The Just and the Unjust by Vaughan Kester

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North heard the doctor's halting words without at once grasping their
meaning. A long moment of silence followed, and then a man coughed, and
then another, and another; this seemed to break the spell, for suddenly
the room buzzed with eager whisperings.

North's first definite emotion was one of intense astonishment. Were
they mad? But the faces turned toward him expressed nothing beyond
curiosity. His glance shifted to the official group by the table. These
good-natured commonplace men who, whether they liked him or not, had
invariably had a pleasant word for him, instantly took on an air of grim
aloofness. Conklin, the fat jolly sheriff; the coroner; Moxlow, the
prosecuting attorney in his baggy trousers and seam-shining coat,--why,
he had known these men all his life, he had met them daily,--what did
they mean by suspecting him! The mere suspicion was a monstrous wrong!
His face reddened; he glanced about him haughtily.

Now at a sign from the coroner, Conklin placed his fat hands on the arms
of his chair and slowly drew himself out of its depths, then he crossed
to North. The young fellow rose, and turned a pale face toward him.

"John," said the sheriff gently, "I have an unpleasant duty to perform."

In spite of himself the pallor deepened on North's face.

"I understand," he said in a voice that was low and none too steady.

During this scene Moxlow's glance had been centered on North in a fixed
stare of impersonal curiosity, now he turned with quick nervous decision
and snatching up his shabby hat from the table, left the room.

Langham had preceded him by a few moments, escaping unobserved when
there were eyes only for North.

"I am ready, Conklin."

And a moment later North and the sheriff passed out into the twilight.
Neither spoke until they came to the court-house Square.

"We'll go in this way, John!" said the sheriff in a tone that was meant
to be encouraging, but failed.

They ascended the court-house steps, and went down the long corridor to
the rear of the building. Here they passed out through wide doors and
into a narrow yard that separated the court-house from the jail.
Crossing this sandy strip they entered the sheriff's office. Conklin
paused; North gazed at him inquiringly.

"It's too bad, John," said the sheriff.

Then without further words he led North to a door opposite that by which
they had entered. It opened on a long brick-paved passageway, at the end
of which was a flight of narrow stairs. Ascending these North found
himself in another long hall. Conklin paused before the first of three
doors on the right and pushed it open.

"I guess this will do, John!" he said.

North stepped quickly in and glanced about him. The room held an iron
bedstead, a wooden chair and, by the window which overlooked the jail
yard and an alley beyond, a wash-stand with a tin basin and pitcher.

"Say, ain't you going to see a lawyer?" asked the sheriff. "He may be
able to get you out of this, you can't tell--"

"Can you send a message to young Watt Harbison for me?" interrupted
North.

"Certainly, but you don't call him much of a lawyer, do you? I tell you,
John, you want a _good_ lawyer; what's the matter with Marsh Langham?"

"Watt will do for the present. He can tell me the one or two things I
need to know now," rejoined North indifferently.

"All right, I'll send for him then."

The sheriff quitted the room, closing and locking the door after him.
North heard his footsteps die out in the long passage. At last he was
alone! He threw himself down on the cot for manhood seemed to forsake
him.

"My God,--Elizabeth--" he groaned and buried his face in his hands.

The law had lifted a sinister finger and leveled it at him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LIGHT IN DARKNESS

The expression on General Herbert's face was one of mingled doubt and
impatience.

"You must be mistaken, Thompson!" he was saying to his foreman, who had,
with the coming of night, returned from an errand in town.

"General, there's no mistake; every one was talking about it! Looks like
the police had something to go on, too--"

He hesitated, suddenly remembering that John North had been a frequent
guest at Idle Hour.

"I had heard that Mr. North was wanted as a witness," observed the
general.

"No, they say Moxlow had his eye on him from the start!" rejoined the
foreman with repressed enthusiasm for Moxlow.

The general sensed the enthusiasm and was affected unpleasantly by it.

"It would be a great pity if Mr. Moxlow should be so unfortunate as to
make a fool of himself!" he commented with unusual acidity. "What else
did you hear?"

"Not much, General, only just what I've told you--that they've arrested
North, and that young Watt Harbison's been trying to get him out on
bail, but they've refused to accept bond in his case. Don't that look
like they thought the evidence was pretty strong against him--"

"Well, they, might have arrested you or me," said the general. "That
signifies nothing."

He moved off in the direction of the house, and Thompson, after a
backward glance at his retreating figure, entered the barn. Out of sight
of his foreman, the general's sturdy pace lagged. That young man had
been at Idle Hour entirely too often; he had thought so all along, and
now he was very sure of it!

"This comes of being too kind," he muttered.

Then he paused suddenly--but no, that was absurd--utterly absurd;
Elizabeth would have told him! He was certain of this, for had she not
told him all her secrets? But suppose--suppose--and again he put the
idea from him.

He found Elizabeth in the small, daintily furnished sitting-room which
Mrs. Herbert had called her "boudoir", and seated himself, none too
gently, in a fragile gilt chair which his bulk of bone and muscle
threatened to wreck. Elizabeth glanced up from _Their Wedding Journey_,
which she was reading for the second time.

"What is it, father?" she asked, for his feeling of doubt and annoyance
was plainly shown in his expressive face.

"Thompson has just come out from town--he says that John North has been
arrested for the McBride murder--"

The book slipped from Elizabeth's hand and fell to the floor; the smile
with which she had welcomed her father faded from her lips; she gazed at
him with pale face and wide eyes. The general instantly regretted that
he had spoken with such cruel abruptness.

"You don't think it is true?" she asked in a whisper.

"Thompson seemed to know what he was talking about."

"It's monstrous!" she cried.

"If North is innocent--" began the general.

"Father!" She regarded him with a look of horror and astonishment. "You
don't like him! It's that, isn't it?" she added after a moment's
silence.

"I don't like any one who gets into a scrape such as this!" replied the
general with miserable and unnecessary heat.

"But it wasn't _his_ fault--he couldn't help it!"

"I don't suppose he could," replied her father grimly.

She rose and came close to his side.

"Father!" she said in a tone of entreaty, placing a hand on his arm.

"What is it, dear?"

There was both tenderness and concern in his keen gray eyes as he
glanced up into her troubled face.

"I want you to go to him--to Mr. North, I mean. I want you to tell him
how sorry you are; I want him to know--I--" she paused uncertainly.

Perhaps for the first time in her life she was not quite sure of her
father's sympathy. She dreaded his man's judgment in this crisis.

"Now seriously, Elizabeth, don't you think I'd better keep away from
him? I can do nothing--"

"Oh, how cowardly that would be!" she cried. "How cowardly!"

The old general winced at this. He was far from being a coward, but
appearances had their value in his eyes; and even, in its least serious
aspect, young North's predicament was not pleasant to contemplate.

"But there is nothing I can do, Elizabeth; why should I become
involved?" he urged.

"Then you must go to him from me!" she cried.

"Child--child; what are you saying!" cried the general.

"Either you must go to him, or I shall go!" she said with fine firmness.

Her father groaned.

"Be frank with me, Elizabeth. Has North ever told you that he cared for
you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before he went away--I mean that last night he was here."

"I feared as much!" he muttered. "And you, dear?" he continued gently.

"He said we might have to wait a long time--or I should have told you!
He went away because he was too poor--"

There was a pause.

"Do you care for him, Elizabeth?" her father asked at length. "Do you
wish me to understand that you are committed--are--"

"Yes," she answered quite simply.

"You are sure it is not just pity--you are sure, Elizabeth? For you
know, right or wrong, he will probably come out of this with his
reputation smirched."

"But he is _innocent_!"

"That is not quite the point!" urged the general. "We must see things as
they are. You must understand what it may mean to you in the future, to
have given your love to a man who has fallen under such suspicion. There
will always be those who will remember this against him."

"But _I_ shall know!" she said proudly.

"And that will be enough--you will ask no more than that, Elizabeth?"

"If my faith in him has never been shaken, could I ask more?"

He looked at her wistfully. Her courage he comprehended. It was fine and
true, like her sweet unspoiled youth; in its presence he felt a sudden
sense of age and loneliness. He asked himself, had he lived beyond his
own period of generous enthusiasm?

"It would be a poor kind of friendship, a poorer kind of love, if we did
not let him know at once that this has not changed our--our, regard for
him!" she said softly.

"It is not your ready sympathy; you are quite certain it is not that,
Elizabeth?"

"I am sure, father--sure of myself as I am of him! You say he has been
arrested, does that mean--" and she hesitated.

"It means, my dear, that he is in jail," answered the general as he came
slowly to his feet.

She gave a little cry, and running to him hid her face against his arm.

"In jail!" she moaned, and her imagination and her ignorance clothed the
thought with indescribable horrors.

"Understand, dear, he isn't even indicted yet and he may not be! It's
bad enough, of course, but it might be a great deal worse. Now what am I
to tell him for you?"

"Wait," she said, slipping from his side. "I will write him--"

"Write your letter then," said her father. "I'll order the horses at
once," he added, as he quitted the room.

Ten minutes later when he drove up from the stables, Elizabeth met him
at the door.

"After you have seen him, father, come home at once, won't you?" she
said as she handed him her letter.

"Yes, I am only going for this," he replied.

It was plain that his errand had not grown less distasteful to him.
Perhaps Elizabeth was aware of this, for she reached up and passed an
arm about his neck.

"I don't believe any girl ever had such a father!" she whispered softly.

"I suppose I should not be susceptible to such manifest flattery," said
the general, kissing her, "but I find I am! There, you keep up your
courage! This old father of yours is a person of such excellent sense
that he is going to aid and abet you in this most outrageous folly; I
expect, even, that in time, my interest in this very foolish young man
will be only second to your own, my dear!"

As he drove away he turned in his seat to glance back at the graceful
girlish figure standing in the shelter of Idle Hour's stone arched
vestibule, and as he did so there was a flutter of something white,
which assured him that her keen eyes were following him and would follow
him until the distance and the closing darkness intervened, and hid him
from her sight.

"I hope it will come out all right!" he told himself and sighed.

If it did _not_ come out all right, where was his peace of mind; where
was the calm, where the long reposeful days he had so valued? But this
thought he put from him as unworthy. After all Elizabeth's happiness
was something he desired infinitely more than he desired his own. But
why could it not have been some one else? Why was it North; what unkind
fate had been busy there?

"She sees more in him than I could ever see!" he said aloud, as he
touched his horse with the whip.

Twenty minutes later he drove up before the court-house, hitched and
blanketed his horse, and passing around the building, now dark and
deserted, reached the entrance to the jail. In the office he found
Conklin at his desk. The sheriff was rather laboriously engaged in
making the entry in his ledger of North's committal to his charge, a
formality which, out of consideration for his prisoner's feelings, he
had dispensed with at the time of the arrest.

"I wish to see Mr. North. I suppose I may?" his visitor said, after he
had shaken hands with Conklin.

"Certainly, General! Want to go up, or shall I bring him down here to
you?"

"I'd prefer that--I'd much prefer that!" answered the general hastily.

He felt that it would be something to tell Elizabeth that the interview
had taken place in the sheriff's office.

"All right, just as you say; have a chair." And Conklin left the room.

The general glanced about him dubiously. Had it not been for his deep
love for Elizabeth he could have wished himself anywhere else and
charged with any other mission. He dropped heavily into a chair. North's
arrest, and the results of that arrest as he now saw them in that
cheerless atmosphere, loomed large before his mind's eye. He reflected
that a trial for murder was a horrible and soul-racking experience. He
devoutly and prayerfully hoped that it would not come to this in North's
case.

His meditation was broken in on by the sound of echoing steps in the
brick-paved passageway, and then North and Conklin entered the room. On
their entrance the general quitted his chair and advanced to meet the
young fellow, whose hand he took in silence. The sheriff glanced from
one to the other; and understanding that there might be something
intimate and personal in their relation, he said:

"I'll just step back into the building, General; when you and Mr. North
have finished your talk, you can call me."

"Thank you!" said General Herbert, and Conklin withdrew, leaving the two
alone.

There was an awkward pause as they faced each other. The older man was
the first to speak.

"I regret this!" he said at length.

"Not more than I do!" rejoined North, with a fleeting sense of humor.

He wondered what it was that had brought Elizabeth's father there.

"What's the matter with Moxlow, anyhow?" the general demanded.

He glanced sharply into North's face. He saw that the young fellow was
rather pale, but otherwise his appearance was unchanged.

"All the evidence seems to point my way," said North, and added a trifle
nervously: "I don't understand it--it isn't clear to me by any means! It
came so suddenly, and I was totally unprepared to meet the situation. I
had talked to Moxlow in the morning, but he had let drop nothing that
led me to suppose I was under suspicion. Of course I am not afraid. I
know that it will come out all right in the end--"

"Do you want anything, North? Is there anything I can do for you?" asked
General Herbert almost roughly.

"Thank you, but apparently there is nothing that any one can do just
now," said North quietly.

The color was creeping back into his face.

"Well, we can't sit idle! Look here, you tried for bail, I understand?"

"Yes, but it has been refused."

"Do you know when the grand jury sits?"

"Next week. Of course my hope is that it won't go beyond that; I don't
see how it can!"

"Why didn't you send for me at once?" asked the older man with
increasing bruskness. He took a turn about the room. "What does it all
mean? What do you know about McBride's death?" he continued, halting
suddenly.

"Absolutely nothing," said North.

And for an instant the two men looked straight into each other's eyes.

"You are sure you don't need anything--money, for instance?" the general
asked, shifting his glance.

"I am quite sure, but I am very grateful to you all the same--"

"Of course the evidence against you is purely circumstantial?"

"I believe so--yes," answered North. "But there are points I don't
understand."

"I am coming in to-morrow morning to see you, and talk the whole thing
over with you, North."

"I shall be very glad to talk matters over with you, General," said
North.

"I wish I could do something for you to-night!" the general said with
real feeling, for he realized the long evening, and the longer night
that were before the young fellow.

There was a pause. The general could not bring himself to speak of
Elizabeth, and North lacked the courage to ask concerning her.

"I heard through one of my men of your arrest. He brought word of it to
the farm," the farmer said at length.

"Miss Herbert knows--of course you told her--"

"Yes, North; yes, she knows!" her father replied. "She knows and she
urged me to come!"

He saw North's face light up with a sudden look of joy.

"She urged you to come?" repeated North.

"Yes--I think she would have come herself if I had not been willing."

"I am glad she did not!" said North quickly.

"Of course! I told her it would only distress you."

"It would only distress her--which is all that is worth considering,"
rejoined North.

"That's so!" said the general, approaching the young man and resting a
brown and muscular hand on his shoulder.

"She has told you?" asked North.

The older man nodded.

"Yes, she's told me," he said briefly.

"I can't ask if it was pleasant news at this time," said North. "What do
you wish me to do?" he continued. "She must forget what was said that
night, and I, too, will endeavor to forget--tell her that." He passed a
shaking hand before his face.

"I've a note here for you, North--" General Herbert was fumbling in his
pocket--"from Elizabeth. Don't you be too quick to decide!"

"With your permission," said North as he took the letter.

He tore it open, and Elizabeth's father, watching him, saw the
expression of his face change utterly, as the lines of tense repression
faded from it. It was clear that for the moment all else was lost in his
feeling of great and compelling happiness. Twice he read the letter
before he could bring himself to replace it in its envelope. As he did
so, he caught the general's eyes fixed on him. For a moment he
hesitated, then he said with the frankness that was habitual to him:

"I think you should know just what that letter means to me. It is brave
and steadfast--just as she is; no, you were right, I can't decide--I
won't!"

"I wouldn't," said the general. There was a pause and then he added,
"After all, it is not given to every woman to show just how deep her
faith is in the man she loves. It would be too bad if you could not know
that!"

"The situation may become intolerable, General Herbert! Suppose I am
held for the murder--suppose a long trial follows; think what she will
suffer, the uncertainty, the awful doubt of the outcome, although she
knows,--she must know I am innocent."

"Of course, of course!" cried the general hastily, for these were points
he did not wish to discuss.

"It's a serious matter when you consider the possibility of an
indictment," said North soberly enough.

"That's true; yet we mustn't count the cost now, or at any future time.
But I promised Elizabeth I'd come back at once. What shall I say to her,
North?"

"Tell her that her letter has changed the whole aspect of things for me.
You must try to make her feel the fresh hope she has given me," John
replied, extending his hand.

"Conklin!" called the general. He took North's hand. "Good night; I'm
infinitely sorry to leave you here, North, but I suppose it can't be
helped--"

The sheriff entered the room while he was yet speaking.

"Finished your chat, General?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you, Conklin. Good night. Good night, North," and
Elizabeth's father hurried from the room.

For a moment North stood silent, staring absently at the door that had
just closed on the general's burly figure. He still held Elizabeth's
letter in his hand. In fancy he was seeing her as she had bent above it,
her face tender, compassionate; and then there rose the vision of that
crowded room with its palpable atmosphere, its score of curious faces
all turned toward him in eager expectation. In the midst of these
unworthy surroundings, her face, beautiful and high bred, eluded him;
the likeness, even as he saw it, was lost, nor could he call it back.

Slowly but certainly that day's experience was fixing itself unalterably
in his memory. He caught the pungent reek from the wood-stove, and
mingling with it the odor of strong cheap tobacco filled his nostrils
again; he was left with the very dregs of sordid shameful things.

The sheriff touched him on the arm.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE GAMBLER'S THEORY

Gilmore, leaving his apartment, paused to light a cigar, then sauntered
down the steps and into the street. As he did so he saw Marshall Langham
come from the post-office, half a block distant, and hurry across the
Square. Gilmore strode after him.

"Oh, say, Marsh, I want to see you!" he called when he had sufficiently
reduced the distance that separated him from his friend.

Instantly Langham paused, turning a not too friendly face toward the
gambler.

"You want to see me?" he asked.

"Didn't I say so?" demanded Gilmore, as he gained a place at his side.
"Where are you going, to the office?"

"Yes, I have some letters to answer," and Langham quickened his pace.

Gilmore kept his place at the lawyer's elbow. For a moment there was
silence between them, and then Gilmore said:

"You got away from McBride's in a hurry Saturday; why didn't you wait
and see the finish?"

Langham made no answer to this, and Gilmore, after another brief
silence, turned on him with an unexpected question:

"How would you like to be in North's shoes, Marsh?" As he spoke, the
gambler rested a hand on Langham's shoulder. He felt him shrink from the
physical contact. "Gives you a chill just to think of it, doesn't it?"
he said. "I suppose Moxlow believes there's the making of a pretty
strong case against him; eh, Marsh?"

"I don't know; I can't tell what he thinks," said Langham briefly.

"But in North's place, back there in the jail in one of those brand-new
iron cages over the yard, how would you feel? That's what I want to
know!"

Langham met his glance for an instant and then his eyes fell. He sensed
the insinuation that was back of Gilmore's words.

"Can't you put yourself in his place, with the evidence, such as it is,
all setting against you?"

"I'm due at the office," said the lawyer suddenly.

Gilmore took his arm.

"If North didn't kill McBride, who did?" he persisted.

"Why do you ask me such questions?" demanded Langham resentfully.

"My lord--can't we consider the matter?" asked the gambler laughing.

"What's the use? Here, I've got to go to the office, Andy--" and he
sought to release himself, but Gilmore retained his hold.

"I suppose you are going to see North?" he asked.

Langham came to a sudden stop.

"What's that?" he asked hoarsely.

"You have been his intimate for years; surely you are too good a friend
to turn your back on him now!"

"If he wants me, he'll send for me!" muttered Langham.

"Do you mean you aren't _going_ to him, Marsh?" asked the gambler with
well simulated astonishment.

"He knows where I'm to be found," said Langham, striding forward again,
"and, damn it, this is no concern of yours!"

"Well, by thunder!" ejaculated Gilmore.

"I don't need any points from you, Andy!" said Langham, with a sullen
sidelong glance at his companion.

They had crossed the Square, and Langham now halted at the curb.

"Good-by, Andy!" he said, and shook himself free of the other's
detaining hand.

"Hold on a minute, Marsh!" objected Gilmore.

"Well, what is it, can't you see I am in a hurry?"

"Oh, nothing here, Marsh--" and striding forward, Gilmore disappeared in
the building before which they had paused.

For an instant Langham hesitated, and then he followed the gambler.

A step or two in advance of him, Gilmore mounted the stairs, and passing
down the hall entered Langham's office. Langham followed him into the
room; he closed the door, and without a glance at Gilmore removed his
hat and overcoat and hung them up on a nail back of the door; the
gambler meanwhile had drawn an easy chair toward the open grate at the
far end of the room, before which he now established himself with
apparent satisfaction.

"I suppose the finding of the coroner's jury doesn't amount to much," he
presently said but without looking in Langham's direction.

The lawyer did not answer him. He crossed to his desk which filled the
space between the two windows overlooking the Square.

"You're damn social!" snarled Gilmore over his shoulder.

"I told you I was busy," said Langham, and he began to finger the papers
on his desk.

Gilmore swung around in his chair and faced him.

"So you won't see him--North, I mean?" he queried. "Well, you're a hell
of a friend, Marsh. You've been as thick as thieves, and now when he's
up against it good and hard, you're the first man to turn your back on
him!"

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