A Master Hand Part 20

"The witnesses necessary to substantiate the foregoing facts are all at hand and can be produced at any time.

"Respectfully submitted,

"C. Miles.

"New York, March --, 1883."

CHAPTER XIV

THE DEATH OF WINTERS

Let me now pa.s.s quickly on with my tale over the few succeeding hours which witnessed its final scenes. What remains to be told is as well told shortly and I have no wish to linger over it.

It was the next morning, and I again sat in my office, when the shrill voice of the office boy interrupted my bitter reflections.

"Mr. Littell to see you, sir," it said.

"Show him in," I answered mechanically. I had been thinking of him and accepted the announcement as a matter of course, though I had no reason to expect him at that moment. Less than a day had elapsed since I had read the report of Miles and I had now to confront Littell. There had been no opportunity to take counsel with myself upon my course. I had hardly yet grasped the full import of the situation and I must at once at this very moment meet him--talk to him. I could not do it. I needed more time, and desperately pulling some papers in front of me, I buried myself in what I meant to appear a ma.s.s of work.

The door opened and he stood upon the threshold. I pretended neither to see nor hear his entrance, but I stole a glance at him without lifting my head. It was the same Littell; perfectly dressed, graceful, insouciant, the well remembered, attractive personality.

"Well, d.i.c.k," he said, "I am with you again you see!" and in his voice was a note of genuine feeling as he stood there smiling a greeting to me.

It was impossible to pretend unconsciousness longer and with an effort I looked up and met his open glance with my conscious, faltering one, and tried to respond as cordially as I could, but I kept my seat for I could not take his hand. It was not that I would not take the hand of a criminal, but that I could not give mine to a man I meant to destroy; so to cover up the omission and to avoid the questions that I feared he would put to me, I asked him to be seated while I finished my work. He looked at me inquiringly, but I avoided his eyes.

"Well, go on with your work," he said quietly, "I am not in a hurry"; and he sat down and waited and watched me.

I struggled to fix my attention on the matters before me and to maintain my composure, but it was more than I was equal to; I could not do it, and crus.h.i.+ng my arms over the books and papers, I squared myself and faced him to meet the worst--anything was better than this suspense.

"You are not inclined to work after all, it seems," he remarked, on observing my action.

"No," I said, "I cannot."

"What is the matter?" he asked, and what I should have answered I don't know, for at that moment there was a knock at the door and in response to my eager, "Come in!" Miles entered. No one knows the relief the interruption brought to me, for it meant at least some moral support--if not a respite. Miles looked at Littell and bowed, receiving a nod in response, and then glanced inquiringly at me, and I understood the question and shook my head. Littell may have observed us, but if so, there was no evidence of it, for he continued as imperturbable as ever.

"Do you wish to speak to me privately?" I asked Miles.

"No, I think not," he replied; "what I have to say will interest Mr.

Littell as well"; and without waiting to be questioned, he added, "Winters is dying!"

I rose. "I shall go to him at once," I said, and I asked the detective to accompany me, but I said nothing to Littell, for it hardly seemed the place for him.

"I think I shall go too," he announced, and then as if by way of explanation, for he must have seen my hesitation, he added, "I am his counsel, you know."

To this I had nothing to say. If he wished to go he had a right to do so, and with a short nod of acquiescence I led the way from the room.

"I have a carriage at the door; there is no time to lose," Miles said, and we entered it and were driven rapidly towards our destination.

After we were well on our way, Littell turned casually to Miles.

"Well," he said, "have you made any progress?"

The detective hesitated, then he answered simply, "Yes."

"Hardly found your man, though?" Littell continued in the same tone:

Again the detective hesitated and answered, "Yes."

I clutched the sill of the window and sank s.h.i.+vering back into my seat, and then as Littell started to speak again, I grasped his arm. In response he turned and looked at me for a second with something almost like pity in his eyes, and then addressed himself again to Miles.

"Who is he?" he asked.

"Not now! not now!" I gasped, appealing to Miles. "I must tell him; leave it to me."

"Very well," Miles answered, and Littell after a single inquiring glance turned from us and for the remainder of the journey looked calmly out the open window beside him. If he felt either fear or remorse it was not apparent. He was inscrutable.

On arriving at the hospital we were conducted directly to the room of Winters. It was not different from other prison hospital quarters--neat and clean, but bare and hard, it was unspeakably dreary. A single barred window before which a yellow shade was drawn let in a half-light that was reflected from the whitewashed walls and showed at the farther end of the room a narrow cot and upon it the wasted form of Winters. It was motionless and the face was pallid and the eyes closed and I feared we had not come in time. I crossed the room and stood by the side of the bed and Littell followed me. By the window the doctor and a nurse were conversing in low tones, but when I looked towards them inquiringly they discontinued their conversation and the doctor came over to me.

"If you have anything you wish to say to him," he said, "you had better do it at once; he will not last long." But I had nothing to say that made it worth while to rouse the dying man and I was waiting the end in silence when Winters opened his eyes and after a vague wandering look about him, fixed them upon me. I leaned over him.

"Do you know me?" I asked, and in a voice scarcely audible, he whispered "Yes."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked next. His lips moved and I thought I distinguished the name "Littell." I looked towards Littell. He was standing at the foot of the bed, and his att.i.tude was tense and his face was white and drawn in the way that indicates suffering in a strong man. He was not looking at me; his eyes were rivetted upon the bed: in that room for him there was only Winters. I touched his arm.

"He wishes to speak to you," I said.

He seemed not to comprehend my words until I had repeated them and then he moved close to the side of Winters and said very slowly and distinctly:

"I am Littell; do you wish to speak to me?" At the sound of his voice Winters looked up into his face and, recognizing him, smiled, and with an effort spoke:

"I want to thank you for defending me," he said, "and to tell you I am not guilty."

"I know you are not," Littell answered hoa.r.s.ely; "I have always known it." And then, after a moment's struggle with himself, he added, in a voice as gentle and as tender as a woman's, "You have been wronged and you have suffered, but you have borne it bravely, and it is over now."

As he listened to these words the face of Winters lighted up and he half raised himself on his pillow and, turning to the speaker, reached out his hands in a feeble gesture of grat.i.tude. Littell took them in his and sank down till his face was hidden beside the dying man. I bowed my head and thus we awaited the end. After a while, Littell arose and gently releasing the hands that had been clasping his, laid them tenderly down and then with a little gesture of infinite appeal he touched the fair hair that was clinging to the damp forehead and stood looking down at the still form. Winters was dead, but on the boyish face at last was an expression of happiness and of peace, and to Littell it had been granted to bring it there.

I turned away--there was nothing more that I could do--and left Littell for the moment with the dead and his thoughts. As I pa.s.sed Miles on my way out he stopped me.

"What am I to do now, sir?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, "leave it to me." He hesitated before he asked:

"Do you mean to tell him?"

"Yes," I said.