The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [5975]
I watched them for a moment, and then I turned to Swain.
"I suppose you know," I said, "that they're certain to find against you? Even if they don't, the district attorney will cause your arrest right away."
He nodded.
"I'm not worrying about that. I'm worrying about Miss Vaughan. You won't forget your promise?"
"No."
"She'll have no one but you," he went on rapidly. "Neither will I! You mustn't fail us!"
"I shan't," I promised. "But you'd better think about yourself a little, Swain."
"Plenty of time for that when I'm sure that Marjorie's safe. The minute you tell me she's at the Royces', I'll begin to think about myself. I'm not afraid. I didn't kill that man. No jury would convict me."
I might have told him that convictions are founded on evidence, and that the evidence in this case was certainly against him, but I thought it better to hold my peace. The more confident he was, the less irksome he would find imprisonment. So I sat silent until the members of the jury filed back into their places.
"Have you reached a verdict, gentlemen?" the coroner asked, after his clerk had polled them.
"Yes, Your Honour," the foreman answered.
"What is the verdict?"
The foreman held out a folded paper to the clerk, who took it, opened it, and read:
"We, the jury in the inquest held this thirteenth day of June, 1908, into the death of one Worthington Vaughan, residing in the Borough of the Bronx, City of New York, do find that the deceased came to his death by strangulation at the hands of one Frederic Swain."
There was an instant's silence, and then Goldberger turned to the jury.
"Is this your verdict, gentlemen?" he asked quietly; and each juryman replied in the affirmative as his name was called. "I thank you for your services," Goldberger added, directed his clerk to give them their vouchers on the city treasurer, and dismissed them.
Simmonds and the assistant district attorney came toward us, and I arose to meet them. Swain got up, also, and when I glanced at him I saw that he was smiling.
"I don't know whether you have met Mr. Blake, Mr. Lester," said Simmonds, and the prosecutor and I shook hands. I introduced him to Swain, but Swain did not offer his hand.
"I suppose you've come to take me along?" he said, the smile still on his lips.
"I'm afraid we'll have to."
"Would bail be considered?" I asked.
"I'm afraid not," and Blake shook his head. "It isn't a bailable offence."
I knew, of course, that he was right and that it was of no use to argue or protest. Swain turned to me and held out his hand.
"Then I'll say good-bye, Mr. Lester," he said. "I'll hope to see you Monday."
"You shall," I promised.
"And with good news," he added.
"Yes--and with good news."
"Can we give you a lift?" Blake asked.
"No," I said, "thank you; but I'm staying out here for the present."
I watched them as they climbed into a car--Goldberger, Blake, Simmonds and Swain; I saw the latter take one last look at the house; then he waved to me, as the car turned into the highroad--at least, he was taking it bravely! The coroner's assistants climbed into a second car, and the four or five policemen into a third. Then the reporters and photographers piled into the others, the few stragglers who had straggled in straggled on again, and in five minutes the place was deserted. As I looked around, I was surprised to see that even Godfrey had departed. There was something depressing about the jumble of chairs and tables, the litter of paper on the grass--something sordid, as of a banquet-hall deserted by the diners.
I turned away and started for the gate; and then, suddenly, I wondered who was in charge of the house.