Queen's Ransom, page 51
Q.—You may cross-examine, Mr Bradford.
Mr Bradford murmurs, ‘With pleasure,’ but only Judge Eli hears him, and Judge Eli shrugs ever so slightly and sits down.
Cross-examination by Mr Bradford:—
Q.—Carlatti, is it against the law to operate a gambling parlor? A.—Who says I operate a gambling parlor? Who says?
Q.—Nobody ‘says,’ Carlatti. Just answer my question. A.—It’s a dirty frame. Prove it. Go ahead. I ain’t gonna sit here and take no double-cross—
Judge Newbold: The witness will refrain from gratuitous remarks, or he will lay himself open to contempt. Answer the question.
A.—What question, Judge?
Q.—Never mind. Do you or do you not run roulette, faro, craps, and other gambling games in the back of your so-called ‘night club’? A.—Am I supposed to answer dirty questions like that? It’s an insult, Judge. This kid ain’t dry behind the ears yet, and I ain’t gonna sit here and take—
Judge Newbold: One more remark like that—
Judge Martin: It seems to me, Your Honor, that this is improper cross. The question of whether the witness runs a gambling establishment or not was not part of the direct examination.
Judge Newbold: Overruled!
Judge Martin: Exception!
Mr Bradford: If Jim Haight did owe you money lost at your gambling tables, Carlatti, you’d have to deny it, wouldn’t you, or face prosecution on a charge of running a gambling establishment?
Judge Martin: I move that question be stricken—
A.—What is this? All of a sudden all you guys are getting angels. How do you think I been operating—on my sex appeal? And don’t think no hick judge can scare Vic Carlatti. I got plenty of friends, and they’ll see to it that Vic Carlatti ain’t going to be no fall guy for some old goat of a judge and some stinker of a D.A.—
Judge Newbold: Mr. Bradford, do you have any further questions of this witness?
Mr Bradford: I think that will be quite sufficient, Your Honor.
Judge Newbold: Clerk, strike the last question and answer. The jury will disregard it. The spectators will preserve the proper decorum or the room will be cleared. Witness is held in contempt of court. Bailiff, take charge of the prisoner.
Mr Carlatti puts up his dukes as the bailiff approaches, roaring: ‘Where’s my mouthpiece? This ain’t Nazzee Goimany!’
When Nora took the oath and sat down and began to testify in a choked voice, the court was like a church. She was the priestess, and the people listened to her with the silent unease of a sinning congregation confronted by their sins…Surely the woman Jim Haight had tried to do in would be against him? But Nora was not against Jim. She was for him, every cell in her. Her loyalty filled the courtroom like warm air. She made a superb witness, defending her husband from every charge. She reiterated her love for him and her unquestioning faith in his innocence. Over and over. While her eyes kept coming back to the object of her testimony, those scant few feet away, who sat with his face lowered, wearing a dull red mask of shame, blinking at the tips of his unpolished shoes.
‘The idiot might be more cooperative!’ thought Mr Queen angrily.
Nora could give no factual evidence to controvert the People’s case. Judge Martin, who had put her on the stand for her psychological value, did not touch upon the two poisoning attempts preceding New Year’s Eve; and in a genuine act of kindness, Carter Bradford waived cross-examination and the opportunity to quiz her on those attempts. Perhaps Bradford felt he would lose more in good will by grilling Nora than by letting her go.
Mr Queen, a notorious sceptic, could not be sure.
Nora was to have been Judge Martin’s last witness; and indeed he was fumbling with some papers at the defense table, as if undecided whether to proceed or not, when Pat signalled him furiously from inside the railing, and the old gentleman nodded with a guilty, unhappy look and said: ‘I call Patricia Wright to the stand.’ Mr Queen sat forward in the grip of a giant tension he could not understand.
Obviously at a loss where to begin, Judge Martin began a cautious reconnaissance, as if seeking a clue. But Pat took the reins out of his hands almost at once. She was irrepressible—deliberately, Ellery knew; but why? What was she driving at?
As a defense witness, Pat played squarely into the hands of the People. The more she said, the more damage she did to Jim’s cause. She painted her brother-in-law as a scoundrel, a liar—told how he had humiliated Nora, stolen her jewelry, squandered her property, neglected her, subjected her to mental torment, quarrelled with her incessantly…Before she was half through, the courtroom was sibilating. Judge Martin was perspiring like a coolie and trying frantically to head her off, Nora was gaping at her sister as if she were seeing her for the first time, and Hermy and John F. slumped lower and lower in their seats, like two melting waxworks.
Judge Newbold interrupted Pat during a denunciation of Jim and an avowal of her hatred for him. ‘Miss Wright, are you aware that you were called as a witness for the defense?’
Pat snapped: ‘I’m sorry, Your Honor. But I can’t sit here and see all this hush-hush going on when we all know Jim Haight is guilty—’
‘I move—’ began Judge Martin in an outraged bellow.
‘Young woman—’ began Judge Newbold angrily.
But Pat rushed on. ‘And that’s what I told Bill Ketcham only last night—’
‘What!’
The explosion came from Judge Newbold, Eli Martin, and Carter Bradford simultaneously. And for a moment the room was plunged in an abyss of surprise; and then the walls cracked, and Bedlam piled upon Babel, so that Judge Newbold pounded with his third gavel of the trial, and the bailiff ran up and down shushing people, and in the press row someone started to laugh as realization came, infecting the whole row, and the row behind that. ‘Your Honor,’ said Judge Martin above the din, ‘I want it to go on record here and now that the statement made by my witness a moment ago comes to me as an absolute shock. I had no faintest idea that—’
‘Just a moment, just a moment, Counsel,’ said Judge Newbold in a strangled voice. ‘Miss Wright!’
‘Yes, Your Honor?’ asked Patty in a bewildered way, as if she couldn’t imagine what all the fuss was about.
‘Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you told Bill Ketcham something last night?’
‘Why, yes, Your Honor,’ said Pat respectfully. ‘And Bill agreed with me—’
‘I object!’ shouted Carter Bradford. ‘She’s got it in for me! This is a put-up job—!’
Miss Wright turned innocent eyes on Mr Bradford.
‘One moment, Mr Bradford!’ Judge Newbold leaned far forward on the Bench. ‘Bill Ketcham agreed with you, did he? What did he agree with you about? What else happened last night?’
‘Well, Bill said Jim was guilty, all right, and if I’d promise to—’ Pat blushed—‘well, if I’d promise him a certain something, he’d see to it that Jim got what was coming to him. Said he’d talk to the others on the jury, too—being an insurance man, Bill said, he could sell anything. He said I was his dream girl, and for me he’d climb the highest mountain—’
‘Silence in the court!’ bellowed Judge Newbold.
And there was silence. ‘Now, Miss Wright,’ said Judge Newbold grimly, ‘are we to understand that you had this conversation last night with the William Ketcham who is Juror Number 7 in this trial?’
‘Yes, Your Honor,’ said Pat, her eyes wide. ‘Is anything wrong with that? I’m sure if I had known—’ The rest was lost in uproar.
‘Bailiff, clear the room!’ screamed Judge Newbold.
‘Now, then,’ said Judge Newbold. ‘Let’s have the rest of it, if you please!’—so frigidly that Pat turned café au lait and tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.
‘W-we went out together, Bill and I, last Saturday night. Bill said we oughtn’t to be seen, maybe it wasn’t legal or something, so we drove over to Slocum to a hot spot Bill knows, and—and we’ve been there every night since. I said Jim was guilty, and Bill said sure, he thought so too—’
‘Your Honor,’ said Judge Martin in a terrible voice, ‘I move—’
‘Oh, you do!’ said Judge Newbold. ‘Eli Martin, if your reputation weren’t…You there!’ he roared at the jurist. ‘Ketcham! Number 7! Get up!’
Fat Billy Ketcham, the insurance broker, tried to obey, half hoisted himself, fell back again, and finally made it. He stood there in the rear row of the jury box, swaying a little, as if the box were a canoe.
‘William Ketcham,’ snarled Judge Newbold, ‘have you spent every evening since last Saturday in the company of this young woman? Did you promise her to influence the rest of the jury—Bailiff! Chief Dakin! I want that man!’
Ketcham was trapped in the main aisle after knocking over two fellow jurors and scattering the people inside the rail like a fat tom charging a brood of chicks.
When he was hauled up before Judge Newbold, he chattered: ‘I didn’t m-mean any harm, J-Judge—I d-didn’t think I was doing wrong, Judge—I s-swear to you—everybody knows the s-sonofabitch is guilty—’
‘Take this man in custody,’ whispered Judge Newbold. ‘Bailiff, station guards at the doors. There will be a five-minute recess. Jury remain where you are. No one now present is to leave the courtroom!’ And Judge Newbold groped for his chambers.
‘That,’ said Mr Queen while they waited, ‘is what comes of not locking juries in. It’s also,’ he added to Miss Patricia Wright, ‘what comes of scatterbrained brats meddling in grown-up people’s affairs!’
‘Oh, Patty, how could you?’ wept Hermione. ‘And that impossible Ketcham man, too! I warned you he’d make improper advances if you encouraged him. You remember, John, how he used to pester Patty for dates—’
‘I also remember,’ said John F. wildly, ‘where my old hair-brush is!’
‘Look,’ said Pat in a low voice. ‘Jim was in a bad spot, wasn’t he? All right! So I worked on Fat Billy, and he drank a lot of Martinis, and I let him make a pass or two at me…Go ahead and l-look at me as if I were a loose woman!’ And Miss Wright began to cry. ‘Just the same, I did something none of you has been able to do—watch and see!’
‘It’s true,’ said Ellery hastily, ‘that we had nothing to look forward to but a conviction.’
‘If only…’ began Nora, a great bright hope on her pale face. ‘Oh, Patsy, you’re mad, but I love you!’
‘And is Cart’s face r-red,’ blubbered Pat. ‘Thinks he’s smart…’
‘Yes,’ pointed out Mr Queen dryly. ‘But look at Judge Martin’s.’
Old Eli Martin came over to Pat and he said: ‘Patricia, you’ve placed me in the most embarrassing position of my life. I don’t care about that, or the ethics of your conduct, so much as I do about the fact that you probably haven’t helped Jim’s chances, you’ve hurt them. No matter what Newbold says or does—and he really hasn’t any choice—everybody will know you did this deliberately, and it’s bound to bounce back on Jim Haight.’ And Judge Martin stalked away.
‘I suppose,’ said Lola, ‘you can’t scratch an ex-judge without stuffiness leaking out. Don’t you worry, Snuffles! You gave Jim a zero-hour reprieve—it’s better than he deserves, the dumb ox!’
‘I wish to state in preamble,’ said Judge Newbold coldly, ‘that in all my years on the Bench I have encountered no more flagrant, disgraceful example of civic irresponsibility. William Ketcham!’ He transfixed Juror Number 7, who looked as if he were about to faint, with a stern and glittering eye. ‘Unfortunately, there is no statutory offense with which you can be charged, unless it can be shown that you have received property or value of some kind. For the time being, however, I order the Commissioner of Jurors to strike your name from the panel of jurors, and never so long as you are a resident of this State will you be permitted to exercise your privilege of serving on a jury.’
William Ketcham’s expression said that he would gladly relinquish many more appreciated rights for the privilege of leaving the courtroom that very instant.
‘Mr Bradford—’ Carter looked up, thin-lipped and black-angry—‘you are requested to investigate the conduct of Patricia Wright with a view toward determining whether she willfully and deliberately sought to influence Juror Number 7. If such intention can be established, I ask you to draw an indictment charging Patricia Wright with the appropriate charge—’
‘Your Honor,’ said Bradford in a low voice, ‘the only conceivable charge I can see would be corrupting a juror, and to establish corruption it seems to me necessary to show consideration. And in this case it doesn’t seem as if there was any consideration—’
‘She offered her body!’ snapped Judge Newbold.
‘I did not!’ gasped Pat. ‘He asked for it, but I didn’t—’
‘Yes, Your Honor,’ said Bradford, blushing, ‘but it is a moot point whether that sort of thing constitutes legal consideration—’
‘Let’s not get entangled, Mr Bradford,’ said Judge Newbold coldly. ‘The woman is clearly guilty of embracery if she attempted to influence a juror improperly, whether she gave any consideration or not!’
‘Embracery? What’s that?’ muttered Pat. But no one heard her except Mr Queen, who was chuckling inside.
‘Also,’ continued Judge Newbold slamming a book down on a heap of papers, ‘I shall recommend that in future trials coming under the jurisdiction of this court, juries shall be locked in, to prevent a recurrence of this shameful incident.
‘Now.’ He glared at Billy Ketcham and Pat, and then at the jury. ‘The facts are clear. A juror has been influenced in a manner prejudicial to the rights of the defendant to a fair trial. This is by the admission of both parties involved. If I permitted this trial to continue, it could only bring an appeal to a superior court which must, on the record, order a new trial. Consequently, to save further and needless expense, I have no choice. I regret the inconvenience and waste of time caused the remaining members of the jury; I deplore the great expense of this trial already incurred by Wright County. Much as I regret and deplore, however, the facts leave me no recourse but to declare People Against James Haight a mistrial. I do so declare, the jury is discharged with the apology and thanks of the Court, and the defendant is remanded to the custody of the Sheriff until the date of a new trial can be set. Court is adjourned!’
27
Easter Sunday: Nora’s Gift
The invading press retreated, promising to return for the new trial; but Wrightsville remained, and Wrightsville chortled and raged and buzzed and gossiped until the very ears of the little Buddha clock on Pat’s dresser were ringing.
William Ketcham, by a curious inversion, became the town hero. The ‘boys’ stopped him on the street corners to slap his back, he sold five insurance policies he had long since given up, and, as confidence returned, he related some ‘details’ of his relationship with Miss Patricia Wright on the critical nights in question which, when they reached Pat’s ears by way of Carmel Pettigrew (who was phoning her ‘best friend’ again), caused Miss Wright to go downtown to Mr Ketcham’s insurance office in the Bluefield Block, grasp Mr Ketcham firmly by the collar with the left hand, and with the right slap Mr Ketcham’s right cheek five ringing times, leaving assorted marks in the damp white flesh.
‘Why five?’ asked Mr Queen, who had accompanied Miss Wright on the excursion and had stood by, admiring, while she cleansed her reputation.
Miss Wright flushed. ‘Never mind,’ she said tartly. ‘It was—exact—retribution. That lying, bragging—!’
‘If you don’t watch out,’ murmured Mr Queen, ‘Carter Bradford will have another indictment to draw against you—this one for assault and battery.’
‘I’m just waiting,’ said Pat darkly. ‘But he won’t. He knows better!’ And apparently Cart did know better, for nothing more was heard from him about Pat’s part in the debacle.
Wrightsville prepared for the Easter holidays. The Bon Ton did a New York business in dresses and spring coats and shoes and underwear and bags, Sol Gowdy put on two ‘extras’ to help in his Men’s Shop, and the Low Village emporia were actually crowded with mill and factory customers.
Mr Ellery Queen shut himself up in his quarters on the top floor of the Wright house and, except for meals, remained incommunicado. Anyone looking in on him would have been puzzled. He was doing exactly nothing visible to the uninitiated eye. Unless it was to consume innumerable cigarettes. He just sat still in the chair by the window and gazed out at the spring sky, or patrolled the room with long strides, head bent, puffing like a locomotive. Oh, yes. If you looked hard, you could see a mass of notes on his desk—a mess of a mass, for the papers were scattered like dead leaves in autumn. And indeed the wind of Ellery’s fury had scattered them so. They lay there discarded, and a mockery.
So there was nothing exciting in that direction. Nor anywhere else, except possibly in Nora’s. It was strange about Nora. She had stood up so gallantly under the stresses of the arrest and trial that everyone had begun taking her for granted. Even Hermione thought of nothing but Nora’s ‘condition’ and the proper care of the mother; and there old Ludie was of infinitely more practical use. Old Ludie said a woman was a woman, and she was made to have babies, and the less fuss you made over Nora’s ‘condition’ the better off they’d both be—Nora and the little one. Eat good plain food, with plenty of vegetables and milk and fruit, don’t go gallivantin’, go easy on the candy and do plenty of walking and mild exercise, and the good Lord would do the rest. Ludie had incessant quarrels about it with Hermione, and at least one memorable tiff with Dr Willoughby.
But the pathology of the nervous system was so much Sanskrit to Ludie; and while the others were better informed, only two persons close to Nora suspected what was going to happen, and at least one of them was helpless to avert the catastrophe. That was Mr Queen; and he could only wait and watch. The other was Doc Willoughby, and the doctor did all he could—which meant tonic and daily examinations and advice, all of which Nora ignored.
