Evening Star Newspaper, March 9, 1895, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 9, 1895—-TWENTY PAGES. (Copyright, 1895, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) CHAPTER I. On the 17th of March, 1878, Mr. Gustave Prineveau was shot and killed in his pri- vate conveyance while returning from a drive with his wife. It was about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, and the carriage at the time was between 66th and 67th streets on 4th avenue, in New York. Mr. Prineveau was seated on the left of his wife in the carriage, which was a two- Seated phaeton, and was driven by their tan, John Teedson, who sat on the seat in front of them. Mr. Prineveau, who was sixty-three, died almost instantly, and the Post-mortem, held the next morning at 10 o'clock, showed that he had been Killed by a pistol bullet that had entered his heart at the fifth intercostal space, glanced up- ‘ward and severed the aosta. A small hole was found in his vest on the left side cor- * responding to the bullet. % The post-mortem examination was a long one. As it was impossible for either of the other occupants of the carriage to have got round to the left side of Mr. Prineveau so as to have inflicted the wound without ac- complishing an unprecedented feat that Would have been seen, and as there was no assignable motive for such an act, the Me Wore a Rough and soited Overcoat whole purpose of the examination was di- rected to finding out what incentive some other person might have had to commit the deed. The following facts were then elicited: Mr. Prineveau had been married a little less than five years to a woman who, pre- vious to that marriage, had been known as the widow of a South American merchant who had died while on a visit to Buenos Ayres. At the time of Mr. Prineveau’s marriage he was reported to be very wealthy, having amassed a fortune in coal mee lations in Pennsylvania and New ‘ork. He, too, had been previously married, by which marriage there had been two sons, one of whom had died three years before the father, in California, and the other of whom was still living somewhere in Ohio. The only cther relation that could be traced was nephew, Jared Clarkson, about twenty-eight years old, who was a scapegrace, and had lived for several years vpon the bounty of Mr. Prineveau, but whose whereabouts at the time of Mr. Prineveau's death could not be ascertained. It was shown that the deceased had been aman of singularly weak character in the Management of his estate; that he gave away vast sums of money, was easily frightened or cajoled, and that, from all accounts, his wife’s advice and influence alone saved him from many foolish. specu- lations and misfortunes in his old age. Among his papers were found receipts for over one hundred-thousand dollars, signed by unknown persons and covering the four years tmmediately preceding his death. His relations with his wife had always been of the most amiable and trustful kind. None of the servants knew of his ever having quarreled with her.. Mrs. Prineveau looked after all his perSonal comforts, was con- || tinually solicitour about his health, accom. panied him everywhere, and bore the repu- tation of being a discreet, domestic woman, with an obvious affection for a man who was twenty years her senior. ‘There was in his house on Sth avenue a servant who had been with them for five years—her name was Rose Kenny, and she testified that about a week before the mur- der Mr.Prineveau had been visited at night by the nephew Clarkson, whom she had let in, ard who was seen by Mr. Prine- veau in the library, a small room in the wing at the rear of the house. From ap- pearance she thought the man had been drinking. He wore a rough and soiled over- coat and an imitation astrakan cap pulled over his face. He stayed over half an hour in the library, and she heard him from the front parlor speaking in loud and angry tones. She admitted that she had listened, and swore that she heard him say: “Then look out for yourself, for you will not live to accomplish it.” To which the old man, in a soft voice, made some kind of appeal- ing reply. This was about 10 o'clock at night, and Mrs. Prineveau, whc had gone to a con- cert at Steinway Hall with a party of friends, had not returned. She came back at ten minutes of 11, and, upon making in- quiries of the maid, Rosy, learned these facts, and showed a good deal of indigna- tion because Mr. Prineveau had been sub- jected to the annoyance of a worthless and reckless scapegoat. : Mrs. Prineveau herself corroborated this statement explicitly, but could give very little information about the habits or ante- cedents of Clarkson, except that she had learned incidentally from her husband that he was a drunkard with a wife and two children, and, owing to his dissolute hab- its, had never been*able to take care of himself or his family. It was also learned that on the afternoon of the 14th of March Clarkson had been seen by the coachman hanging about the The Warden Told Me Who She Was. ~ house, and the hall boy, who had been sent on an errand, encountered him on the cor- ner and was there held in conversation by him, Clarkson asking him, among other things, if Mr. Prineveau did not take a drive usually in the afternoons. These bits of testimony led to the police efforts to find Clarkson. Mr. Prineveau was buried in the Trinity cemetery on the 19th. His funeral was attended by many old New Yorkers, and public attention was turned to the efforts made by Mrs. Prine- veau to discover the perpetrator of the crime. eth On the 21st Clarkson’s wife and children were found in a miserable lodging place in Varick street. But Clarkson had disap- peared. His wife promptly acknowledged that he had come home late on the after- noon of the 17th, had hurriedly changed his clothes and gone out. She had not seen him or heard of him since. But she strenu- ously denied that he had committed a crime, and refused to be influenced by any of the damaging circumstances. Here the affair threatened to end, as so many others of its kind have ended, in idle curiosity, police inefficiency and ultimate forgetfulness. But on the 23d Clarkson was discovered in hiding in Troy. He was brought here and lodged in the city prison, and then it. became known to the public that the police had found in the rooms of Mrs. Clarkson in Varick street a small French revolver with five chambers, one of which was empty, and the bullets of this pistol corresponded in size with the one taken from the body of Mr. Prineveau. CHAPTER Ii. At this stage of the affair I was called into it, oddly enough. I received a note ‘rom that eminent lawyer, John Greve, with whom I had studied, asking me to call and see Mrs. Prineveau at her Sth avenue home. He had taken the liberty, he said, of recommending me in a matter that wouid perhaps be of great service to me. Perplexed as I was at this, knowing that John Greve was Mrs. Prineveau's lawyer and did not need associate counsel, I nevertheless called promptly up- on the lady. I found her to be a very handsome wo- man with great dignity of person, a charm- ing self-possession and all the ‘evidences of a refined and estimable character. “This unfortunate affair,” she said, “has perplexed me in more ways than one. That wretched man, Clarkson, as you doubtless know, is in custody and is now here. The circumstances appear to leave little doubt of his guilt. But he has a wife and two children. Their abject misery is made all the more acute by the wife’s belief in her husband’s innocence. It is a very dread- ful state of affairs, but I shrink from the responsibility which justice imposes on me, ef hanging that helpless wretch without giving him a show for his life. He is not able to employ counsel, and I am at the best only a woman. I propose to pay you ta try and do the best you can for him, and, of course, I do not wish anything said about it. I took the advice of Mr. Greve, and he said that in any case the man was entitled to good counsel and advised me to employ you. It seems in such a foregone conclusion a small concession to give him the benefit of the law. At all events it will relieve me from the reproach of hav- ing been influenced entirely by a vindictive feeling.” I do not now remember all that was said at this interview, but I recall that I was consciously affected by the woman's sym- pathy for a man that she saw had little or no chance for his life, and who wanted to soften her own share in the prosecution by not permitting him to say he had no chance to prove his innocence. I promised her to go and see the accused man and to send her my decision as soon thereafter as was possible. This interview was on the 25th. On the 26th I went to see Clarkson in his cell at the city prison. I found a woman in the warden’s oilice who had also come to see. him. It proved to be his wife. She was such a picture of abject misery that she arrested my attention. She must have been a very beautiful girl, although now she was at least twenty-five and suffering had | drawn its lines across her white face. I could see that she was made of the finest material, was in fact one of those delicate, sensitive, emotional natures that shrink from the world, but are capable of the greatest sacrifices and measureless hero- ism when a crisis comes. She was wretch- edly clad from the biting spring weather, and she stcod with her face turned toward the wall, but through all her shabby in- teguments there was a proclamation of natural symmetry and even of character. When the warden told me who she was, I went to her and made myself and my mis- re Clarkson Was Seen Hanging Around the House. sion known. She grasped my hand with her long .cold fingers almost convulsively and sweepirg away the veil that had part- ly concealed her face looked at me so searchingly and imploringly with her sad gray eyes that I started a little. “Oh, sir!” she said, “bad as my husband nay be, he is innocent of this, and he has two little children that he lovcs. You have come to save him. I feel it.” I patted her hard and tried to say some- thing that was encouragingly non-commit- tal. “We shall see, we shall see. Things are often not as bad as thev look. I am going to have a chat with him. In the mz2antime, save your strength. You are not friendless. = She paid no heed at all to what I said. She was.looking at me with those gray eyes very much as if she saw something behind me, and hangirg to my hand like a drowning person. . “Yes, yes!” she said, with a sob; “you will save him,” and then she began to cry convulsively. I had not the heart to tell her how hope- less it all looked. I wished that I had been spared this so that my judgment could come to the mterview with the accused man unperturbed. She made me go up and see her husband first. She would wait. : I found Clarkson to be the very antithesis of his wife. He was a large, muscular and slightly bloated fellow with a purplish. face, the result of debauchery, but withal a rather handsome-man, or, what would have been a handsome man in normal conditions. He sat on the edge of the iron bed when I entered the cell, his head between his hands, and he did not lookup until I had spoken to him, and then it was with such a flabby despair that I felt repelled. Here was one of those large vital natures that appear to have no internal resources. I could see in an instant why his life had been a failure. He was made up of un- regulated appetites and sensibilities with- out volition enough to control them. Just the sort of man to do a deSperate deed in the frenzy of drink, without a motive be- fore it or a recollection after. it, but as de- void of methodical vindictiveness as a mastiff. I told him I had come to talk with him in view of conducting his defense. “Bah,” he said, “there is no défense. Can you defend me against God?” “Let me ask of you,” I began, “not to talk in that reckless manner. Try and be cool. Blasphemy may relieve your feelings, but it will not help your case.” “My. case is helpless,"’ he said, with every fleshly indication that it was. “But if it is worth while to make a plea at all, it is not necessary to announce your guilt in advance.” 2 He sprang up from the bed—he was six feet at least in height—and with a clenched fist_uplifted shouted: “I am not guilty, but I might as well be, for God has decreed that everybody shall think so.” A little gleam of hope suddenly had shot ‘out of the darkness of this reply. The man might be in some degree. insane, and irre- sponsible. z “If you are not guilty there are possibili- ties of defense. I don’t think heaven will object to our availing ourselves of them.” “Much you know of “heaven,” he re- plied. “No man could have made such a set of circumstances to fit into my doom. It requires the subtlety and cruelty of a god. I might as well have killed that man and given myself up. The result will be the same. But I’m too d—d weak to kill any- body. So I am to be killed. This is in ac- cordance with eternal practice.” He looked at me with a glaring eye. His words were hot with a burning arraign- ment. There could be no mistake about the earnestness and sincerity of his emo- tion. “Either this man is innocent or mad,” I said to myself, and then hastened to dis- avow the thought to ‘myself. “I tell you beforehand,” he went on, “that you cannot do anything with the cir- cumstances. Did I go to Mr. Prineveau and use threatening words—yes. Did I happen to have a pistol in my jon whose bullets exactly correspond to the one found in the man’s body—yes. Did I disappear after the deed—yes. my life and character just such as would fit me for such a.deed—yes. And yet I tell you that I was not there, did not kill him, and never had such an-act in my mind.” “Easy,” I said. “If you were not there you were somewhere else. We ought to be ene to get at that.” “Yes, we ought to, if we were not fight- ing against destiny. But just at the time that I ought to have known where I was I was unconscious.” “Then you might have been there un- consciously and irresponsibly.” “Yes. Some demon may have robbed me of myself and worked this thiag through me. That’s the safest theory. You'd bet- ter stick to that. You'll get some credit for it after I’m hanged. “Clarkson,” said I, “I met your wife downstairs; she made me come up and see you first.” He staggered against the wall in the corner of the cell and broke down. “Poor girl! Poor girl! he said, with ereee sobs. “I've been the curse of her “She believes in your innocence.” “Of course, she does. She knows me, poor old sweetheart. She knows that, weak and worthless as I am, I never killed even an insect.” “She believes that I was sent to—to give you valuable assistance.” “Poor Girl, Poor Girl,” He Sobbed. “Yes. She believes in a good God. You wouldn't think it, with such a husband as Iam, would you? So did I, till He wound this mesh around me!” “Tut, tut, man! Pull yourself together and let your reason work. Sit down there and answer my questions.” He wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve and sat down again, helplessly, on the edge of the bed. “Now. you don’t know where you were at "clock on the afternoon of March 17?" “No. The last thing I remember was go- ing down Vesey street toward the river.” “Where had you been?” “I had been drinking on 6th avenue. at several places.” “And when you recovered your con- sciousness, where were you?” “In Troy.” a “Humph! Had you ever been to Troy be- fore?” “No.’ ee you know anybody there?” Jo."* ‘Did you have the pistol with you that found in your house?” ‘o. I never carried a pistol in my life.” “Did not your wife then know that the pistol was in the house at the time this murder was committed uptown?” “No. She did not know anything about ‘Where did-you get it?” I took it in pledge from a little French- in who boarded in the house and who wanted to raise money to go home. . I threw it in a chest of drawers, sayiag I could get $5 on it any time at a pawn shop, for it was handsomely silver mounted.” “How long was this before the murder of Mr. Prineveau?” The man turned round and looked at me with a blank face and said, slowly: “It was ebout five days before, and the day after I had had the words with Mr. Prine- veau in the library.” I confess that both his looks and his words had a knell-like effect. In spite of myself I felt staggered. “Do you know of anybedy whose interest would be advanced by ethe death of Mr. Prineveau?” He hesitated a moment. Then he said: “No; Mr. Prineveau’s death was a depriva- tion to me. He was the best, and, in fact, the only friend I had.” “Why did you go ta him that night a week before his death?” “To get money.” “Did you get it?” “Yes. I always got it.” ‘By threats : os ‘No. It was absolute charity. He gave me a $20 bill. He always felt sorry for me. I was flush with that money and bought the pistol, not because I wanted it, but because the Frenchman was hard up.” “Now tell me what the conversation wes with your uncle that night.” “I cannot tell it clearly because I had been drinking, and I am effusive and fool- ish when I have liquor in me.” “Was there not a quarrel?” “No. He may have upbraided me; he always did, and I may have talked fast and loud. I always do, but there was no other quarrel.” ‘This man puzzled me completely. There was nothing in his information that at all removed the fatal circumstances, I had to confess to mysélf that any gushing senti- mental lout, however guilty, might present this view of the case. But there was some- thing in the fellow’s face and tones that went past my reason and awakened some instinct that he was innocent. When I left him I was in a curious quan- dary. I could.not .put my finger on a piece of evidence to be used in rebuttal of the “By Proving ROS Ee One Else Did circumstances, and yet I found some inar- ticulate voice in me saying: “That man is innocent.” . I thought the matter over that night without coming to a conclusion, and went to bed saying I would sleep over it, which, of course, is very much like saying in the face of a ditemma that you will toss a penny up. In both cases there is an ac- knowledgment that something outside of your own will may determine for you, CHAPTER III. In my case I suppose that something did, for I got up and wrote a letter to Mrs. Prineveau ih which I told her that I ac- cepted. the case and would do the best I could for the accused, and that it looked ljke a hopeless affair. In response to this I received a note of brief thanks, inclosing a crisp $500 bill as a rétaining fee. That the pale face of the man’s wife had de termined me is not unlikely, for it came back-to me in the night with the strangest persistency and the same unwarranted look of trust in the gray eyes. The trial was set down to come on about the 1st of May, and there was about a month’s time to get ready for it. I wasted about’a week in the conviction that all’ I could do ‘was to dispute the evidence inch by inch, and in the last resort show that Clarkson was given to emotional aberra- tions and was at times irresponsible. But whenever my mind reverted to the matter that miserable woman's face rose up with an awful reproach in it,.and then I fell to excusing myself to ‘myself as if I had not done right. z . One morning with an entirely inexplica- ble impulse, I went down to the ‘place in Varick street. I found Mrs. Clarkson lv- ing in one room on the th'rd floor of a dis- mally dirty barrac! with two extraor- dinary beautiful scantily but tidi- ly dressed, p! bout the floor, and oc- casionally asking papa would come back. She had some kind of nee- dle work—button work, me. She had to cover.‘ the buttons with s! a , for which she got 25 cents a dozen, and by the utmost, industry could never quite make two .@ day of a dozen buttons each. Her ends were black with needle marks, looked weary and sick, but she did not complain. Nothing that ever I had encountered in my experi- ence as a lawyer or'as a man so moved my sympathy as this Wor Instinctively I knew that she had gently bred; that she had loved a less man and this was her penalty fo1 uing to love him. I knew that she would cling to him through all misfortuné:and be the last to leave him when his.doom came. I felt my- self treating her with a fine courtliness that was inspired re t, the respect we always feel for something that is a lit- tle above our human range. It was difficult to pull myself out of this mcod and come down to the practical busi- ness of a lawyer, but it was necessary. “Mrs. Clarkson,” I said, “it is necessary that we look at this matter in the most cold-blooded way. We have got to make the effort to save your husband,beset on al- mcst every side by almost insuperable diffi- culties, and shut into one or two miserably narrow courses. I have got to prove an alibi or esablish his insanity.” “Do you mean by insanity that you will admit that he committed’ the deed in a mad fit?” “Perhaps that would be the most judi- cious course, and then throw ourselves on the sympathy of the jury and the mercy of the court.”” : She shook her head with a sad dignity. “He did not commit the deed,” she said. “Perhaps not. That may be a moral cer- tainty with you. But a lawyer must have facts, How are we to prove that he did not?” + Her answer startled me a little. It was said calmly, and as if she saw no difficulty about it. “By proving that some one else’ did-it,” she said. “Have you some one else in your mind?” I asked quickly. z She hesitated a moment and then said: ‘No, but there must be some one else. Is that not your first and only task?” She was standing in front of me. The two beautiful children were .linging, one on either side, to her dress, She reached down and put. her hands on their heads. It was a lovely group of innocence, and made a touching appeal. “I feel sure that you will do it,” she added. ‘When -I came away, I felt that in some way my visit had been a failure. I had meant to place the obdurate facts before her and ask her to assist me in working out the alibi or establishing her husband’s tendency to emotional insanity. She had looked upon both suggestions with a dig- nified contempt and asked me to find the persen who really committed the deed. I made up my mind that I was to get no practical assistance from the wife, and in my extremity I sent for Amos Daryl, who was then employed in the secret service in ‘Washington. I had not seen him tn several years, but he owed his position to me and he was the only detective I knew for whose abilities 1 had a profound respect. Luckily he was able to get away, and he came to New York Promptly to see me. Daryl was a great, brawny, rawboned fellow, with a child’s simplemindedness; one of those men who deceive you com- pletely in appearance and manner. He might easily have been mistaken for an Adirondack guide on a visit to the city. But he was well-known to the police au- thorities and most of the criminal lawyers. He listened to mé as?1 went over all the details of the affalt, and I don’t think he spoke once, till I told hum what Mrs. Clark- son had said; then, he smiled, put his long hands in his pockets, and stretching out his interminable legs Tretarked: “A good ea.” 1790 “I have told all there is to:it. What is your opinion?” 2... “My opinion is that_Mrs. Clarkson sus- pects some one else afid hasn’t told you. Give me a card . Prineveau, and three or four days!-time.”” Just before he left, he safd: “You'd bet- ter give mea card to Mr. Greve while you are about it... F-want to-see that bullet, and I shall have to get)ansorder from Aim.” After ‘two -days’*time he ‘came back. It was about 10 o'clock inithe morning and he sauntered into my study in his careless manner, unlimbered himself in a’ big: chair, and then, as usual, watted for me -to open the convérsation. oh - 3 “Well, Amos,” I said,'throwing down my pen and wheeling round, “you've comé back a little sooner than I expected. Have you got anything to say?” os “Not ‘mueh.” . He said: this with his aggravating vacu- ity, and stopped. One hand was thrust into his pocket, the other supported his head in an easy, indolent, sprawling position. “I suppose you have made up your mind; it is a waste of time trying to save that man. Well, I about made up my mind to that myself, some time Bad “Do you mind telling me how you got into this case?” he asked. “As that is a private matter and you are not disposed to take any share in the case, I don’t see why I should make you a con- fidant.”” .“Did Mrs. Prineveau ask Clarkson?” “Ah! Mr. Greve told you?” ‘No, he didn’t.” . ‘Then Mrs. Prineveau?” “Mrs. Prineveau would not talk to me. 1 scared het Fugees her? You must have lost your “No, I haven't.’ “Look here, Daryl,” I said, a little net- tled. “You are one of the cleverest men in a particular line I ever met. This whole thing is in a nutshell. Either that man Clarkson shot Mr. Prineveau or he didn’t. If he didn’t shoot him he must have been somewhere at the time. He says he was drunk, and if so, some one must have seen him at some resort far away from the scene of the crime. It’s a plain piece of work to find out the man’s resorts and get hold of the persons who saw him there on that day. That's all there is to it, and I don’t mind telling you that I haven't a bit of faith in the task, but there’s a chance.” Daryl did not say anything for a mo- ment. He worked his big fist in his pocket mechanically,and looked down at his heavy boots as if he were at a complete loss. Presently he said, drawlingly: “Yes, that would be a waste of time.” “Then you have made up your mind that Clarkson is guilty.” “No—o. I’ve made up my mind he is in- nocent.”” “Have you seen him?” “Ye—s. Saw his wife, too.” . nd he convinced you that he was in- nocent?” “N—o. His wife convinced me.” I laughed. ‘You're more susceptible than I supposed,” I said. “She would have con- vinced me, too, if I hadn't kept my wits about me.” Daryl threw his head back and pulled at his jron-gray whiskers a moment. Then he said in a schoolboy way: “I think I know who committed that murder, old fellow.” “Do you? Who?’ “Mrs. Prineveau If he had told me me he thought I had committed it,’ I dga’t think I could have been more astonished._I gave an incred- ulous start. “I wigh -you’d give me the facts upon: which you hve built that quick and—pardon me for s¢ying.it—that pre- posterous conclusiéa.” ” “I haven't got aisingle fact yet,” he re- plied. “I'll look fer the facts if you like later on.” ‘. ‘ “What in heaven’s name then have you got to warrant such a conclusion?” - “Kinder got the truth. It’s different from facts. Can't foot-€ up; Dut you feel it all the same. I allers prefer it to facts—to begin with—for the facts .kinder fit into it, easy like.” : 7 I got up and took a turn or two. My mind did not easily adjust itself to this possibility. Daryl reached out his long arm and played with the paper weight on my table contentedly. $ = “amos,” I said, “I don’t know what to meke of this, and I think that you ought to tell me exactly how this.notion got into your mind.” : = * He toyed with the paper weight, and di net look at me. I could see that he was somewhat at a loss how to explain himself. “Well,” he finaNy said, “I ain’t good at tracking my own notions, as you call ’ but I don’t mind saying in a gineral way which she showed you to defend -that the truth slips into some pcople’s sys- tems without their knowin’ how. As a rule it’s a woman’s system, and ten to one it’s @ woman like Mrs. Clarkson. Why, if her husband had murder on his clothes she'd smell it over night. She knows every turn of his big lubberly heart. She knows he hasn’t killed anybody, and I'd take her word for it. A woman knows a lot of things that a man don’t.” “Yes,” I said, “she knows on a man’s susceptibilities.” “Mrs. Prineveau don’t want to play on how to play my susceptibilities, does she? You saw her, and talked with her, didn’t-you?” “Yes, I did.” “And she struck you as a conscientious, golf sespecting, Kindly old party, didn’t eo?" “She certainly impressed me as a wo- man who had nothing to conceal and was anxious that justice should be tempered with mercy.” “Very cool, and collected, and dignified.” ‘Most assuredly. “Well, when she met me, she gave a start. ‘Who brought you into the case?” she said. ‘Not you, madam, of course,’ says I, and she gave a little twitch. ‘I wanted,’ says I, ‘to take a look at that “] Think I Know Who Committed That Murder.” bullet.” She snatched at the back of the chair, and laid in a big breath. ‘You had better go to my lawyer. I don’t think he will let you see it.’ ‘I’m not sure that he has it, madam,’ I.said. ‘I have seen it, and it was never made for a pistol barrel.’ “Say, old fellow, that’s a great woman, and she'll beat us in the end if we don’t use a woman’s tactics. She just braced herself and began to act, but it was too late. ‘Ah,” says she, ‘you have some new theory in the case or some new light. I wish you would go to my lawyer with it and if you wish any material assistance why you can come to me afterward.” “I call that simply prodigious; she says to herself: ‘Here’s a dangerous man. I'll get Mr. Greve to handle him and I’ll han- dle Mr. Greve, and I'll throw out a hint of money at the same time.’ ” Then Amos Daryl struck the paper- weight that he held in his hand emphati- cally on the table, and, turning round, said: “My friend, that woman had no sooner clapt her eyes on me than she un- derstood the truth; and the truth was this: That somebody had arrived that she couldn't. hoodwink. I tell you, a woman's thinking apparatus is lightning some- times.” i I sat down in front of Daryl. “You amaze me,” I said. “Suppose you turn to the facts now. The bullet was not made for a pistol barrel.” “No. The pistol is a little French play- thing. There are not twenty-five of them in the country, for we make those things better here. But it was made at a French factory where the cartridges are all mold- Ler. The bullet from Mr. Prineveau’s body was not molded. It was cut from a piece of lead and shaped with an instrument. You can see the marks of a fine file on it if you use a glass.” “But,” I observed, “the bullet entered Mr. Prineveau’s side through his. clothing; the hole was found in his vest. It must have been fired from that side, and Mrs. Prineveau was on the other‘ side.” “See here,” said Daryl, getting up sud- denly. “I don’t mind being a little 1ash just for once, and I'll bet you a trip ticket to Florida, where you can see my little orange grove, after this case is decided, that Mr. Prineveau didn’t wear the vest with the hole in it when he was killed in the carriage. Have you been up to 66tn street and 4th avenue to look the ground aon ‘No. ‘Well, I have. It was 5 o'clock when Mr. Prineveau was killed, and there was a steady, stiff wind blowing from the north- east, with plenty of snow, but it was light enough to see westward across the open lots to 5th avenue. If. there had been anybody within a thousand feet the coach- man or Mrs. Prineveau could have seen him. To suppose that a little French pistol could Lave carried further than that straight to Mr. Prineveau’s heart is one of those yarns that would make a marine sick. My dear fellow, I’ve talked more to- day than I have in six months. But Mrs. Clarkson was dead right when she suid the thing to do is to prove that some one else committed the crime.” i “Can wé do it?” “We can find that person, but to prove it —well, to tell you the truth, I don’t-believe we will, for that person is as clever as four lawyers and eight ordinary detectives, and has had the start ef us for a year or more.” ‘Where are you going now?” I’m going over to take some things to that woman in Varick street. I don’t be- Heve she is comfortabie, and I’m dead sure she hasn’t any friends. I'll see you in the morning with some facts, if I run across tem.” CHAPTER Iv. This interview, when I came to think it over, took the conceit out of me. and the retaining fee of $500 had an ugly look. Daryl, it was true, might be mistaken, but there was something in me that respected his opinions. Why did Mrs. Prineveau have such confidence in me and such dis- | trust of Daryl? Why was I sent to her to be sized up, as it were? Evidently she was the kind of woman Daryl had insisted she was. She had counted on just the stupidity that I had shown. This reflection at Retaining Fee of $500 Had an — Cay Look. made my professional- vanity a little yin- dictive. “So, so,” I said to myself, “I am retained to defend Clarkson. Very well. He shall be defended to the best of my ability.” When Daryl came to see me the rext evening I told him frankly that Mrs. Prineveau had given me-a $500 retaining fee. He said he felt sure of it, and advised me to send it to Mrs. Clarkson if it hurt nd who is to pay you?” I asked. ‘I don’t think either you or I will get any pay out of this,” he replied. “But-we are into it, and we might as well carry it through.” “I am afraid,” I said, undertaken a hopeless task. it up.” : “You find out Mrs. Prineveau’s ante- cedents, and I will find out if Mr. Prine- veau wore that vest with the hole in it when he was killed. If he didn’t, who made that hole in it, and for what pur- pose?” se “Rather narrow ground,” I said, some- what hopelessly. + - “Oh, I've been on narrower and more slippery and pulled out.” “But, tell mé, what kind of a theory can you invent that -will enable Mrs. Prine- veau to kill her husband with a bullet on his left side, while she is sitting on his right?” Daryl fell into his vacuous attitude, stretched out his legs, thrust his hands into -his pockets, and choked off a yawn. “Did you read all the testimony at the coroner’s examination?” he agked. “Yes, all of it.” “Did you notice anything pecullar in the elements of time that entered into it?” “No, I didn’t.” He. pulled out of his pocket a portion of the verbatim report. “Let me read you a “that we have Let’s divide little of it. This is the girl Rose Kenny’s testimony: Q. What time was it when your master and mistress left the house to ride? A. Eight minutes of 3. = 4 Q. WrEat makes you so particular as to the time? A.I heard Mrs..Prineveau call to Mr. Prineveau and say that was the time just as they went out. Q. Wasn’t there a clock in the room? A. No, sir. The clock is in the dining room. “There the question of time stops: Now listen to Mrs. Prineveau’s testimony. 2 rie ‘What, time was it when the shot was red? # * Highest of all in Leavening Power-—Latest U.S, Gov't Report ABSOLUTELY PURE — A. Five minutes past 5—suddenly correct- ing herself—or about that. “Does it occur to you that this particu- larity of time’is unusual?” “Yes; somewhat. But what is its signifi- cance?’ “This—that something may have been ar- ranged to occur at a particular time, and Mrs. Prineveau had charged her mind with it. Here is the coachmaa’s testimony: Q. Can you fix the exact time of the death of Mr. Prineveau? A. It was 5 o'clock. mS a you carry a watch? (0. Q. Did Mrs, Prinev2au have & watch with her? A. No, sir. Q. How then did you fix the time? A. Mrs. Prineveau looked at Mr. Prine- veau’s watch when we were turning into 4th avenue and said it is 5 o’clock and that I must hurry. “Now here the matter $s lropped ty the examination just as it is getting warm. Let’s recapitulate,”» and Amos Daryl pick- ed up my paper weight for illustration “First, .Mr. Prineveau carries a watch,” and Amos Daryl put the paper weight down; “second, Mrs. Prineveau khew to a minute wey they left the house.” Mr. Daryl picke up the mucilage jar and placed it by the side of the paper weight; third,” and he picked up a match receiver, “she was anxious to know the exact tim just before they reached the fatal spot.’ He put the match box down alongside the paper weight and reached for an ash re- ceiver; “fourth, she ascertained the time by looking at Mr. Prineveau’s watch.” Down went the ash receiver; “fifth,” and he picked up the ink hottle, “if she ascer- tained the exact time by looking at Mr. Prineveau’s watch, and that watch was carried in the usual place on ‘is left breast, then her fingers were at his heart just before the murder occurred,” and down = I Felt That Daryl Had Made a Great Mistake. - ‘went the ink bottle. The usually scattered utensils of my desk were now in a little group covered by the massive paw of my friend Daryl. t is an interesting and a startling theo- ry,” I said, “and I see now to what it leads.” “I doubt that,” replied Daryl. “Let me tell you to what it jleads—insuperable dimi- culties, for the woman has all the clews in her own hand, and will baifie us at every step of the search and ‘ave pubiic sym- pathy in doing it,” : “Then it we cannot get hold of the facts to substantiate your theory we are on a wild-goose chase. “Not altogether.’ “Why, we haven't a leg to go on without the fact “Oh, yes; one ee: “What is it?” “The truth.” I shrugged my shoulders. “The truth will develop its own facts, and that is where Mrs. Prineveau, like all mere- ly cunning people, is a little superficial. Suppose we set out to ascertain if Mr. Prineveau did not have two waistcoats of the same material, one of which it was al- leged was punctuered by a bullet and the other was not, and we wish to learn if Mrs. Prineveau did not have an .opportunity when the body arrived home, to change the waistcoats, we shall be baffled by her, for she has arranged for just such a con- tingency.”” “And away go our facts.” “Yes, but in comes our truth. Why does Mrs. Prineveau object to our searching for that waistcoat?” = Daryl gave his legs a stretch, rammed his big fists into his pocket, and then con- tinued: “Look here, old fellow, I am right; that calm, self-posressed woman is living with a slow burning hell inside, for fear somebody will bring an intuition into this case and look past the facts that she has arranged to the truth that she can’t alter. “I've got a working hypothesis that fits every circumstance. What we've got to do is to keep this woman from suspecting it till she gets on the witness stand, and then pump it at her and watch the results. ‘he moment she suspects that we have got the whole secret—she will go to pieces.” Three weeks of the month of April passed by and very little was done. Daryl went to Washington and to all appearances had made up his mind to let things rest on his far-fetched hypothesis. Gradually I fell into the beliet that it was a hofeless case of defense. I had learned nothing to strengthen Daryl’s theory. The prosecution openly avowed that they had a clear case. My friend John Greve patronizingly told me to do the best I could, and reminded me that there was no chagrin in making a good fight in a forlorn hope. I called upon Mrs. Prineveau onee and she received me with the utmost candor, without a sign of perturbation and offered to give me any assistance in her power. I felt when 1 came away that Daryl had made a great mistake. As the day of the trial approach- ed the newspapers referred to Clarkson as. the murderer whose guilt was unmistak- able, and Clarkson himself in one or two interviews had talked wildly and desper- ately and hurt his own case irremediably. I think it was on the 26th of April when I got an absurd and very brief letter from Daryl in Washington. This was all it said: “If you get discouraged go and see Mrs. Clarkson. Will be on with a fact or two on Monday.” The letter did not stimulate me, but the visit to Mrs. Clarkson did. I found her in improved but modest quarters up town and much more hopeful than I expected. She seized me by the hands and said: “I pray for you night and morning—that heaven will preserve you till this is over. I trem- @*\< “That Woman Never Saw the Clock.” ble to think something might happen to you. Oh, sir, we néver can pay you; but | when you see that poor dear with his chil- dren in’his arms once more I am sure you al feel that you have not heen wholly un- aid.” : : I tried to let down the pegs of this strain as‘softly as I could and tell her that it would not do to be oversangultie of the re- sult, but she said, with calm assurance, that she had no fear of the tesult now, and shortly afterward her two winsome children announced to me with pitiable importance that papa was coming home again. So when Daryl arrived, on Monday, I told him that I-felt as if I were the only guilty party in the case. We had allowed an es- timable woman to build up -the most un- warranted hopes only to cruelly destroy them in the end. Daryl paid no attention whatever to this. ‘2 have got an important fact,” he sald. “The Prineveaus were abroad in 1877 and staid two weeks at Geneva. I never should have known this but for Mrs. Clarkson, who hunted up a letter from Mr. Prineveau to Mr. Clarkson that had contained a re- mittance and this sentence: ‘We have been detained here a week over our time by Mrs. P., who has been making p' za “What do you see in that?” “Geneva is celebrated for its watchmak- ers. I sent a cablegram from the Washing- ton bureau to the department of justice there, asking them to find out if Mrs.Prine- eau purchased a watch while there. Here ig the answer, translated. Don’t read the official verbiage—look at that sentence. What is it? ‘Yes, Mme. Prineveau pur- chased a large sliver. watch of Bringdat Frere, who was closing out business. Num- see description of watch unattain- After reading this we both laid back 2nd looked at each other in silence a moment. “It is your sane opinion, Daryl, Prineveau was killed by a watch.” “Just as sure of it as Clarkson's wife is that you will free her husband from this charge. “But we haven't got a scintilla of proof.” ‘No; we'll make Mrs. Prineveau furnish it on the os stand.” you know what I said to Daryl? It's @ rather humiliating confession, but I was considerably younger then than I am now. ‘Daryl,” said I, “you are the senior coun- sel for the defense. I might as well put myself in your hands and go it blindly.” He pulled out his brawny and hairy hands as if to let me see that they were big and strong enough to take care of me. But he only said: “Good. I shouldn’t wonder if I pulled you out of it with a good deal of honor. I’m yen Sa one little thing that you don’t ‘What is it?” “That Mrs. Prineveau retained you for the defense.” . “Is that sarcasm?” Don’t you know why “No; inspiration. she retained you?” “Because she thought I'd make the worst Possible defense.” “That was a secondary motive. The pri- mary one was compunction. She's a woman and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for cl who was such a helpless victim of her conspiracy. So she up her conscience by providing him with a lawyer. She felt safe in doing it. She tried to steer you into the insanity plea. Now all that shows that there is a weak spot in her. ‘We'll go to court and lie in wait for her and jump on it suddenly, and then you'll see something dramati CHAPTER V. The day of the trial arrived in May. Daryl and I had arranged our plan care- fully. We were to let the prosecution sail along with only a perfunctory show of ob- jections and the most careless of cross-ex- aminations and wait for Mrs. Prineveau to get on the stand. Daryl kept out of court, and the state had everything its own way. The killing was shcewn, the post mortem gone over and the bullet and pistol shown and identified, and the ownership establisa- ed. I let each witness go by without an at- tempt to confuse or invalidate his testi- mony, and only cross-examined the girl, Rosy, in aecordance with Daryl’s sugges- tion. “One moment, Miss Kenny,” I said, as she was leaving the stand. “You have tes- tified that Mrs. Prineveau alone assisted Mr. Prineveau to dress for the ride?” Rosy—“Yes, sir; she always helped him. to dress. - ‘When you came into the room was he completely dressed?” “No, sir; he had his waistcoat on, but not his coat, and he was going into his- own room to get it.” “And Mrs. Prineveau called after him to hurry, as it was eight minutes of three?” Yes, sir.” ‘Now, Miss Kenny, try and recall if Mrs. Prineveau did not say anything else before they left the house?” - “Oh, yes, sir. She called back to me on the stairs’ and told me to keep her door jocked, as there were strange men worke ing on the roof.” = * “What were they doing there?” “Fixin’ the tin.”” “How many of them?” “Two or three, I guess.” “That will do, Miss Kenny.” So transparently puerile and nude of any mark was al) this to John Greve that he “His Fate Lies in the Answers of This ‘itmess.” came to me at recess, and in his large patronizing way said, as he laid his hand on my shoulder: . “Harry, my dear fellcw, you'll have to get up some steam and make a show of earning your retainer. By Jove, I recom- mended you.” Daryl on the other hand was in the best of humor when we met in study. “Capital, capital,” said he. “Couldn't be better. The two or three men on the roof is a surprise. The evening papers are play- ing into our hands beautifully. “One of them says: ‘The counsel for the defense had to be waked up at intervals and asked to say a few words and then went to sleep again.’ That’s a godsend. If Mrs. Prineveau is not lulled into a pro- found sense of security by this time then I'm an Injin. Keep your eye on her when I come into court and sit down by your side.”" The next da; fter a good deal of med- ical testimony about the aorta and bullet wounds, all of which I let go without a word, Mrs. Prineveau was called. It was rather late in the afternoon.- She came forward richly but plainly dressed, looked every inch a dignified but sorrowful widow and won everybody’s sympathy at. once. When she had seated herself in the witness box, with calm and preposessing candor, John Daryl came in through the crowd and sat down at my side. I’was watching her closely, and saw plainly enough the mus- cles of her mouth twitch and her glance tern involuntarily toward’ John Greve for reassurance. But neither John Greve nor anybody else byt myself saw anything. Her testimony, given in a clear, direct manner and with the low, soft convincing tones of a lady, was merely corroborative of what we already knew. She was carried ever the facts and restated them. When the examination, without a single exception on my part, had been concluded, I began the cross-examination. “Madame,” I said, “it is in evidence that there was no clock in your dressing room, ard that when you had put Mr. Prine- veau's vest upon him and he had gone into his room, you called after him and asked- him to hurry, as it was eight minutes of 3.. Will you kindly tell the jury how you krew at that moment the exact time?” The full import of this question, very rapidly put, came upon her- all at once. According to Daryl’s theory she had looked at the silver watch before putting it into Mr. Prineveau's vest pocket, and this was the first intimation she had received that we were in full cry after the watch. There was a dead silence in the court- room, caused by the curiosity of the list- eners to find out what this question had to do with the murder. : I saw her hand tighten on the rail in front of her and her eyes dart from Daryl to me with a quick gleam of alarm. It was a critical moment for her, and she and the two men in front of her alone knew it. Then, to my astonishment and chagrin, she seemed to recover herself, and with the same placid and candid voice as before she said: Z g “The clock on the church tower of St. Mary’s is visible from my window, and I sew the time on that. It was eight min- utes of 3." . “Adjourn the cross-examinatjon,” whis- pered Daryl, hoarsely, to me. “Your honor,” I said, “it is now fifteen minutes of the hour of adjournment, and the witness is fatigued. I ask you to let $$$ (Continued on Page 19.)