Chapter IV: Part 4

"Yes, it was originally broader, but only the middle part was clear and distinct. Either side of it was, for some reason or another, very foggy, so I cut it off to get the picture to fit between the two glass plates. I had, besides, no interest for anything but what you see there. The young girl is, of course, the principal object of interest,"--he sighed gently.

"What time could it have been when you took the photograph?"

"Well, that question I cannot answer very exactly. I thought, of course, at the time, that I should never be asked about it, but--let me see--it can't have been far off six o'clock, for it was not long after that I left for the railway station, and that was somewhere about seven."

* * * * *

The next minute Mr. Howell was gone, and I sat beside my desk in deep thought.

The Englishman's visit had made an unpleasant impression upon me, and I could not make out what his purpose in making it really was.

The man wished to come forward as a witness--that I felt sure about. All the rest was mere dissimulation; but for what purpose? What could be his motives?

It puzzled me at the time, and it puzzles me still!

* * * * *

During the whole of this long story, Monk had remained calm. He had been speaking evenly and dispassionately, as if he had been reading a police report. But now he changed in expression and manner. He began to pace up and down the floor with contracted eyebrows, and I saw that the perspiration stood on his brow.

* * * * *

You look astonished at me (he continued). After what you have heard, does the whole affair seem clear to you? It will, perhaps, seem still clearer when you have heard me for a few minutes longer: and you will not be able to understand how it could become an enigma! Yes, an enigma which I would give half or the whole of my life to solve!--But wait a bit! When you have heard the rest of my story, you will join with me in asking, "Who stole old Frick's diamond?" And you will likewise understand that upon that question my fate has depended from that day to this. But I shan't proceed any longer in that strain; I will continue as impartially as I can. On that will, perhaps, depend how far you or anybody else can help me--alone I can do nothing. I, who was so proud of my own acuteness and ability to penetrate where others failed to see a way!--No, don't interrupt me. We shall discuss it afterward, when I have finished my story.

I had got as far as Evelina's arrest and that Mr. Howell had called on me with the photograph. So far, everything was in order. The accused had confessed, and the stolen article had been brought to light. But it had been impossible to discover where the five thousand kroners had disappeared.

Evelina refused positively to say a word beyond the confession, and as we were not able to prove any complicity against the actor and Mrs. Reierson, they were discharged.

The state of affairs in Mr. Frick's house was anything but satisfactory. Sigrid had been suffering from nervous headaches ever since a few days before the robbery. Old Frick was in a rage, and spent the whole day in swearing at the duplicity and untrustworthiness of mankind. I believe, however, that sympathy for the wretched Evelina was the true cause of his anger. The young girl's arrest had, in fact, brought gloom and sadness into the house. Einar Frick was still absent on business. Mr. Howell decided to go to Spitzbergen as soon as the case against Evelina was settled.

It vexed me that I could not trace the money, or obtain any proof of the actor's complicity; and I took it for granted that the sly fellow had succeeded in getting it safely put away in Gothenburg, before he was arrested.

But although we had a clever officer there, and got all possible assistance from the Swedish police, we did not succeed in obtaining any proofs, and as long as Evelina would not speak we could proceed no further in the affair.

Thus matters stood, and I think that all the actors in this drama were only wishing that it would come to an end as soon as possible.

Suddenly one day I received the most astonishing news--Evelina had demanded to be brought before the examining magistrate, and had retracted before him her confession in full. She had declared that when she confessed she had not been herself, and that she was really innocent and knew nothing of the robbery. She would not say anything further, and refused to answer any questions.

Of course, those who knew the ins and the outs of the case only shook their heads at this unexpected development, and began to doubt her reason. The doctors, however, who examined her, could not discover any signs of a deranged mind.

The proofs were otherwise very strong against her; and as there was no prospect of any new evidence in the matter, the hearing of the case was fixed for the first sitting of the court.

I visited the young girl in prison and found her taciturn, depressed, and pale; but she gave me the impression of being entirely normal. I tried earnestly, and in a friendly way, to prevail upon her to adhere to her confession and to give a full explanation; but she only smiled sadly, and begged to be left alone. What could have caused her to retract her confession? The more I pondered over this, the more sure I became that this step must be due to some outside influence; that she must have received some message or communication from without. She did not wish to receive any visitors in her cell. Only the mother had obtained permission to visit her once, and then the conversation had been quite short, and had taken place in the presence of a constable.

The mother had, on that occasion, until interrupted by the constable, tried to continue her reproaches against her daughter, because she had confessed something which she had not done.

But her daughter had contemptuously turned away from her, and soon after the mother was taken away without the robbery having been further discussed between them.

I felt sure that these reproaches from the mother, which the daughter seemed to treat with disgust and contempt, had had no effect, and that the explanation must be sought for elsewhere.

By closely examining the jailer, he at last told me that he one day surprised the young girl while she had a small piece of paper in her hand, but that she immediately turned away and had probably put the paper in her mouth and swallowed it. The man declared, however, that it all happened so quickly that he could hardly be quite certain about the matter, and Evelina, as usual when I spoke to her about it, took refuge in an obstinate silence.

My suspicion that Evelina acted on other people's advice was now strengthened. How far this circumstance can have any influence upon your opinion, when you have heard me out, I don't know. To me, all is dark; but I shall try to tell my story in such a way, that nothing of what I know shall be hidden from you.

Fortunately, I have got on so far with it that I can now let others speak for me--at least for a while. The next great event in my story is the trial of Evelina, which took place about three weeks after her arrest.

The proceedings are to be found fully reported in all the papers at that time, and you will get a more complete idea of the case by reading one of these reports, than if I give you a verbal account.

* * * * *

Monk opened a drawer in his writing-table, and took out a locked portfolio, from which he produced a large grey envelope. The envelope proved to contain several cuttings from the _Morning News_, which Monk laid before me.

"But," I objected hurriedly, "I would much rather hear the account from your own lips. Otherwise I should miss your impressions, which, to me, have much more value than a newspaper reporter's idiotic and irrelevant remarks. And even if he does report the bare facts, such a report cannot possibly be as satisfactory as your own account."

"There is a difference in newspaper reporters," was Monk's dry reply. "As you will see, the _Morning News_ man has not only reported carefully and judiciously, but his remarks are impartial, and show good sense and power of observation."

"That's all very well; but I depend, however, more upon your power of observation."

"In this case, you cannot do so. If a detective ever has made a great fiasco, I did so on that occasion, as you yourself will learn. Don't you understand that I am afraid that you are beginning to look at the events with my eyes? I am afraid to lead you into the labyrinth in which I, myself, am lost, and which I probably have myself built up!"

It struck me that Monk's reasoning was correct, and I made no further comment.

"Only one question," I said; "have you any objection to Clara hearing your story?"

"No; on the contrary, it was my intention to ask you to tell her everything, when we are finished. I hope for help from her; she is an unusually intelligent woman, and besides, women have, in many respects, much finer feelings,--instinct, or what you call it,--than we men."

"Then I have a proposal to make to you. We shall not continue to-night, but I shall tell Clara all that you have now told me. Clara and I will read the newspaper account together, and then we will see you again."

"I gladly accept your proposal," said Monk, a little hesitatingly; "but if I could be allowed, I would ask you both to read the account in the paper in my presence. Of course I have read it, not once, but ten times, to myself, without any result; but now it has struck me that the whole affair might appear to me in a new light, if I heard some one else read an exact account of what happened on that fateful day."

"Yes, with pleasure," I exclaimed. "I promise to do this, both on my own and on Clara's behalf."

Monk shook me by the hand, and asked if Clara and I would come up to him one day, when I had told her all I had heard from him.

"You shall see us here to-morrow," I answered quickly, and so we parted that evening or, more correctly, that night. It was half-past one when I reached my home.

I had had a busy day, and the intense interest with which I had listened to Monk's account had tired me. I only longed to get to sleep as quickly as possible. But then happened what a more experienced man than I might perhaps have foreseen.

When I got home Clara was sitting up waiting for me. So I explained to her, as casually as possible, that next day she should hear Monk's remarkable story,--a story, the continuation of which we were to read together; well--what further happened I cannot remember, but I am sure it was past four that night before I got to sleep, and then Clara had heard everything that the reader knows of Monk's history.

"Pshaw! it isn't difficult to understand how the story will end! The horrid Englishman naturally managed things so that Miss Frick should be suspected of having stolen her uncle's diamond; and--"

These were the last words I heard Clara utter as sleep overcame me. "Yes, if there must be a villain in the drama, Clara must be right in thinking that the Englishman must have played that role," I thought with my last efforts, before my senses were entirely bedimmed.

* * * * *

The next day we all three were sitting in Monk's study.

"We mustn't lose any time," said Clara, as she smartly cleared aside the tea and cakes to which Monk's kindly landlady had treated us. "Remember, Mr. Monk, that we now change roles. It is you who seek advice and help, while Frederick and I represent the detective firm. Well! we had got so far that the case was on for trial,--my husband has told me everything,--and here are the newspaper accounts of the case, which you want Frederick to read aloud, isn't that so? So set to work, Frederick!"

*PART II*

*CHAPTER I*

*THE TRIAL*

In the _Morning News_ of June 2, 189-, appeared the following, under the heading:--

THE BLACK TORTOISE IN COURT

The court to-day was filled to overflowing, and a large number were unable to gain admittance.

The disappearance of old Frick's diamond--we hope our respected fellow-citizen will excuse our using the familiar name by which he is so well known--has been eagerly discussed and commented upon by the newspapers for the last few weeks.

The case did not promise to become a particularly difficult or complicated one, although it was known that the accused had retracted her confession; but the stolen article was of such an unusual kind, and of such great value, and the persons who were to appear in the case were so well-known, that it was only to be expected that the proceedings would attract as many people as the court would hold. One could hardly imagine anything more sadly interesting than the pale and pretty girl who stood charged before the court with the theft of the now famous diamond. By her side sat her counsel, a young advocate who is already known in legal circles as a most able and successful counsel for the defence.

Among the witnesses was the well-known figure of old Frick, and by his side his niece, Miss Frick. Not far off stood Mr. Monk, acting chief of the detective department, already a well-known and popular figure in our town, as much appreciated for his acuteness and boldness as for his tactful conduct when in the execution of his duty as a police official.

The dark distinguished-looking man beside Miss Frick was the Englishman, Mr. Howell, who, as everybody knows, has been compelled by a strange coincidence to appear as a witness in the case, and who, it is said, will give the most remarkable evidence ever heard in our courts of justice. The Englishman did not appear particularly edified with his task. From what I hear, it seems he has tried to escape giving evidence. It is anything but a pleasant duty to give evidence against a young woman when one feels that it will mean conviction for her.

* * * * *

The presiding judge of the court took his seat, the case for the prosecution was stated, and the usual questions asked of the accused as to her name, age, etc.

She did not look up, but answered in a fairly audible voice. Then she was asked whether she was guilty or not guilty.

All waited anxiously for the answer.

Her voice was this time so low that the judge had to lean toward her and request her to speak more loudly.

The silence was so intense that the answer, although scarcely more than a whisper, was heard all over the court: "Not guilty."

Had the public expected anything else? Perhaps--perhaps not....

The public prosecutor then began his charge:--

The crime with which the accused was charged was not of a particularly complicated nature with regard to the question as to how, or by whom, the theft had been committed. But it was a different matter with regard to the motives and the circumstances under which it had taken place, and he was willing to admit that in this respect little or no light had been thrown upon the matter. An uncommon article, an object of great value, in other words, the black diamond, which now lay on the judge's table, was stolen on May 10 from Mr. Frick, who was now present in court as a witness. The police were at once informed of the theft, and they succeeded not only in recovering the stolen object, but also in providing such information that the public prosecutor was able to prove fully before the court, both how the theft had been perpetrated, by whom, and how the thief had disposed of the stolen object.

He would call witnesses to prove at what time the theft had been committed, that the accused at that time had been at least half an hour in the house, that she during that time had the opportunity of going into the room where the diamond was kept, and at a time when the cupboard was not locked. He could prove by a means which seldom fell to the lot of the authorities, that the accused, in the time during which the theft had taken place, had been into the room and even opened the case where the diamond was kept. He could next prove that the accused at an earlier hour of the same day had had an opportunity of hearing an assurance from a rich man that he would pay a large sum of money to become possessed of the diamond. She thus knew beforehand that she could sell the stolen article without any difficulty.

Finally, he could prove that the diamond was actually sold by the accused on the same day to the man just mentioned.

Thus far the chain of evidence was as complete as any could be, and in order to substantiate the guilt of the accused it was of no consequence that she had retracted her confession, and had hitherto refused to give any explanation whatsoever; every experienced judge would know exactly what value to put on circumstantial evidence of such a character. It was just as good, if not surer, than a confession.

What still had to be explained was, what had become of the money which the accused had received for the diamond and what could be the particular motives for this criminal act.

Some information might possibly be obtained during the examination of the witnesses; but if this was not the case, the prosecutor would be obliged to maintain that the punishment be in accordance with the utmost rigour of the Law. The public prosecutor would, therefore, conclude with the request to the judge that he ask the accused most earnestly to give a full explanation. If she still persisted in her refusal to give this explanation, he must warn her that it would be with detriment to her cause, and possibly to that of justice.

It was so quiet in the court, when the public prosecutor sat down, that one could hear a pin drop.

The judge then turned and addressed the young girl. In calm, considerate words he called her attention to the fact that she had the right, in any case, to do as she pleased--either to speak or to keep silent; and that no pressure would be brought to bear upon her, least of all to make her confess. This much, however, he felt it his duty to tell her, that she was certainly not acting in her own interests by maintaining silence. If she were innocent, which he still hoped, then her own explanations would only serve to show it: and if she were guilty, they would enable the court to consider her case in the most lenient manner possible.

Every eye in the room was turned on the unhappy girl, but her face remained as impassive as that of a statue; her lips were pressed together, and her eyes cast down.

Her counsel leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. She did not raise her eyes; her only answer was a slight inclination of the head.

"I must request," said the young advocate, "that my client's wish to make no further statements shall be respected. She has decided to say nothing; and I know that her resolution in this respect is not to be shaken. Whether this decision is wise or no, and whether or no it is taken by my advice, is not for the moment a subject for discussion. It is enough to say that whatever appeals were directed toward her to state what she knows of the case would, however well meant, only prolong the proceedings."

No sooner had the counsel sat down than a murmur went around the court, giving expression to nearly all the different feelings which move the human heart. Some feared that the accused would damage her own cause, others admired her firmness, while many expressed astonishment at her audacity. As all the papers have already published detailed accounts of what happened at Villa Ballarat upon the day that the robbery was committed, it will be sufficient to mention that the evidence of all the witnesses only served to corroborate what the public already knew, thanks to the unremitting zeal of the newspaper reporters.

It also seemed as if the counsel for the defence understood that it would be hopeless to upset that part of the evidence.

He certainly tried to make it appear possible that some strange person might have crept into the garden of the villa between five and half-past seven in the afternoon; but this attempt was stranded, upon the gardener's definite assurance that the gate had been locked the whole time, and on the evidence of the chief of the detective police with regard to the examination he had made of the railing and the ground round the garden.

The counsel for the defence was more fortunate in his attempt to obtain evidence of good character and behaviour for the accused. Mr. Frick and his niece were especially unremitting in their praise of the young girl.

Miss Frick caused much excitement when, in answer to a question by the counsel for the defence, she answered:--

"Evelina has for several years had all my trinkets and jewels in her custody. Thanks to my uncle's generosity, I have more of those kinds of things than I need, and it would have been very easy for her to take any one of many of these, without fear of discovery. Her mere assertion that something had been lost would have been enough.... No! she is honesty itself! She could never steal my uncle's diamond, of that I am convinced, however much appearances are against her!..."

There was great sensation in court when Mr. Howell was called as witness. Every one, of course, knew of the strange circumstances under which he had been involved in the matter.

He began by asking the judge if he might be excused from appearing as witness. The judge asked him to give his reasons for this request. Mr. Howell explained that he was a private gentleman and not a police spy. It was quite by an accident he had come to play a role in this affair--a role which did not please him. He had already given his explanation to the police, and had hoped that would have been sufficient.

The judge answered that none of these explanations could exempt him from appearing as witness. One could not help respecting his feelings; but since no lawful reasons could be given, they must request him to give what evidence he could.

Mr. Howell, who spoke the Norwegian language fluently, submitted to the inevitable, and gave a short and clear account of how he came to photograph the accused, so to speak, "in flagrante."

The papers have already published an account of this scene, so that I shall not repeat his evidence "_in extenso_." I shall only reproduce the following of the examination.

_Public prosecutor_: "What did you do with the film after you had taken the photograph?"

_Witness_: "I went to my room with it, took the films out of the apparatus, and took them to the photographer's to be developed. I called at the photographer's on my way to the railway station."

_Public prosecutor_: "You maintain, then, that it is the accused whom you have photographed, but without your being aware of it? Are you sure it is the accused?"

_Witness_: "Any one who has seen the accused a few times will see that she is the person in the photograph."

_Public prosecutor_ (taking an object from the judge's table): "Is this the photograph in question, which you, yourself, delivered up to the police?"

_Witness_ (taking the photograph in his hand and carefully examining it): "Yes, it is."

The public prosecutor declared himself satisfied, and the counsel for the defence began: "Now, are you quite sure that when you photographed the accused you did not believe her to be some one else--for instance, Miss Frick?"

_Witness_: "Yes, I believe I have already explained myself sufficiently clearly on that point."

_Counsel for the defence_: "I cannot understand how you can now be so sure that the picture represents my client, while you believed quite otherwise when you had the living person before you. What is the reason for this?"

_Witness_: "I have before explained I was in a great hurry at the time. I wanted to get away before the person should turn round--it was all done in fun on my part. Besides, I thought I recognized Miss Frick's jacket,--she had been in the habit of wearing a jacket trimmed with braid. Later, I got to hear that Miss Frick that same day had given it to her maid as a present, and on looking at the photo I became convinced it was the maid."

_Counsel for the defence_: "Good! Are you also quite sure that the picture you now see here is the same as that you took on that occasion? The film has been several days out of your keeping, and in other hands."

The young Englishman seemed rather impatient at this examination. "If the film has not been tampered with at the photographer's," he exclaimed quickly, "it is the picture of what I saw in the museum. Whether it has been tampered with or not, I see here before me the same person, in the same position, and in the same room--others must now decide which is most probable."

He took up the picture again, examined it carefully, and handed it back to the public prosecutor.

"I have only wanted to show," said the counsel for the defence, quietly, "that you yourself at one time have doubted the identity of the person who stands in front of Miss Frick's cupboard in the photograph. I have now only two other questions to ask you.

"What was the time when you took the photograph?"

_Witness_: "About six."

_Counsel for the defence_: "Are you not able to give the time more exactly? Might it not just as well have been half-past six?"

_Witness_: "I cannot give the exact time. I didn't attach much importance to the incident. When I had taken the photograph I went up to my room, and was busy there for some time before I left. It was then about seven, so from that I conclude that the photograph was taken about six."

_Counsel_: "Might it not have been a little over half-past six?"

_Witness_: "No! I can be quite certain it was not over half-past six."

_Counsel_: "Could you see that the person held the diamond in her hand? In the photograph the object which she holds is hidden by her shoulder."

_Witness_: "When first I caught sight of her, she held the diamond somewhat higher, so that I was able to see it; afterward she lowered her arm, and while in that position she was photographed."

The counsel for the defence seemed to be satisfied.

Then Mr. Rodin, the photographer, was called as witness.

The well-known artist, whose pleasant manners have obtained for him so many customers and friends, bowed to the judge and court, and, the usual formalities having been observed, he answered quickly and decisively the questions which the public prosecutor put to him.

Public prosecutor: "Do you recognize this photograph? Has it been in your hands before?"

_Witness_: "Yes; this film, together with some others, was given me to develop, by Mr. Howell, on the evening of the 10th of May, about seven or half-past."

Public prosecutor: "And are you sure that this photograph is an exact reproduction of the negative?"

_Witness_ (smiling): "The photograph cannot lie, sir! Even if I had wished it, I could not have produced anything else than what was to be seen in front of the apparatus at the moment it was opened to take the photograph."

The public prosecutor finished his examination, and the counsel for the defence began his.

_Counsel_: "Can you be certain that this photograph is the same one which you developed several weeks ago for Mr. Howell? It has not been in your possession since?"

_Witness_: "Yes, sir, I am quite sure; you can see for yourself that my initials are written on the back;--look, O.R. 10/5, H. 10. The first are my initials, then follows the date it was received, then the initial of Mr. Howell's name, from whom I received it, and lastly, the number in the series. The roll which he brought me that day consisted of ten films; this was number ten, the last photograph he had taken."

_Counsel_: "You cannot, however, be quite certain that this is the same picture which Mr. Howell brought you. During the work, some of your people might have mixed Mr. Howell's pictures together with other people's. Such a thing might happen, might it not?"

_Witness_: "No, sir; I develop all Mr. Howell's films with my own hands. He is very particular about them. As you will see, this picture is very clear and distinct, and I flatter myself that all the pictures which have passed through my hands are the same,--that is to say, when such an expert snap-shot taker as Mr. Howell has taken them."

_Counsel_: "Is there any reason, Mr. Rodin, why one could not photograph first the room, then a person, and then transfer that person to the first picture, so that a person appears in the room on the picture?"

The public had remained unusually silent and attentive during the whole of the proceedings; at this question the silence became still more intense. Every one understood the counsel's object in putting this question--that each one of his questions was an attempt to clutch at a last straw in the interest of his client; but all understood also that each straw slipped out of his hand, one by one. The same happened to this question. The witness answered, without any hesitation, "It is possible, sir; but every experienced photographer would tell you that this has not been attempted in the present case."

The young advocate looked disappointed. He made a motion like one who washes his hands, and allowed the witness to step down.

The photograph was sent round among the members of the jury and the court, while the next witness was being called. It was the young chief of the detective police, Charles Monk. The public hailed his appearance with murmurs of approbation which must be just as much attributed to his winning appearance as to the reputation he had already gained as a police officer. His evidence was calm, clear, and concise, as befits a policeman, and all listened with breathless attention to the account of how the young chief had taken upon himself the role of detective, and had not rested until Mr. Frick's diamond was in the hands of the police. When Mr. Monk, in his evidence, came to speak of his visit to Jurgens, and of the stratagem he had used to deceive the old man, many of the spectators began to clap their hands and shout, Bravo! The judge's authority for the moment had to be called into account to produce silence.

Although there was scarcely a person in the court who did not wish that the young girl in the dock should be acquitted, so paradoxical is human nature that the same people applauded the great skill with which the net had been drawn around her.

The last hope for the prisoner seemed to vanish at the evidence of the detective.

The counsel for the defence had not many questions to ask. He tried to show that both on her arrest and upon Mr. Monk's first visit to her mother's home, she had been in an irresponsible condition, and for that purpose he had no doubt summoned her mother and her lover, the actor, to give evidence. Although their evidence was a voluntary matter, owing to the relation in which they stood to the accused, they both declared themselves willing to tell what they knew. Their evidence did not, however, throw any new light on the matter. Both were convinced of the young girl's innocence, and asked the court not to believe her, even if she should again confess. She had always been of a nervous temperament, and often a little strange.

Neither the loquacious woman with the ruddy complexion, nor the pomatummed Don Juan, whose shady character is so well known in the town, made a good impression; and the counsel for the defence concluded their examination as soon as possible. The general impression was that he, for the defence, had originally intended to prove that his client was irresponsible, but that during the proceedings before the court he had abandoned this line of defence.

* * * * *

I had proceeded thus far in my reading when I stopped and looked at my friends. Clara was listening with her mouth open, and did not seem as if she would tolerate any interruption. Monk sat silently in an armchair in the darkest corner of the room.

"Shall I continue?" I asked, "or will you allow me to ask a question?"

"I would rather you read the newspaper account to the end, first," was Monk's answer; and I heard by the tone of his voice that he was unusually agitated.

"Yes, go on reading, and let us hear what happens," said Clara, trying to look over my shoulder.

I read as follows:--

... The examination of the witnesses for the defence was concluded, and the public prosecutor rose. His speech was short and pithy.

He thought all must agree that the charge he had preferred against the accused had been fully proved by the evidence given in court.

With regard to the responsibility of the accused, he also believed that this had been asserted beyond all doubt; the opinion of the medical men was definite, and the evidence by which the defence had attempted to weaken these were but of little value. He did not believe for a moment the counsel for the defence would seriously question the responsibility of the accused. That the feeling of having committed a great crime, and of having to answer for it, might have caused the conduct of the accused to appear strange, and to some degree self-contradictory, was only natural.

That the accused had retracted her first confession, and later on had refused to give any explanation whatever in the court, might perhaps surprise some, but it could in no way weaken the clear and distinct proofs of her guilt. It was perhaps to be regretted that the police had not succeeded in ascertaining where the money for the stolen object had disappeared to, as this circumstance prevented any possible accomplices being brought to justice. It was likewise to be regretted that motives for the crime could not be sufficiently explained; but the accused was no doubt herself principally to be blamed for this, through her persistent silence. None of these circumstances ought, however, to have any influence upon the answer of the jury to the question, "Guilty or not guilty?"

The counsel for the accused rose to begin his speech for the defence. He seemed at first to be somewhat uncertain, but he soon decided upon the line he would take.

He did not want to conceal, he said, that he was in a very difficult position, and the one who made his position most difficult of all was his client.

All had heard that the young girl who was charged with having stolen the diamond, which was now lying upon the table in court, had at first confessed, but had afterward retracted her confession, and otherwise refused any information whatsoever in the matter. But what every one, in all probability, did not know, was that she had maintained the same silence with regard to him, her counsel and adviser. He had not succeeded in getting a single word from her lips, except the assurance that she would say nothing, would answer no questions, and would give no information. "I thought it only right," continued the young advocate, "to make this open declaration, in order that my inability to give information which might be to the advantage of my client, should not be misunderstood. You must not believe that I have received any information from her, and that I have not found it to her advantage to make use of it.

"It appears to me, and I hope the gentlemen of the jury will agree with me, that the unfortunate girl, paralyzed by the terrible blow of suspicion which has fallen upon her, and feeling how terribly hopeless her case is, through the strong appearances against her at almost every step, has found it expedient to draw within herself and keep silence, just as the hunted deer withdraws to its cave, even if death awaits it there. No one has a right to construe my client's silence as a confession, or the result of a consciousness of guilt.

"The diamond was stolen in the interval between five and half-past seven in the afternoon. Of these two hours and a half my client spent only half an hour's time within the walls of Villa Ballarat, while many persons were present there during the whole time. It has been proved, says the public prosecutor, that no stranger could have gained admission there during that time; but can we be so sure of that? An agile man can easily climb over the railings--no one will deny that. The police examined the ground round about, and no trace was found, may be said in objection. But we know that expert criminals are often very dexterous in destroying all traces after them; and no one will maintain that the police are so infallible that a trace cannot have escaped them.

"One need not be gifted with great acuteness in order to guess what is passing through the minds of the gentlemen of the jury at this moment: what can be the use of all this? The main proofs against the accused still remain unassailable. But let us look into some of these proofs which, according to the opinion of the public prosecutor, are so strong that they are even more reliable than a confession. The old man who bought the diamond has himself said that he bought it of the young girl whom I defend, and there can be no doubt about this, although he has not appeared in court as witness; we have the evidence of the head of the detective department with regard to it, and that must be sufficient. But--here is also a 'but,' just as there is a 'but' in all the so-called infallible circumstantial evidence against the accused--is, then, the word of an imbecile man in his second childhood to be fully depended upon--a man who immediately afterward is declared incapable of managing his own affairs; who is so infatuated with his mania that he, whose honesty is otherwise not for a moment to be doubted after a long life of spotless integrity, buys a diamond which he knows must have been stolen? Shall the evidence of such a man decide the fate of a human being? And besides, is this man's evidence quite impartial? We have heard, from the account of the chief of the detectives, that the old man tried to conceal the fact that he was in possession of the diamond; in his imbecility he is, however, conscious that he has done something wrong, and is, to a certain degree, cunning, and on his guard. What, then, is more probable than that he, who sees that he has been discovered, is wily enough to give an explanation which makes it probable that a servant would have the disposal of the diamond at her command? Who dares maintain that the old man spoke the truth on this occasion? It is, however, just as much, if not more probable, that he resorted to telling the first untruth that came into his head!

"And what has become of the five thousand kroners, which he says he has paid for the diamond?

"It has not been possible to ascertain, says my opponent; but on the whole he seems to lay little stress upon the circumstance.

"It seems to me that this circumstance--that no trace whatever has been discovered of the money--is quite an important one. We know that the most able detectives have been engaged in tracing it--even the fiance of my client was arrested in Copenhagen in consequence thereof; both she and her mother have been watched most closely--but still no clue. Are not these circumstances important? Is there not more than one proof that the police have been on the wrong track, that the thief is not the one who has been arrested, and that they have been investigating in a direction where there was nothing to look for?

"But it may be said that the principal proof still remains unshaken; the accused has, by a remarkable coincidence, been photographed in the act of committing the theft, that cannot be denied or explained away; yes--I venture to maintain there is no proof of the guilt of the accused in this. I admit that most probably it is the young girl who has been photographed on this film. The hat and the jacket which she wears were given to her by Miss Frick about six o'clock in the afternoon of the same day: this we know from the evidence; likewise that she wore the same clothes when she called on her mother between half-past six and seven. I admit there is a probability which approaches to certainty, that it is my client who, in the photograph here, is standing in front of Mr. Frick's cupboard in the so-called museum. One can also see that she is holding some object in her hand. Yes, I even go so far as to admit that she is most likely looking at the black diamond. But from this moment my conclusions cease to coincide with those of the public prosecutor.

"Why should it follow that she also took the diamond with her?

"What if my client, on passing through the garden and seeing the door open to the museum, goes inside, and out of curiosity has a look at the black diamond about which there has been so much talk among the people of the house while she was serving the coffee in the afternoon, and then puts it back again and passes out through the garden, on her way to her mother? What if she, later on, after hearing of the robbery, understands that she has been imprudent, and then does a still more imprudent thing by trying to conceal her visit to the museum, and finally, when almost crushed under the shame and fear of being arrested, acts as she afterward did?

"I ask any person of common sense, is there anything more improbable than that this young girl, who has always shown the most exemplary honesty, should commit this daring theft without any special motive? This young girl, who was not in need, and who in her master's house had found a home almost as if she were one of the family--this young girl who knew that if she were in want of money for any special object her young mistress would not deny her it, even if it were a considerable sum!

"Is this more probable than that her presence in the museum was due to an accidental circumstance of no significance, and that the theft has afterward been committed by some one else?"

The counsel for the defence was here interrupted in a manner which was no doubt flattering to him; from the audience came the sound of more than one hearty _Bravo!_ while a hoarse voice, full of sincere conviction, exclaimed, "Ah! he's about right there."

Silence was soon obtained, and the counsel concluded his speech thus: "It is an old experience of the court that the chain of evidence which seems strongest, and in which the links seem to fit exactly into each other, is in reality most often the weakest. I will ask the jury to bear this in mind. And I believe that I have at least shown you that in the chain of the public prosecutor which seemed to fit so beautifully there is not one link which can be called faultless."

The counsel resumed his seat, and the public made an attempt to applaud him, but the judge quickly imposed silence, and the public prosecutor rose to reply.

He had followed the speech of the counsel for the defence with interest and approval, the latter no doubt arising from the same cause which had dictated the applause of the public--that is to say, admiration of the counsel's ability to make something out of nothing, or of an inconvenient subject. At this point the public prosecutor nodded in a friendly way across to the counsel for the defence, who smiled in return.

He found, on the whole, his chain of evidence so little weakened by what the defence had brought forward, that he did not think it necessary to go through it again. He had such great confidence in the intelligence of the jury that he would take it for granted they would have remarked, without his pointing it out to them, that where he had produced facts, or probabilities which almost amounted to facts, the counsel for the defence had only set up possibilities, and even improbable possibilities--with this, he would leave the matter in the hands of the jury.

The counsel for the defence then proceeded to make his final speech.

The public prosecutor had himself admitted that there were possibilities that the theft had not been committed in the way the prosecution had asserted. It would be the duty of the jury to decide as to the probability or improbability of the possibilities. He would conclude by saying that when to these possibilities was added the stainless life of his client, and the good character she bore from all quarters--no one had brought forward anything to the contrary--as well as the circumstance that no one had been able to show any particular motive for the young girl's suddenly committing a criminal act; and finally, that it had not been possible, in spite of the most energetic exertions of the police, to show that his client had been in possession of, or disposed of the money which was to have been the reward of the crime of which she was accused--then he did not doubt that the conscientious jury would not pronounce the fateful "Yes" to the question "Guilty?"

The counsel sat down, but no applause was heard this time from the public. All seemed to be convinced that his exertions had been in vain.

The time approached when the jurymen had to retire. All seemed to feel that their deliberations would be short, and the result an unanimous verdict of guilty.

Of what avail could be the eloquence or the cunning subterfuges of a counsel, against proofs and facts as clear as those which the public prosecutor had produced?

The judge asked the accused if she had anything to say. Her counsel leaned toward her, and appeared to be urging something earnestly upon her; but she only shook her head, as before, and the young man sat down with an air of resignation.

*CHAPTER II*

*THE PHOTOGRAPH CANNOT LIE*

The public prosecutor had begun to read the questions which were to be laid before the jury, when he was interrupted by a noise from the back of the court. Many of the public rose from their seats in order to see better.

What could be the matter?

A messenger of the court had forced his way through the crowd to the counsel for the defence, and handed him a letter, saying a few words, which those nearest to him could hear. The messenger said, "You must read it at once, sir; it has to do with the case now before the court."

The counsel tore open the envelope, read, passed his hand across his forehead, and read the letter again.

He crushed the paper in his hand, stepped quickly forward, and as the public prosecutor had not resumed his reading, he addressed himself to the judge, saying, "I must ask that an hour's postponement be granted to my client; in that time I believe I can bring before you, gentlemen, evidence which will throw a new light upon the case."

* * * * *

An hour passed by, perhaps a little more, and the court was again sitting. The room was, if possible, even more crowded than before; no one had been willing to give up his seat, and there were new arrivals.

The silence which reigned showed the excitement that possessed everybody.

The counsel for the defence asked to be allowed to examine the chief of the detective staff once more.

The young officer stepped forward, and took his place in the witness box in his usual quiet manner, although astonishment was plainly written on his face.

_The counsel_: "You have already told us that when you paid a visit to Mr. Jurgens and so skilfully got him to give up the diamond, he then told you that he had bought it from the accused, Evelina Reierson. Isn't that so?"

"Yes."

_Counsel_: "Did he seem to be in any doubt as to whom he had bought the diamond from?"

The detective blushed at this question, but his answer was as unconstrained and calm as before.

"No, he gave me the impression that he was sure it was the accused."

_Counsel_: "Did he name any one else who could possibly have sold him the diamond?"

"At first he began, with some confused nonsense, to excuse himself, but it was of no significance to the case."

_Counsel_: "I must ask you, however, to give the name or the names which Mr. Jurgens mentioned in connection with the diamond."

One could see that the officer was angry at the importunate examination, and that he had to exert himself to the utmost, in order to answer calmly.

"Mr. Jurgens seemed at first to be somewhat frightened at the consequences of his transaction, and in order to excuse himself, he began with some nonsense about having bought the diamond from--from a person who is nearly related to Mr. Frick, and who was supposed to have received the diamond from him as a present."

_Counsel_: "What did you do to get him to speak the truth?"

The detective hesitated a moment, and grew redder still in the face. At last he answered firmly and distinctly:--

"He first mentioned Miss Frick as having sold him the diamond, and that she had said she had got it as a present from her uncle. This was as much as to say that the young lady, for whom I have--have the greatest respect, is a thief and a liar, as information of the robbery was given to the police by her uncle; and I then forgot myself for the moment and seized hold of the old man--but of course only for a moment!"

_Counsel_: "It was after you let go of him that he gave the name of Evelina Reierson?"

"Yes; but as you will understand--"

_Counsel_ (interrupting): "I have for the present nothing further to ask you."

"Well, I never heard such--" exclaimed a powerful voice. It was old Frick who rose, red as a turkey cock in the face; the judge himself had to call him to order.

Mr. Monk still stood in the same place, biting his lips. Miss Frick stared at him with an astonished expression. As yet she suspected nothing.

But the attention of the public was soon engrossed by a new witness whom the counsel for the defence brought forward. He was a tall, squarely-built man, with broad round shoulders, and black hair and beard; he was dressed in shiny, threadbare black clothes.

The examination was begun by the judge. The witness seemed quite unwilling to be examined.

"Your name?"

"Abraham Abrahamson."

"How old are you?"

"Fifty-three years old."

"What is your calling?"

"Pawnbroker and commission agent."

"Where do you live?"

"Bishop Street, No. 75."

"Do you know anything about the case which is before the jury to-day?"

"I have read about it in the papers."

"Have you had anything to do with any of the persons in the case, or have you in any other way obtained any information which may be of importance in this matter?"