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Show f?Rnni?nRnra LlL Ul d Gy deh nniE5 ujiLiinms C Ben Ames William. CHAPTER IX 19 A strange thing, long in preparation, prepara-tion, happened next day to Mrs. Sentry. Sen-try. She might, she thought afterward, after-ward, have guessed what was to come; might have foreseen it. But she did not. Obedient to her promise prom-ise to Falkran, she went to the prison pris-on to see her husband She had been awake most of the night, yet she rose in the morning in an almost al-most peaceful mind, and when she met Mr. Sentry it was composedly. They spoke commonplaces for a while, till she said at last, her tone curiously gentle: "My testimony will follow yours, Arthur." k His eyes suddenly widened, as though under the shock of an actual blow "You! You're going to testify?" testi-fy?" "I must tell them you had no cause to fear me." He cried passionately: "Oh, don't, Ellen! It's bad enough for me. Falkran Falk-ran can't ask you to do that." She reminded him gravely: "It is true, you know! When you came to me, long ago " And she said, almost al-most contritely: "I might have been aarpre generous than I was; but I ff young then, not so wise as I am now. I gave you what I could and I've never been sorry. Only, I am sorry now it was not more." He said hopelessly: "Falkran insisted in-sisted that I must say those things, Ellen. But not you! Please don't! I can't command; but I beg you " And he said in a low tone: "I was crazy last summer, Ellen! I must have been. But there had never been any other if you can believe me." She started to say steadily that of course she believed him; and she was astonished to find that she could not speak. Her throat was full. She rose in a sort of panic, fighting for words. And suddenly pain seized her every part, every fiber, bone and blood, muscle and sinew, nerve and brain. She was a burning torch of pain! For something in him, in his word, in his tone, had, incredibly, waked something long asleep in her. She stood above him, leaning down, racked and shaken not for herself but for him, yearning over him, yearning to protect him, yearning to hold him close and hard. She fought to speak; she muttered, "Arthur" "Ar-thur" Then the guard touched her arm warningly. She realized that the man had spoken, even though she yhad not heard. And she felt her " cheek burn bright; and she thought, bewildered, still unbelieving: "I love him! Why I love him! Obeying the officer she went toward to-ward the door; yet from the door looked back. Arthur was on his feet, pale, wondering. She smiled at him richly. She went out and away, and felt herself her-self torn in two parts by this separation sepa-ration from him. The thought that Arthur had been loyal to her through twenty barren years filled her with a clamorous grief, a hopeless despair. She might have given so much, and had so much bliss in that surrender; might tave forgotten the pride she had lrursed with such blind tenacity, and been herself the richer for forgetting. forget-ting. In court Monday morning she found that now she could be hurt and feel the pain. When the Assistant District Attorney, Mr. Weldon, began be-gan the questioning, she understood that Bob Flood had delegated this duty because Arthur had been his friend. Mr. Weldon was a swart young man with thin lips and a lean pointed jaw that thrust forward like a challenging finger. He began sc quietly. "Now Mr. Sentry, you told the Court on Saturday that you killed Miss Wines?" "By accident, yes, sir." "But the gun was in your hand?" "Yes." "You had cocked it?" "Yes." "You pulled the trigger?" "It jarred off." "Oh. it jarred off? I see. Is this the gun?" "Yes." "Cock it, please. Now, without putting your finger on the trigger, pound it on the railing of the witness box till it jars off. It is not loaded." load-ed." Mrs. Sentry would always remember remem-ber Arthur, pounding the gun butt on y'xie rail of the witness stand for a long time, harder and harder, bruising bruis-ing his hand, perspiring. An interminable inter-minable time, with Mr. Weldon asking: ask-ing: "Has it gone off yet? Try again." Till finally, relenting, taking the gun from Arthur's hand, he said, still gently: "Now Mr. Sentry, your hand is bruised, your knuckles bleeding, you have pounded it as hard as you can, but it has not gone off?" "No." "Then perhaps you did pull the V trigger that night?" "I must have! Accidentally!" "So you loaded the gun and cocked it and pulled the trigger and killed Miss Wines?" Arthur said: "I suppose so." He was wiping his knuckles with his handkerchief. Mrs. Sentry could see small red spots upon the linen, thought he should use iodine lest the wounds become infected. She heard Weldon say: "So Miss Wines came to you for help or money mon-ey or advice, three weeks before you shot her, and you sent her away?" "Yes." "Mrs. Sentry sometimes, In her charitable work, helped unfortunate young girls, did she not?" "Yes." "Why didn't you send Miss Wines to Mrs. Sentry before you shot her?" "It did not occur to me to do so." "Did it occur to you that if you did so, Mrs. Sentry might misinterpret your interest in Miss Wines?" "No. Mrs. Sentry would have known that if there had been anything any-thing between Miss Wines and me, I would have told her." Mrs. Sentry looked straight ahead, proudly, her head high. She felt all the staring eyes that turned to ward her like the points of lances, from every side. "So you refused to help Miss Wines before you shot her?" "Yes." "Why?" "I was afraid " "Oh, yes. I remember, you told us. You're a very fearful men, are you not? Just as Uriah Heep was a very 'umble man? Are you also a humble man, Mr. Sentry?" "Not particularly." "On the contrary, you're rather proud, aren't you?" "No." "Aren't you proud of your honorable hon-orable ancestry?" "Well, yes." "Of your old established business?" busi-ness?" "Yes." "Of your personal success, your social standing?" "Yes." "Of your family?" "Yes." "And yet you say you're not proud?" "In that sense I suppose I am." "In what sense are you not, Mr. Sentry?" "Well haughty." "Oh, you're not haughty?" "No." Mr. Weldon nodded. "Now you said a while ago that you were afraid; and that because you were afraid, you did not help Miss Wines before you shot her." "Yes." "Were you responsible for the fact that she so desperately needed help from someone?" "No." "But even though you were innocent, inno-cent, you were afraid?" "Yes." "I want to be sure we understand you, Mr. Sentry. I asked you a moment mo-ment since whether it occurred to you that if you sent Miss Wines to Mrs. Sentry, Mrs. Sentry might misinterpret your interest In the girl. And you said, no. You said that Mrs. Sentry would have known that if there were anything between you and Miss Wines you would have told her. Is that correct?" Well " "Shall I ask the stenographer to read your testimony?" "I said that, yes." "So if you had been guilty with Miss Wines you would not have been afraid; but being innocent, you were afraid? Is that it?" "Yes." "Thank you. You will pardon my perplexity?" "Innocent people are often afraid!" "So you want to leave it that Miss Wines came to appeal to you for money, or for help, and she wept, and you gave her nothing, and the next time you saw her you shot her? Is that correct?" "I didn't see her till after the shot." "Now Mr. Sentry, you saw Miss Wines three weeks before you shot her " Mrs. Sentry could no longer hear all that they said. She heard only "... you shot her?" "... you shot her?" "... you shot her?" as a tag to every question. She heard: "... three weeks later, you shot her?" And then: "... three weeks before you shot her?" She saw, at a final question, Arthur's Ar-thur's lips move, but no sound emerged; she could see that he was trembling, felt her own limbs tremble as though in sympathy. It seemed to her that she suffered in her own flesh the torment Arthur here' endured. The protective numbness numb-ness which had prevented her from feeling her own suffering could not now save her from feeling his. Mr. Weldon suggested, "I did not hear what you said." Arthur cried wretchedly, furious- "Now Mr. Sentry, You Saw Miss Wines Three Weeks Before You Shot Her?" ly, "Will you stop saying over and over that I shot her?" "You did, didn't you?" "Yes. By accident. I've told you so. But you don't have to keep repeating it like a parrot." "Do my questions disturb you, Mr. Sentry?" "You keep saying I shot her!" "Very well, suppose I try to avoid using the phrase which disturbs you. Mr. Sentry, are you a hot-tempered man?" "No. But you " "Never mind me. . Would it make you angry now if I suggested that Miss Wines angered you just before be-fore this fatal accident happened to her?" "No, it wouldn't." "Weren't you angry at her just before she died?" "No." "But someone had just bumped you heavily into the wall. Didn't that make you angry?" "I suppose so." "Were you angry when you pulled the trigger?" "I suppose so. Any man " "We're not asking any man but you, Mr. Sentry. You were angry, and you pulled the trigger, and accidentally, of course pointed the gun at Miss Wines as you did so." "I didn't even know she was there." "But you knew someone was there?" "Of course." "When you pulled the trigger, did you mean to shoot whoever was there?" "No." "But you fired in anger?" "No." "Put it this way. You were angry an-gry when you fired?" "Yes." "At what mark did you aim?" "No mark. I couldn't see anything." any-thing." "This man who bumped you. He bumped you into the wall?" "Yes." "Which wall?" "The right-hand wall, as you come up the back stairs, opposite my office of-fice door." "Then he was on your left?" "Yes." "You knew where he was?" "Yes." "Did you shoot at him?" "No." "You shot straight ahead along the corridor, didn't you?" "Yes." "Did you hear the testimony in this court that when you pardon me; that at the moment of Miss Wines' death, the pistol was touching touch-ing her coat?" "I tell you it was an accident." "Did -you hear that testimony?" "Yes." "Pressing against her coat?" "Yes." "When, by accident, in the dark, the bullet emerged from the muzzle muz-zle of the gun you were holding and smashed through Miss Wines' heart, did you feel the muzzle of your pistol touch anything?" "No." "Press against anything?" "No." "After the shot, what did you hear?" "A man running down the stairs." "Didn't hear Miss Wines cry out, or fall?" "No." "And you say you didn't see her?" "No." "How far had you come from the head of the stairs before you shot Miss Wines?" "By accident." "So you say." "I was about opposite my office door." "And yet the muzzle of the pistol was touching her?" Mr. Sentry retorted, "So you say!"" Mrs. Sentry winced for him. That effort to be nonchalant, derisive; deri-sive; that echoing of Mr. Weldon's own words had about it something pitiful, like the trembling lower lip ' of a hurt child trying to be brave. Even Mr. Weldon seemed to feel this; he spoke almost gently. "Pardon me, Mr. Sentry. Not so I say! So the expert evidence says! Yet her body lay beyond your office door?" Mrs. Sentry's senses blurred again; the world was dizzy chaos. Question and answer ran together, conjuring up tragic details which blended into a sinister whole. The huddled body. Arthur, turning it over, picking up the dead girl's hat, putting it over her face. Taking off his glove to feel for her pulse; putting put-ting it on again for fear of fingerprints finger-prints . . . Mrs. Sentry seemed to herself for a while to be in that bare, dingy corridor outside her husband's hus-band's office; that naked, window-less window-less place like a tomb. To be there with him, and the dead girl on the floor; and he was crouching, looking fearfully over his shoulder, peering, darting in stooped posture cravenly. Mercilessly Mr. Weldon made him go over and over every detail of the scene; till she saw Arthur's face streaming, heard Mr. Weldon say: "I see you are flushed, perspiring. Do you find it warm, Mr. Sentry? Would you like a window opened?" (TO BE CONTINUED) |