Bab Bab 5 · EXPERT TESTIMONY

. EXPERT TESTIMONY

“And often-times, to win us to our harm,

The instruments of darkness tell us truths;

Win us with honest trifles, to betray us

In deepest consequence.”

Macbeth.

In the midst of the universal gloom thus awakened there came a

sharp ring at the bell. Instantly all eyes turned toward the parlor

door, just as it slowly opened, and the officer who had been

sent off so mysteriously by the coroner an hour before entered,

in company with a young man, whose sleek appearance, intelligent

eye, and general air of trustworthiness, seemed to proclaim him to

be, what in fact he was, the confidential clerk of a responsible

mercantile house.

Advancing without apparent embarrassment, though each and every eye

in the room was fixed upon him with lively curiosity, he made a

slight bow to the coroner.

“You have sent for a man from Bohn & Co.,” he said.

Strong and immediate excitement. Bohn & Co. was the well-known

pistol and ammunition store of ---- Broadway.

“Yes, sir,” returned the coroner. “We have here a bullet, which we

must ask you to examine, You are fully acquainted with all matters

connected with your business?”

The young man, merely elevating an expressive eyebrow, took the

bullet carelessly in his hand.

“Can you tell us from what make of pistol that was delivered?”

The young man rolled it slowly round between his thumb and

forefinger, and then laid it down. “It is a No. 32 ball, usually

sold with the small pistol made by Smith & Wesson.”

“A small pistol!” exclaimed the butler, jumping up from his seat.

“Master used to keep a little pistol in his stand drawer. I have

often seen it. We all knew about it.”

Great and irrepressible excitement, especially among the servants.

“That’s so!” I heard a heavy voice exclaim. “I saw it once

myself--master was cleaning it.” It was the cook who spoke.

“In his stand drawer?” the coroner inquired.

“Yes, sir; at the head of his bed.”

An officer was sent to examine the stand drawer. In a few moments

he returned, bringing a small pistol which he laid down on the

coroner’s table, saying, “Here it is.”

Immediately, every one sprang to his feet, but the coroner, handing

it over to the clerk from Bonn’s, inquired if that was the make

before mentioned. Without hesitation he replied, “Yes, Smith &

Wesson; you can see for yourself,” and he proceeded to examine it.

“Where did you find this pistol?” asked the coroner of the officer.

“In the top drawer of a shaving table standing near the head of Mr.

Leavenworth’s bed. It was lying in a velvet case together with a

box of cartridges, one of which I bring as a sample,” and he laid

it down beside the bullet.

“Was the drawer locked?”

“Yes, sir; but the key was not taken out.”

Interest had now reached its climax. A universal cry swept through

the room, “Is it loaded?”

The coroner, frowning on the assembly, with a look of great

dignity, remarked:

“I was about to ask that question myself, but first I must request

order.”

An immediate calm followed. Every one was too much interested to

interpose any obstacle in the way of gratifying his curiosity.

“Now, sir!” exclaimed the coroner.

The clerk from Bonn’s, taking out the cylinder, held it up. “There

are seven chambers here, and they are all loaded.”

A murmur of disappointment followed this assertion.

“But,” he quietly added after a momentary examination of the face

of the cylinder, “they have not all been loaded long. A bullet has

been recently shot from one of these chambers.”

“How do you know?” cried one of the jury.

“How do I know? Sir,” said he, turning to the coroner, “will you be

kind enough to examine the condition of this pistol?” and he handed

it over to that gentleman. “Look first at the barrel; it is clean

and bright, and shows no evidence of a bullet having passed out

of it very lately; that is because it has been cleaned. But now,

observe the face of the cylinder: what do you see there?”

“I see a faint line of smut near one of the chambers.”

“Just so; show it to the gentlemen.”

It was immediately handed down.

“That faint line of smut, on the edge of one of the chambers, is

the telltale, sirs. A bullet passing out always leaves smut behind.

The man who fired this, remembering the fact, cleaned the barrel,

but forgot the cylinder.” And stepping aside he folded his arms.

“Jerusalem!” spoke out a rough, hearty voice, “isn’t that

wonderful!” This exclamation came from a countryman who had stepped

in from the street, and now stood agape in the doorway.

It was a rude but not altogether unwelcome interruption. A smile

passed round the room, and both men and women breathed more easily.

Order being at last restored, the officer was requested to describe

the position of the stand, and its distance from the library table.

“The library table is in one room, and the stand in another. To

reach the former from the latter, one would be obliged to cross Mr.

Leavenworth’s bedroom in a diagonal direction, pass through the

passageway separating that one apartment from the other, and----”

“Wait a moment; how does this table stand in regard to the door

which leads from the bedroom into the hall?”

“One might enter that door, pass directly round the foot of the bed

to the stand, procure the pistol, and cross half-way over to the

passageway, without being seen by any one sitting or standing in

the library beyond.”

“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed the horrified cook, throwing her apron

over her head as if to shut out some dreadful vision. “Hannah niver

would have the pluck for that; niver, niver!” But Mr. Gryce, laying

a heavy hand on the woman, forced her back into her seat, reproving

and calming her at the same time, with a dexterity marvellous to

behold. “I beg your pardons,” she cried deprecatingly to those

around; “but it niver was Hannah, niver!”

The clerk from Bohn’s here being dismissed, those assembled took

the opportunity of making some change in their position, after

which, the name of Mr. Harwell was again called. That person rose

with manifest reluctance. Evidently the preceding testimony had

either upset some theory of his, or indubitably strengthened some

unwelcome suspicion.

“Mr. Harwell,” the coroner began, “we are told of the existence

of a pistol belonging to Mr. Leavenworth, and upon searching, we

discover it in his room. Did you know of his possessing such an

instrument?”

“I did.”

“Was it a fact generally known in the house?”

“So it would seem.”

“How was that? Was he in the habit of leaving it around where any

one could see it?”

“I cannot say; I can only acquaint you with the manner in which I

myself became aware of its existence.”

“Very well, do so.”

“We were once talking about firearms. I have some taste that way,

and have always been anxious to possess a pocket-pistol. Saying

something of the kind to him one day, he rose from his seat and,

fetching me this, showed it to me.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Some few months since.”

“He has owned this pistol, then, for some time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that the only occasion upon which you have ever seen it?”

“No, sir,”--the secretary blushed--“I have seen it once since.”

“When?”

“About three weeks ago.”

“Under what circumstances?”

The secretary dropped his head, a certain drawn look making itself

suddenly visible on his countenance.

“Will you not excuse me, gentlemen?” he asked, after a moment’s

hesitation.

“It is impossible,” returned the coroner.

His face grew even more pallid and deprecatory. “I am obliged to

introduce the name of a lady,” he hesitatingly declared.

“We are very sorry,” remarked the coroner.

The young man turned fiercely upon him, and I could not help

wondering that I had ever thought him commonplace. “Of Miss

Eleanore Leavenworth!” he cried.

At that name, so uttered, every one started but Mr. Gryce; he

was engaged in holding a close and confidential confab with his

finger-tips, and did not appear to notice.

“Surely it is contrary to the rules of decorum and the respect

we all feel for the lady herself to introduce her name into this

discussion,” continued Mr. Harwell. But the coroner still insisting

upon an answer, he refolded his arms (a movement indicative of

resolution with him), and began in a low, forced tone to say:

[Illustration: “What was my astonishment to come upon Miss Eleanore

Leavenworth standing at the side of her uncle’s bed, with his

pistol in her hand”]

“It is only this, gentlemen. One afternoon, about three weeks

since, I had occasion to go to the library at an unusual hour.

Crossing over to the mantel-piece for the purpose of procuring a

penknife which I had carelessly left there in the morning, I heard

a noise in the adjoining room. Knowing that Mr. Leavenworth was

out, and supposing the ladies to be out also, I took the liberty of

ascertaining who the intruder was; when what was my astonishment

to come upon Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, standing at the side of

her uncle’s bed, with his pistol in her hand. Confused at my

indiscretion, I attempted to escape without being observed; but in

vain, for just as I was crossing the threshold, she turned and,

calling me by name, requested me to explain the pistol to her.

Gentlemen, in order to do so, I was obliged to take it in my hand;

and that, sirs, is the only other occasion upon which I ever saw

or handled the pistol of Mr. Leavenworth.” Drooping his head, he

waited in indescribable agitation for the next question.

“She asked you to explain the pistol to her; what do you mean by

that?”

“I mean,” he faintly continued, catching his breath in a vain

effort to appear calm, “how to load, aim, and fire it.”

A flash of awakened feeling shot across the faces of all present.

Even the coroner showed sudden signs of emotion, and sat staring

at the bowed form and pale countenance of the man before him, with

a peculiar look of surprised compassion, which could not fail of

producing its effect, not only upon the young man himself, but upon

all who saw him.

“Mr. Harwell,” he at length inquired, “have you anything to add to

the statement you have just made?”

The secretary sadly shook his head.

“Mr. Gryce,” I here whispered, clutching that person by the arm and

dragging him down to my side; “assure me, I entreat you--” but he

would not let me finish.

“The coroner is about to ask for the young ladies,” he quickly

interposed. “If you desire to fulfil your duty towards them, be

ready, that’s all.”

Fulfil my duty! The simple words recalled me to myself. What had

I been thinking of; was I mad? With nothing more terrible in mind

than a tender picture of the lovely cousins bowed in anguish over

the remains of one who had been as dear as a father to them, I

slowly rose, and upon demand being made for Miss Mary and Miss

Eleanore Leavenworth, advanced and said that, as a friend of the

family--a petty lie, which I hope will not be laid up against me--I

begged the privilege of going for the ladies and escorting them

down.

Instantly a dozen eyes flashed upon me, and I experienced the

embarrassment of one who, by some unexpected word or action, has

drawn upon himself the concentrated attention of a whole room.

But the permission sought being almost immediately accorded, I

was speedily enabled to withdraw from my rather trying position,

finding myself, almost before I knew it, in the hall, my face

aflame, my heart beating with excitement, and these words of Mr.

Gryce ringing in my ears: “Third floor, rear room, first door at

the head of the stairs. You will find the young ladies expecting

you.”