
the Pennsylvania Station. But gradually his elation
left him. He was up against it, and no mistake! It
was like breaking faith with John Pettingill to work
against him when that excellent sheriff himself had
been the one to bring him into the case; and if the
Worns were eliminated, how strong the circumstantial
evidence seemed against the stand he had taken!
That young artist, Farwell, had stated the case as
clearly and concisely as though he had been a lawyer.
That was what any well informed, unprejudiced person
would think, of course. Odell went over every iota of
evidence in his mind, weighing it and striving to re-
gard it as his fellow traveler of the morning had done;
when all at once he halted in the middle of a busy
street, to the intense indignation of the traffic police-
man. Had he by some lucky chance hit upon the
truth?


CHAPTER XIV.
TO PROTECT HER
ATIMER, New Jersey, seemed a most unlovely
spot as the train approached it after a ride of more
than an hour. Its grim smokestacks and acres of brick
buildings with their adjacent rows of uniform work-
men's cottages appeared even more dreary surrounded
by the snowy, flat countryside.
It was nearing noon as Odell alighted at the com-
pany platform and made his way to the superintend-
ent's low, square office set well in the center of the
modern hive of industry. An inquiry of a man in over-
alls lounging near the door brought in response a mere
gesture toward a heavily built man with graying hair
who sat bowed over a desk and who looked up with a
scowl as Odell advanced.
“If you're a reporter you can get out!” he growled.
“We’ve no information for you; see the New York
office of the company.”
“I’m not a reporter.” Odell smiled. “I understand
you have a mechanician who works in one of your
assembling rooms named Conrad Vorn, or at least you
had. We’ve got him in jail now down on Long Island
and I want a word with his foreman.”
He flashed his shield, and the superintendent rose
reluctantly.
“Come on,” he said. “Carroll's the man you want.
172


TO PROTECT HER 173
I'll tell you right now that you fellows have got Vorn
wrong; mind you, I'm not sticking up for him, but
he's the kind of guy who makes the bullets and lets the
other fellow fire them for him. He never killed Mr.
Latimer, and all that stuff about a document is either
a bluff or a frame-up.”
“He’s an expert workman in his line, isn't he?”
Odell ignored the challenge as he followed his guide
down a cinder path between two long factory buildings.
“One of the best, or we would have canned him long
ago for shooting his mouth off among the men. He
is one of these born agitators, but he's harmless; even
the guys he works with don’t take him seriously.—
Here we are. Oh, Carroll! There's a deputy from
Sunnymead who wants a word with you.”
The superintendent sauntered away with a nod, and
Odell gave no indication that the former's sarcasm
had penetrated his consciousness as a brisk, sandy-
haired man of middle age came forward.
“Sorry to deprive you of one of your expert work-
men, Mr. Carroll.” He spoke with more courtesy than
he had shown the surly superintendent. “It’ll only be
for a day or two; that is, if you want him back. The
sooner we can check up on some of his statements,
though, the quicker we can haul him before the mag-
istrate and have him released.”
Carroll unceremoniously took his visitor by the arm
and led him out of earshot of the workers within.
“Sure I want him back,” he said. “Conrad talks a
lot of rot, but he's no shirker and one of the fastest
mechanicians I’ve got. I hold the record for results
in my department, and I can’t afford to lose him. I


174 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
can handle these volunteer walking delegates and
that's what he is; but, take it from me, he hasn't got
the nerve to croak anybody. What's he been saying
that you want information about?”
“Well, between you and me, Mr. Carroll, his brother,
who runs a duck farm at Sunnymead, isn't just right
in the head. Everybody knows it, and he's one of the
characters of the countryside. We've come to the con-
clusion that this Conrad is a sort of a nut, too, from
his wild talk since he's been in jail, and we think some
crank must have been hanging around the factory
here and got Conrad to listen to him.”
“What sort of a crank?” The foreman's shrewd
eyes stared straight into those of Odell.
“Oh, some, crazy, would-be inventor.” The latter
shrugged. “We have sort of sized Conrad up as a kind
of fellow that would fall for a thing like that.”
“Why?” The question came crisply.
“Well, we did find a paper on him that he seemed
to set a lot of store by, but it don’t mean anything.
We showed it to an aviator from the field near Sunny-
mead, and he nearly laughed himself to death! Air-
plane machinery is your business and I brought it
along to show you, thinking you could help us out.
Of course, this is confidential.”
Not for nothing had Odell sat up most of the night
at Pettingill's cottage with the original document be-
fore him, painstakingly copying certain parts of the
plans which conformed to those in a newspaper clipping
of an engine in a well-advertised airplane, and adding
crude devices of his own invention, together with a
row of characters at the bottom traced from a laundry


TO PROTECT HER 175
ticket. He had bound it in the heavy, blue paper taken
from the original, ruffled and crumpled it and smudged
it with lampblack as though from much handling and
had felt justifiably proud of the result; but now a
qualm assailed him as he placed the fake document
in the outstretched hand of this skeptical expert.
Would the ruse upon which he had staked so much fail
him now?
The foreman scanned it with an ill-concealed eager-
ness which gave place to amazed incredulity and finally
contempt.
“Do you mean to say that this is the paper which
was taken from Conrad Vorn?” he demanded.
“Took it off him myself!” maintained Odell stoutly.
“He had it pinned up under his waistcoat and fought
like a wildcat to keep it.”
“Then it’s a safe bet that they’re both crazier than
I thought!” Carroll laughed as he handed it back.
“Mr. Latimer never saw this! He wouldn't give it a
second glance, and if he really took some papers out
to his home with him that can’t be found now, they had
nothing to do with this! I thought that Chinaman
was a nut, for all his college education, and now I
know.”
“What Chinaman?” Odell asked, keeping his voice
carefully under control although a wave of exultation
swept over him.
“Fellow who called himself ‘Sun' something. He
wore regular clothes and you'd never have guessed he
was Chinese only he let it out himself. He began hang-
ing around the plant—but there goes the noon whis-
tle! You'll have to excuse me. Tell your sheriff not


TO PROTECT HER 177
—But you were asking me about that Chinaman. He
was taller than they usually are and his eyes gave
him away when once you knew, for they turned up at
the corners, but he talked like any college swell though
kind of slow as if he was watching his step. You can
usually spot the cranks by their queer clothes and the
excited way they act, but he looked for all the world
like a gentleman; that's how he got by the watchman
so often till they were wise to him.”
“When did he first show up here?” asked Odell.
“Oh, I don’t know! Along about a year and a half
ago, I guess. He only came once or twice then, ask-
ing for Mr. Latimer, but I saw him one noon hour talk-
ing to Conrad Vorn and showing him some papers,
and I heard Vorn say afterwards that it was a pity
the fellow couldn’t reach Mr. Latimer; that he had a
great idea. I remember that last spring when this
fellow showed up again and began raising ructions.”
Carroll glanced at the driver's head, which was half
turned toward them. “I guess we hadn’t better talk
any more about this till we get there.”
The taxi bounded forward with an indignant spurt,
and when Odell had braced himself he said casually:
“I noticed as I left the superintendent's office that
you were enlarging your plant. Will the company con-
tinue their building operations now?”
“Oh, you mean that reinforced concrete work?
That's just for a row of new workmen's cottages.
They are going to do, away with the frame ones in
time; the rate of insurance is too high.”
Odell smiled and touched that significant bulge be-
neath his overcoat, and adroitly led the conversation


178 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
into desultory channels until they rattled down the
main street of the little town and stopped before the
doors of a neat, whité lunchroom. Carroll, who had
brushed his clothes until they bore a semblance of
neatness while Odell was negotiating for the taxi, led
the way into the restaurant and to a marble-topped
table in the corner, where he joked with the waitress
like an old acquaintance until she had taken their or-
der and departed. Then he observed shrewdly:
“I guess you go heeled for any emergency down in
your part of the country, Mr. Deputy. I see you're
not taking off your overcoat.”
Odell laughed.
“I didn't mean to come all dressed up like a western
movie man!” he said. “We’re a peaceful, sleepy little
village most of the time, but since this murder and
the things that have been happening the sheriff wants
us to be ready on the job, and I forgot to change till
I was in the train. Did you know Mr. Latimer?”
“Oh, he had a word for everyone when he was going
the rounds of the plant, but I can't exactly say that
I knew him personally,” the foreman replied. “I guess
he knew more about airplanes than any other man
alive; this new one he developed that we are going
to try out ought to be a world-beater! But you want
to hear about that crazy Chinaman. It was about a
year ago that he showed up again; I know, because
Mr. Latimer had just married and was away on his
honeymoon. We were making additions to the factory
then and arrangements were under way to start on this
new model I've just mentioned. Something must have
leaked out to make this crank think we were going to


TO PROTECT HER 181
“How are your hours? Hard?” asked Odell as the
car swung them out of the little town and through the
muddy gray slush of the countryside. “Do you ever
have any night work?”
“Only once in a great while when we're rushed, and
then we are well paid for our overtime.” Carroll
sucked at his pipe. “We get it pretty easy.”
“Your mechanicians in the assembling-rooms have
use for electric torches occasionally, then?” Odell
persisted.
“Sure!” The other looked at him in a puzzled fash-
ion. “Did your sheriff find one on Conrad and get sus-
picious? It's funny at that that he should have taken
it all the way with him; but maybe he reckoned his
brother's farm wouldn't be any too well lighted. Raised
ducks, didn’t he?” -
Odell nodded.
“Mr. Latimer had a private office here at the plant,
didn’t he?”
“A whole building to himself; that square, ivy-cov-
ered brick one right near the superintendent's office,”
responded Carroll. “He used to spend hours there
working away at his models. He was a hard man to
work for in some ways; savage, and bullying and driv-
ing and turning off many a good man over a misunder-
standing that he wouldn't listen to the right of. I
guess I wouldn't be holding down my job now if I’d
seen much of him, for I’ve a quick temper myself and
I know my rights; but I’m not one to speak ill of the
dead, though I don’t wonder that somebody got to him
at last!”
“He had enemies, then?” Odell spoke with studied


182 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
carelessness and followed with his eyes the arc of his
cigarette stub as he threw it over the side of the
speeding car.
“I don't know much about him, but I haven’t heard
a word of real regret among the men over his death,
and some of them have worked for him since the fac-
tory was put up,” Carroll remarked sagely. “When
that happens there must have been something wrong
with the boss, I figure. He had a regular row with
some fellow who came out from the city to see him
about six months ago, I remember. I stuck around
hoping there'd be a fight, but it all ended quiet; only
after the fellow had gone Latimer raged around like a
bear with a sore head; fired two good hands for almost
nothing and raised Cain with the plant generally.
Whatever the scrap was about, I guess the other fel-
low had the best of it for once, and Latimer took it
out on us.”
“What did the other fellow look like? Did you hear
any of it? You needn’t be afraid to tell me, Mr. Car-
roll; I won't say where it came from, and I guess you
weren’t the only one around. Besides, you say it hap-
pened six months ago.”
Carroll eyed him thoughtfully for a moment and
then nodded.
“You’ve been pretty white with me and I ain't afraid
to trust you, but I hate to bring in any question of
a—a lady, and him married so lately; though perhaps
it was his wife the row was about. The superintendent
and plenty others heard it besides me. It was along
about the middle of September—I remember it because
I’d just come back from my vacation—when a tall


TO PROTECT HER 183
young gentleman swung off the train and coming up to
me asked where he could find Mr. Latimer.”
“Do you recall anything about him?”
“Only that he seemed to be about thirty and was
smooth-shaven and tanned as if he'd been in the open
air a lot, and he had a kind of a military swing to his
shoulders. He was a gentleman, too, for all he was
pleasant-spoken and democratic in his manner, with
none of your patronizing airs; you can always tell the
real thing, and I guess he had it all over Mr. Latimer
right there, if the truth was known! I thought maybe
he was an aviator come to see about the delivery of
some planes, and I showed him which Mr. Latimer's
office was, but told him we'd been given orders that
he wasn’t to be disturbed. The young man started
right over, and though the superintendent tried to stop
him he walked right in without even knocking.”
“What happened?” Odell asked eagerly.
“Nothing at first, though I expected an explosion.
The young man's voice was real low, but all at once
Latimer let a roar out of him like a bull. It was then
that I thought the fight would start, but I was mis-
taken. The young man went right on talking and
never raised his voice, and the very coolness of him
made it seem as though he had the whip in hand and
knew it, even if you couldn't hear a word he said from
outside. You could hear Latimer, though, when he
broke in to swear, but that's all he did do; and after
a while he stopped that, so they must have got down
to business.
“The general manager and his assistant and the
superintendent and two or three other foremen be-


184 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
sides me was gathered around, for nothing like that
had ever happened before and we was wondering what
would come next; but we scattered quick when the
two of them showed themselves in the door. Latimer
was purple in the face and swearing again, and the
young man looked as cool and smiling as when he had
come; but I saw there was a glint in his eyes that
hadn't been there before, and there was a kind of an
edge to his voice, too.
“‘That's all, Mr. Latimer,’ he says. “She hasn't
anyone else in the world to protect her, but I'm here,
and I'll be close at hand to see that you do the right
thing by her. If you don’t, you know now what will
happen to you.”
“Maybe I haven't got the exact words, but that was
what he said as near as I can remember,” Carroll
continued. “He walked off without looking back and
caught a train that was just pulling in at the plat-
form, and Mr. Latimer let him go; then he went ram-
paging round the works, as I have told you.”
The car had stopped at the entrance to the plant
and as they alighted Odell remarked mendaciously:
“I guess it would be hard to go back six months and
find that fellow, especially as his description don't
fit anybody we know of in connection with Mr. Lat-
imer; but it shows he had enemies, all right, women
as well as men, and we'll have our work cut out for
us to find out who killed him.” He added as though
in an afterthought: “Oh, there's one thing more I’d
like to ask you. Do you know the name of a steel
tool about eighteen inches long with octagonal sides
three-quarters of an inch thick or so? One end is


186 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
on Long Island on a charge of murdering his boss, Mr.
Gilbert Latimer!”
He displayed his shield, but it was unnecessary, for
his bluff had worked. Almost with his first words
the old man, trembling suddenly as though palsied,
had thrown wide the door obsequiously.
“Come right in, Officer, right in!” he invited in a
cracked, quavering voice. “My son read me the news
in the paper this morning, but Conrad never did it,
sir, never! His room is just at the head of the stairs
and you’re welcome to go right up; nothing ain’t been
touched since he left. We're peaceful, law-abiding
folks and my own son works over to the Latimer fac-
tory. To think of Conrad being accused of murder!
It's dretful, sir, dretful!”
He followed, lamenting, up the stairs, and Odell en-
tered a small room upon the simple furnishings of
which the fast-accumulating coal dust from the forest
of smokestacks outside bore ample testimony to the
truth of old Muller's statement that it had remained
undisturbed.
Perfunctorily he examined the dingy bed and ran-
sacked the drawers of the dresser, which contained
merely a scant but neatly arranged supply of wearing
apparel. Then he approached the ancient, round-
topped trunk which stood in one corner. With the
old man's dismayed eyes upon him he drew from be-
neath his coat the unwieldly object he had carried all
day. It was an octagonal-sided steel tool about eigh-
teen inches long such as he had described to the fore-
man, and using the curved, forked end as a handle


TO PROTECT HER 187
he applied the flat, sharpened point to the rusty lock
and jimmied it off.
The trunk contained more clothes, faded and
weather-worn, and scattered among them a handful
of letters addressed in a scrawling hand and post-
marked “Sunnymead.”
Pocketing these and retrieving the pinch-bar, Odell
reassured the trembling old man briefly and took his
departure.
Ten minutes later he was seated in the smoker of
a train bound for the city; and although success be-
yond his anticipations had greeted him at every turn
there was no elation in his face. He was thinking of
the foreman's story of the quarrel six months before
and his description of the man who had sworn to pro-
tect “her.” Had he not seen that man in the drawing-
room at Willow Brook only two days ago? Could it be
other than Starr Agnew?


CHAPTER XV.
UNDER NIGHT SKIES
* We ELL, well, Mr. Odell! Glad to see you back
W again so soon!”
Hiram Claggett extended a horny hand in welcome
as, at dusk on the evening of the same day, Barry
Odell descended from the train at Sunnymead.
Odell shook hands and then put down his bag on
the station platform.
“Take care of this for me, will you, Mr. Claggett,
while I run over to the county jail?” he asked. “I
don’t suppose you know whether I'll find the sheriff
there or not? I want to have a little talk with the
Worns.”
“I guess likely you will.” The baggage master
chuckled importantly. “Two city fellows who came
out on the ten o'clock train this morning have been
hanging around the jail ever since, and Constable
Price is all up in the air because he can’t get a thing
out of either of them. I saw him and the sheriff and
the district attorney, too, hot-footing it over there
not ten minutes ago.”
Odell crossed the square and passing the courthouse
ascended the steps of the jail. In the doorway he be-
held the constable, red with indignation, and behind
him appeared the sheepish but dogged faces of two
old acquaintances from Headquarters.
188


UNDER NIGHT SKIES 189
“Good afternoon, Constable.” he said pleasantly.
“Hello, boys! Is the sheriff here?”
“Barry!” John Pettingill hurried forward in sur-
prise and grasping rather than shaking the hand of
his late guest drew him into a side room and closed
the door. “What on earth have you been up to? When
I asked you to take a hand in the Latimer case unof-
ficially with me I didn't mean for you to drag in the
whole police force of New York! Those two plain-
clothes men out there—!”
“Oh, I dropped in at Headquarters this morning to
see my chief and get my leave of absence extended
as you wanted me to, and I asked him to send down a
couple of the boys to keep an eye on the Vorns when
the magistrate releases them,” Odell explained with an
air of bland innocence. “I thought you’d want me
to, John, for you and the constable will be busy with
the murder case, and you know there'll be a separate
charge against the Vorns in connection with that
stolen document. It would be a bad thing for you if
they slipped through your fingers at the last minute,
for I've found the real owner of it; at least, I know
who he is.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” The sheriff’s tone was
slightly uncomfortable. “It wasn’t Latimer's, then?”
“No. It belonged to a Chinese gentleman you've
heard of before, named Sun Hsu.” -
“Well, we needn't be in any hurry to look him u
till I find the cover of it,” Pettingill observed. “I
could have sworn it was all right when I brought it
back after the inquest was over yesterday, but this
morning I found that the blue paper cover was gone.”


190 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“I borrowed it.” Odell laughed. “Oh, I know I
ought to have told you and asked permission, but you
told me to go at this thing in my own way and I have.
I’ve found out a lot too, that’ll interest you; can we
go and have a little talk with the Worns?”
“Hadn't you better tell me about it first, Barry?”
The sheriff hesitated. “You’re moving pretty fast,
and I’d like to be a little sure of my ground.”
“I can’t, because the Vorns will have to tell some
of the story themselves and I’ve got to persuade them
to do it in my own way. But no matter what I spring
on them, John, don't queer my game. I know the
whole part they played in last Tuesday night's affair
and can prove each step of the way, but if they con-
fess you'll save that much time and have a lot more to
your credit.”
“All right.” The sheriff responded to the artful in-
ducement. “Come on; it's almost time for their supper.
Do you want the district attorney in on this or those
policemen of yours?”
There was a note of professional jealousy in his
tone, and Odell shook his head smilingly.
“No, old man! This is strictly our party.”
They found Chris Vorn shaken and slightly dazed
from his twenty-four hours in jail, but his brother
was as blusteringly defiant as ever. It was to the
latter that Odell first addressed himself.
“Conrad,” he began sternly, “you are employed as
a mechanician under Carroll, the foreman of the as-
sembling rooms out at the Latimer plant, and you
board with Muller and his father.”


UNDER NIGHT SKIES 191
“I made no secret of it!” Conrad retorted, although
his color changed.
“About a year and a half ago an educated Chinaman
named Sun Hsu appeared at the factory and tried to
see Mr. Latimer, to interest him in an invention of
his to start and land airplanes within the space of
their own length,” continued Odell. “You talked with
him, saw his plans and realized that there was a for-
tune in them. He only came once or twice then and
you didn't see your way clear to making anything for
yourself out of his invention. A few months later,
however, Mr. Latimer began enlarging his factory
and arranging to put out under his own patent the
same model planes as the Chinaman had invented, and
you knew that Mr. Latimer must have stolen the idea
from Sun Hsu.”
The sheriff gasped audibly, but Odell gave him a
warning glance as he went on:
“You got word to Sun Hsu and he came down and
protested, but it did no good because he had been
too skeptical of American laws to have his invention
patented or even copied; he had trusted Mr. Latimer
with the original plans and Latimer had kept them.
You conceived the idea then of stealing the plans
from Latimer and selling them back to Sun Hsu, but
they were in the New York office and you had no op-
portunity.”
“Prove it!” exclaimed Conrad furiously. “You are
framing up this whole story just as you framed up
the rest of it—l”
“Am I? Wait till I finish.-You knew that Latimer
had bought this place down here next to your brother's


192 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
farm and that he had closed the short cut and your
brother was angry about it. You found out that the
plans were to be brought down to Willow Brook and
you wrote to Chris and told him of the good thing in
it for both of you if you could get hold of them; that
it would not be stealing because they did not rightfully
belong to Latimer, anyway.”
“I knew it!” Chris moaned. “Oh, Conrad, why
should you bring such troubles upon me?”
“Hold your tongue!” commanded his brother
fiercely. “This is all lies! He can prove nothing!”
“You found out that Latimer was to bring the plans
down on Tuesday, and although Chris had tried to
stop you in his letters—these letters which I have
here” (Odell held out the bundle of letters which he
had taken from the trunk in the Muller home)—“you
came here to break into the Latimer house at night
and steal the plans. You brought with you your elec-
tric torch and this pinch-bar which you took from
where those new cottages are being built of reinforced
concrete inside the company's property.”
As Odell held before him the steel tool Conrad for
the first time showed signs of breaking.
“How do you know?” he demanded hoarsely. “It is
a lie! Nobody saw me!”
“Don’t be so sure!” Odell warned him. “After
you got here your nerve failed you and you couldn’t
do the job alone, so you persuaded your brother to join
you. You two waited by the hedge in the south pas-
ture till you saw all the lights in the Latimer house
go out and you thought everyone was asleep, and then
you started with the pinch-bar to force open a win-


UNDER NIGHT SKIES 193
dow downstairs. You made Chris go on ahead because
he knew the way, and he carried the pinch-bar while
you had your electric torch. But Chris came face to
face with Latimer himself and ran down among the
willows by the pond to hide, and there he killed Lat-
imer with the pinch-bar—l”
“No, no! I swear it, no!” With a wild shriek Chris
Vorn had fallen upon his knees. “I found him there
dead already! I did not kill him! I will tell all!”
Conrad with a muttered curse sprang forward, but
Odell caught him, and the dumbfounded sheriff, gal-
vanized into sudden action, came to his aid. Chris
gave no heed, but groveling upon the floor told his story
between great gasping sobs.
“It is all true, what you say about Conrad wanting
to take the plans which did not belong to Latimer and
sell them back to the heathen! I saw no harm, I hated
Latimer for taking from me the short cut, and I was
willing to help. We waited by the hedge until much
later than you say; it must have been ten o'clock
or after, for we saw the automobile go away and return
and then waited an hour, glad that Latimer had gone
and our task, it would be so much easier. I hated
that automobile, too! Only that afternoon it had nearly
run me down and I had cursed it and the man who
owned it and who stole from others the work of their
brains, even if they were heathen!
“When we started for the house at last I made Con-
rad come around by the edge of the pond because I
was afraid of the huge dog, and so—and so we came
upon Latimer lying dead there on his face in the snow!
Conrad was frightened then and he would have run


UNDER NIGHT SKIES 195
That is all the story; you know the rest. I swear
to you that I am innocent! We stole the plans, but
it was to return them to the man who owned them,
and it is not theft to steal from a thief, living or dead!
Neither Conrad nor I raised a hand against Latimer,
he was still warm but dead when we came upon him!
That with my last breath can I say! It is the truth!”
In a measure the man's self-control had returned,
and there was no mistaking the ring of solemn sin-
cerity in his final words.
Odell grasped him by the shoulders and forced him
to meet his eyes.
“Chris Vorn, is that all the truth? If neither you
nor your brother killed Latimer, do you know who did?
Remember, if you lie now you may go to prison for
life or to the chair! Who killed Latimer?”
“I do not know, so help me God! We saw nothing,
heard nothing! There was only Latimer lying there
on his face under the sky of the night!”


CHAPTER XVI.
SUN HSU DECIDES
T WAS after supper at the Pettingill cottage that
night, and with Mrs. Pettingill's tactful withdrawal
the sheriff and Odell had settled down to a smoke and a
discussion of the events of the late afternoon.
“Barry, did you have a suspicion of the truth about
the Worns when you went this morning?” the sheriff
demanded. “Was that why you faked up those plans
and stole the cover off the original?”
“I didn’t think that either of them was the mur-
derer; I told you so yesterday,” responded his young
guest. “When we first found the anchor loosened
from the frost in which it had become embedded in
the bow of that row-boat I thought it was the imple-
ment for which I had been looking; not the weapon
with which the murder was committed, but the heavy,
sharp instrument which had been used to hack that
jagged hole in the ice of the brook through which
the bag had been sunk. The discovery of the blood
on the fluke of it stumped me for a minute. Then I
realized that such a contingency need not interfere
with my previously formed theory; the anchor, after
being used to break the ice, might have been accident-
ally dropped close to Latimer's body, so that one of its
flukes touched the blood, and then been returned to
its former resting place in the boat.”
196


SUN HSU DECIDES 197
“You hit on the truth, too,” the sheriff commented.
“The confession of the Vorns lets them out of the
suspicion of murder, but if Latimer wasn't killed by
the anchor or the pinch-bar, what sort of weapon was
used?”
A rattling little car had driven up to the gate and
now the stamp of feet could be heard on the porch
and the doorbell rang. The sheriff himself replied to it.
When he saw who his visitor was he exclaimed
heartily:
“Come in, Doc' Barry's back, and I was just won-
dering whether we'd find you home if we waded over
to your house.” *
“Wait till I get off my goloshes; don't want to track
up Mrs. Pettingill's sitting-room,” Dr. Hale responded
as he struggled with his ungainly footgear and then
walked in, his genial, elderly face beaming. “Good
evening, Sergeant. You certainly put in a busy day
to good purpose! I’ve been hearing all about it from
the district attorney.”
“How are you, Doctor?” Odell shook the out-
stretched hand. “I haven’t done very much, as far
as actual progress goes. The sheriff and I merely got
a statement from the Vorn brothers that they did not
kill Latimer. I don't know what John has done in my
absence today, but I myself haven’t gone a step on the
way of proving the identity of the real murderer.”
The coroner turned once more to the sheriff.
“John, are you prepared to accept the Vorns' con-
fession as the whole truth?”
“Yes,” replied his host. “It clears up a lot that we


198 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
didn't understand before and only strengthens my
original view of the case.”
“But the supposition that the Worns may be the
actual murderers is still circumstantially more strong
than anything you can advance, for they had in their
possession a weapon which from a medical standpoint
is far more likely to have caused that wound than the
anchor,” Dr. Hale remonstrated. “I mean that thing
you call a pinch-bar. You know I was never satisfied
about that anchor.”
The sheriff Smiled.
“Take that chair by the fire, Doc, and light up your
pipe,” he invited. “Barry and I were just discussing
that weapon when you came. If I remember, you said
the blow must have been more crushing than penetrat-
ing; that the heavier the weapon used, the lighter the
strength behind it must have been. Am I right?”
The coroner nodded.
“I told you that the fluke of that anchor was so sharp
as well as heavy that it would have been liable to
split Latimer's head clean in two.”
“But the end of that pinch-bar was sharp enough
to pry the anchor loose from where it had been frozen
in the boat,” Pettingill reminded him slyly.
“That pinch-bar has two ends!” retorted Dr. Hale.
“I’ve just been looking at it in the district attorney's
office. If the rounded end had been brought down on
the left side of Latimer's forehead it would have
caused just such a blow as the one that killed him,
provided there was force enough behind it. A steel
bar is a formidable weapon and not much strength


SUN HSU DECIDES 199
would have been required to crush the frontal and
left temporal.”
“But suppose neither the anchor nor the pinch-bar
were used, and there wasn't such a terrible lot of
strength behind that blow, what other weapon would
have cause the wound?” the sheriff asked. “I’m not
asking you to suggest any specific object, but some-
thing of its general weight and size and shape.”
“I couldn't do that, John,” The coroner hedged
cautiously. “Anything rounded but with edges—re-
member, the pinch-bar has octagonal sides sharply
defined—and about as heavy as that, I suppose. A
hammer, or a wrench, or something of that sort.—
I hear that Conrad Worn told you where this Sun Hsu
can be found?”
He addressed Odell, who had been quietly listening
to the discussion between the two men, and the latter
nodded. -
“Yes. The sheriff wants me to interview him to-
morrow, find out if the plans are still his property
and whether or not he wants to bring action.”
“Against a dead man?” Dr. Hale raised his bushy
eyebrows.
“Hardly.” Odell smiled. “The plans will be re-
stored to him after their possible usefulness as evi-
dence has passed, but Vorn may have already ap-
proached him with a view to obtaining money for their
return, and Sun Hsu may want to prefer charges of
extortion against him. When Chris Vorn had con-
fessed his part in the scheme and told the story of
that scene down by the pond, Conrad broke down
also, and corroborating his brother incidentally con-


SUN HSU DECIDES 201
so sure is in love with Mrs. Latimer.” Dr. Hale
frowned. “Did you see him and find out where he was
in his car between five o'clock and midnight on Tues-
day?”
#. sheriff bit into a fresh cigar and sat back in
his chair.
“Oh, I saw him all right,” he responded. “Just as
I expected, he wouldn't say where he had been on the
day of the murder. He seemed to think my question-
ing highly amusing at first; then he tried to be proud
and haughty; and then finally he got mad and said
he wouldn't answer a single question until he had
seen his lawyers. That's a pretty frank admission
that he knows more than he pretends to, anyway, and
I guess my next move’ll make him talk fast enough!”
“Your next move?” Odell repeated.
“You two know what I’ve had in mind from the
start,” the sheriff retorted stubbornly. “I talked with
other people today up at Willow Brook besides just
Mr. Agnew, and I'm pretty near ready to act! The
folks of this county will sympathize with poor half-
cracked Chris Vorn, anyway, no matter what they
think of his brother for getting him into this mess, and
when it begins to travel round tomorrow that he isn't
being held any longer on the murder charge I'll have
to work quick.”
Odell diplomatically refrained from comment, but
the coroner, with the artless candor of a life-long as-
sociation with John Pettingill, demanded:
“When you start this quick work of yours, which
one are you going to apply for a warrant for, Agnew
or Mrs. Latimer? Have you any evidence, even cir-


202 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
cumstantial, against him except his refusal to an-
swer questions? That seems natural enough to me;
nobody wants to be dragged into the notoriety of a
case. You said yourself yesterday that you couldn't
charge Mrs. Latimer with killing her husband unless
you had something more to go upon than just your
notion of a love affair and that torn scrap of fur from
the coat.
The sheriff smiled enigmatically, and then a dull
flush spread over his lean, honest face.
“Yesterday was yesterday,” he remarked. “I told
you I'd been talking with other folks up at Willow
Brook today. Although I’d rather do things in an
open, straightforward fashion, there are times when an
officer of the law has to come pretty near to sneaking
to get what he wants. I’m waiting now for just one
thing—”
All three men had been so interested in their sub-
ject that they had heard no footsteps on the porch
and they started as a light, nervous tapping sounded
upon the door. Dr. Hale and Odell glanced at each
other as the sheriff, with a muttered ejaculation,
sprang from his chair and hurrying out into the front
entry carefully closed the sitting-room door behind
him.
Each was unconscious of the fact that the silence
between them remained unbroken and that they were
inadvertently straining their ears to catch what was
going on outside. They heard the front door open
and high, excited feminine tones which were quickly
interrupted and hushed by the deeper voice of Pet-
tingill. A brief and indistinguishable conversation


SUN HSU DECIDES 203
ensued, a moment of silence, and then the woman's
voice rose once more.
“Thank you, sir. Oh, if I’ve done wrong I'll never
forgive myself, but you said—!”
“That's all right!” the sheriff interrupted again
gruffly. “What I said goes, and you’ve nothing to
worry about. Good night.”
The front door closed and the coroner and Odell
averted their eyes, each guiltily conscious of eaves-
dropping; but Pettingill did not at once return to his
guests.
Dr. Hale cleared his throat with unnecessary loud-
IleSS.
“I’m glad you brought that point up again about the
man at the station, Sergeant,” he observed. “It’s an
important one and I don't believe that anything—er—
drastic can be done until he is found or that incident
explained.”
“I hope that nothing will be done hastily,” responded
Odell. “I went into town this morning in the same
car with four of your fellow citizens, and judging
from their various points of view, public opinion seems
to be held in abeyance, waiting for John's next move.
But he is right about two things; they sympathize
with Chris Vorn and showed plainly that Latimer has
taken no trouble to make himself popular around here.”
“Did you learn who they were?” the coroner asked.
“Well, there was one cocky, loud-voiced little man
who talked about life insurance—”
“Blair Saunders!” Dr. Hale exclaimed.
Odell nodded.


204 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“A brisk, red-headed chap called Jim and a middle-
aged, meek sort of man that the rest called Howard
sat with the first one,” Odell went on. “He com-
plained that his wife and his boss at the office both
made him stop smoking, and I took him to be a clerk
of some sort.”
“If the red-headed fellow said anything about real
estate he was Jim Snell, and the other is Howard
Means.” The coroner checked them off. “He’s almost
as henpecked as Charley Tilbury, and doesn't dare
call his soul his own.”
“Nevertheless, he was the first one to venture the
suggestion that the last man seen talking to Latimer,
the one at the station, ought to be looked up.” Odell
paused and then went on: “I got into casual conver-
sation with them and later alone with Farwell, that
young artist who lives opposite Mrs. Vail. Know
him, Doctor?”
“Yes, I’ve been treating him lately for his throat;
he was in the war, you know, and had practically one
whole side of his jaw blown to bits by shrapnel. He's
an interesting sort of fellow—told me a lot about
the wonderful strides they've made in surgery over
there.—I wonder what's keeping John.”
“Perhaps someone has sent for him in a hurry,”
Odell suggested, knowing full well that the other was
aware of the mendacity of his remark, for both were
acutely conscious that the sheriff was still in the front
entry, just outside that closed door. “Farwell seemed
a likable chap and he must get rather lonely, living


SUN HSU DECIDES 205
there all by himself. He mentioned a sister of his;
did you ever see her?”
“I never met her, but she has been down once or
twice to see him. She is a very striking looking
woman.” The coroner paused in his turn and then con-
tinued: “Did he have any theory to advance about
the murder? He'd look at it from a different stand-
point, I imagine, than the other three you mentioned.”
“He did,” Odell replied slowly. “As a matter of
fact, he has drawn his own conclusions from the
meeting Latimer had with the unknown man at the
station and his sudden decision to return and prowl
about the grounds of Willow Brook.”
“Prowl about?” Dr. Hale's eyebrows went up
once more. “You don’t mean—?”
“That Farwell has formed the same opinion of the
case as John, I am afraid,” Odell finished the ques-
tion. “A more general public than that bounded by
the horizon of Sunnymead will agree with him if
John—”
He paused abruptly as a rapid step or two crossed
the entry and the sheriff opened the door at last. His
eyes were snapping with excitement and there was
an air of ill-suppressed triumph about him although
he tried to speak casually.
“Well, I’ve got it!” he announced. “The one thing
I was waiting for!”
“What is it?” asked the coroner. “Proof as to who
murdered Latimer?”
“No, but proof enough of a motive,” Pettingill re-
plied. “Circumstantial evidence, but it's strong enough
for me to go before a jury with tomorrow!”


206 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Dr. Hale knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose.
“I’ve got a long road to travel tomorrow with half
the county laid up and the little old car not running
as she ought to,” he said slowly. “I guess I'll be get-
ting on home. You know your own business best,
John, but no matter what your circumstantial evi-
dence is, remember you’ve got to have more than a
motive and a piece of brown fur to convict anyone
of murder.”
After the doctor's departure the sheriff turned to
Odell, who had also risen, and shook his head.
“Stubborn as a mule!” he exclaimed of his late
guest. “Have you got anything up your sleeve, Barry,
that you haven't told me?”
“Nothing but a question.” Odell smiled. “I’ve got
to answer it myself, though, and you would think
I was crazy if I sprung it on you now. I'll get that
eight-ten train in to town tomorrow and interview
our friend Sun Hsu.”
But Odell was careful to miss that particular train
the following morning and caught the commuter's
special instead, of which the real estate operator had
told him on the previous day. No one else got on
at Sunnymead except a portly, well-groomed man of
about fifty, and he merely bestowed a casual glance
at the dectective and then with a grunt retired behind
a newspaper until the city was reached.
There Odell took a taxi and gave the driver an ad-
dress which was far uptown near the University.
Alighting before a huge modern apartment house, he
told the driver to wait and entered the imposing door-
way.


SUN HSU DECIDES 207
“Does a gentleman named Mr. Sun Hsu live here?”
he demanded of the switchboard attendant.
“Sure, if you mean the high-brow Chink—” the
latter began, but at Odell's expression he added hast-
ily, “I don’t know whether Mr. Soo is in or not. What
name, sir?”
“Just say, please, that a special agent has come up
from Sunnymead, Long Island, to see him.”.
The attendant turned to the telephone and deliv-
ered the required message, and in another moment the
reply came.
“You can go right up, sir. Apartment twenty-one.”
The detective had no need to be directed to the
right number, for as he stepped from the elevator
on the second floor a wide entrance door facing him
stood open and a Chinaman in native attire with a long
queue over his shoulder stood bowing before him.
The man was very old and his round brown face was
a mass of fine, inscrutable lines. -
“You speak Mistler Hsu ’’’ His voice was as thin
and attenuated as a drawn-out thread of sound. “Light
down hall, sir, dlawing-loom; Mistler Hsu, he come.”
Upon a rug of gorgeous coloring, in the deep pile
of which his feet sank noiselessly, Odell traversed
the hall to a great, square room at the farther end
furnished luxuriously in teak and lacquer, with silken
hangings covering the walls from which innumerable
gold threads glinted back the sunlight which flooded
in at the bay window.
No one was visible, but as Odell seated himself a
sixth sense warned him that from some hidden peep-
hole among those glittering hangings keen eyes were


SUN HSU DECIDES 209
pose in seeing you is to discover whether or not you
decide to prosecute Conrad Vorn.”
“Prosecute him? Why?” the other asked coolly.
“He supposed he had rendered me a service in recov-
ering my plans for me.”
“He has not approached you, then, with an offer
to obtain them for you—at a price?”
Mr. Hsu regarded his questioner with polite aston-
ishment.
“No. I have not seen the fellow since my last call
at the Latimer plant in New Jersey, about eight
months ago, and I had almost forgotten him until
this regrettable affair. I thought him most intelligent
for a mechanic, but a little erratic in his ideas. I can-
not tell you how he obtained my address, but it was
known in the Latimer offices.” The monotonous voice
without a trace of accent or mannerism except a cer-
tain deliberation of speech went on: “Had he suc-
ceeded in his endeavors you would have called it ex-
tortion, would you not? Attempted extortion, rather,
for his efforts would have been in vain. I should never
have paid him a single penny for the return of those
plans, Mr. Odell.”
Odell stared. If this bland person before him were
indeed Sun Hsu, and his appearance bore out Starr
Agnew's description of him, why would he not have
been willing to pay for the return of the specifications
of the invention of which he had been robbed, and
which he had been so anxious to regain that he had
made scenes at both the Latimer plant and the city
offices of the company? He had even threatened pic-
turesquely to crack Latimer's skull, and now that


210 THE MAN IN THE JURY Box
precisely such a death had come to his enemy he called
it a “regrettable affair!”
Could there be something sinister and as yet un-
conceived behind the calm courtesy of his manner, the
singularly disinterested attitude he appeared to main-
tain? That devilish, poetically delivered threat re-
curred to the detective's mind and with it a new and
startling possibility; but as though reading his
thoughts Sun Hsu remarked:
“You think it strange, no doubt, in view of the re-
port you must have received of my visits upon the
late Mr. Latimer; but many months have elapsed and
time brings counsel in all things. I was impulsive,
violent. I lost control of myself, but the little toy
planes were the product of my brain and I had been
despoiled of them; I was in truth like one mad. Once
in a moment of blind anger I threatened the late Mr.
Latimer with almost the sort of death which must have
been his—only in English it sounds so crude, does it
not, a mere fracture of the skull?”
He was smiling faintly, steadily now, and Odell,
who had faced the coolest of criminals and the burliest
of ruffians undaunted, felt an inward shudder.
“We heard of that threat, of course, Mr. Hsu,” he
admitted frankly. “It was an odd coincidence—”
“So odd that if you will forgive my interruption it
would be perhaps as well if I told you where I spent
last Tuesday evening.” He waved aside Odell's per-
functory gesture of remonstrance and continued
blandly: “I dimed and remained until long past mid-
night at the rooms of a very eminent and learned
friend of mine over at the university; the professor


SUN HSU DECIDES 211
of ancient and modern Asiatic languages. His word
that I was his guest will, I think, be sufficient to elim-
inate me if I should by any chance be under suspicion
of the murder. But indeed, the death of Mr. Latimer
caused me profound sorrow. It was my wish that he
should live to produce the airplanes manufactured from
my plans. That is why I would not have paid any
money to Conrad Vorn for their return.”
That unchanging smile and the glitter of those
bright, beady eyes was getting on Odell's almost im-
pregnable nerves, and the man's attitude was becom-
ing more and more incomprehensible. Could he be
putting up a supreme bluff? Then a practicable ex-
planation crossed the detective's mind and he smiled
also.
“You mean, Mr. Hsu, that you had undeniable proof
that the invention was yours and had been stolen by
Mr. Latimer?” he asked. “You meant to wait until
every cent of his capital was swallowed up in the pro-
duction of those airplanes and they were successfully
launched upon the market and then ruin him? You
would have been justified, of course.”
Sun Hsu shook his head and rose.
“No, Mr. Odell. I would never have exposed the
theft, had I been in a position to do so. It was my
one ambition to see those Latimer airplanes rise like
so many little birds, each bearing a hireling of the un-
fortunately late Mr. Latimer's, and like so many little
birds when they are riddled with shot, crash to the
earth!” The monotonous voice had at last risen a
note and now it mounted to a subdued but hideous
falsetto like a malicious chant. “You see, Mr. Odell,


212 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
it was I–I alone, who discovered the flaw in my in-
vention! The single little flaw which would let the
planes rise straight from the ground to a certain
height and then they would fall like a shooting star!
It was only after Mr. Latimer had stolen my plans and
prepared to put the product of my brain upon the mar-
ket that I realized the error in them which all his
experts had missed, and it was then that I ceased to
molest him. I guarded the secret of it well! I wanted
to see the planes finished and tried out! I wanted
to watch with my own eyes while those lesser vul-
tures in his employ rose in the air, and wheeled, and
circled, and fell with broken wings! Now, perhaps,
you understand.”
Odell got up from his chair, conscious of a choking
horror, an overwhelming desire to get away from the
smiling, dapper fiend in Bond Street garb who had
planned such a malignantly misdirected revenge.
“Yes,” he heard himself saying in a cool matter-of-
fact tone, “it would have been more—more dramatic
than an appeal to the law-courts, more satisfying after
the injustice you had endured.—But please believe,
Mr. Hsu, that you were never for a moment under
suspicion. Mr. Latimer may have injured others al-
most as deeply as you, and one of them may have
been less subtle, less wise and patient in his method of
punishment.”
Sun Hsu spread out his small, claw-like hands in
disavowal.
“I know of none such,” he said. “If I could aid the
cause of justice I should be honored to do so, but in
a little while when the plans of my poor, foolish toy


SUN HSU DECIDES 213
|
are once more in my possession I shall return to my
own country that my people may perhaps benefit if
I find a way to correct that single little flaw which still
remains. Please convey my thanks to the district at-
torney and tell him that should he desire my presence
I am at his service.”


º
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CONFERENCE
DELL felt a surge of infinite relief as he slammed
the door of his taxi and started back to the sta-
tion. Sun Hsu was indeed eliminated as a factor in
the case, for every word of his atrocious recital of his
plan for a distorted vengeance had borne the stamp
of truth, and the detective was heartily glad to be able
to dismiss him from his thoughts.
He succeeded in catching a train which was just
pulling out for Sunnymead, and as he alighted once
more on the bare little platform before the station the
first man he encountered was his red-headed acquaint-
ance of the day before. The latter gave him a cold
bow and was moving off hastily, but Odell stopped him.
“Good morning, Mr. Snell!” he exclaimed cheerfully.
“I didn't have to hike it out West after all, you see.
When I got to Headquarters yesterday I found a mes-
sage had come for me from here while we were crawl-
ing along in that old rattler, detailing me to help the
sheriff and check up on Chris Vorn's brother. I did,
and I found I was dead wrong in what I told you fel-
lows yesterday.—Going up street? I'll walk along
with you as far as the court house.”
Jim Snell gave grudging assent, and as they started
off he eyed his uninvited companion somewhat askance;
A 214


216 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
city job I'd know how to handle it all right, but I’m
like a fish out of water. I wish I could find somebody
who heard another car besides Latimer's around there
that night.”
“I don’t know of anybody,” Snell remarked. “I live
right here in town so as to be near the school on ac-
count of the kids, and I was home all Tuesday evening,
playing cards with my wife and some of the neighbors.
First I heard of the murder was when the constable
told me next morning.”
“Well, I've got to leave you here.” Odell paused at
the court house steps and spoke with as much regret
as though his company had been urgently solicited.
“Maybe if Mrs. Latimer offers a reward for the man
who killed her husband and I get it, I'll look you up for
one of those little bungalows of yours down on the
shore, Mr. Snell.”
District Attorney Dysart was not in his office but
Odell left with his clerk the message which would
free both the Vorns and then stopped in at McMahon's
Hotel for a quick bite. It was past noon and he did not
want to go back to the hospitable Pettingills' just yet;
there was much which he desired to accomplish be-
fore he encountered the sheriff again.
After a huge wedge of pie and a steaming cup of
coffee he started once more up Main Street and struck
off on the road leading toward Willow Brook. Oppo-
site Mrs. Vail's little cottage he paused, however, and
turned in at the almost aggressively new concrete
bungalow of the young artist, Roscoe Farwell. A small
bronze reproduction of a palette, with a maulstick
thrust through the thumb aperture, served as a


THE CONFERENCE 217
knocker, and Odell sounded it twice before the door
opened and Farwell appeared clad in a faded and
paint-streaked smock.
For a moment he gazed with puzzled inquiry at his
visitor and then smiling in sudden recognition held out
a cordial hand.
“How are you, Sergeant! Come in and shut the
door; it's beastly cold again, isn't it? Glad you looked
me up.”
He shivered and coughed as he spoke, and Odell
obeyed him hastily, glancing with interest about the
square entrance hall. It was draped with chintzes
of a rich, subdued coloring, and Japanese prints were
hung here and there against the delicately tinted walls.
“Come into the studio,” his host urged. “The fur-
nace is on strike again, but I’ve got a roaring wood fire
going on the hearth and it's more habitable there. I've
about made up my mind to shut up this place or rent
it in the spring and go up into the mountains; Doc
Hale says my throat is in bad shape.”
As he talked he led the way into a huge, bare room
with canvases stacked everywhere and an easel set
up beneath the cold light which streamed down from
the glass roof. A half finished sketch stood upon it
of low, rolling, snow-covered hills with broad purple
shadows drawn across them with a bold brush and a
bit of gray marshland in the foreground.
“I don’t pretend to know anything about art, Mr.
Farwell, but this looks mighty realistic to me.” Odell
paused before it. “It almost seems as though I'd seen
that place myself!”


218 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Perhaps you have,” Farwell responded laughingly.
“It's the edge of the marsh down by Chris Vorn's duck
farm.—I’m sick of looking at the thing myself; I guess
I've been working at it too steadily. Come over by the
fire and have a cigarette.”
Logs were blazing high in the wide fireplace and it
was evident that an effort had been made to give an
atmosphere of cosiness and cheer to that corner of the
studio. A low table and two or three deep leather
armchairs were drawn up on the rug before the hearth,
and bookcases were placed on each side of the mantel
upon which stood a quaint old clock and two brass can-
dlesticks. Propped against one of the latter was the
photograph of a handsome woman with full lips, dark
hair and slumbrous eyes beneath straight, thin,
strongly marked brows.
Odell's eyes were fixed upon it as he dropped into one
of the chairs, and his host followed his gaze and re-
marked with pride:
“That's my sister; I think I mentioned her to you.
We don’t look much alike now, do we, since my face
has been practically reconstructed?”
“No, but she is a mighty fine-looking young woman,”
Odell replied.
“Funny thing she never married, isn't it?” Farwell
mused. “Always had any number of admirers hanging
around, but she never seemed to care particularly for
anyone. However, let's hear about the Latimer case.
Are you making any progress that you can disclose
unofficially? Of course I know all about that Vorn
business yesterday and how wonderfully you cleared


THE CONFERENCE 219
it up, Sergeant, but that's old stuff now. Got any
clue to the real murderer?”
Odell laughed frankly.
“You had me right yesterday, Mr. Farwell. I’m try-
ing to give the impression around town that I'm a
regular boob, and maybe I am, at that, but orders
have come down here detailing me to the case at the
request of one of the county officials and I’m going
to do my level best to find out the truth.” He leaned
nearer his host. “I’ve been thinking about those ques-
tions you told me you were asking yourself and I’ve
come to the conclusion that if I can find the answers
to them I'll be very near to the solution of the prob-
lem.”
“I don’t see any other logical explanation, at least
on the evidence that has been given out.” Farwell
gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “There may be a
dark horse in the race, of course, but it looks to me as
though there were only one even bet. I saw the sher-
iff this morning trailing down from Willow Brook
in the wake of the undertaker's wagon and the limou-
sine; that was all the funeral procession Latimer had,
poor devil, except the omnipresent reporters and cam-
era men. You weren’t there?”
“No. I ran into town again to report.” Odell spoke
carelessly, but every word was studied. “It was mighty
clever of you, Mr. Farwell, to dope that out about the
possibility of some appointment down by the pond
on Tuesday night that Latimer interrupted; but did
you only deduce it from the torn coat, the fact that
the butler couldn’t get any response from Mrs. Lati-
mer's room when the 'phone call came and that meet-


220 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
ing Latimer had with some man at the station which
seemed to make him change his mind so suddenly?
The hicks around here don’t see beyond the length
of their own noses, but you’ve got the point of view
of a man of the world, and I was wondering if per-
haps you hadn't seen something more than you cared
to tell me yesterday. I may say in confidence that I
suggested your theory to the sheriff, without letting
him know where the idea originated, of course, and
he's dropped every other lead to work exclusively on
it.”
“Really?” A slight flush had mounted in Farwell's
thin face at the compliment, but he added hastily:
“Surely he or the district attorney must have had
some suspicion, from the evidence alone of that torn
piece of moleskin which you found!”
“But Mrs. Latimer could have sworn that she had
worn the coat while walking down by the pond at
some time previous to the murder, and that maid of
hers, Maggie Ruggles, would take any oath to back
her up. You know yourself how she sticks to it that
Mrs. Latimer was in bed asleep when that 'phone
call came for her.”
“Maggie Ruggles!” Farwell repeated. “That
sounds like an old New England name, doesn’t it?”
“It is. She came from Mrs. Latimer's birthplace,
Fairfield Harbor, with her. You know New England,
then?”
“Yes, I’ve toured up along the coast more than
once, sketching, you know, with some painter friends
of mine. Cape Cod was a mine of treasure for the
artist, but it's been a bit overdone now.” Farwell's


THE CONFERENCE 221
tone was absent, but he roused himself with a laugh.
“I’ve heard of any number of Rugglesses along there,
but I’ve never been to the place you mention.—I sup-
pose you thought it was pretty fresh of me to way-
lay you as I did yesterday, but the truth is I’ve been
bored to death, and although it seems caddish to say
it this mystery has been a godsend to me. However,
I'm Asorry I can’t help you out any; I really haven't
seen or heard anything that I haven’t told you. I
merely followed out a train of reasoning from the evi-
dence at hand for my own diversion.”
Odell rose.
“You have helped me, Mr. Farwell, by putting me
on a track that may prove to be the right one. I don't
suppose you happened to see who was in the limousine
that followed the undertaker's wagon this morning,
did you?”
“I was curious, naturally, but I didn't think it would
be the decent thing to do to stare openly. I stood
behind the curtains of the window in the entrance hall
and the road was so bad that the machines were going
slowly enough for me to get a good look in the window
of the limousine. There were two women inside heav-
ily muffled and one of them in deep mourning whom I
took to be Mrs. Latimer, though I couldn’t see her face.
An elderly man in a clerical hat was with them, and
that was all. I had seen him driving up toward Willow
Brook in the Latimer limousine an hour before, and I
fancy he was the minister who conducted whatever
services there were. Just as they drove past the bun-
galow he reached out and pulled down the shade, to
keep out the gaze of the villagers I suppose. All this


222 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
was very early, just around eight o'clock, and the
car came back in a few minutes going like the devil.”
“Then Mrs. Latimer hasn’t returned yet?” Odell
was buttoning his overcoat as he spoke.
“I think so,” Farwell replied. “At least, the ma-
chine went down toward the station about an hour
and a half ago and came back, but the shades were
drawn both ways. You'll think me a regular old
woman to be spying like that, but I’ve already con-
fessed my curiosity. I would like to get a good look
at Mrs. Latimer; so far, I’ve only caught glimpses.”
“You may have an opportunity before very long,”
Odell remarked signficantly. “I’m glad to have had
this little talk with you, Mr. Farwell. If anything
more occurs to you that might help, you'll let me know,
won't you? I’m going right up now and see if I can
have an interview with Mrs. Latimer.”
“Good luck to you, Sergeant.” Farwell shook hands
cordially. “Drop in again whenever you can; I'll be
glad to see you.”
Taking leave of his host, Odell picked his way along
the road leading to Willow Brook, for the sidewalks
were still impassable. Although the artist had been
able to give him no direct information, his face was
more than usually furrowed with thought; and as
his mind traveled swiftly back over the incidents of
the previous day his conversation with his own chief
at Headquarters returned to him. The latter had said
that if he continued to monkey with the Latimer case
he could not help but play politics. Unconsciously
the detective's shoulders straightened and his lips set


THE CONFERENCE 223
in a firm line. He'd show them all whether he could
or not!
Pettingill was an old friend, but if he acted too hast-
ily he must take the consequences. Odell was out to
find the murderer of Gilbert Latimer if it were hu-
manly possible, no matter what official heads fell into
the basket.
Instead of entering the gates of Willow Brook and
proceeding up the driveway or one of the paths, Odell
cleared the ditch by the side of the road at one leap
and squeezed through the hedge not far from the
spot whence he had approached the body on the morn-
ing the murder was discovered. The ice on the sur-
face of the pond had thawed to a mere film and the
frozen hummocks of snow which had covered the
ground were flattened into the gray slush that was
hardening again in a return of the cold spell.
The detective glanced toward the house, but the
shades of all the windows visible from where he stood
were discreetly lowered and no one was in sight. From
the place in the hedge where Jimmie Vail had first
approached the scene on that memorable Wednesday,
to the approximate spot where the body had lain, and
beyond to the clump of holly trees Odell coursed back
and forth like a hound who had momentarily lost the
scent, his keen eyes covering every inch of the sodden,
frost-coated earth at his feet; but nothing rewarded
his scrutiny, and he widened the field of his search to
the willows which bordered the pond.
There, with an ejaculation of satisfaction, he
swooped down at last upon a tiny, limp object which
he held between thumb and forefinger and regarded


THE CONFERENCE 225
torney had asked for Odell's services in an official ca-
pacity to prove Mrs. Latimer's guilt, but it was evi-
dent that somebody else had been bidding for them
also to prove her innocence. Who could that some-
body else be?
“I did, Mr. Agnewl” Odell chuckled, and then his
face grew grave. “I suppose you know, however, the
conditions under which I accepted the case? I am to
be free to conduct this investigation in any manner
that I see fit, with orders from no one.”
“We understand all that, and if I seemed a trifle
impatient just now you must take into consideration
the severe mental strain under which we are all labor-
ing. Not the least of our troubles is that we have
been unable to convince Mrs. Latimer of the precar-
iousness of her position. She is dazed with the sud-
denness of the whole horrible affair and cannot seem
to collect herself.-But come into the library; Lefferts
and Crewe are there waiting for you since you first
came along the road. What were you doing there by
the pond?”
“Looking for something, Mr. Agnew. Before we sit
in any conference, let us understand each other. I
must have absolute frankness, the whole truth. I
may not be able to prevent Mrs. Latimer's arrest, I
may not even be able to produce the necessary evidence
to clear her from suspicion before she is actually
brought to trial. I am afraid the sheriff has come into
possession of stronger circumstantial evidence than
you even dream now. You can see how vital it is that
I have all the facts, that there be no equivocations or
evasions.”


226 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Of course!” Agnew assented nervously. “That
goes without saying. My sister and I are the only
close friends Mrs. Latimer has in the world, and I
shouldn't have used all the influence I have to get you
assigned to this case if we meant to hinder your ef-
forts, Sergeant.”
Odell smiled again to himself as he followed the
other across the wide hall to the library. So it was
Agnew himself who was bidding against the district
attorney for his services! And neither of them knew
that he was impelled to accept the case by still a third
and higher influence than either could wield: the de-
termination to see that justice was done and the real
murderer of Latimer discovered.
When Starr Agnew opened the library door Mr.
Crewe was pacing up and down before the hearth
swinging his tortoise-rimmed glasses by their broad
black ribbon; while seated behind the writing-table
with a mass of papers in front of him was the elderly,
imposing-looking man with Snow-white hair who had
led Mrs. Latimer away after she had testified at the
inquest, and whom Odell had rightly concluded to be
Benjamin Lefferts, the senior member of the law firm.
He acknowledged the introduction with dignified,
old-fashioned courtesy and then thrust aside his
papers.
“We were fortunate in that your superior assigned
you to this case, Sergeant Odell. I have been informed
that the district attorney was prevailed upon to have
you temporarily attached to his staff as a special of.
ficer. You have followed this case from its inception,
and I need not dilate upon the position in which our


THE CONFERENCE 227
client, Mrs. Latimer, may presently be placed. In the
event of her being accused of the murder of her hus-
band we should as a matter of course defend her, al-
though we do not as a rule take criminal cases. You
may consider it strange, therefore, that we have called
you, a potential witness for the prosecution, to our
aid since it was you who brought forward the first
bit of circumstantial evidence, or clue, against our
client in the shape of that strip of fur torn from her
coat; but we have carefully looked up your record and
we believe that we know the man with whom we are
dealing.”
Odell flushed slightly.
“I did not produce that possible clue, Mr. Lefferts,
until it became my absolute duty to do so. I would
be placed in a decidedly equivocal position myself in
this case if it were not for one thing. Leaving per-
sonal consideration aside—my old friendship for the
sheriff and place as a guest in his household—I have
as you say been officially loaned to the district attorney
for this investigation, and unofficially assigned to it
in the interests of your client. When I reported at
Headquarters yesterday, four days before my original
leave expired, it was with the purpose, as my chief can
tell, of obtaining a month's extension and carrying
on a further investigation of this affair strictly in a
private capacity.”
“Indeed!” Mr. Lefferts sat back in his chair while
Crewe turned and faced them. “May I ask why, Ser-
geant Odell?”
“I told my chief that it was because I had become
interested in the problem and wanted to try to solve


228 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
it in sheer love of the game, but that was not the
whole truth,” Odell replied. “I had already become
convinced of the innocence of the Worns, although I
could not then prove it, but I also believed in the in-
nocence of another person and I saw the trend of
events.”
“What person?” Agnew had started forward, but a
quick glance from the elderly attorney restrained him.
“That is the one thing which renders my present
position unequivocal.” Odell smiled. “I may perhaps
be ruining the chances of my friend the sheriff for
reelection, but I can work honestly for the district at-
torney and with wholehearted interest for you. You
see, I do not and never for one moment have believed
that Mrs. Latimer killed her husband.”
“Thank God!” Agnew grasped his hand, while Lef-
ferts turned to his partner and nodded as though in
triumph. “And you were willing to sail in on your
own, in a private capacity, and prove it? That was
splendid of you!”
“I merely mentioned that because my chief can cor-
roborate it,” Odell observed. Then he turned again
to Mr. Lefferts and added gravely: “Do not over-
rate my ability or underestimate the power of the
district attorney's office in a place like this, sir. Should
the worst happen and Mrs. Latimer be held for trial,
the prosecution would have an enormous advantage to
start in the unconscious influence it would exercise over
the minds of the purely local jury. To be frank, Mr.
Latimer had not made himself popular out here, but
Mrs. Latimer is practically unknown; she is an out-
sider, as are we all, and it has been my experience that


CHAPTER XVIII.
IN THE NAME OF THE LAW
T A GESTURE from the senior partner Odell
seated himself, while Crewe stood eying him
thoughtfully from the hearthrug and Agnew strode for
a moment to the window.
“I don’t propose to waste any time, then, gentle-
men,” Odell remarked. “Mr. Agnew, when the sher-
iff questioned you yesterday concerning your own
movements on the night of the murder you refused
to give an account of them. You can do so, I suppose,
if it becomes absolutely necessary? I mean, you can
prove by witnesses that between five o'clock on Tues-
dāy afternoon when you left your own club in town,
the Commonwealth, in your roadster until nearly mid-
night when you drove into your garage you were no-
where in the vicinity of Sunnymead?”
“Good Lord!” Agnew had wheeled and was staring
at him in amazement. “They don't think that I had
anything to do with it, do they? I did not drive more
than twenty miles from town on Tuesday evening, but
I'm afraid I could not prove an alibi for every minute
of the time.”
“For the hours, then, between eight and eleven?”
Odell urged.
The thin, tanned face before him darkened and the
230


IN THE NAME OF THE LAW 231
nostrils quivered for an instant like those of a high-
spirited thoroughbred, but Agnew replied quietly
enough:
“No, Sergeant. If I told the truth upon the witness
stand about what I did during that time and refused
to give explanation, I should not be believed under
oath. And I cannot explain, even to you, although I
will tell you just what my movements were, if you
like.”
“Please do so.” Odell spoke with deep gravity.
“I left the club in an ugly mood. I had had no words
with anyone, but I was low in my mind over a private
matter, and in spite of the intense cold I thought that
a run in the open air would chase away the little blue
devils,” Agnew began. “I drove out and stopped up
the road at a little inn I knew of for dinner, expecting
to find it practically deserted as it usually is in winter;
but they had installed one of those cursed jazz bands
and the place was packed, though not with the sort of
people I knew. My only chance of establishing my
presence there, I am afraid, would be by the waiter's
testimony, and I doubt that he would recall me in that
mob, for he seemed to be taking a dozen orders at
once. I am sure I shouldn't know him if I saw him
again. I was disgusted with the place and the serv-
ice and ate merely a bite before starting to drive back
to the city once more.”
“What was the name of the inn?” asked Odell.
“It is called ‘At the Sign of the Lark,” and there is
a metal imitation of an English lark's cage hanging
outside,” replied Agnew. “I should say it was about
twenty miles above the city limits. It was about eight


282 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
o'clock when I drove down Riverside Drive and stopped
near an apartment-house entrance in the Nineties. I
hung around there, out in the cold, for more than three
hours and then drove back to my garage. That's all
I can tell you, Sergeant, yet it is the exact truth. Could
you expect any jury who thought me sane to believe
it?”
“Yes,” Odell responded promptly. “You were wait-
ing for someone, of course. You may have had an ap-
pointment or have merely been watching to inter-
cept them or see them go in or out of one of the build-
ings on that block. You waited in vain, obviously;
but isn't there some way you could prove your presence
there? Didn't you See anyone who might have rec-
ognized or would recall you? The officer on the
beat—?”
Agnew shook his head, while the two lawyers gazed
at him in surprise and disapproval.
“People passed in and out of the apartment house
during the evening, but I did not know any of them
and I took care that they didn't see me,” he answered
doggedly. “It was too cold for pedestrians to be about,
and I don’t believe half a dozen people, all told, passed
while I hung around there. I didn't notice any po-
liceman.”
“Very well.” Odell changed the subject abruptly.
“Mr. Agnew have you ever quarreled with Mr. Lat-
imer?”
The other started at the question and then his mo-
bile lips set in a firm line.
“Yes, on two or three occasions.”
“When were these occasions?”


IN THE NAME OF THE LAW 235
Agnew glanced again toward Lefferts, who nodded
inexorably, and the former spoke in a low tone.
“A woman. I did not know her.”
“Did she resemble Mrs. Latimer in any way?”
“Heavens, no!” Agnew spoke as though the sug-
gestion were a sacrilege. “She was tall and flashy and
sensuous-looking, more the type one would have ex-
pected him to marry in the first place. It was none of
my affair, of course, but the thought of poor little
Mrs. Latimer alone down here in this cold, dreary
house made me indignant; and when we met at the
coat desk my greeting must have been distant, to say
the least. He was in an ugly mood and made some
sneering remark, and I told him quietly and explicitly
just what I thought of him. I left him there, and
that was the last time I saw him alive.”
“Mr. Agnew, you mention three quarrels,” Odell
remarked deliberately. “Can you recall a fourth?”
The other shook his head and his steady gray eyes
met those of his questioner in a puzzled fashion.
“No, Sergeant. I would remember, I am sure, had
there been any more.”
“Have you ever visited Mr. Latimer's factories,
where the airplanes are constructed?”
“Yes, frequently, before our first quarrel. I have
not been to either since.”
“Are you sure?” Odell returned his gaze steadily.
“Did you not go out to the plant at Latimer, New Jer-
sey, about the middle of last September and interview
Mr. Latimer in his private office there?”
“Certainly not. I did not return from the West
until October.”


IN THE NAME OF THE LAW 239
you have come here to help me. You are very kind,
but I can tell you nothing more than I have already,
and all I need is rest.”
“It is to try to keep you from having that rest dis-
turbed that I am here, Mrs. Latimer,” Odell replied
gravely. “I know that you had nothing to do with the
death of your husband, but others in authority do not
agree with me, and your position is a very serious one
at this moment. If you will only tell me the truth
about that night, why you left the house after your
husband had departed for the station and, wearing
your moleskin coat, wandered down to the pond, I
may be able to save you much suffering.”
“But I did not leave the house that night.” A tiny,
stubborn line appeared between her finely-drawn
brows, and she turned appealingly to the younger
woman. “Doris, you believe me, don't you, even if no
one else does?”
“Of course, Margery dear,” Doris Agnew replied
soothingly, but she averted her face as she spoke.
“Sit down here and lean back against the cushions.”
“I don’t know how that piece of fur from my coa,
came to be where you found it, Sergeant Odell,” Mrs.
Latimer continued as she settled herself in her chair.
“It cannot be that just because of it anyone would
think I–I had done that horrible thing! No one could
be so stupid! Why, Mr. Lefferts has offered a re-
ward—”
“You have offered it, Mrs. Latimer,” interrupted the
elderly lawyer in the patient tone of one coaching a
dull but docile pupil. “Do not forget that. You have
offered a reward of ten thousand dollars for the ap-


240 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
prehension of your husband's murderer and proof that
will convict him of the crime.”
Mrs. Latimer's delicate features quivered slightly,
but she turned to the detective and nodded.
“You see? Why would I offer a reward if I were
myself guilty?”
“Mrs. Latimer, won't you trust me?” Odell pleaded,
ignoring her futile question. “Won't you tell me what
you thought you saw down by the pond that night?”
As she shrank back with a little sobbing gasp the
knocker upon the front door clanged resoundingly
through the house, and all of them unconsciously
stiffened as though awaiting a blow. They heard the
soft pad of Bangs' feet along the hall, the opening
and closing of a door, and then heavy footsteps ap-
proached.
“Come in.” Benjamin Lefferts' voice rang out ag-
gressively in response to a knock, and he took two
quick strides over to his client's chair.
The door opened slowly and Sheriff Pettingill ap-
peared upon the threshold. A portentous gravity rose
upon him, and as his eyes swept the little group and
encountered Odell he squared his shoulders defiantly;
yet his voice was unusually gentle as he advanced and
addressed Mrs. Latimer.
“I’m sorry, ma'am, but I’ve got a warrant here
from the magistrate for your arrest.”
“On what charge?” demanded Lefferts, but Odell
scarcely heard him. He was watching Mrs. Latimer,
and he fancied for a moment that a strange, enig-
matic smile flitted across her pale face.


IN THE NAME OF THE LAW 241
“For the murder of Gilbert Latimer!” the sheriff
responded. -
All eyes had turned now to the small figure, which
seemed to gather strength as she rose from her chair
and spoke in a clear, ringing tone from which all trace
of its former querulous helplessness had fled.
“I am ready, Sheriff, to go with you.”


CHAPTER XIX.
THE DOUBLE TRAIL,
A'. EIGHT o'clock that evening Lefferts, his part-
ner and Starr Agnew were gathered together
in the private sitting-room which McMahon's hotel
boasted, waiting with ill-concealed impatience for the
appearance of Barry Odell.
“He’s late,” announced Crewe from the depths of
the chair into which he had flung himself. “What
do you suppose the fellow is doing? You don’t think
he is double-crossing us? You're sure he is trust-
worthy, Ben?”
It was perhaps the twentieth time that he had
voiced those questions, but Lefferts replied with stoic
calm:
“I wish I were as sure that our friend here would
obey instructions.”
Agnew, his face dark with suffering, turned sav-
agely upon him.
“It’s all very well for you to talk, but you lawyers
aren't human sometimes! Do you realize that that
delicate, gently reared little woman, after a year of
suffering and a week of stark horror, is in jail? You
ask me to run away, to go back to town and leave her
here to face a trial for her life for a crime which she
did not commit?”
242


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 243
“I ask you not to make this case harder for us to
fight than it's going to be,” Lefferts retorted with sud-
den sternness. “You are thinking only of your own
feelings, Agnew; you want to spare yourself all you
can, and you won't realize that every hour of your
presence here before the trial is prejudicing public
opinion more strongly against her. I haven't spoken
plainly before, but do you know what people are saying,
what the district attorney is building his case upon?
That Mrs. Latimer killed her husband not because of
his neglect or brutality, but because she wanted to
marry another man!”
“Great heavens!” Agnew paused aghast. “What a
cursed outrage! I—I’m beginning to understand! I'll
take that train with you and Odell tonight.”
“I shall be here,” announced Crewe in pompous con-
solation. “As soon as Ben has given the detective
all the information in his power about Mr. Latimer's
past he will return, and I think our client's interests
may safely be left in our hands.”
“I’m banking on Odell,” remarked Lefferts hastily
as he saw signs of a renewed storm in Agnew's eyes.
“I know the brilliant record he has made for him-
self in his few years' connection with the Department
in New York, and if anybody can discover the mur-
derer of Gilbert Latimer he will! Besides, you know,
Agnew, that your sister will be here at the hotel, and
she will spend every moment with Mrs. Latimer that
the authorities will permit. With Maggie Ruggles and
Henry Eaves in charge up at Willow Brook and all the
rest of the servants held as material witnesses, no harm
can come to any of her effects. The grand jury meets in


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 247
out who really killed Latimer and obtain proof enough
against this person to have Mrs. Latimer's trial thrown
out of court,” Crewe remarked.
“Well, I’m not working entirely in the dark.” Odell
laughed again. “The prosecution have their clue in
that torn piece of fur from Mrs. Latimer's coat, but
I have evidence almost as strong in rebuttal; and
the odd thing is that it has been lying there all this
time at the scene of the crime. I only picked it up this
afternoon, but it is as distinctive, in its way, in point-
ing to the identity of the person who dropped it there
as the bit of moleskin. However, I haven't a shred
of evidence yet that would suggest any possible motive
for the murder, and in order to obtain that it will be
necessary for me to dig into the pasts of more than
one individual. Do you know anything about Mr. Lat-
imer prior to your meeting in England in nineteen-six-
teen, Mr. Agnew'?”
“No. He was presented to me by some member of
a flying club over there, and as I told you he was sell-
ing planes to the British government,” Agnew re-
plied. “He was keeping himself pretty well in hand
then and watching his step, and I rather liked him.
He was born in England, I believe, but he must have
traveled extensively in this country, for he knew a
lot about the mining and oil properties all over the
West as well as manufacturing conditions. He was a
fascinating talker when he chose, but he really told
very little about himself.”
“It seems odd that you did not attempt to find out
more about him personally when you brought him to
your home,” Lefferts said slowly.


248 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Starr Agnew shrugged.
“In the war you learned to take people rather at
their face value; but don't think I haven’t blamed my-
self a thousand times since!” he exclaimed. “I feel
as though I were personally to blame for this whole ter-
rible thing which has fallen upon Mrs. Latimer's shoul-
ders, but I never dreamed that she would — would
marry him! I knew nothing about it until it was all
over. It was then that I wrote her that letter which
you say is now in the hands of the sheriff, for I ad-
mit that I was hard hit; but the subject was never
referred to again between us.”
“You have not told us what your clue is, Sergeant
Odell, and I infer that you do not care to do so until
you have substantiated it,” Crewe's precise accents
broke in. “Can you not at least give us an idea where it
leads 2"
“To a double trail,” responded Odell. “Don’t worry
about me if you do not hear from me often during the
next three weeks, for I may have to travel far and
fast; but I'll turn up all right at the trial, if not be-
fore, and unless I am very much mistaken I shall
have my man with me!” *
“You know who he is already?” exclaimed Crewe.
“I can prove nothing against him, and if I were to
accuse him now I should only have a lunacy commis-
sion appointed for my pains.” Odell smiled and glanc-
ing at the clock picked up his suitcase. “We have
just time to make our train, gentlemen.”
“But the man!” Crewe persisted.
“As for the man himself, I could almost reach out
my hand and touch him now.” Odell spoke carelessly
and turned toward the door. “Gentlemen, our train!”


CHAPTER XX.
WHERE THE CLUE LED
N THE following Monday morning Margery Fair-
field Latimer was duly arraigned before the mag-
istrate and held for the Grand Jury on the charge
of murder in the first degree.
At the same hour Odell, in the New York offices of
the Latimer Airplane Company, was deep in conversa-
tion with a gray-haired and timorous clerk whose man-
ner showed plainly the effect of his late employer's
dominant personality upon him during the years of
his service.
“I’m sure, sir, I don’t know whether I ought to talk
or not without the permission of the attorneys even
though you do come from Mrs. Latimer,” he was say-
ing hesitatingly. “The directors of the company,
too—”
“The financial affairs of the company do not in-
terest me, but the private ones of the late Mr. Latimer
most certainly do,” Odell retorted firmly. “You and
Iboth know that there is nothing unusual in his having
banked for his own purposes at some other institution
than that in which the company's funds were main-
tained, using his own money. I simply wish to know
how many such accounts he kept up, and you must
be in a position to tell me.”
249 


250 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
The elderly bookkeeper lowered his head in thought
for a moment and then replied:
“His principal account was with the Mammoth Trust,
sir, and it was only by accident that I learned he had
another. The checkbook dropped out of his pocket
here in this very office one day last autumn, and as I
picked it up and handed it to him I couldn't help see-
ing the name stamped on it. I was surprised that a
big man like Mr. Latimer would think of banking in
such a humble institution, and I'm afraid my face
must have shown it, for Mr. Latimer was—was plainly
annoyed.”
The deeply lined, sensitive face flushed, and Odell
could imagine the insults which must have been heaped
upon him; but he had no time for a display of sym-
pathy.
“What was stamped on the checkbook?” he asked
briefly.
The reply came so low that he could scarcely dis-
tinguish the words.
“The United Artisans' Bank.”
A quarter of an hour later the detective presented
himself at the shabby little building down near the
Battery, and producing his credentials found that the
paying teller had no such qualms as those shown by
the old employee of the dead man.
“That Latimer account was the strangest we ever
carried,” the teller confided. “I began to think there
was something phony about it myself, and I wasn’t
sorry when Latimer closed it out, although it was the
biggest we ever handled.”


WHERE THE CLUE LED 251
“So he closed it out himself, did he?” Odell queried.
“When *"
The teller's face sobered.
“On the afternoon of the very day he was killed,”
he responded. “It only amounted then to about twelve
thousand dollars, but we’ve carried as much as twenty
thousand for him. It was against our rules, but he
fixed it up through one of the directors.”
“Were the checks all made out to the same person?
I want the name or names, the dates and the amounts
for which they called.”
“They were made out to ‘cash’ only.” The teller
turned to his accounts. “The original deposit was
twenty thousand and he drew half of it out a week
later. That was on the thirtieth of last September.
On the fifteenth of October he drew five thousand
more and deposited fifteen. On the first of November
and the first of December he drew five thousand each,
and deposited ten more. That left his account again
an even twenty thousand, but on the first of January
five was drawn and on the twentieth, three thousand;
that was the last until the account was closed out.”
Odell left the bank, after a personal perusal of the
books, with a slightly baffled feeling. He had hoped
to find that the checks had been made out to some
particular person, but in the main the interview had
satisfied him. The regularity of the dates upon which
the checks were drawn, the comparatively large
amounts even for a man of Latimer's affluence and
the caution displayed in the whole transaction pointed
to one fact only, and Odell had already deduced that
Latimer had been systematically blackmailed.


252 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
But by whom? The woman in the Wanderlyn apart-
ment house on Riverside Drive? As he drove swiftly
up there in a taxi the detective doubted the wisdom
of the time lost in the move, for had the woman been
the blackmailer she would most certainly have dis-
appeared when the game ended so tragically, whether
she were directly concerned in that ending or not.
Nor did he find that his conclusions had been at
fault. Representing himself to the superintendent of
the Vanderlyn as the doorman at the Palais du Plaisir,
he announced that a lady who had taken a taxi from
that restaurant on the previous Saturday night a week
before with a gentleman had dropped a small brooch,
and that after vainly waiting for her to offer a reward,
he had obtained from the chauffeur the address to
which the latter had driven and was there to restore
the lost property if he could see the lady in person.
“You couldn’t mistake her, sir,” he said. “She was
a tall, dark, splendid figure of a woman dressed in
very bright colors, with heavy eyebrows like a man
that almost met—”
The superintendent laughed shortly.
“You waited too long for that reward, my friend!” he
exclaimed. “Mrs. Howell left suddenly last Wednesday
afternoon, bag and baggage, and you'll have a hard
job locating her, I’m thinking.”
“Left!” Odell echoed with as much surprise and
disappointment as he could throw into his voice. “Are
you sure it must have been her? Did she have just
a furnished apartment here, then, that she could get
away as quick and easy as all that?”
“No. She sent all her furniture and household


WHERE THE CLUE LED 253
goods to the Bigelow auction rooms and took just
her trunks with her to the Grand Central Station.
I wasn’t around that day or she would never have
slipped away like that, breaking her lease, but she
told this hall-boy here that she had suddenly been
called West.”
“She sure did!” the boy affirmed. “I don’t know how
the word reached her, for she didn't get any mail or
telegrams that morning, or even a 'phone, but maybe
the gentleman who came to see her brought a mes-
sage.”
“Who was the gentleman?” Odell asked eagerly.
“Perhaps he would know where I could write to her
and send her the brooch!”
“He didn’t give any name; just told the switchboard
operator to announce to Mrs. Anita Howell that a
gentleman had called to see her on important business,
and she sent word back that he was to come right up,”
the boy explained. “I don't know who he was—he
never came here before—but there was an older guy
who used to take her out—”
“Shut up!” the superintendent ordered; then to Odell
he added with an air of finality: “We can’t help you
any, but if you want to leave the brooch with me—?”
Odell declined and departed. His “hunch” had been
right, and the woman who had been the murdered
man's companion in the night life of the city had van-
ished at the first danger of notoriety of a more sinister
sort.
At five o'clock he boarded the night boat for Boston,
and noon of the following day found him in the sleepy
little coast town of Fairfield Harbor.


256 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
This inspired respect but awakened no interest, and
Odell was almost despairing of his quest when on
Thursday he turned his back upon the village and
struck off down to the bleak, rocky shore. There, in
the lee of a jutting point, a cluster of fishermen's
shacks were huddled, and there he came upon a bent
old figure which seemed vainly trying to disengage a
frozen net from the rocks to which its meshes had
adhered.
“Good morning, sir! Let me help!” he exclaimed.
The bent figure straightened, and a pair of faded
but still keen eyes gazed at him steadily for a moment.
“Be you the young city feller that Faithful heered
tell of up to the store yesterday, who's come to learn
about some folks named Howell?” the old fisherman
asked at last.
“Yes, sir!” Odell responded eagerly. “Do you re-
member them? Mrs. Howell is my cousin and some
money has been left to her, but we have not heard of
her in ten years.”
“Be you a play-actor too?” the other demanded.
“No. Unfortunately my young cousin ran away
and went on the stage, and she married someone named
Howell—”
“Another trouper in the same show!” interrupted the
old man. “They was married up in the Methodist
Church, an’ though the minister's dead now you can
find the records. They lived right in thet shack thar,
without a penny to bless themselves with, until he ran
away an' left her. Folks up to town turned up their
noses at her because she was a stage woman, but Faith-
ful—thet's my wife—she was kind to the young critter


WHERE THE CLUE LED 257
an’ used to bake things an’ take over to her, an’ when
Mis' Howell left too an’ went back to the city to jine
another troupe she wrote Faithful two letters. Come
in an’ let Faithful show them to you. - - .”
Two days later Odell presented himself once more at
Headquarters in New York. When he was closeted
with his chief the latter demanded:
“What luck, Barry? The counsel for the defense
in that Latimer case are getting nervous, and so is
young Agnew. Have you honestly got a clue to the
guilty man or were you kidding me last Monday?”
“I haven't got a clue to him, I’ve got him; but I’m
no nearer proving anything yet than I was before, sir!”
Odell retorted impatiently. “I’m looking for a woman,
and it's going to take me all my time to find her. I
want you to do just two things for me.”
“What's the game?” His superior eyed with some
apprehension the paper which the young detective
sergeant had drawn from his pocket. “When you ask
for help in that tone, Barry, it's dollars to doughnuts
that you want me to butt in down there, and it's
the District Attorney's job!”
“Oh, you can pull the wires all right, and this has
nothing to do with the trial—exactly—sir.” Odell
grinned shamelessly. “In the first place, give me two
good men to send out to Omaha. It's only a flyer, but
it may be worth while. Then I want things arranged
so that four men whom I have in mind are put in the
panel for the Grand Jury when it sits for the trial
—I’m not asking to have the jury itself fixed, only
to have these men called for possible duty.”
“Who are they?”


258 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“One is a fat broker named Montgomery Robbins.”
Odell ran over the paper in his hands with a hasty
glance. “Then there's a young artist named Roscoe
Farwell, and Matthew Kingsley the naturalist, and
the local real estate dealer, James Snell. You can man-
age that, can’t you, Chief?”
“I suppose so!” grunted the other. “But you say
you’ve got’ your man. He's not under arrest; how
can you be sure he won’t slip through your fingers?—
unless you have him locked up in some private jail
of your own, of course!”
“That's not so far from the truth, Chief!” Odell
laughed. “Sorry the counsel for the defense are get-
ting nervous, but I’ve been busy since Monday in a
little village far from Sunnymead. The clue I had led
to some potential results, but the biggest one of all
I stumbled upon by chance in the local station.”
He drew from beneath his coat a flat package about a
foot long and unwrapped it, displaying an oddly shaped
hook of steel half an inch thick with a seven-inch
wooden handle.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked with naive
pride. “It’s a case hook, one of the diabolical things
the baggage smashers in every little local station
throughout the country use to spear your freight
packages with and drag them off the trains if you
are not looking. I stole this to compare with the one
my friend Hiram Claggett must have at Sunnymead.”
“What for?” the chief demanded tersely but with
suddenly reawakened interest.
“Because,” replied Odell. “if his is as stout and
heavy as this one, I will be willing to wager that it
was the weapon used to kill Latimer!”


CHAPTER XXI.
THE LONG ARM
FORTNIGHT later the Grand Jury convened, and
the district attorney appeared before it, sub-
mitted his evidence and succeeded in having the pris-
oner held for trial.
Meanwhile alternate hope and despondency had
reigned in the private sitting-room of McMahon's Ho-
tel, where the defense had set up its headquarters.
Foster Crewe, in spite of his pedantic speech and
pomposity of manner, was shrewd and cunning, with
a natural legal turn of mind as quick as a cat to
pounce upon any point left unguarded by his opponent
and make it his own. It was that quality which made
him invaluable to the senior partner, and the two
worked together in rare harmony.
In this case, however, there was a rift in the lute,
a note of discord which, although it was not openly
discussed as such between them, was acutely felt
by both; and that discord was caused by Sergeant
Barry Odell.
The last of the latter's cheerfully ambiguous notes
was forwarded to Sunnymead from the city office of
the firm on the day before the special panel for the
jury was to be called; and that its contents had been
faithfully noted by the senior clerk for Lefferts &
Crewe was attested by the square, flat package which
accompanied it.
259


260 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Thank the Lord!” Lefferts looked up from the
note to ejaculate fervently. “He’ll be here tomorrow!”
“Bringing his man with him?” Crewe raised his
eyebrows as he unwrapped the package. “Doesn't
say anything about that, does he? Do you realize,
Ben, that we are going to trial with the weakest case
for the defense on record? Now, what in the world
do you suppose Odell wants with this?”
“This” was a large complimentary calendar sent out
by the Argus Life Insurance Company two years be-
fore, with the usual lithograph above and monthly
date-pad below.
“I don't know, but he seems to be aware of what
he is about.” Lefferts replied with a note of buoy-
ancy that had been missing from his virile tones dur-
ing the past few days. “Listen to this: “Get calen-
dar issued by Argus Life Co. nineteen-eighteen. Will
be with you when special panel called, but may not
get chance to speak to you. When prospective juror
is turned over to you in each case if I raise my right
hand to head accept him, if left, reject; certain men
vital on jury if possible.’”
“Is that all?” Crewe leaned forward in his chair.
“Ben, this is the first time in our association that I
have suggested such a thing, but hadn't we better
call in Brummell?”
“Brummell!” The senior partner fairly thundered
the name. “That purveyor of fake evidence and
bribed witnesses? No, by heavens! If Odell fails us
—though I don't believe for an instant that he will,
remember!—we'll rest our case on the evidence we


THE LONG ARM 261
have and thank God that it is at least on the level!”
“Is it?” Crewe had lowered his voice significantly.
“Maggie Ruggles is loyal, but was our client really
in bed and asleep when Miss Agnew telephoned to
her?”
“She herself has assured us that she was and her
maid has corroborated her.” Lefferts spoke with a
note of warning in his tones. “If we go to court with
a doubt of our client's truthfulness in our own minds,
how can we hope to impress a jury? We must believe
her, Foster, and we must make them believe her; that
is the keystone upon which our structure will stand
or fall.”
They waited for a full hour the next morning be-
fore court opened for the coming of their special in-
vestigator, but Odell failed to put in an appearance;
and in a silence that was more significant than words
they made their way through the densely packed
throng in the square to the old court house.
Staid Sunnymead had never known such excitement
since the days when the first settlers put up their
stockade to protect them against the marauding
Shinnecocks. Every spare room in the county seat
was taken at a price hitherto unheard of, and lunch
wagons and booths lined every street in the vicinity
of the square. If Margery Latimer were to be sacri-
ficed to make a Sunnymead holiday, it would at least
be a memorable one.
As they took their places at the table in the court-
room reserved for the counsel for the defense, Crewe
drew his breath sharply, and his companion, follow-
ing his gaze, beheld Odell seated calmly among the


264 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Got to get my hen-houses whitewashed,” responded
Staples, heedless of the titter which rippled through
the room. He did not object to capital punishment,
would as soon convict a woman as a man if he thought
she was guilty, but wouldn't send a doggoned horse
thief to the chair as long as his hen-houses remained
in their present condition. Circumstantial evidence
was as good as any, he reckoned, if it went far enough,
but he couldn’t fix his mind on no argument till them
hen-houses was cleaned out. In disgust the district
attorney dismissed him, and called for the next pro-
spective juror.
Frank Higby, a burly individual, described himself
as a contractor, unmarried, and, judging from his tone,
with no desire to enter that hazardous state. He
didn’t believe in capital punishment because people
ought in his estimation to settle their own feuds to
suit themselves without recourse to the slow ma-
chinery of the law. Morever, from what he had heard
of Latimer, he guessed that whatever he got was com-
ing to him. He had a gang of men on the job now,
Micks and Wops, and if he didn't get let off to keep
an eye on them he shouldn't wonder if there'd be a
few more cracked skulls to occupy the attention of
the court. He was hurriedly excused and Crewe made
a note which seemed to give him much satisfaction,
for a faint smile wreathed his rather smug counte-
nance as one talesman after another escaped from
the responsibility which faced them.
At length the name of James Snell was called, and
as the rotund, red-headed real estate dealer came


THE LONG ARM 265
briskly forward Lefferts saw Odell straighten almost
imperceptily in his chair.
Snell didn't know anybody connected with the trial
particulary, and he hadn't formed any opinion about
it, one way or another; but he'd like to be excused
because business was opening up, and if he felt called
upon by his conscience to convict a new resident of the
county it would not exactly encourage prospective
buyers in the neighborhood. He was thirty-six, mar-
ried and had two children, and as he appeared open-
minded as far as justice was concerned the district at-
torney turned him over to the defense.
As Lefferts rose, Odell rubbed his forehead reflect-
ively with his right hand; and although the lawyer
did not appear to glance his way he asked only a per-
functory question or two and expressed himself as
satisfied with the talesman. Foreman James Snell
thereupon took his place in the jury box with a grin
of embarrassment upon his ruddy countenance; but
it faded as his glance fell upon the slim, black-clad
figure beside the guard, and such open naive pity
shone from his honest eyes that Lefferts could not
resist a quick, triumphant side look at his partner.
Odell's psychology had been sound if that were his
only reason for his choice; fat men were proverbially
tender-hearted, and red-headed people were as a rule
quick to temper and quick to forgive, emotional rather
than analytical. If, in his final address to the jury
—should Odell fail to interrupt the proceedings with
the proof of another's guilt—Lefferts could make a
strong enough appeal to that emotional side to off-set


266 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
the scathing denunciation of the prisoner which would
follow, there would be nothing to fear from the fore-
IIlall.
Salvatore Piccio, who mentioned market gardening
as his occupation, was a dark, fiery-looking man of
forty, a widower with eleven children, all of whom
would most certainly starve if he were not permitted
to return to his calling. Moreover, he desired most
ardently to go out and hunt up that slave-driver of a
contractor who had called his countrymen “wops’ and
start a little vendetta of his own. Under pressure,
he admitted that four of his children were grown
and all eleven of them worked in the truck garden,
and he appeared to be so willing to punish anybody
for anything that the district attorney turned him
over to the defense with the air of one anticipating
a challenge as a foregone conclusion.
Odell, however, was sitting hunched over the table
with his right elbow resting upon it and his chin in
his hand; so to his intense annoyance Piccio took his
seat beside Snell, and the selection of jurors proceeded.
By the noon recess half the box was filled. Mont-
gomery Robbins, a portly, well-groomed man of fifty
who described himself as a broker and commuter, mar-
ried but with no children, seated himself with fastid-
ious reluctance beside the Italian; but his reluctance
gave place to an expression of shocked outrage when
the chair next to him was taken by Herman Sametz,
the village tailor. He was an undersized, stoop-shoul-
dered man of middle age, a bachelor, and the rabid
socialistic tendencies which he displayed during the


THE LONG ARM 267
course of the district attorney's brief questioning made
the latter glance with keen but puzzled inquiry at the
senior counsel for the defense when the latter blandly
accepted him. Odell had not changed his position and
seemed to have lost all interest in the proceedings;
but when the next name was called he roused himself
with an air of bored impatience.
It was that of Ellery Minch, one of the leading
grocers of Sunnymead, and he appeared to be so oblig-
ingly willing to serve, and so conscientiously unpre-
judicial, that a little stir of surprise arose when Lef-
ferts abruptly challenged him. Odell was glancing
vaguely about the room pulling at his left ear in an
absent-minded fashion, but his right hand went to his
head again-when Matthew Kingsley, the naturalist,
appeared.
He was a bachelor of sixty-five, a tall, slimly aristo-
cratic individual with silvery hair and a gentle voice.
He knew little about the case, living practically in a
world of his own, but his intelligently poised mentality
was as obvious as his name was well known, and he was
accepted with evident satisfaction by both sides.
Orrin Filmore, the captain of a small sloop with
which he reaped a rich harvest from summer pleasure-
seekers, was next in line and seemed innocuous enough
to prove acceptable; but Odell was running his left
hand through his hair, and counsel for the defense
challenged once more.
Odell had fallen back into his old position with his
chin cupped in his right hand when Willis Pruyn, a
dour-faced farmer of fifty-eight was turned over to
the defense by the district attorney. With his accept-


268 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
ance the noon recess was called, and court adjourned.
Over their hurried lunch in the private sitting-room
at McMahon's Crewe remarked:
“Really, I do not think that Sergeant Odell displayed
much judgment in signaling you to challenge that
grocer, Minch. He appeared to me to be open-minded
and so willing to sit in the jury that I should have
strongly advocated his acceptance.”
“He seemed a little too willing, to me!” retorted
Lefferts, as he unfolded his napkin. A slip of paper
fell from it to the floor, and the lawyer chuckled as
he picked it up and read it and then passed it to his
companion. “Look at this! Odell is almost as much
a stranger in this town as we are, and yet I'd be willing
to wager he has the history and characteristics of
every man in the panel down pat!”
The paper bore a hasty scrawl. “Filmore's wife in
insane asylum for trying to kill him and Minch has
personal grudge because Mrs. L. caught him giving
short weight and took trade away; has been heard
to remark that if he could only get on jury he would
fix her. This afternoon if no signs use own judgment.
B. O.”
The afternoon session filled the jury box. Roscoe
Farwell, the artist, was the first man called, and al-
though he pleaded ill health as an excuse, his evident
intelligence and stern sense of justice made him a
find for the prosecution. Lefferts hesitated, but Odell
was energetically scratching his head with his right
hand, so the former accepted him in spite of the whis-
pered remonstrance of Crewe.


THE LONG ARM 269
William McMahon, the hotel-keeper, took the eighth
chair in the jury box with Odell's silent sanction; but
thereafter the latter seemed to lose himself in a train
of thought of his own and sat for the remainder of the
aftenoon with his hands resting limply on his knees.
Merridew Brooks, a polo-player from the aristo-
cratic country-club colony, was the ninth to be ap-
proved. He was a blond, sleek, pleasant-mannered
young man of twenty-six and unmarried. The duty
which confronted him was plainly distasteful and he
strove to wriggle out of it, but no valid excuse pre-
sented itself to his amiable mind so he accepted the
situation philosophically and took his seat.
The man to occupy the next chair, though of ap-
proximately the same age, was of far different cali-
ber. Slouching and surly, he described himself as a
garage helper and spurned the modest sum which his
services as a member of the jury would net him in
comparison to the lordly tips which came his way in
the ordinary course of events; but his only excuse
being that he was Peter Jenks, the brother of Sam,
who drove the milk wagon and who had been one of
those to discover the body on the morning after the
tragedy, he was forced to accept the honor thrust
upon him.
Asa Grinnell, the undertaker, was the eleventh man
to be accepted although he protested with revolting
insistence that this was his busiest season; and a small,
mild, nervously cheerful farmer of middle age named
Charles Tilbury, with “henpecked” written all over him,
eased himself deprecatingly into the twelfth chair.


272 THE MAN IN THE JUR BOX
audacious move in the history of modern crime! Two
or three days, a week more at most, and I promise you
that I will place it within your power to bring about
the strangest scene that was ever enacted in a court-
room!”
“In a courtroom!” Lefferts repeated slowly.
“Yes. You will not have to bother with a warrant,
for I will put the man into your very hands.”


SWORN TESTIMONY 27.
Latimer in order to establish the reason for the Vorns'
presence at that hour; and as the former had shown
it was no part of his program for the defense of the
prisoner further to blacken the character of the dead
man, he did not dwell upon their motive.
Jimmie Vail in his Sunday suit and with his round
face shining from a recent application of soap was the
next witness, but neither prosecution nor defense drew
from him anything concerning the finding of the body
on the following day which had not already been re-
tailed about the countryside; nor did his mother, who
followed him, add to the general fund of information,
although she did insert a remark which at Lefferts'
sustained objection was struck from the records, that
Mrs. Latimer certainly took the news cooler than any-
body she ever did see. She offset this, however, when
in the gentle hands of Lefferts she asserted that Mrs.
Latimer had taken more interest than any of the
other city folks in the epidemic of measles which
had ravaged the attendants of the school and had
sent fruit and flowers from her own hothouses and
conservatories to the little victims, Jimmie among the
rest. This, at the instigation of the district attorney,
was also stricken from the records as irrelevant and
immaterial, but it had at least a momentary effect
upon the jury, as the wily Lefferts intended.
The fifth witness was Sam Jenks, and although
he tried hard to be important his testimony was neg-
ligible. It was only after he had clambered down from
his briefly held space in the spotlight that District
Attorney Dysart began to unmask his guns.
He called Henry Eaves to the witness stand. Al-


SWORN TESTIMONY 279
there being an opening for a gardener, Maggie thought
I ought to be there to look out for her.”
“To look out for Maggie?”
“No, sir; Mrs. Latimer. She-Mr. Latimer didn't
treat her just right and there was nobody but Maggie
to protect her if she ever needed it.”
Here Lefferts’ objections were sustained, and the
district attorney started upon a new tack.
“Eaves, when were you last at the scene of the
murder prior to the discovery of the body by James
Vail?” -
“Tuesday afternoon, sir; the day before. In the
morning, before Mr. Latimer left for the city, he came
out to give me some instructions about the cows, and
he said that he wanted that unsightly old rowboat
taken away as soon as the frost broke so that it could
be moved. I thought I'd try it that afternoon, frost
or no frost, so I went down there.”
The two members of the counsel for the defense
eyed each other for the second time; the trap was
about to be sprung.
“Did you take any implements with you?” The
district attorney's voice was velvety smooth.
“A pickaxe, a short lever and a crowbar,” responded
henry. “I thought I could break the ice with the
pickaxe and pull the boat up by the lever and the
crowbar, but I soon saw that it couldn't be done; the
boat was too deep in the ice, and falling to pieces at
that. I went back then to the tool-house.”
“Did you take the three implements with you?”
Henry hesitated.


234 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
has any mortal could compel her to speak now? We
stand or fall by what you choose to call her ‘alibi' until
Odell returns!”
The afternoon session was opened by the summons of
Miss Virginia Jefferson to the witness chair, and the
erstwhile cook at Willow Brook founced up the aisle
clad in her most gorgeous raiment for the occasion
with a touch of rouge on her dusky cheeks and a sym-
pathetic roll of her eyes toward the prisoner.
When she had been duly sworn and admitted to her
name and length of service with the Latimers she re-
peated under questioning what she had already told
Odell on the morning the body was discovered; that on
the fateful Tuesday evening she had gone directly to
her room when her work was done and knew nothing
of Mr. Latimer's departure for the station nor subse-
quent death until the following morning, when the
breakfast which she was serving to Henry Eaves and
the chauffeur was interrupted by Bangs with his mis-
tress' order for them to go down and see what was
Wrong by the pond.
“You did not think it strange that you had not been
called upon to prepare breakfast for Mr. Latimer?” the
district attorney asked.
“I didn't think nothin' 'bout dat gemman, sir, I
aims to min’ mah own business. Sometimes he used
to come down at cock-crow hollerin’ fo” his coffee, an’
den again yo' wouldn’t see hide nor ha'r of him till
near noon. I'd done sent up Mis’ Lat’mer's toast an’
tea, an' I was studyin' 'bout what dessert I'd fix fo"
dinner when all de ruckus started.”
“What was the first you heard about the murder?”


SWORN TESTIMONY 289
sensational developments, and the strain was plainly
showing. Montgomery Robbins, the broker, was
frankly bored, as was the artist, Farwell, and even the
alert foreman Jim Snell had slumped in his chair.
Merridew Brooks was cheerfully if silently baiting the
surly Jenks and grinning at acquaintances among the
fashionable spectators and only Kingsley, the natural-
ist, listened with grave attention to every word.
When Alfred Bangs was summoned and came minc-
ing forward, however, there was a stir of renewed
interest which increased as he was sworn and gazed
with unmistakable animosity at the prisoner's calm
face. -
After the usual preliminary as to the nature and
length of his service to the Latimers, he repeated the
statement which he had formerly made to the sheriff
and Odell, and later at the inquest; but that odd sig-
nificant hesitation in his tones was so markedly in-
creased that the district attorney asked:
“You say that amicable relations existed between
Mr. and Mrs. Latimer during dinner on the night of
the murder?”
“I said they didn't talk much.” Bangs wet his lips
with his tongue and glanced once more at the prisoner.
“Mr. Latimer spoke and she answered in a quiet kind
of way. You couldn't tell whether they was just keep-
ing up appearances or was on friendly terms.”
“What were they talking about?”
“I don’t know, sir; I only caught bits of it as I was
serving them, and besides it’s not my place. I think,
though, they were discussing something they'd started
before ever they came to the table, for I couldn't


290 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
get the hang of it at all. He kept asking her if she
was sure, and she seemed surprised that he was so
excited about it, whatever it was. They went into
the library and talked for a few minutes, and then he
went to the station and she to her room.”
“And you saw no more of either Mr. or Mrs. Lat-
imer that night?”
“Well, so I told the sheriff, but I wasn’t under oath
then, sir, and they never asked me at the inquest.”
Bangs straightened and his small eyes gleamed. “I
try to be loyal to them I serve, but perjury is another
matter. I did see Mrs. Latimer again that night; it
was all of ten o'clock and she had on that moleskin
coat, with that lever there in her hand!”


CHAPTER XXIII.
THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE
OR an instant an electrified silence reigned
throughout the courtroom, and them all at once
it was in an uproar which the presiding judge
himself seemed powerless to quell. Foster Crewe
turned with a look of melancholy triumph at his part-
ner, who sat running one hand nervously through his
shock of snowy white hair, and only the prisoner sat
unmoved, her eyes fixed disdainfully upon the witness,
who alternately bridled and cringed beneath her steady
gaze.
“Where did you see Mrs. Latimer?” demanded the
prosecutor when quiet had once more been restored.
“At the back of the house, sir, going toward the
grape arbor,” Bangs asserted. “I’d heard a noise in
the cellar, and thinking maybe it was burglars, for
Mr. Latimer had a fine stock of wines stored there,
I went down to investigate. I'd gone to see if the out-
side cellar door had been tampered with, thinking
they'd never have broken into the house and gone
down by way of the pantry stairs, but everything was
all right and I'd turned to go back into the house
again when I saw Mrs. Latimer. It seemed so funny
to me, after I’d not been able to get any response by
knocking on her door only an hour before when the
telephone call came for her, that I stood and watched.
291


292 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
I saw her go into the grape arbor and lift the lever
high over her head with both hands and stick it
through the trellis work. Then she went back into
the house again and upstairs to Maggie Ruggles’ room
with me following. There was a low light there, but
it went out after a bit and I didn’t hear a word said,
so I went to my own room and to bed. I didn’t know
what to make of it, sir, till the news of the murder
came in the morning, and then—well, I just didn’t
like to speak of it before.” -
The district attorney asked only a question or two
to confirm the main points of his story in the minds
of the jury before, with a satisfied nod, he turned him
over to the defense. Old Lefferts rose, squaring his
shoulders defiantly. Histone, however, was as kindly as
though the erstwhile butler had just given the most
favorable testimony to his client as he asked:
“You are very sure, Bangs, that the lady you saw
was Mrs. Latimer? There was no moon that night,
you know. Couldn't it have been any other woman in
the household wearing her fur cloak?”
Bangs shook his head decisively.
“No, sir. The arbor is twenty feet or more from
the house, but I wasn't more than five feet from her
when she came out of the back door, and the stars
shining on the snow made everything as bright almost
as moonlight. There's no one in the house or in all
Sunnymead that I ever saw who's got hair that pale
gold color like hers, and I couldn't have been mis-
taken.”
“Then you are attempting to establish her identity
solely by the color of her hair under the night sky?”


THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE 295
“Off and on!” Maggie's smile was more like a set
grimace. “He’s been taking notice.”
“Do you mean courting you?” Even the prosecutor
could barely suppress a Smile at the aspect of the
gaunt, unprepossessing Spinster before him.
“And why not, pray?” Maggie held her head high,
but a dull flush mouzited in her cheeks. “I wrote him
that I would not leave Mrs. Latimer and that's why he
begged me to get him a job with them, too. I may
not be as young as some, but Henry's had enough
of the flighty, high-heeled, pleasure-loving kind, and
I’m a good housekeeper, if I do say so. I’ve practically
given my word to Henry, if it's any of your business!”
For the first time since the trial began the prisoner
gasped and leaned slightly forward in her chair, but
Maggie sedulously refused to meet her gaze.
“It is very much the business of this court!” The
prosecutor was goaded into a retort. “On the night
of Tuesday the third, at what hour did your mistress
retire?”
“At half past eight, and she was asleep by nine so
sound that the old Nick wouldn't have been able to
wake her up, in spite of what that sneaking, black-
mailing Bangs may say, as no one should know better
than me, seeing as I gave her a headache powder. It
was in her glass of hot milk that I made her drink and
she never knew it, but she couldn't have waked up till
the next morning if the world came to an end.”
A quick stir ran again around the courtroom, but
the judge sharply silenced it and Dysart asked:
“Did Mrs. Latimer go to your room at ten o'clock
or a little after that night?”


298 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
of that dratted lever, and I knew if he found it he'd
try to put the blame for the broken cellar door onto
Henry, to get even because I'd given him the mitten.
I didn't know what to do with the thing, so finally I
hid it in the trellis of the grape arbor and went back
into the house and straight up to my room. In the
early morning, about five, I slipped downstairs and
hung the coat in the hall closet again, and I never
knew anything about that piece torn from it till they
brought it out at the inquest.”
Lefferts turned now and regarded his partner in
dazed bewilderment; but that gentleman was rapidly
scribbling a note on a bit of paper and smiling to him-
self, and a low exclamation from their client made the
older man turn again quickly with a warning “Hush.”
Mrs. Latimer sat with her thin little hands clasped
tightly together and a smile transfigured her face as
she murmured softly over and over under her breath:
“The darling! The dear, faithful soul!”
At Lefferts' touch upon her arm she pulled herself
together and her hands dropped limply in her lap
as she bowed her head for an instant and then looked
straight ahead of her once more with her habitually
calm gaze.
Dysart tried vainly to shake Maggie's testimony,
but she clung tenaciously to her original statements.
He asked a final question:
“What was your purpose in giving your mistress a
powder to render her unconscious without her know-
ledge, as you have affirmed?”
“Because she don’t believe in them and would never
have taken it if she'd known; but I’ve taken care of


THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE 299
: her since she was fourteen and I know what’s best for
her. She'd had a headache, and T meant she should
have one good sleep anyway.”
With a sign of surrender the district attorney
turned her over to the counsel for the defense. As
Lefferts rose Crew slipped into his hand the bit of
paper upon which he had been writing. Glancing at
it the older man saw: “Why Bangs blackmailer?”
“Maggie, just now you spoke of Bangs as a black-
mailer. What did you mean by that?”
“Because that's what he was, or tried to be, sir!”
Maggie responded. “I didn't know he'd seen me in
that coat, but why didn’t he tell about it when the
gentlemen were questioning him or afterwards? Be-
cause he went to Mrs. Latimer and told her it was her
he saw, and that he knew well she'd not been in her
room when the telephone call came for her. He said
the whole thing was none of his business but he could
make a lot of trouble for her if he opened his lips,
though he'd keep quiet for a nice little present of five
thousand dollars. It was lucky I was in the next room
putting away some fresh linen and heard it, for Mrs.
Latimer herself can prove that what I’m telling you
is the truth!”
“When was this?”
“On Wednesday afternoon, sir, when Mrs. Latimer
was supposed to be resting according to the doctor's
orders! Of course she refused Bangs, but I guess he
kept on hoping up to now! "Twas me that wore that
coat down to the pond on Tuesday night and left a
piece of it hanging on that holly tree! "Twas me that
Bangs saw with the lever, and I’ve done no harm. If


THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE 301
worth to the jury, trust him for that! Then they'll
call Mrs. Latimer herself, and the Lord knows what
mess her quixotic ideas will get us all into. Starr Ag-
new can't prove his alibi, we can't produce the woman
Latimer was interested in and our attempt to drag
that sordid sort of thing in will only militate against
us. We haven’t a single witness to call for the defense,
and no matter how long I try to string it out the
case is bound to go to the jury tomorrow or the next
day, unless Odell returns!”
They ate a cold and indifferently served meal, had
a brief and unsatisfactory conversation with their
client in the jail and returned to discuss the case
fruitlessly until far into the night.
Lefferts' room was on the second floor at the back,
facing a yard littered, with provision cans and the
bottles and barrels of a past era. He was just tumbling
into bed when a pebble twanged against his shuttered
window. His tired brain was puzzling over it in a
dazed fashion when a second small stone hit with
greater force, and a sudden wild hope made him spring
across the floor and throw wide the shutters.
In the shadow of a pile of boxes a single figure stood,
and at sight of him the usually imperturbable lawyer
uttered a low but fervent exclamation of thanksgiv-
Ing.
“Sh-h!” the man in the shadow warned. “Can’t
talk. Let them call all their witnesses tomorrow and
don't bother much to cross-examine them. When the
time comes for you to call your own witnesses, follow
these directions and don’t deviate from them. Can
you catch?”


THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE 303
ledge and her brother's unsubstantiated attempt at
an alibi was received with open disbelief.
When finally Mrs. Latimer was called to the stand
the excitement had risen to its highest pitch, and it
was with the utmost difficulty that order was restored.
She repeated her story as she already told it, but
somehow her small figure had lost its appeal, and
Lefferts permitted her to leave the stand without a
single corroborative question.
Instead, when the state had rested its case and the
defense was asked if it wished to call any witnesses,
he rose with an air of unruffled dignity and addressed
the bench.
“If it pleases your Honor, I have several witnesses
to call whose testimony will be vital to a true verdict
in this case. The first is Nita Howell, at one time
called Latimer.”
In the startled commotion which filled the room a
woman appeared from the back and made her way
rapidly, with a lithe, swinging grace, down the aisle.
She had coppery red hair which gave her dark skin
an olive tinge, and her hennaed brows were shaven to
a thin, straight line. In a full, rich voice she took the
oath and then, turning, gazed slowly with an odd,
feline smile down the length of the jury box and
back again.
“Mrs. Howell.” Lefferts had glanced down at a long
typewritten strip of paper which he held in his hand.
“You are a married woman?”
“I’ll say sol” the witness for the defense replied em-
phatically. “I married Bob Howell in nineteen-ten, at
Fairfield Harbor, Massachusetts.”


304 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Mrs. Latimer had started forward in her chair, gaz-
ing with wide eyes at the other woman, but Mrs.
Howell did not notice her. She seemed instead to be
absorbed in some contemplation which afforded her a
measure of grim amusement.
“Is your husband living?” Lefferts continued.
“Very much so!” Nita Howell laughed outright.
“He’s right in the courtroom now underneath your
eyes and he has been since this trial began, only he
isn't wearing the same name. He's in the jury box!”


CHAPTER XXIV.
THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
HE prosecutor's roar of objection burst thunder-
erously on the stunned silence, but shrill above it
arose the scream of the woman in the witness chair.
“Look out! He'll cheat you yet—you need him bad!
He's doing something to his wrists!—There, that man,
number seven; you call him “Farwell’l”
All eyes turned to the jury box, to see Foreman Snell
whirl about, overturning his chair to grasp the strug-
gling man behind him; but sturdy William McMahon,
who had handled many a rough customer in his own
bar in the old days, had already seized the erstwhile
artist and was holding both hands well above his head;
one gripped a keen razor blade and the wrist of the
other dripped blood.
Judge Mapleton peremptorily halted the trial while
the sheriff, for the first time in the history of the court,
climbed into the box and subdued the juror and Cor-
oner Hale bound up the injured wrist.
District Attorney Dysart was dumbfounded at the
sudden change in the course of events and a veritable
pandemonium existed among the crowd of spectators.
The writers at the press-table were scribbling madly,
their messengers plunging back and forth through
the throng, and the faces of Crewe and Lefferts were
a study. Only Mrs. Latimer, staring at her unex-
305


THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX 307
own department in New York City at the personal re-
quest of District Attorney Dysart.” Odell bowed to-
ward that gentleman, who glared at him in response.
“It was through no fault of mine that I only reached
Sunnymead with my witnesses in time for them to ap-
pear for the defense.”
“We will proceed.” Judge Mapleton turned to Nita.
Howell. “Will you tell us your story, madam?”
“That's what I’m here for, Judge,” she responded.
“Ten year ago Bob Howell and I were members of a
theatrical troupe touring New England, and we put
on everything from ‘Charley's Aunt” to ‘East Lynne'
according to where we were. I was playing soubrette
and ingenue then and Bob was doing a little of every-
thing, including juveniles and scene-painting. He was
good-looking and I was crazy about him, so when the
manager flew the coop and left us stranded in Fair-
field Harbor we got married and settled down for
awhile. But we were just kids and it didn't last.”
She shrugged and the judge asked:
“There is a record in existence, I presume, of your
marriage?”
“Yes. Mr. Odell has a copy of it from the Methodist
church with him right now.—Bob got a job at house-
painting and we took a fisherman's shack down on the
shore and everything was all right for the summer.”
She paused and turned with a shamefaced air toward
Mrs. Latimer. “This—this lady might remember me,
though she was only a girl herself then.”
“Indeed I'do, although you — you seem changed,
somehow.” Mrs. Latimer spoke impulsively before


308 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Lefferts could stop her. “My maid Maggie Ruggles
recognized you down here about a month ago.”
Nita Howell nodded grimly.
“That's what started all the trouble,” she observed
briefly and then turned to the judge once more. “By
the time that autumn came, Judge, both Bob and I
were sick and tired of our bargain. I missed the ex-
citement of the old life, and I didn't look so good to
him with the glamor gone, shoddy as it was. I woke
up one morning to find him gone, but I'd saved enough
to get me to New York and I joined another com-
pany there that was going on a western tour. I
did well, got with a higher class show the next sea-
son, and for four years I never heard a word about
Bob. The first news I got was that he was dead,
killed in a fire in a moving picture studio, and Mr.
Odell has the telegram, for I’d always kept it. The
name of an old friend was signed to it, but I found
out afterwards that Bob had sent it himself, for—
for a reason. I–I guess I’d better not tell any more
with this lady present; I’ve done her enough harm
already.”
“Please!” Mrs. Latimer shook off her lawyer's re-
straining hand and rose. “Judge Mapleton, may I
not hear? When Mr. Lefferts called Mrs. Howell to the
stand he said she had at one time been called ‘Lat-
imer’ſ I must know what she was to my husband!”
The old judge hesitated for a moment and then
announced:
“You may remain, Mrs. Latimer. Proceed, please,
Mrs. Howell.”
“Well, it isn’t just the pleasantest thing in the


THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX 309
world, but I guess I’ve got it coming to me and she'll
have to know sometime,” that lady remarked philo-
sophically. “Bob sent me that telegram because he'd
turned thorough crook and he'd heard that a certain
rich manufacturer of tractors named Gilbert Latimer
was crazy about me. He thought if I was
free this man would marry me and then he could
appear on the scene and blackmail me; and he thought
right except for the blackmailing part. That was
six years ago, and Mr. Odell has a record of that mar-
riage, too, before a justice of the peace in Omaha.
Mr. Latimer had settled a good bit of money on me
—I’d seen to that!—and he turned out to be pretty
much of a brute; so when Bob turned up and ex-
plained his little game to me I couldn't see it for a
minute, shelling out my capital piecemeal to go on
living with a man I hated and didn't have any real
hold on, after all. I took a leaf from Bob's book,
beat it, and financed a company of my own to tour
Australia.
“We went on the rocks but I got in a stock com-
pany in Melbourne, and never came back to the States
till last summer. Mr. Odell has my old contracts
to prove it, and I swear I wasn't responsible for the
report of my being lost at sea that reached Mr. Lat-
imer. The name I had taken together with those of
the rest of my company was on the passenger list
of a ship that was wrecked with all on board going
from 'Frisco to Sidney when I started my tour, but
we sailed on the next boat instead.”
Mrs. Latimer, who had sunk back white-lipped in her
chair, now started eagerly forward once more.


310 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
“Then when Mr. Latimer married me he thought
that he was free?” she cried. “Oh, I should like to
think that of him, anyway!”
“You can, for he was free, you know.” There was
an unusual gentleness in Nita Howell's tone and her
hard eyes had softened. “I was never his wife while
Bob was alive, even though I thought I was.--When
I reached New York last August I was flat broke and
walking Broadway looking for an engagement when
the first person I ran into was Bob! He told me he
was a real artist at last, faking pictures for some
crooked art dealer, and that he had a bungalow down
here and everything. I wouldn’t have known him if
he hadn’t spoken to me first, for his face was all
changed—reconstructed, they call it. He’d been blown
up in some chemical explosion in a paint factory, and
he never was nearer the war than Hoboken!
“He told me that Mr. Latimer thought I was dead
and had married again, and that he was a big man
besides, the head of an airplane company. He put
up a proposition to me to make fortunes for us both,
and though I wouldn't listen at first, he just laughed
and gave me his address.”
She paused and a red tide flooded her olive skin,
but the judge said sternly:
“Go On.”
“That's what I did do!” She straightened in her
chair and the hard, defiant look returned to her eyes.
“I went on and on from one agency to another, but
I'd been away so long nobody remembered me, and
there didn't seem to be an opening even in burlesque
for a third rate actress with an Australian stock


THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX. 311
wardrobe of the vintage variety and ten years of
hard work beginning to show in her face. I’d never
done anything crooked before, but you begin to think
differently about a whole lot of things when you
haven’t eaten for awhile and your landlady locks your
room on you. Not that I'm making any excuses; I
didn't think or care who Mr. Latimer was married
to then, but I began to remember his rottenness when
I’d married him in good faith, and at last I went to
Bob.
“Of course I'd married Mr. Latimer legally under
my own name, Nita Howell, and Bob went to him
last September down at his plant in New Jersey and
posed as my only relative, my half-brother Roscoe Far-
well. He brought him to see me to prove that I was
alive, and got ten thousand out of him for me to go
away quietly and get a divorce. Bob split all right
with me then, and of course I didn't try for any di-
vorce; I took an apartment in town and lived like
I’d always wanted to, while Bob put the screws on
Mr. Latimer. He made him come out here and buy
the Hopewell place and live so that he could keep an
eye on him, and he told me he was getting a thousand
a month out of him, but he was getting five; that's
why I'm squealing on him now, the crook!
“Every time Mr. Latimer showed signs of balking,
Roscoe Farwell's sister would come down to pay a
little visit to her dear brother, and our fall guy would
come across mighty quick. Every time I saw him,
though, I hated him worse, for I remembered the
blows and curses he'd given me in the little while
we'd lived together; and I began to make him pay up a


312 THE MAN IN THE JURY Box
little in my own way by taking me about in town and
showing me attention, just for the fun of seeing him
writhel Of course I took good care that—that this
lady never saw me, for I'd learned as soon as I went
into the game with Bob that she was the girl who had
lived all alone with a shrew of a housekeeper at the
old Fairfield place where we'd been married; and al-
though ten years is a long time I wasn’t taking any
chances on her recognizing me. I didn't count on that
Ruggles woman being with her still, though, and that's
where we slipped up.
“On the Saturday night before—before Mr. Latimer
was found dead, he'd taken me to the Palais du Plaisir
and I must have goaded him too far, for in the taxi
going back to my apartment he struck me. That was
the limit for me, and the next day I went down to
Bob and told him to raise the tax on the brute or I
would go straight up to Willow Brook and demand
the rights I was supposed to have. Of course that
would have got Bob in Dutch for blackmail even if we
lost our graft, and he had to promise and kid me along;
though he was sore because he knew he was already
gouging Mr. Latimer for all there was in it, and I
was the goat.
“I stayed around, and on Monday Bob ran in to
town and saw Mr. Latimer at his office; at least, he
told me when he returned that he did. I guess it was
true, for I showed myself on the porch of the bunga-
low when Mr. Latimer drove past on his way home
from the station and if looks could kill I’d certainly
be under ground now!”


THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX 317
:
him. Dr. Hale followed, and at a motion from the
judge he seated himself. Farwell remained standing,
and a slight smile curled his lips as he saw the case
hook lying upon the table.
“Really, that is remarkably clever, my dear Odell!”
he drawled deliberately. “I admit that in spite of
knowing your record I had underrated your power
of deduction. I suppose my charming wife has gone
fully into such details as she knows, but I did not tell
her that before I followed Latimer from the station
that night I picked up that hook from the baggage
truck and found it most effective.”
Judge Mapleton conscientiously interrupted with a
brief exposition of the law governing confessions in
the case of a capital offense, but Farwell merely
shrugged wearily.
“Why delay the game, Your Honor? I have already
received my death sentence from Doctor Hale.” He
pointed to his throat. “A few months in a dry, arid
climate or a few weeks in a cell; what does it matter?
I followed Latimer home from the station when I
learned that through my wife's stupidity he had dis-
covered the truth, and I killed him with a single blow
of the case hook. It was quite simple, and ten min-
utes later I was smoking a cigarette at my own hearth.
I did not know that I was to have the ironic satisfac-
tion of sitting in judgment upon the woman who had
told him of my real relationship to my supposed sis-
ter and so unwittingly freed him from the hold I
had upon him. I killed him because he had become
useless to me, and I did not care to be prosecuted
for so petty and sordid a crime as blackmail. The


318 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
next morning when I went to the city to inform my
wife of what a mess she had made of things I carried
the case hook under my coat and dropped it quite
openly upon the baggage truck at the station. Before
my train came I had the pleasure of seeing Hiram
Claggett pick it up and exclaim that he had been
looking for the “danged’ thing all morning. Sergeant
Odell, I am saving the sta.e and the authorities you
so ably represent a great deal of trouble by my frank-
ness; won't you tell me how you deduced the matter
of the hook?”
“I knew that the murder was no more premeditated
than that meeting at the station had been, and I
naturally concluded that the man who killed Latimer
would not appear forearmed for the occasion,” Odell
responded quietly. “I went down to another station
far away and looked about to see what I could pick
up in the darkness if the idea of murder suddenly
presented itself to me, and I found a case hook iden-
tical with this; that it all.”
“Simple enough, like all great achievements.” Far-
well nodded, and then broke into a paroxysm of cough-
ing. “And now, Your Honor, may I be excused? I
have lost much blood through my foolish attempt
to end this affair prematurely, and I find that jury
duty is more fatiguing than I had anticipated; but
you will admit, I am sure, that I fulfilled a unique
position commendably to the last!”
sº * * ::
“Young man, now that our friends have left us I
should like to ask you a few questions about a matter
that we do not mention before them, especially now


320 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
killed until about half past nine. I think that the
sleeping powder was a mere fabrication; that Mrs.
Latimer, in the misery of mental torture and unrest,
put on her moleskin coat and wandered down to the
pond, where chance led her to the lever. I have al-
ways thought that she witnessed the murder and
mistook Farwell for Starr Agnew; their figures are
really very much alike in silhouette, even to the mil-
itary bearing. She may have picked up the lever in
some instinct of defense; and when the murderer ran
away she got back to the house' in a daze and went
to the room of her only confidant in the household,
Maggie.”
“You’ve hit it.” Lefferts nodded. “It was Maggie,
though, who put on the coat and taking the lever
outdoors hid it in the grape arbor. She has told me
that when she met Henry there the next day she did
not tell him where the lever was; she merely told him
to ‘look up.” After she'd gone he did so and acted
upon his own judgment. But we are waiting to hear
what first put you on the trail of Farwell.”
Odell laughed in his turn.
“He did himself! When he waylaid me at the sta-
tion in town, dragged me to a coffee house and im-
pressed his theory of Mrs. Latimer's guilt upon me,
at the same time protesting that he was a mere by-
stander, I began to ask myself why he had taken the
trouble to try to make me view the case from his
standpoint; and I remembered that either he or Mr.
Ringsley might well have loitered at the station in
Sunnymead to speak to Mr. Latimer. It couldn't have
been Kingsley, of course, and I commenced then to


THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX 321
look a little askance at my friend Farwell. He gave
me an unusual cigarette, too, an imported Xerxes,
and I kept the stub.
“When the opportunity presented itself I called upon
him at his bungalow as he had invited me to do, and
recognized upon the easel in his studio a bad copy
of a snow scene which the Argus Life Insurance Com-
pany had figured on their complimentary calendars
two years before; yet he assured me that it was a bit
from the edge of Chris Vorn's farm. A fake artist
would only hang about a place like this in winter if
he were lying low, or had some hidden interest here.
He showed me the photograph of his ‘sister’ on the
mantel, and I bore the likeness in mind. Then, too,
he seemed to me to have taken an abnormal interest
in the funeral of Latimer that morning. When I
mentioned Maggie Ruggles, he started but denied ever
having been in Fairfield Harbor though he admitted
readily enough that he had ‘toured’ New England,
but changed it at once by explaining that he meant a
sketching tour.
“He was an incessant smoker, and it came to me that
if by any chance he had been on the scene of the
murder that night he might have dropped a cigarette
stub. On my way to that conference with you in
the library here I stopped at the pond and hunted
around till I found the end of another Xerxes ciga-
rette like the one he had given to me, but stained and
shapeless from soaking in the thawing snow for four
days.
“When I talked with Mr. Agnew again I realized
the similarity in appearance between the two men


324 THE MAN IN THE JURY BOX
Lefferts smiled and one of his hands fell lightly on
Odell's arm.
“She would not have had so splendid a champion,”
he concluded. “Nor, if she were innocent, could it
ever be proven that the real criminal in the case was
a man in the jury box!”
THE END.