CHAPTER XVI

HOW MRS. RITCHIE CHIDED HER LAWYER

The parade was the one topic of conversation in the village. The editor of the _Riverdale News_, Mr. Fellows, interviewed Don and Allerton, got the name of every member of the Marching Club and published the list incident to a two-column article in his paper, in which he sided with the children and strongly espoused the cause of Toby Clark. Mr. Fellows always liked to side with popular opinion and he shrewdly guessed that the children voiced the sentiment of the majority of Riverdale citizens. The editor rendered Sam Parsons very uneasy by concluding his article with a demand that the guilty person be discovered, so as to free Toby from any further suspicion, and he stated that if Mr. Holbrook, the lawyer defending Toby, and the village officers--meaning of course the constable--were unable to find the real criminal and bring him to justice, then outside aid should be summoned and detectives brought from the city.

In this demand poor Mr. Fellows found he had gone a step too far. Mr. Spaythe, angry and resentful, called on him and requested him not to publish any more such foolish ideas. Sam Parsons called on him and politely but firmly requested him to mind his own business. Mr. Holbrook called on him and sarcastically asked if he preferred to undertake the case, with its responsibilities, rather than trust to the judgment of a competent attorney. The bewildered editor tore up the article he had written for the next edition and resolved to keep silent thereafter, as a matter of policy.

Lawyer Kellogg was also keeping very quiet, relying upon the evidence he had on hand to convict the accused. He was greatly annoyed at times by Mrs. Ritchie, who drove to town every few days--usually in the evenings--and urged him to get back her money and the missing paper. This the lawyer was unable to do, even when she offered him a thousand dollars for the recovery of the paper alone.

“What was the paper?” he asked.

“That don’t concern you,” she retorted.

“It does, indeed, Mrs. Ritchie,” protested the man. “How can I find a paper if I am totally ignorant of its character? Was it a deed, a mortgage, or what?”

She looked at him uneasily.

“I wish I could trust you,” she muttered; “but you’re such a lyin’ scoundrel that I’ve no confidence in you.”

“I’m honest to my clients, at all times, and as honest as most men in other ways,” he assured her. “I’ve often observed that those who can’t trust their lawyers are not honest themselves.”

“Meaning me, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re right. That paper might cause me trouble if it got into the wrong hands,” she frankly stated. “Even Judge Ferguson never knew what it was, for I kept it sealed up in a long yellow envelope just marked ‘private’ on the outside. When the box was stolen the envelope and all disappeared.”

“What was the paper?” he asked again.

“A--a will.”

“Oh! Mr. Ritchie’s will?”

“No. But it was a will, giving me power over property. If you run across it, and see my name, don’t read the paper but bring it straight to me and the thousand dollars is yours--with the understanding you keep your mouth shut forever.”

He smiled at her complacently. Here was a streak of good luck that well repaid the unscrupulous attorney for undertaking Mrs. Ritchie’s case and submitting to all her abuse. She admitted she was not an honest woman. She admitted the lost will would be damaging evidence against her. Very well, she was now in his power and as she was a rich woman he could extort money from her whenever he pleased, by simply resorting to threats.

Mrs. Ritchie read the smile correctly and nodded with grim comprehension.

“I’ve told you this for two reasons,” she said. “One is so you can identify the paper if you find it, and bring it to me. The other reason is because I can put you in jail if you try to blackmail me.”

“Oh; you can?”

“Easy. It was you that put that box in Toby Clark’s rubbish heap, so the police could find it there. You got a box, painted it blue, to look like mine, put my name on the end, and then smashed the lock, battered the box all up an’ carried it to the rubbish heap.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. I found the blue and white paints in your office closet. I’ve seen several such boxes in your possession when you opened your safe. The lock of the box found in Toby’s yard won’t fit my key, for there were two keys to my box and I carried one and Judge Ferguson the other. Last of all, I was driving home one night when I saw you sneaking along the dark road. I got out of my buggy an’ followed you, an’ I saw you go into Toby’s yard an’ hide the box.”

“Why did you say nothing of this until now?”

“Because I’d like to see Toby go to prison. It’s a dead sure thing he stole my box, for no one else would have taken just that yellow envelope and hid the other papers where they might be found. So I mean to make him do time for that trick, behind prison bars, and the sort of evidence you fixed up will help send him there. But I want that paper back, and I want the money, an’ you’ve got to get ’em for me, Abner Kellogg. If you don’t, I’ll tell about the box. That act of yours was conspiracy, accordin’ to law, and it’ll mean state’s prison for you.”

Mr. Kellogg, rather uneasy to find the tables turned on him so cleverly, took time to rearrange his thoughts. Then he said:

“I didn’t hide your papers in the boy’s room. I received an anonymous letter, telling me where to look for them. Did you write that letter?”

“Don’t be a fool. If I’d known, I’d have got the papers myself. I don’t accuse you of hiding the papers, but I do know you manufactured that box evidence.”

“Yes, for a purpose. If I had known the papers would be found I wouldn’t have bothered about the box, for the papers are really the strongest proof against young Clark. But I wonder why, when he hid the other papers, he kept out the yellow envelope containing the will.”

“He wanted to keep that,” she said.

“Then you think he intended the other papers to be discovered? Nonsense! You’re more clever than that, Mrs. Ritchie.”

She frowned.

“Well, what then, sir?” she asked.

“This case is more complicated than you dream of,” he replied. “I’ve a notion that others besides Toby Clark are implicated. If you were not so anxious for that paper, I’d say the safest plan we can follow is to convict Toby, put him in prison, and then let the matter drop. What harm will the loss of the paper do? No one would dare use it, for it would proclaim him the accomplice of the thief. If it’s a will, a legal document, it has been probated and recorded, so no one will question your right to the property it conveys. Keep quiet about the loss and you will be safe. It seems to me that the only danger is in stirring things up.”

She thought this over.

“Find it if you can,” she said, rising to go, “but don’t mention to a soul that it’s a will you’re looking for. Try and get Toby to confess; that’s the best plan. Promise him a light sentence; promise him anything you like if he’ll give up the yellow envelope, or tell you where it is. When we’ve got our hands on it we can forget all our promises.”

The lawyer nodded, with an admiring smile for his confederate.

“I’ll try,” he said, but with a doubtful accent.

“A thousand dollars for you if you succeed,” she repeated, and went away.