"My retriever, Curly, was playing with me. I was teasing him by waving the cap before him. He managed to get hold of it and ran with it into the thicket. In a moment or so he came back without it. I could not find it, nor could I induce him to retrieve it."
"When was this?"
"About two o"clock."
"Two witnesses have sworn they saw you come out of the thicket shortly before sun-down."
"That was on my way home. I tried again to get Curly to hunt up the cap."
"How do you account for the cap"s being found at the upper edge of the thicket?"
"I cannot account for it."
"Could the dog have carried it that far in the time before he returned?"
"I do not think so--I am certain not."
"How do you account for the holes?"
"They might have been the marks of Curley"s teeth," said Mr. Kincaid doubtfully.
"Look at them,"
A pause ensued.
"They certainly do not look like teeth marks," acknowledged Mr. Kincaid.
At this moment the heavy bell in the engine-house tower boomed out the first strokes of noon. The boys nearly lost their holds from the surprise of it. By the time they had recovered, court had been declared adjourned, and the crowds were pouring forth from the opened double doors.
XXIV
THE TRIAL (CONTINUED)
By remarkable prompt.i.tude and the exercise of the marvellous properties ascribed impartially to the worm, the eel, and the snake, Bobby and Johnny succeeded in gaining a place in the court-room for the afternoon session. It was not a very good place. Breast-high in front of them was a rail. Behind them pressed a suffocating crowd. On the other side of the rail were many benches on which was seated another crowd. This second mult.i.tude concealed utterly whatever occupied the floor of the court-room. Only when one or another of the actors in the proceedings arose to his feet could the boys make out a head and shoulders. They could see the ma.s.sive walnut desk and the judge, however; and the lower flat tables at which sat the recording officials. And on the blank white wall ticked solemnly a big round clock. The second-hand moved forward by a series of swift jerks, but watch as he would Bobby could see no perceptible motion of the other two hands. In the monotony of some of the proceedings this bland clock fascinated him.
Likewise the living wall before him caught and held his half-suffocated interest--the slope of their shoulders, the material of their coats, the shape of their heads, the cut of their hair. One by one he pa.s.sed them in review. Two seats ahead sat a thickset man with very long, oily black hair. He turned his head. Bobby recognized the man who had found Pritchard"s body. He nudged Johnny, calling attention to the fact.
The prosecuting attorney was on his feet making a speech. It was interesting enough at first, but after a time Bobby"s attention wandered. The prosecuting attorney was a young man, ambitious, and ego was certainly a large proportion of _his_ cosmos. Bobby listened to him while he spoke of the obvious motive for the deed; but when he began again, and in detail, to go over the evidence already adduced, Bobby ceased to listen. Only the monotonous cadences of the voice went on and on. The clock tick-tocked. People breathed. It reminded him of church.
A little stir brought him back from final drowsiness. A man in the row ahead of him wanted to get out. The disturber carried an overcoat over his left arm, and it amused Bobby vastly to see the stiff collar of that overcoat rumple the back hair of those who sat in the second row. As he watched, it caught the long oily locks of the witness for the prosecution. With a fierce exclamation the man turned, scowling at the other"s whispered excuse. When he had again faced the front, he had rearranged his disturbed locks.
After this slight interruption, Bobby again relapsed into day-dreaming.
He fell once more to visualizing the scene of that day. Gradually the court-room faded away. He saw the hillside, the burnt logs on the bare ground, the popples silvery in the sun, the sky blue above the hill. The patch of brown by the rustling scrub oak glimmered before his eyes. He saw again the exact angle it lay above him. For the hundredth time he looked over the sights of the rifle, fair against that spot of brown. "I must have over-shot a foot," he sighed, "or it would have taken him square."
And then as he stared over the sights, his finger on the trigger, the imaginary scene faded, the familiar court-room came out of the mists to take its place. Slowly the brown spot at which he aimed dissolved, a man"s head took its place; the oily-haired witness for the prosecution happened now to occupy exactly the position relative to Bobby"s att.i.tude as had Mr. Kincaid"s cap the day of the murder. And through the slightly disarranged long hair, and exactly in line with the imaginary rifle sights Bobby could just make out a dull red furrow running along the scalp. At this instant, as though uneasy at a scrutiny instinctively felt, the man reached back to smooth his locks. The scar at once disappeared.
XXV
THE HOLE IN THE CAP
For perhaps ten seconds Bobby sat absolutely motionless while a new thought was born. Then, oblivious of surroundings or of the exasperated objections of those near him, he clambered over the rail and wriggled his way to the open aisle. Several tried to seize him, but he managed in some manner to elude them all. Once in the open he darted forward toward the astonished officials. His freckled face was very red, his stubby hair towsled, his gray eyes earnest. The sheriff rose from his seat as though to stop him.
"I want to see that cap!" cried Bobby to the blur in general. He caught sight of it, ran to seize it, looked at it closely, and threw it down with a little cry of triumph. The bullet holes were not both at the top: one perforation was high up; but the other, on the left hand side, was situated low, near the edge. Bobby knew that the man who had worn that cap must have been hit.
The judge"s gavel was in the air, the sheriff on his feet, a hundred mouths open to expostulate against this interruption of a grave occasion.
"Mr. Kincaid did not do it!" cried Bobby aloud.
The clamour broke out. The sheriff seized Bobby by the arm.
"Here," he growled at him, "you little brat! What do you mean, raising a row like this?"
Bobby struggled. He had a great deal to say. All was confusion. Half the room seemed to be on its feet. Bobby saw his father making way toward him through the crowd. Only the clock and the white-haired judge beneath it seemed to have retained their customary poise. The clock tick-tocked deliberately, and its second-hand went forward in swift jerks; the judge sat quiet, motionless, his chin on his fists, his eyes looking steadily from under their bushy white brows.
"Just a moment," said the judge, finally, "Sheriff, bring that boy here."
Bobby found himself facing the great walnut desk. Behind him the room had fallen silent save for an irregular breathing sound.
"Who are you?" asked the judge.
"Bobby Orde."
"Why do you say the prisoner--Mr. Kincaid--did not commit the deed?"
Bobby started in a confused way to tell about the cap. The judge raised his hand.
"Were you present at this crime?" he asked shrewdly.
"Yes, sir," replied Bobby.
The judge lowered his voice so that only Bobby could hear.
"Do you know who murdered Mr. Pritchard?"
"Yes, sir," replied Bobby in the same tone, "I do."
"Who was it?"
"I don"t know his name. He"s sitting----"
"I thought so," interrupted the judge. "Mr. Sheriff," he called sharply.