Only seven were hanged
taken from Black and said he would get his change in the morning, as
the proprietor had not the change on hand.
Davis slept very well that night. He went down to breakfast and then
packed his bag. He was busy at this when the door opened. A man
stepped inside.
"You Mr. John Davis?" he asked.
"I am."
"The ex-convict?"
"Aw, you're a cop, I suppose. Well, you needn't try to pin anything
on me. I'm going back to London now----"
"I'm a detective," said the man, holding out a piece of paper toward
Davis. "How did you come into possession of this ten-pound note?"
Davis stared at the note. Before he knew what was happening a pair
of handcuffs were on his wrists.
"What's this for?" he demanded, angrily.
"It's this way, Davis," said the detective. "We had a letter from
Lorry Black a few days ago. He wrote that he expected you would be
after him and that you would probably demand money from him. If you
tendered any ten-pound notes anywhere, or if they were found in your
possession, we had evidence enough to arrest you. These notes were
supplied to Black by Scotland Yard with instructions to carry them in
his pocketbook. They are faked notes and the banks knew about them
and had their numbers. This note was handed over a bank counter half
an hour ago by the proprietor of this house. So I'm taking you on
that charge in the meantime until we have traced Lorry Black."
Of course, they did not trace Lorry Black so easily, for he had been
sent overboard in deep water; but some weeks afterward, when Davis
was still being held on suspicion, a body was washed up some distance
down the coast and there was little difficulty, as has been
mentioned, in identifying it as being all that remained of Black.
The rest was swift work on the part of the police. Davis was charged
with murder, his movements that evening were all tabulated and
checked up, and the prosecuting counsel told in detail all that I
have related. Thus John Davis went to the scaffold and was hanged....
At this point the waiter stopped and stroked his chin, while the
judge bent forward.
"I congratulate you on the way you have marshalled your facts," he
said, smilingly. "But what do you seek to prove by telling me all I
already know? It was I who passed the death sentence on John Davis,
and since he murdered his confederate, Lorry Black----"
"That is just the point. He did not murder Lorry Black."
"Indeed!" The word was spoken in an incredulous tone.
"No, he did not murder Lorry Black. You see, Lorry Black was well
aware that Davis would be after him. He knew that Davis would try to
kill him. He set the stage for Davis that evening. He saw Davis
waiting for him and he took the boat out to fish, knowing that Davis
would not miss such a good opportunity. He expected Davis to follow.
He gave him the money willingly and gladly. He set his net wider
than Davis set _his_ net. It is true that Davis hit him on the head,
but Black was already halfway over the side of the boat. He was a
good swimmer. He managed to get ashore. He wanted Davis to hang.
He provided the body that was identified as his own."
The judge sat up stiff and straight.
"It is impossible," he said, sternly.
"But it is true," went on the waiter. "He got the body---- But why
weary you with what is another long story? He saw to it that the
body would be identified as his, and he committed it to the sea. He
did that rather thoroughly. He anchored the body with certain
anchorage that would decay by the action of the water in a given
time. The tides would do the rest. Then he went into retirement.
He took another name and waited. He was one of those who stood at
Wandsworth prison gates and read the notices that John Davis had been
well and truly hanged."
The waiter ceased, and the judge, who had been listening intently,
seemed to slump into his chair. His massive face was more wrinkled
than ever, and there was a shade of baffled weariness about his eyes.
"I sentenced John Davis," he murmured. "The evidence was clear. The
jury were satisfied."
He seemed to Be talking to himself.
"Lorry Black was in the gallery of your court and heard your summing
up," said the waiter. "He also was quite satisfied with your
judgment--especially when you put on the black cap--even if he
disagreed with the penal code on principle. He proved that the law
can be used against itself. It is the principle we are discussing.
By the way, Black got a lady friend, whom he had appointed his heir
in his will, to lift his insurance money. It came in very good time."
Suddenly the judge straightened.
"If Black is still alive, and if what you say is true----"
"Please do not be alarmed," said the waiter, suavely. "I have the
best of reasons for knowing that Black is alive. _I_ am Lorry Black."
He stretched out his hand and took another glass from beside a
sleeping member of the Clue Club and placed it next the one he had
already claimed.
"Second point to me," he smiled.
CHAPTER IV
_The Judge States His Second Case_
One thing must certainly be said in favor of the judge at this stage.
He took the surprising revelation very well.
A faint, bitter smile hovered around his lips for some time. It was
just such a smile as had appeared on his features when he had learned
for the first and only time in his career that his judgment had been
upset by a higher court. This had occurred a long time previously,
and the barristers who pleaded before him seemed, on the following
morning, to adopt a trifle more confidence, a subtle, hardly
distinguishable self-assurance. But the judge had had his revenge.
The higher court had admitted at a later sitting that the law, in
this particular instance, was anything but clear, and they had
recommended that a new statute be drafted on the basis of the judge's
interpretation.
Probably something came to his memory of that vindication as he now
considered the waiter before him. It was the latter who first broke
the silence.
"Courtesy compels me to put the usual question to your lordship. Is
there anything you wish to say against my finding?"
The judge shook his head, but his eye was fixed on the two glasses
beside the bludgeon.
"Presuming that your identity is as you admit, there is nothing very
useful that I can say in objection. But the name you gave to me just
now is not that in which you came here as waiter----"
"It is merely one of my aliases."
"One of them? Interesting enough. A man of your intelligence need
not be reminded, in that case, that you are liable to prosecution----"
"Provided I allow the police to prosecute."
"It is altogether a remarkable situation."
"Brought about by remarkable circumstances."
"I do not follow."
"It would be cruel for me to tantalize your curiosity without limit.
I do not intend to do so. But, on the other hand, the time has not
arrived for me to satisfy it."
The judge murmured something that was scarcely audible. The waiter
bent forward.
"No," he said, quietly, "I do not think that you will hear it all
from the bench. The fact is that I came here as waiter so that we
could discuss in private the subject of the penal code so far as it
applies to the judgment of death. There is never any opportunity for
a prisoner in the dock to engage an eminent judge in controversy. No
judge would listen----"
"The time of the court could not be wasted," smiled the judge, now
more than ever convinced that he had to deal with a lunatic and
anxious to avoid a rupture.
"Therefore, for that very reason, I designed this meeting with your
lordship. I hope it is proving quite as agreeable as your favorite
chess game, though so far you have lost two men and gained none."
The judge made a motion of his hand to signify that the loss of the
men did not give him any regret--a gesture that did not by any means
indicate his true feelings.
"Chess is an old game," he remarked. "I believe one of the Chinese
rulers used to play it with living men. When these men were lost,
according to the rules of the game the ruler and his opponent made
the ending completely novel by taking off the men's heads on the
spot! One imagines there was not any great enthusiasm to become
chessmen."
"That, of course, was murder," commented the waiter, sternly.
The judge, who had mentioned the ancient game with live men in a
jocular vein, controlled the ripple of mirth that he was about to
express at his own joke. He saw that the waiter did not agree with
his humor, so he was silent.
"It is just on the same ground that I object, in one way, to modern
judgment of death," went on the waiter with a show of anger. "These
chessmen's lives depended not on their own deserts, nor on justice,
but on the ability of the ruler and his opponent to play chess! On
their vacillating decisions, in fact. Is it just that an issue of
life or death should depend on that? Yet that is what happens today."
"I still hold," said the judge firmly, "that your estimate of capital
punishment is both unpopular and unworkable----"
"You cannot deny that the final decision, notwithstanding the verdict
of juries and judicial pronouncements, lies in the hands of whoever
happens to be Home Secretary. The personal moods, resolution,
firmness, or weakness of that official are the frail balance----"
"There is always a tribunal of the Court of Criminal Appeal----"
"Who judge, like you, on the legal code and administer it in the same
way--death for the uncontrollable frenzy of a moment as for the
considered poisoning of a long period. A gunman from Chicago and a
betrayed girl in London have both been found guilty of murder and
sentenced to execution though their respective measures of
criminality were entirely different."
"Ah, the old idea of making the punishment fit the crime is just what
capital punishment does," cried the judge. "I will give you an
instance that will convince you. Will you please let me have the
minute-book for a moment as I refresh my memory."
He assumed something of his heavy authority as he stretched out his
hand and took the book which the waiter passed over to him.
The fact was that the judge was still smarting under the reprimand he
had just received when he told the story of the living chessmen. He
was so used to counsel and witnesses bursting into guffaws at his wit
that he experienced a sense of irritation when his playfulness was
without this gratifying result. Had the waiter only been in the
witness box how the judge would have roasted him! Had he been in the
dock----!
A KILLER BY NATURE
There was a look of cold disdain in his eyes as he raised his head
and pushed the book a little to one side. Then, in his court voice,
without emotion, yet with emphasis on the right words, he related the
following case, adopting the waiter's method, perhaps unconsciously.
I had great satisfaction [came the lofty authoritative
pronouncement], in donning the black cap and sending Abe Lammie to
the scaffold. He was a natural criminal.
Never in all my years on the bench was I so revolted at a crime as at
his. Hanging was his deserts. Death was his due. Extinction was
his fate. I had no pity for him, nothing but loathing, anger,
contempt. These emotions were shared by the jury, who did their duty
as honest and just men. So thoroughly was I in agreement with their
verdict--which I had plainly hinted to them was the only one they
could possibly bring in--that I exempted them from service for five
years. They did not leave the box, but found Lammie guilty without a
second's hesitation.
My experience in legal matters--in the humble position I occupy and
during my early days--leads me to believe that the best way to reduce