Counsel for the Defense

Presently he began to lurch against her less heavily and less frequently; and soon, his head hanging low in humiliation, he started shiveringly to mumble out an abject apology. She cut him short.

“We’ve no time for apologies. There’s work to be done. Is your head clear enough to understand?”

“I think so,” he said humbly, albeit somewhat thickly.

“Listen then! And listen hard!”

Briefly and clearly she outlined to him her discoveries and told him of the documents she had just secured. She did not realize it, but this recital of hers was, for the purpose of sobering him, better far than a douche of ice-water, better far than walking in the tingling air. She was appealing to, stimulating, the most sensitive organ of the born newspaper man, his sense of news. Before she was through he had come to a pause beneath a sputtering arc light, and was interrupting her with short questions, his eyes ablaze with excitement.

“God!” he ejaculated when she had finished, “that would make the greatest newspaper story that ever broke loose in this town!”

She trembled with an excitement equal to his own.

“And I want you to make it into the greatest newspaper story that ever broke loose in this town!”

“But to-morrow the voting – ”

“There’s no to-morrow about it! We’ve got to act to-night. You must get out an extra of the Express.”

“An extra of the Express!”

“Yes. And it must be on the streets before that mass-meeting breaks up.”

“Oh, my God, my God!” Billy whispered in awe to himself, forgetting how cold he was as his mind took in the plan. Then he started away almost on a run. “We’ll do it! But first, we’ve got to get the press-room gang.”

“I’ve seen to that. I think we’ll find them waiting at the office.”

“You don’t say!” ejaculated Billy. “Miss West, to-morrow, when there’s more time, I’m going to apologize to you, and everybody, for – ”

“If you get out this extra, you won’t need to apologize to anybody.”

“But to-night, if you’ll let me,” continued Billy, “I want you to let me say that you’re a wonder!”

Katherine let this praise go by unheeded, and as they hurried toward the Square she gave him details she had omitted in her outline. When they reached the Express office they found Old Hosie, who told them that the foreman and the mechanical staff were in the press-room. A shout from Billy down the stairway brought the foreman running up.

“Do you know what’s doing, Jake?” cried Billy.

“Yes. Mr. Hollingsworth told me.”

“Everything ready?”

“Sure, Billy. We’re waiting for your copy.”

“Good! First of all get these engraved.” He excitedly handed the foreman Katherine’s two documents. “Each of ’em three columns wide. We’ll run ’em on the front page. And, Jake, if you let those get lost, I’ll shoot you so full of holes your wife’ll think she’s married to a screen door! Now chase along with you!”

Billy threw off his drenched coat, slipped into an old one hanging on a hook, dropped into a chair before a typewriter, ran in a sheet of paper, and without an instant’s hesitation began to rattle off the story – and Katherine, in a sort of fascination, stood gazing at that worth-while spectacle, a first-class newspaperman in full action.

But suddenly he gave a cry of dismay and his arms fell to his sides.

“My mind sees the story all right,” he groaned. “I don’t know whether it’s that ice-water or the drink, but my arms are so shaky I can’t hit the keys straight.”

On the instant Katherine had him out of the chair and was in his place.

“I studied typewriting along with my law,” she said rapidly. “Dictate it to me on the machine.”

There was not a word of comment. At once Billy began talking, and the keys began to whir beneath Katherine’s hands. The first page finished, Billy snatched it from her, gave a roar of “Copy!” glanced it through with a correcting pencil, and thrust it into the hands of an in-rushing boy.

As the boy scuttled away, a thunderous cheering arose from the Court House yard – applause that outsounded a dozen-fold all that had gone before.

“What’s that?” asked Katherine of Old Hosie, who stood at the window looking down upon the Square.

“It’s Blake, trying to speak. They’re giving him the ovation of his life!”

Katherine’s face set. “H’m!” said Billy grimly, and plunged again into his dictation. Now and then the uproar that followed a happy phrase of Blake almost drowned the voice of Billy, now and then Old Hosie from his post at the window broke in with a sentence of description of the tumultuous scene without; but despite these interruptions the story rattled swiftly on. Again and again Billy ran to the sink at the back of the office and let the clearing water splash over his head; his collar was a shapeless rag; he had to keep thrusting his dripping hair back from his forehead; his slight, chilled body was shivering in every member; but the story kept coming, coming, coming, a living, throbbing creation from his thin and twitching lips.

As Katherine’s flying hands set down the words, she thrilled as though this story were a thing entirely new to her. For Billy Harper, whatever faults inheritance or habit had fixed upon him, was a reporter straight from God. His trained mind had instantly seized upon and mastered all the dramatic values of the complicated story, and his English, though crude and rough-and-tumble from his haste, was vivid passionate, rousing. He told how Doctor West was the victim of a plot, a plot whose great victim was the city and people of Westville, and this plot he outlined in all its details. He told of Doctor Sherman’s part, at Blake’s compulsion. He told of the secret league between Blake and Peck. He declared the truth of the charges for which Bruce was then lying in the county jail. And finally – though this he did at the beginning of his story – he drove home in his most nerve-twanging words the fact that Blake the benefactor, Blake the applauded, was the direct cause of the typhoid epidemic.

As a fresh sheet was being run into the machine toward the end of the story there was another tremendous outburst from the Square, surpassing even the one of half an hour before.

“Blake’s just finished his speech,” called Old Hosie from the window. “The crowd wants to carry him on their shoulders.”

“They’d better hurry up; this is one of their last chances!” cried Billy.

Then he saw the foreman enter with a look of concern. “Any thing wrong, Jake?”

“One of the linotype men has skipped out,” was the answer.

“Well, what of that?” said Harper. “You’ve got one left.”

“It means that we’ll be delayed in getting out the paper. I hadn’t noticed it before, but Grant’s been gone some time. We’re quite a bit behind you, and Simmons alone can’t begin to handle that copy as fast as you’re sending it down.”

“Do the best you can,” said Billy.

He started at the dictation again. Then he broke off and called sharply to the foreman:

“Hold on, Jake. D’you suppose Grant slipped out to give the story away?”

“I don’t know. But Grant was a Blake man.”

Billy swore under his breath.

“But he hadn’t seen the best part of the story,” said the foreman. “I’d given him only that part about Blake and Peck.”

“Well, anyhow, it’s too late for him to hurt us any,” said Billy, and once more plunged into the dictation.

Fifteen minutes later the story was finished, and Katherine leaned back in her chair with aching arms, while Billy wrote a lurid headline across the entire front page. With this he rushed down into the composing-room to give orders about the make-up. When he returned he carried a bunch of long strips.

“These are the proofs of the whole thing, documents and all, except the last part of the story,” he said. “Let’s see if they’ve got it all straight.”

He laid the proofs on Katherine’s desk and was drawing a chair up beside her, when the telephone rang.

“Who can want to talk to us at such an hour?” he impatiently exclaimed, taking up the receiver.

“Hello! Who’s this?.. What!.. All right. Hold the wire.”

With a surprised look he pushed the telephone toward Katherine.

“Somebody to talk to you,” he said.

“To talk to me!” exclaimed Katherine. “Who?”

“Harrison Blake,” said Billy.

CHAPTER XXV

KATHERINE FACES THE ENEMY

Katherine took up the receiver in tremulous hands.

“Hello! Is this Mr. Blake?”

“Yes,” came a familiar voice over the wire. “Is this Miss West?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“I have a matter which I wish to discuss with you immediately.”

“I am engaged for this evening,” she returned, as calmly as she could. “If to-morrow you still desire to see me, I can possibly arrange it then.”

“I must see you to-night – at once!” he insisted. “It is a matter of the utmost importance. Not so much to me as to you,” he added meaningly.

“If it is so important, then suppose you come here,” she replied.

“I cannot possibly do so. I am bound here by a number of affairs. I have anticipated that you would come, and have sent my car for you. It will be there in two minutes.”

Katherine put her hand over the mouthpiece, and repeated Blake’s request to Old Hosie and Billy Harper.

“What shall I do?” she asked.

“Tell him to go to!” said Billy promptly. “You’ve got him where you want him. Don’t pay any more attention to him.”

“I’d like to know what he’s up to,” mused Old Hosie.

“And so would I,” agreed Katherine, thoughtfully. “I can’t do anything more here; he can’t hurt me; so I guess I’ll go.”

She removed her hand from the mouthpiece and leaned toward it.

“Where are you, Mr. Blake?”

“At my home.”

“Very well. I am coming.”

She stood up.

“Will you come with me?” she asked Old Hosie.

“Of course,” said the old lawyer with alacrity. And then he chuckled. “I’d like to see how the Senator looks to-night!”

“I’ll just take these proofs along,” she said, thrusting them inside her coat.

The next instant she and Old Hosie were hurrying down the stairway. As they came into the street the Westville Brass Band blew the last notes of “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean,” out of cornets and trombones; the great crowd, intoxicated with enthusiasm, responded with palm-blistering applause; and then the candidate for president of the city council arose to make his oratorical contribution. He had got no further than his first period when Blake’s automobile glided up before the Express office, and at once Katherine and Old Hosie stepped into the tonneau.

They sped away from this maelstrom of excitement into the quiet residential streets, Katherine wondering what Blake desired to see her about, and wondering if there could possibly be some flaw in her plan that she had overlooked, and if after all Blake still had some weapon in reserve with which he could defeat her. Five minutes later they were at Blake’s door. They were instantly admitted, and Katherine was informed that Blake awaited her in his library.

She had had no idea in what state of mind she would find Blake, but she had at least expected to find him alone. But instead, when she entered the library with Old Hosie, a small assembly rose to greet her. There was Blake, Blind Charlie Peck, Manning, and back in a shadowy corner a rather rotund gentleman, whom she had observed in Westville the last few days, and whom she knew to be Mr. Brown of the National Electric & Water Company.

Blake’s face was pale and set, and his dark eyes gleamed with an unusual brilliance. But in his compressed features Katherine could read nothing of what was in his mind.

“Good evening,” he said with cold politeness.

“Will you please sit down, Miss West. And you also, Mr. Hollingsworth.”

Katherine thanked him with a nod, and seated herself. She found her chair so placed that she was the centre of the gaze of the little assembly.

“I take it for granted, Miss West,” Blake began steadily, formally, “that you are aware of the reason for my requesting you to come here.”

“On the other hand, I must confess myself entirely ignorant,” Katherine quietly returned.

“Pardon me if I am forced to believe otherwise. But nevertheless, I will explain. It has come to me that you are now engaged in getting out an issue of the Express, in which you charge that Mr. Peck and myself are secretly in collusion to defraud the city. Is that correct?”

“Entirely so,” said Katherine.

She felt full command of herself, yet every instant she was straining to peer ahead and discover, before it fell, the suspected counter-stroke.

“Before going further,” Blake continued, “I will say that Mr. Peck and I, though personal and political enemies, must join forces against such a libel directed at us both. This will explain Mr. Peck’s presence in my house for the first time in his life. Now, to resume our business. What you are about to publish is a libel. It is for your sake, chiefly, that I have asked you here.”

“For my sake?”

“For your sake. To warn you, if you are not already aware of it, of the danger you are plunging into headlong. But surely you are acquainted with our libel laws.”

“I am.”

His face, aside from its cold, set look, was still without expression; his voice was low-pitched and steady.

“Then of course you understand your risk,” he continued. “You have had a mild illustration of the working of the law in the case of Mr. Bruce. But the case against him was not really pressed. The court might not deal so leniently with you. I believe you get my meaning?”

“Perfectly,” said Katherine.

There was a silence. Katherine was determined not to speak first, but to force Blake to take the lead.

“Well?” said he.

“I was waiting to hear what else you had to say,” she replied.

“Well, you are aware that what you purpose printing is a most dangerous libel?”

“I am aware that you seem to think it so.”

“There is no thinking about it; it is libel!” he returned. For the first time there was a little sharpness in his voice. “And now, what are you going to do?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Suppress the paper.”

“Is that advice, or a wish, or a command?”

“Suppose I say all three.”

Her eyes did not leave his pale, intent face. She was instantly more certain that he had some weapon in reserve. But still she failed to guess what it might be.

“Well, what are you going to do?” he repeated.

“I am going to print the paper,” said Katherine.

An instant of stupefied silence followed her quiet answer.

“You are, are you?” cried Blind Charlie, springing up. “Well, let me – ”

“Sit down, Peck!” Blake ordered sharply

“Come, give me a chance at her!”

“Sit down! I’m handling this!” Blake cried with sudden harshness.

“Well, then, show her where she’s at!” grumbled Blind Charlie, subsiding into his chair.

Blake turned back to Katherine. His face was again impassive.

“And so it is your intention to commit this monstrous libel?” he asked in his former composed tone.

“Perhaps it is not libel,” said Katherine.

“You mean that you think you have proofs?”

“No. That is not my meaning.”

“What then do you mean?”

“I mean that I have proofs.”

“Ah, at last we are coming to the crux of the matter. Since you have proofs for your statements, you think there is no libel?”

“I believe that is sound law,” said Katherine.

“It is sound enough law,” he said. He leaned toward her, and there was now the glint of triumph in his eyes. “But suppose the proofs were not sound?”

Katherine started.

“The proofs not sound?”

“Yes. I suppose your article is based upon testimony?”

“Of course.”

His next words were spoken slowly, that each might sink deeply in.

“Well, suppose your witnesses had found they were mistaken and had repudiated their testimony? What then?”

She sank back in her chair. At last the expected blow had fallen. She sat dazed, thinking wildly. Had they got to Doctor Sherman since she had seen him, and forced him to recant? Had Manning, offered the world by them in this crisis, somehow sold her out? She searched the latter’s face with consternation. But he wore a rather stolid look that told her nothing.

Blake read the effect of his words in her white face and dismayed manner.

“Suppose they have repudiated their statements? What then?” he crushingly persisted.

She caught desperately at her courage and her vanishing triumph.

“But they have not repudiated.”

“You think not? You shall see!”

He turned to Blind Charlie. “Tell him to step in.”

Blind Charlie moved quickly to a side door. Katherine leaned forward and stared after him, breathless, her heart stilled. She expected the following moment to see the slender figure of Doctor Sherman enter the room, and hear his pallid lips deny he had ever made the confession of a few hours before.

Blind Charlie opened the door.

“They’re ready for you,” he called.

It was all Katherine could do to keep from springing up and letting out a sob of relief. For it was not Doctor Sherman who entered. It was the broad and sumptuous presence of Elijah Stone, detective. He crossed and stood before Blake.

“Mr. Stone,” said Blake, sharply, “I want you to answer a few questions for the benefit of Miss West. First of all, you were employed by Miss West on a piece of detective work, were you not?”

“I was,” said Mr. Stone, avoiding Katherine’s eye.

“And the nature of your employment was to try to discover evidence of an alleged conspiracy against the city on my part?”

“It was.”

“And you made to her certain reports?”

“I did.”

“Let me inform you that she has used those reports as the basis of a libellous story which she is about to print. Now answer me, did you give her any real evidence that would stand the test of a court room?”

Mr. Stone gazed at the ceiling.

“My statements to her were mere surmises,” he said with the glibness of a rehearsed answer. “Nothing but conjecture – no evidence at all.”

“What is your present belief concerning these conjectures?”

“I have since discovered that my conjectures were all mistakes.”

“That will do, Mr. Stone!”

Blake turned quickly upon Katherine. “Well, now what have you got to say?” he demanded.

She could have laughed in her joy.

“First of all,” she called to the withdrawing detective, “I have this to say to you, Mr. Stone. When you sold out to these people, I hope you made them pay you well.”

The detective flushed, but he had no chance to reply.

“This is no time for levity, Miss West!” Blake said sharply. “Now you see your predicament. Now you see what sort of testimony your libel is built upon.”

“But my libel is not built upon that testimony.”

“Not built – ” He now first observed that Katherine was smiling. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. That my story is not based on Mr. Stone’s testimony.”

There were exclamations from Mr. Brown and Blind Charlie.

“Eh – what?” said Blake. “But you hired Stone as a detective?”

“And he was eminently successful in carrying out the purpose for which I hired him. That purpose was to be watched, and bought off, by you.”

Blake sank back and stared at her.

“Then your story is based – ”

“Partly on the testimony of Doctor Sherman,” she said.

Blake came slowly up to his feet.

“Doctor Sherman?” he breathed.

“Yes, of Doctor Sherman.”

Blind Charlie moved quickly forward.

“What’s that?” he cried.

“It’s not true!” burst from Blake’s lips. “Doctor Sherman is in Canada!”

“When I saw him two hours ago he was at his wife’s bedside.”

“It’s not true!” Blake huskily repeated.

“And I might add, Mr. Blake,” Katherine pursued, “that he made a full statement of everything – everything! – and that he gave me a signed confession.”

Blake stared at her blankly. A sickly pallor was creeping over his face.

Katherine stood up.

“And I might furthermore add, gentlemen,” she went on, now also addressing Blind Charlie, “that I know all about the water-works deal, and the secret agreement among you.”

“Hold on! You’re going too far!” the old politician cried savagely. “You’ve got no evidence against me!”

“I could hardly help having it, since I was present at your proceedings.”

“You?”

“Personally and by proxy. I am the agent of Mr. Seymour of New York. Mr. Hartsell here, otherwise Mr. Manning, has represented me, and has turned over to me the agreement you signed to-day.”

They whirled about upon Manning, who continued unperturbed in his chair.

“What she says is straight, gentlemen,” he said. “I have only been acting for Miss West.”

A horrible curse fell from the thick, loose lips of Blind Charlie Peck. Blake, his sickly pallor deepening, stared from Manning to Katherine.

“It isn’t so! It can’t be so!” he breathed wildly.

“If you want to see just what I’ve got, here it is,” said Katherine, and she tossed the bundle of proofs upon the desk.

Blake seized the sheets in feverish hands. Blind Charlie stepped to his side, and Mr. Brown slipped forward out of his corner and peered over their shoulders. First they saw the two facsimiles, then their eyes swept in the leading points of Billy Harper’s fiery story. Then a low cry escaped from Blake. He had come upon Billy Harper’s great page-wide headline:

“BLAKE CONSPIRES TO SWINDLE WESTVILLE;DIRECT CAUSE OF CITY’S SICK AND DEAD.”

At that Blake collapsed into his chair and gazed with ashen face at the black, accusing letters. This relentless summary of the situation appalled them all into a moment’s silence.

Blind Charlie was the first to speak.

“That paper must never come out!” he shouted.

Blake raised his gray-hued face.

“How are you going to stop it?”

“Here’s how,” cried Peck, his one eye ablaze with fierce energy. “That crowd at the Square is still all for you, Blake. Don’t let the girl out of the house! I’ll rush to the Square, rouse the mob properly, and they’ll raid the office, rip up the presses, plates, paper, every damned thing!”

“No – no – I’ll not stand for that!” Blake burst out.

But Blind Charlie had already started quickly away. Not so quickly, however, but that the very sufficient hand of Manning was about his wrist before he reached the door.

“I guess we won’t be doing that to-night, Mr. Peck,” Manning said quietly.

The old politician stood shaking with rage and erupting profanity. But presently this subsided, and he stood, as did the others, gazing down at Blake. Blake sat in his chair, silent, motionless, with scarcely a breath, his eyes fixed on the headline. His look was as ghastly as a dead man’s, a look of utter ruin, of ruin so terrible and complete that his dazed mind could hardly comprehend it.

There was a space of profound silence in the room. But after a time Blind Charlie’s face grew malignantly, revengefully jocose.

“Well, Blake,” said he, “I guess this won’t hurt me much after all. I guess I haven’t much reputation to lose. But as for you, who started this business – you the pure, moral, high-minded reformer – ”

He interrupted himself by raising a hand.

“Listen!”

Faintly, from the direction of the Square, came the dim roar of cheering, and then the outburst of the band. Blind Charlie, with a cynical laugh, clapped a hand upon Blake’s shoulder.

“Don’t you hear ’em, Blake? Brace up! The people still are for you!”

Blake did not reply. The old man bent down, his face now wholly hard.

“And anyhow, Blake, I’m getting this satisfaction out of the business. I’ve had it in for you for a dozen years, and now you’re going to get it good and plenty! Good night and to hell with you!”

Blake did not look up. Manning slipped an arm through the old man’s.

“I’ll go along with you for a little while,” said Manning quietly. “Just to see that you don’t start any trouble.”

As the pair were going out Mr. Brown, who had thus far not said a single word, bent his fatherly figure over Blake.

“Of course, you realize, Mr. Blake, that our relations are necessarily at an end,” he said in a low voice.

“Of course,” Blake said dully.

“I’m very sorry we cannot help you, but of course you realize we cannot afford to be involved in a mess like this. Good night.” And he followed the others out, Old Hosie behind him.