Hand and Ring by Anna Katharine Green (good book club books TXT) 📖

interview, Mr. Ferris asked:

"Were they these: 'I cannot. Wait till to-morrow'?"

"Yes, I believe they were."

"And when he inquired: 'Why to-morrow?' did you reply: 'A night has been known to change the whole current of one's affairs'?"

"I did."

"Miss Dare, what did you mean by those words?"

"I object!" cried Mr. Orcutt, rising. Unseen by any save himself, the prisoner had made him an eloquent gesture, slight, but peremptory.

"I think it is one I have a right to ask," urged the District Attorney.

But Mr. Orcutt, who manifestly had the best of the argument, maintained his objection, and the Court instantly ruled in his favor.

Mr. Ferris prepared to modify his question. But before he could speak the voice of Miss Dare was heard.

"Gentlemen," said she, "there was no need of all this talk. I intended to seek an interview with Mrs. Clemmens and try what the effect would be of confiding to her my interest in her nephew."

The dignified simplicity with which she spoke, and the air of quiet candor that for that one moment surrounded her, gave to this voluntary explanation an unexpected force that carried it quite home to the hearts of the jury. Even Mr. Orcutt could not preserve the frown with which he had confronted her at the first movement of her lips, but turned toward the prisoner with a look almost congratulatory in its character. But Mr. Byrd, who for reasons of his own kept his eyes upon that prisoner, observed that it met with no other return than that shadow of a bitter smile which now and then visited his otherwise unmoved countenance.

Mr. Ferris, who, in his friendship for the witness, was secretly rejoiced in an explanation which separated her from the crime of her lover, bowed in acknowledgment of the answer she had been pleased to give him in face of the ruling of the Court, and calmly proceeded:

"And what reply did the prisoner make you when you uttered this remark in reference to the change that a single day sometimes makes in one's affairs?"

"Something in the way of assent."

"Cannot you give us his words?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then, can you tell us whether or not he looked thoughtful when you said this?"

"He may have done so, sir."

"Did it strike you at the time that he reflected on what you said?"

"I cannot say how it struck me at the time."

"Did he look at you a few minutes before speaking, or in any way conduct himself as if he had been set thinking?"

"He did not speak for a few minutes."

"And looked at you?"

"Yes, sir."

The District Attorney paused a moment as if to let the results of his examination sink into the minds of the jury; then he went on:

"Miss Dare, you say you returned the ring to the prisoner?"

"Yes, sir."

"You say positively the ring passed from you to him; that you saw it in his hand after it had left yours?"

"No, sir. The ring passed from me to him, but I did not see it in his hand, because I did not return it to him that way. I dropped it into his pocket."

At this acknowledgment, which made both the prisoner and his counsel look up, Mr. Byrd felt himself nudged by Hickory.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered.

"Yes," returned the other.

"And do you believe it?"

"Miss Dare is on oath," was the reply.

"Pooh!" was Hickory's whispered exclamation.

The District Attorney alone showed no surprise.

"You dropped it into his pocket?" he resumed. "How came you to do that?"

"I was weary of the strife which had followed my refusal to accept this token. He would not take it from me himself, so I restored it to him in the way I have said."

"Miss Dare, will you tell us what pocket this was?"

"The outside pocket on the left side of his coat," she returned, with a cold and careful exactness that caused the prisoner to drop his eyes from her face, with that faint but scornful twitch of the muscles about his mouth, which gave to his countenance now and then the proud look of disdain which both the detectives had noted.

"Miss Dare," continued the Prosecuting Attorney, "did you see this ring again during the interview?"

"No, sir."

"Did you detect the prisoner making any move to take it out of his pocket, or have you any reason to believe that it was taken out of the pocket on the left-hand side of his coat while you were with him?"

"No, sir."

"So that, as far as you know, it was still in his pocket when you parted?"

"Yes, sir."

"Miss Dare, have you ever seen that ring since?"

"I have."

"When and where?"

"I saw it on the morning of the murder. It was lying on the floor of Mrs. Clemmens' dining-room. I had gone to the house, in my surprise at hearing of the murderous assault which had been made upon her, and, while surveying the spot where she was struck, perceived this ring lying on the floor before me."

"What made you think it was this ring which you had returned to the prisoner the day before?"

"Because of its setting, and the character of the gem, I suppose."

"Could you see all this where it was lying on the floor?"

"It was brought nearer to my eyes, sir. A gentleman who was standing near, picked it up and offered it to me, supposing it was mine. As he held it out in his open palm I saw it plainly."

"Miss Dare, will you tell us what you did when you first saw this ring lying on the floor?"

"I covered it with my foot."

"Was that before you recognized it?"

"I cannot say. I placed my foot upon it instinctively."

"How long did you keep it there?"

"Some few minutes."

"What caused you to move at last?"

"I was surprised."

"What surprised you?"

"A man came to the door."

"What man."

"I don't know. A stranger to me. Some one who had been sent on an errand connected with this affair."

"What did he say or do to surprise you?"

"Nothing. It was what you said yourself after the man had gone."

"And what did I say, Miss Dare?"

She cast him a look of the faintest appeal, but answered quietly:

"Something about its not being the tramp who had committed this crime."

"That surprised you?"

"That made me start."

"Miss Dare, were you present in the house when the dying woman spoke the one or two exclamations which have been testified to in this trial?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was the burden of the first speech you heard?"

"The words Hand, sir, and Ring. She repeated the two half a dozen times."

"Miss Dare, what did you say to the gentleman who showed you the ring and asked if it were yours?"

"I told him it was mine, and took it and placed it on my finger."

"But the ring was not yours?"

"My acceptance of it made it mine. In all but that regard it had been mine ever since Mr. Mansell offered it to me the day before."

Mr. Ferris surveyed the witness for a moment before saying:

"Then you considered it damaging to your lover to have this ring found in that apartment?"

Mr. Orcutt instantly rose to object.

"I won't press the question," said the District Attorney, with a wave of his hand and a slight look at the jury.

"You ought never to have asked it?" exclaimed Mr. Orcutt, with the first appearance of heat he had shown.

"You are right," Mr. Ferris coolly responded. "The jury could see the point without any assistance from you or me."

"And the jury," returned Mr. Orcutt, with equal coolness, "is scarcely obliged to you for the suggestion."

"Well, we won't quarrel about it," declared Mr. Ferris.

"We won't quarrel about any thing," retorted Mr. Orcutt. "We will try the case in a legal manner."

"Have you got through?" inquired Mr. Ferris, nettled.

Mr. Orcutt took his seat with the simple reply:

"Go on with the case."

The District Attorney, after a momentary pause to regain the thread of his examination and recover his equanimity, turned to the witness.

"Miss Dare," he asked, "how long did you keep that ring on your finger after you left the house?"

"A little while—five or ten minutes, perhaps."

"Where were you when you took it off?"

Her voice sank just a trifle:

"On the bridge at Warren Street."

"What did you do with it then?"

Her eyes which had been upon the Attorney's face, fell slowly.

"I dropped it into the water," she said.

And the character of her thoughts and suspicions at that time stood revealed.

The Prosecuting Attorney allowed himself a few more questions.

"When you parted with the prisoner in the woods, was it with any arrangement for meeting again before he returned to Buffalo?"

"No, sir."

"Give us the final words of your conversation, if you please."

"We were just parting, and I had turned to go, when he said: 'Is it good-by, then, Imogene?' and I answered, 'That to-morrow must decide.' 'Shall I stay, then?' he inquired; to which I replied, 'Yes.'"

'Twas a short, seemingly literal, repetition of possibly innocent words, but the whisper into which her voice sank at the final "Yes" endowed it with a thrilling effect for which even she was not prepared. For she shuddered as she realized the deathly quiet that followed its utterance, and cast a quick look at Mr. Orcutt that was full of question, if not doubt.

"I was calculating upon the interview I intended to have with Mrs. Clemmens," she explained, turning toward the Judge with indescribable dignity.

"We understand that," remarked the Prosecuting Attorney, kindly, and then inquired:

"Was this the last you saw of the prisoner until to-day?"

"No, sir."

"When did you see him again?"

"On the following Wednesday."

"Where?"

"In the depôt at Syracuse."

"How came you to be in Syracuse the day after the murder?"

"I had started to go to Buffalo."

"What purpose had you in going to Buffalo?"

"I wished to see Mr. Mansell."

"Did he know you were coming?"

"No, sir."

"Had no communication passed between you from the time you parted in the woods till you came upon each other in the depôt you have just mentioned?"

"No, sir."

"Had he no reason to expect to meet you there?"

"No, sir."

"With what words did you accost each other?"

"I don't know. I have no remembrance of saying any thing. I was utterly dumbfounded at seeing him in this place, and cannot say into what exclamation I may have been betrayed."

"And he? Don't you remember what he said?"

"No, sir. I only know he started back with a look of great surprise. Afterward he asked if I were on my way to see him."

"And what did you answer?"

"I don't think I made any answer. I was wondering if he was on his way to see me."

"Did you put the question to him?"

"Perhaps. I cannot tell. It is all like a dream to me."

If she had said horrible dream, every one there would have believed her.

"You can tell us, however, if you held any conversation?"

"We did not."

"And you can tell us how the interview terminated?"

"Yes, sir. I turned away and took the train back home, which I saw standing on the track without."

"And he?"

"Turned away also. Where he went I cannot say."

"Miss Dare"—the District Attorney's voice was very earnest—"can you tell us which of you made the first movement to go?"

"What does he mean by that?" whispered Hickory to Byrd.

"I think——" she commenced and paused. Her eyes in wandering over the throng of spectators before her, had settled on these two detectives, and noting the breathless way in which they looked at her, she seemed to realize that more might lie in this question than at first appeared.

"I do not know," she answered at last. "It was a simultaneous movement, I think."

"Are you sure?" persisted Mr. Ferris. "You are on oath, Miss Dare? Is there no way in which you can make certain whether he or you took the initiatory step in this sudden parting after an event that so materially changed your mutual prospects?"

"No, sir. I can only say that in recalling the sensations of that hour, I am certain my own movement was not the result