CHAPTER V

The Weapon is Produced

The inquest reconvened with an increase rather than a decrease of interest on the part of the public. This was due in part to the renewed attention aroused by the funeral, which had been one of the most imposing ever had in Millbank; and in part to the rewards for the detection of the murderer offered by Mrs. Parlin and the selectmen of the town.

In addition, the County Court had instructed the county attorney to be present at further sittings, to assist the coroner, and the town had employed its own counsel for the same purpose.

Mary Mullin was the first witness.

“You are the help at Mrs. Parlin’s?” the coroner asked.

“I be.”

“How long have you been so employed?”

“Twenty-five year this coming July.”

“You were at the house the evening and night of the tenth of May?”

“Yep!”

“Did you wait on the table at supper that evening?”

“I passed the victuals, ef that’s what ye mean by wait;” with an air of defiance.

“Who were at supper?”

“Mis Parlin an’ Mr. Wing.”

“Did either of them seem to you depressed or preoccupied?”

“Nope.”

“The meal was pleasant as usual, and both seemed in good spirits?”

“Yep.”

“Were you in the dining room when they left it?”

“Nope; I left ’em thar an’ went back arter they were through an’ cleaned up the table.”

“When did you next see Mr. Wing?”

“As he and Mis Parlin come back from the orchard.”

“Did everything seem pleasant between them then?”

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“I asked you if it did?”

“I’d scorn to answer sech a question, ef I warn’t under oath to answer what you axed. Yep!”

“When did you see him next?”

“Lyin’ a dead corpse on the doorstep at ten minutes arter six the next mornin’!”

“You are certain you did not see him from the time he returned from the orchard, until you saw him dead?”

“Didn’t I swear it?”

“I asked you if you are certain?”

“Yep!” indignantly.

“Did you eat your supper before or after your mistress ate hers?”

“What may ye mean by mistress?”

“I mean, did you eat your supper before or after Mrs. Parlin ate hers?”

“Arter.”

She testified that she and Jonathan ate together; that she went to her room at nine o’clock, after shutting up the house “all but the front part,” and that she went at once to bed.

“Did you at any time during the night hear a pistol or gun shot or any sound resembling one?”

“I did not.”

“Are you a sound sleeper?”

“After I git to sleep, ye might carry me off an’ I’d never know it till mornin’.”

“Then you think a pistol might have been fired at the south door of the house in the middle of the night without your hearing it, although that door was open?”

“I think that one was.”

“But do you believe, aside from what you think regarding what happened that night, that a pistol so fired would wake you?”

“No, nor a cannon, ef ’twan’t too big.”

Jonathan Oldbeg testified practically to what he had told Trafford, the detective, though with some amplification of details. On the question of the absolute recognition of the shadow on the window shades as that of Mr. Wing, he grew very positive, affirming that he knew the stoop of the shoulders and the movement of his head. The county attorney and the town counsel were quite strong at this point and suggested questions which finally confused the witness, though in the end he clung to his positive identification.

The coroner seemed disposed to pass to the next witness, when Trafford handed up a paper, after reading which the coroner turned again to the witness and asked:

“On the shades of which windows did you see the shadow?”

“On all three of ’em.”

“On which was it the highest and largest?”

The witness paused as he began his answer and seemed in deep thought. Once he raised his head with a blank expression and then dropped it again. Finally he looked up and said:

“On the curtain nighest the door.”

“And the smallest?”

“On the curtain nighest the road.”

“The witness will step down a moment and Mr. Isaac Trafford will take the stand.”

All necks were craned to see the detective, and every ear intent for his testimony. It was most disappointing.

“Have you made any experiments,” the coroner asked; “as to the shadow thrown on the shades of Mr. Wing’s library, with relation to the position of the light?”

“I have.”

“With what results?”

“If the light is on the writing-desk, the highest and largest shadow is thrown on the shade nearest the street and none is thrown on the shade nearest the door. If the light is on the reading-table in front of the fireplace, or in the centre of the mantel over the fireplace, the highest and largest shadow is on the shade of the centre window. If the light is on the mantel near the safe, the largest and highest shadow is on the shade nearest the door, and the smallest and lowest on the shade nearest the road. If the light is on the safe itself, or on the stand near the safe, no shadow is thrown on the shade nearest the street.”

“You have heard the testimony of the last witness as to the shadows he saw?”

“I have.”

“What is your conclusion from that testimony as to the position of the light at the time the witness passed up the drive?”

“That it was on the mantel nearly above the safe.”

“Have you made any experiments to determine in what position any one would place the light, if he had the safe open and desired the best light on its contents?”

“I have.”

“With what result?”

“That he would place it on the mantel about a foot or a foot and a half west of the safe.”

“Then the testimony of the witness and the result of your experiments would lead you to conclude that at the time the witness passed up the drive, the occupant of the room had the safe open and the light so placed that he could best see into it?”

“It is entirely compatible with that assumption.”

Mr. Trafford was dismissed and Oldbeg recalled. There was a buzz in the room.

“What do you s’pose that was fur?” one man asked another.

“For impression. It shows how mighty cute Trafford is, an’ lets folks know that there’s somebody arter ’em as knows what’s what.”

“Onless Trafford got it up hisself fur advertisin’,” suggested the other, a hard-headed Yankee to whom shrewdness was a natural instinct.

“Do you own a pistol?” demanded the coroner, as Oldbeg settled himself to his examination.

Every eye turned towards the witness, who fidgeted before answering, as if he was in doubt what to say. At last, when attention was at its keenest, he found his tongue and said:

“Nope.”

“Yet you bought a thirty-two calibre one on May eighth.”

It had already been testified that the fatal shot was fired from a thirty-two calibre revolver. Every person present was alive with the thought that a critical moment in the inquest had come.

“Yep; but I gave it away.”

“When?”

“The night o’ May tenth.”

“To whom?”

“To Jim Shepard. Jest as he was jumpin’ on the train, I took it out o’ my pocket an’ put it in his’n.”

“Do you call that giving it away?”

“Yep! That’s what I bought it fur. I don’t need one here; leastwise, I didn’t think so then; but he’s goin’ to a tarnel big place, an’ I thought he ought to had one, so I bought it an’ took it to the train with me that night an’ put it in his pocket.”

“Did you say anything to him about it?”

“I didn’t hev no time. I was goin’ to give it to him, but we hed to run for the train, an’ I clean forgot it till, jest as he struck the bottom step, I thought on it. All I could do was to chuck it into his pocket, whar his coat swung back.”

“Did you see it go in?”

“Nope: ’twas too dark.”

“Was it loaded?”

“All but one bar’l. I fired that off up in the woods that day an’ furgot to load it again.”

“Call James Shepard.”

Oldbeg started, and when his cousin came from a door back of the coroner, stood as one struck dumb. It was difficult to say what emotion was expressed in his face. Trafford watched him and acknowledged his own uncertainty.

“Do you desire to change your testimony last given?” asked the coroner.

“I’ve told the truth; I hain’t got nothin’ to change,” he said sulkily.

James Shepard gave his testimony regarding his leaving Millbank and answered the questions put to him with reference to the stranger who took the same train, which, of course, simply led up to his disappearance somewhere between Augusta and Brunswick. Then came the question which all were awaiting:

“Did your cousin give you a pistol the night you left Millbank?”

“Not that I knows on. It’s the fust time I ever heerd about it.”

“Do you own a pistol?”

“Nope. I hain’t got no use fur a pistol an’ never had.”

“Call William Buckworth.”

A stout, elderly man, head of the firm of Buckworth & Tompson, notion dealers, came to the stand. After the preliminary questions, the coroner took from a drawer a pistol and handed it to the witness.

“What is that?”

“A thirty-two calibre Woodruff revolver.”

“Did you ever see it before?”

“Yes. I sold it on the eighth of May to Jonathan Oldbeg.”

“Are you certain of the identity?”

The witness then proceeded to the identification, which was absolute.

“Are the chambers charged?”

“Four are. One is empty and has recently been fired.”

“Isaac Trafford will take the stand.

“Do you recognize this pistol, Mr. Trafford, as one you have before seen?”

“I do.”

“State the circumstances.”

“I found it on the morning of the twelfth of May hidden in the box hedge in the front yard of the Parlin house. It was in the box nearest the fence that separates the front yard from the driveway, and about twelve feet from the house.”

“Was it in the same condition then as now?”

“It was wet with dew and the rust is deeper now than then; otherwise it is in the same condition.”

“Call Margaret Flanders.”

At the name, Jim Shepard, who had taken a seat in the main room upon concluding his testimony, turned the colour of a peony and a giggle was started among a group of boys near him.

Margaret Flanders, a buxom, healthy lass of about twenty, tripped into the room as if in enjoyment of the sensation she was creating. In answer to questions, her testimony ran:

She lived at home, with her parents, on Canaan Street; the left-hand side as you went from River Road. Jim Shepard came sometimes to see her and was with her the evening of May tenth. He was going to Portland to work and he was to take the midnight train. He stayed till his cousin Jonathan Oldbeg called for him. It was then so late that she was afraid he would miss his train. Indeed, there was only five minutes to spare when he left the house. She waited on the front stoop till she heard the train go and then went to her room, which was on the second floor in the northwest corner, the nearest River Road and the Parlin house. She went right to bed, was in bed by quarter-past twelve, probably, and went right to sleep. Had slept a few minutes when she was wakened by a sound like a pistol shot. She jumped out of bed and went to the window, which was open, for she always liked plenty of fresh air; but saw nothing and heard nothing. There was a light in the Parlin house and she thought it was in the library, but could not tell certainly. She was at the window only a few minutes, when the clock struck one, but whether it was half-past twelve or one o’clock she could not tell. Then she went back to bed and fell asleep, and heard nothing more to disturb her that night.

The coroner announced that this closed his witnesses, but at the request of the county attorney he recalled Mrs. Parlin. The county attorney put his questions through the coroner.

“Have you ever had any question as to the genuineness of the statement which purports to be in the handwriting of your husband?”

“None whatever.”

“Was your husband accustomed to leave important papers without date or signature?”

“This paper is in Judge Parlin’s handwriting.”

“I hand you a letter here with the signature turned down. Can you identify the handwriting?”

“I think it is the handwriting of Theodore Wing.”

“Can you state positively?”

“I cannot: but I have little doubt.”

“I hand you another. Whose handwriting is that?”

“Judge Parlin’s.”

“Are you positive?”

“Positive.”

“Are you certain that the first letter is not in the handwriting of your late husband?”

“It may possibly be; but I think it is in Mr. Wing’s handwriting.”

“There was then a very strong resemblance between the handwriting of your late husband and that of Mr. Wing?”

“A very strong resemblance. Theodore always admitted that he had tried to write like the judge, and of late years the resemblance was very close.”

“Still you are confident as to the handwriting of the statement that has been produced here?”

“Absolutely confident.”

“When you hold this statement up to the light, do you discover any water-mark?”

“Yes, a sheaf of something that looks like wheat with a circle around it.”

“I hand you a blank sheet of paper. Has that any water-mark?”

“It has the same water-mark.”

“That will do. Mr. Trafford will take the stand.

“I hand you this blank sheet of paper, which Mrs. Parlin has just stated contains the same water-mark as that on which the purported statement of Judge Parlin is written. Have you ever seen this sheet before?”

“Yes. I took it from Mr. Theodore Wing’s writing-desk on the morning of May twelfth. It was one of a number of similar sheets I found there.”

“Call Mr. Marmaduke.

“You are the head of the stationery firm of Marmaduke & Co.?”

“I am.”

“Did you supply the late Theodore Wing with writing paper?”

“I did.”

“Is this a sheet of the paper you furnished him?”

“It is a sheet of the paper I furnished him for his home use. I never furnished it to him for office use.”

“How long have you sold paper with this water-mark?”

“About four years.”

“Never before that?”

“Never. I do not think it was made with that water-mark until about four years ago. At least, I never heard of it.”

“Did you furnish paper to the late Judge Parlin, for home or office?”

“For both.”

“Did you ever furnish him, either for home or office, with paper bearing this water-mark?”

“Never. I didn’t have paper with that water-mark for sale until nearly a year after Judge Parlin’s death. I got it at the special request of Mr. Wing, and that was after Judge Parlin’s death.”

After consultation, the inquest was again adjourned. There was a general expectation that a warrant would issue for Oldbeg’s arrest, but neither the coroner nor the county attorney felt justified in so overt an act. The public might try, condemn, and all but execute a man on mere suspicion, but larger responsibility rested on the officers of the law. In consultation, Trafford was appealed to and agreed fully with the decision reached. He was not wholly pleased with the coroner’s haste in bringing out certain facts that in his opinion could have been left with safety to the adjourned session. The strength of his own work lay in minimising, rather than exaggerating, the importance of unsupported facts, which were almost sure to lead to wrong conclusions.