Geoffrey Hamstead Part 42

"You'll find him in there," said the detective. "I'll have to keep the door locked, of course, while you are with him."

Geoffrey entered, and the door was locked on the outside. He looked around the cell, and then a fear struck him. He turned coolly to the detective, who was still outside the bars, and said: "You have brought me to the wrong cell. Cresswell is not in this one."

"Well, the fact is," said Mr. Dearborn, "a warrant was just now placed in my hands for your arrest, and, as they say you are particularly good both at running and the manly art, I thought a little stratagem might work the thing in nice, quiet shape."

"Just so," said Hampstead, laughing. "Perhaps you are right. I don't think you could catch me if I got started. Who issued the warrant, and what is it about?"

"Here is the warrant. You are ent.i.tled to see it. An information was laid, and that's all I know about it. You'll be called up in court in a few minutes, and I must leave you now--to look after some other business."

At three o'clock, when the court-room was packed almost to suffocation, the magistrate mounted the bench, and Cresswell was brought up and remanded until the next morning. The spectators were much disappointed at not hearing the termination of the matter, but their interest revived as they heard the magistrate say, "Bring in the other prisoner."

A dead silence followed, broken only by the measured tread of men's feet in the corridor outside. The double doors opened, and there appeared Geoffrey Hampstead handcuffed and accompanied by four huge policemen. In ten minutes, any person in the court could easily sell his standing-room at a dollar and a half a stand, or upward.

There was no hang-dog look about Geoffrey. His crest was high. It was surprising to see how dignified a man could appear in handcuffs.

Suppressed indignation was so vividly stamped upon his face that all gained the idea that the gentleman was suffering an outrage. As he approached the dock, one of his guards laid his hand on his arm.

Hampstead stopped short and turned to the policeman as if he would eat him:

"Take your hand off my arm!" he rasped out. The man did so in a hurry, and the spectators were impressed by the incident.

A charge about the fifty thousand dollars was read out to Geoffrey, similar to that in the Cresswell case. That he did, etc.--on, etc.--at, etc.--feloniously, etc.--and all the rest of it.

Now Hampstead did not see how, when he was apparently innocent, and another man practically convicted, he could possibly be thought guilty also. The case against Cresswell had been so complete that it was impossible for any one to doubt his guilt. Hampstead knew also that if he were tried once now and acquitted, he never could be tried again for the same offense. He had been fond of talking to Rankin about criminal law, and on some points was better posted than most men. He did not know whether Jack would be well enough to give evidence to-day, if at all, and if, for want of proof or otherwise, the case against him failed now, he would be safe forever. Jack might recover soon, and then the case would be worse if he told all he knew. He did not engage a lawyer, as this might seem as if he were doubtful and needed a.s.sistance. He was, he thought, quite as well able to see loopholes of escape as a lawyer would be, so long as they did not depend on technicalities. Altogether he had decided, after his arrest and after careful thought, to take his trial at once.

He elected to be tried before a police magistrate, said he was ready for trial, and pleaded "not guilty."

About this time the manager of the Victoria Bank, who was very much astonished and hurt at the proceedings taken against Geoffrey, leaned over and asked the county attorney if he had much evidence against Mr.

Hampstead. The poor manager was beginning almost to doubt his own honesty. Every person seemed guilty in this matter. As for Jack and Hampstead, he would have previously been quite ready to have sworn to his belief in their honesty.

"My dear sir," replied the county attorney, "I don't know anything about it. Mr. Rankin came flying down in a cab, saw the prisoner Cresswell, swore out a warrant, had Mr. Hampstead arrested, sent the detectives flying about in all directions, and that's all I know about it. He is running the entire show himself."

"Indeed!" said the manager. "I shall never be surprised at anything again, after to-day."

n.o.body knew but Rankin himself what was coming on. Several detectives had had special work allotted to them, but this was all they knew, and the small lawyer sat with apparent composure until it was time to call his first witness.

Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote was the first witness called, and his fas.h.i.+onable outfit created some amus.e.m.e.nt among the "unwashed." Rankin, with a certain malignity, made him give his name in full, which, together with his affected utterance, interested those who were capable of smiling.

After some formal questions, Rankin unrolled a parcel, shook out a waistcoat with a large pattern on it, and handed it to the witness.

"Did you ever see that waistcoat before?"

"Oh, yes. It belongs to Mr. Hampstead. At least it used to belong to him."

"When did you see it last?"

"Up in his rooms a few evenings ago."

"That was the night of the day the fifty thousand dollars was stolen from the bank?"

"Yes."

"What did you do with it then?"

"I took it out of his bedroom closet to give to a poor boy."

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought it was a kindness to Mr. Hampstead to take that very dreadful waistcoat away from him. I took this and a number of other garments to give to the boy."

"You were quite generous that night! Did Mr. Hampstead object?"

"Object? Oh, no! I should have said that he took them from me and gave them to the boy himself."

"Now, why were you so generous with Mr. Hampstead's clothes, and why should he consent to give them to the boy?"

This was getting painful for Sappy. His manager was standing, as he said, plumb in front of him.

"Well, if I must tell unpleasant things," said Sappy, "the boy was sent out that evening to get us a little wine, and I thought giving him that waistcoat would be a satisfaction to all parties."

"You were perfectly right. You have given a great deal of satisfaction to a great many people. So Mr. Hampstead was entertaining his friends that night?"

"Yes. We dined with him at the club that evening, and adjourned afterward to his rooms to have a little music."

"Ah! Just so. Seeing how pleasantly things had been going in the bank that day, and that his particular friend Cresswell had decamped with fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Hampstead was celebrating the occasion. Now, I suppose that, taking in the cost of the dinners and the wine--or rather, excuse me--the _music_, and all the rest of it, you got the impression that Mr. Hampstead had a good deal of money that night?"

"That's none of your business," said Sappy, firing up. "Mr. Hampstead spends his money like a gentleman. I suppose he did spend a good deal that night, and generally does."

"Very good," said Rankin.

He then went on to ask questions about Hampstead's salary and his probable expenses, but perhaps this was to kill time, for he kept looking toward the door, as if he expected somebody to come in. Finally he let poor Sappy depart in peace, after making him show beyond any doubt that Geoffrey wore this waistcoat at the time of the theft at the bank--that the garment was old fas.h.i.+oned, and that it had seemed peculiar that Hampstead, a man of some fas.h.i.+on, should be wearing it.

Patsey Priest was now called, and he slunk in from an adjoining room, in company with a policeman. He had a fixed impression in his mind that Geoffrey was his prosecutor, and that he was going to be charged with stealing liquors, cigars, tobacco, and clothes. He was prepared to prove his innocence of all these crimes, but he trembled visibly. His mother had put his oldest clothes upon him, as poverty, she thought, might prove a good plea before the day was out. The difference between his garments and those of the previous witness was striking. His skin, as seen through the holes in his apparel, suggested how, by mere _laches_, real estate could become personalty.

"Where were you on Wednesday night last, about one or two o'clock in the evening?"

"I wus in Mr. 'Ampstead's rooms part of the time."

"Did you ever see that waistcoat before?"

"Yes, I did, and he gev it to me, so help me on fourteen Bibles, as I kin prove by five or six gents right in front of me over there, and its altogether wrong ye are fur to try and fix it on to a poor boy as has to get his livin' honest and support his mother, and her a widder--"

"Stop, stop!" called Rankin. "Did you get this other waistcoat at the same time?"

"Yes, I did, an' a lot more besides, an' I tuk them all up and gev them to me mother just the same as I gives her all me wages and the hull of the clothes an' more besides give me fur goin' round to the Rah-seen House fur to buy the drinks--"

"That will do, that will do," interrupted Rankin. "You can go."

"Faith, I knew ye'd hev to discharge me, fur I'm as innercent as y'are yerself."