Chapter VII: The Verdict

Doctor Westbrook walked unhesitatingly and with a firm tread to the witness-chair; but once seated, it was more apparent than ever that his personal appearance had undergone a marked change. It was difficult to define: his head and beard appeared to be more shaggy and unkempt than usual; certain faint lines cast a vague and almost imperceptible shadow over his frank and open countenance; and without abating in the least their steady and unwavering glance, his eyes contained within their depths an added expression, fleeting and indeterminate.

These changes, slight as they were, combined to produce varying effects: they might have been the result of sickness, or they might have been caused by mental perturbation. With the latter thought in his mind, John Converse studied the Doctor attentively. Presently he leaned across the table, and whispered to Mr. Mountjoy. That gentleman nodded with an air of understanding, adding, "Another witness who has something to conceal."

Doctor Westbrook's testimony, however, belied this assertion. He answered promptly all questions, and added many details in an obvious effort to make his statements clear and concise. But he could tell little more than he had related to Mr. Converse and Mr. Merkel on the night of the murder. He repeated the story precisely as he had then narrated it, and almost in the same words. He corroborated Lynden's testimony regarding what had taken place after that gentleman's arrival; and in describing the wound, he made it clear that his surmise on the fatal night was correct.

"In addition to the severing of the carotid artery," said he, "the autopsy demonstrated that the point of the blade passed between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae, also severing the spinal cord."

Concerning the letter addressed to De Sanchez, together with the presence of Howe in his office at the time of the murder, he testified at length. He was expecting the deceased to call upon him some time during the evening of the fourth, and while awaiting his arrival he was most agreeably surprised by the entrance of his old friend Ferdinand Howe.

"It was about half-past four," the witness continued, "when Mr. Howe entered my office. In the pleasant surprise of the meeting I forgot completely about De Sanchez for several minutes. When he again recurred to my mind I suddenly resolved not to see him at all. I explained to Ferdinand that I was expecting a caller whom I did not care to meet, and as it was not necessary that I should, I requested him to wait a few minutes while I wrote and despatched a brief note."

"Did you hear the five-o'clock whistles blow?"

"Yes, they were blowing when De Sanchez burst through the door."

"Now, Doctor Westbrook, returning to the letter you wrote on the evening of November fourth--you say it was directed to Señor de Sanchez?"

"It was."

"I will ask you to look at this letter, and state whether or not this is the one you had just completed when deceased burst in upon you."

The witness merely glanced at the missive before stating positively that it was; whereupon the Coroner read it aloud. After the date and superscription it ran as follows:

It will be useless to renew our conversation of last night. You can make no representations that will influence me to change my mind. So long as the lady herself is only submitting to the wishes of her parents in accepting your attentions, I shall continue to oppose any union between herself and you.

My father's attitude in this matter is incomprehensible to me, and I am confident that I would retain the support of the lady's and my own friends in preventing your project.

Rest assured that I shall not hesitate at adopting any measures to thwart your purpose. Your insistence, knowing as you do that you have neither the lady's love nor respect, is ungentlemanly, and can only lead to consequences, to say the least, disagreeable to yourself.

MOBLEY WESTBROOK.

This letter was then marked "Exhibit B," and became a part of the records of the case.

"Was it your intention to send this letter to Señor de Sanchez?" the examination proceeded.

"Yes. Had events terminated differently, I should have sent the letter to him that same night."

Mr. Merkel here referred to the missive, saying, "In this letter occurs the phrase, 'My father's attitude in this matter is incomprehensible to me.' Now, what did you mean by that?--or rather, why did you make use of that particular phrase in the sense you did? What occasioned it?"

Doctor Westbrook frowned as at a disagreeable memory.

"The favor with which he looked upon De Sanchez's addresses to my sister," he replied.

"De Sanchez was a suitor for your sister's hand?"

"He was."

"What was incomprehensible in the fact that your father favored him?"

"A number of things that should be quite obvious, sir. It is very unpleasant going into this."

"Pardon me, Doctor, but it is none the less necessary."

"Well, to begin with, Señor de Sanchez was not of our nationality, and I never before knew my father to be in any way partial to foreigners--quite the contrary. I am convinced--although it is merely an impression amounting to conviction--that my father did not personally like De Sanchez. Again, other facts, when arrayed together, present a false perspective. Several years ago General Westbrook quite suddenly severed intimate business relations with Señor de Sanchez: concerning this he has never, so far as I know, uttered a word of explanation. All communication between them ceased abruptly, and I don't believe my father ever mentioned the man's name until he appeared here."

"Do you know that General Westbrook did favor Señor de Sanchez as a suitor?"

"I do."

"Please state how."

"From his own lips. When the rumors linking De Sanchez's and my sister's names became persistent, I went to see my father; but he--" The Doctor checked himself, concluding in a different tone: "It is very painful going into this matter. Unless it is absolutely essential--"

"I will touch upon it as lightly as possible, Doctor. That conversation with General Westbrook was characterized by some warmth, was it not?"

"Very bitter words were used--at least, by me."

"And he then gave you to understand that he would continue to support Señor de Sanchez as a suitor to his daughter's hand?"

"That is correct."

Abandoning this line of inquiry, the Coroner again picked up the dagger with its sombre stains, which the witness identified as his paper-knife. A juror interposed with a question.

"Doctor Westbrook," said he, "was it commonly known by your friends and acquaintances that this dagger--'Exhibit A'--usually lay on your writing-table in the room where your patients wait?"

"Oh, yes," the Doctor replied. "There is not one of them who has not, at one time or another, had it in his hands and expressed curiosity concerning it. It was the occasion of innumerable questions, and I suppose I have been reminded a hundred times that such a present carried with it bad luck--that knives cut friendship, and much to the same effect."

The Coroner took up once more the thread of the examination.

"Now, Doctor Westbrook, the dagger was obviously removed from your desk some time before the commission of the crime. Did you miss it from its accustomed place?"

"No, sir. It might have been gone for several days, for all I know. I used it solely as a paper-cutter, and then not always, unless it was right at hand."

"Did you notice it at any time during the day of November fourth?"

"I cannot say; I am so accustomed to and familiar with its presence, that the circumstance scarcely would have impressed me."

The whole of the witness's testimony up to this point was barren enough of excitement or anything in the nature of a surprise; but the next question elicited the particulars of Clay Fairchild's strange request for the dagger on the day of the tragedy. Witness added:

"He stated that he wished to show it to some one. I assented, passed on out, and never thought of it again until it recurred to me during a conversation with the detective after the murder."

"Do you know whether he returned it?"

"No. I do not know that he got it in the first place; I did not wait to see."

"Do you lock the doors when leaving your office, Doctor?"

"Only those opening into the laboratory and the front room. Except at night--after I have finally departed--the reception-room door is never fastened. It is scarcely ever closed."

"On the afternoon of November fourth, then, when you left your office at one o'clock, was the door open as usual?--the door opening from the hall into your reception-room?"

"Certainly."

At this point the inquisitive juror again shot forward with a question:

"Did Fairchild ever before ask you to lend him the dagger?"

"Not that I now recall," was the reply.

"But he knew of it, didn't he? and where you commonly kept it?"

"Oh, yes. He frequently came into my office, and I remember once telling him, as I have told some hundreds of others, how the dagger came into my possession, together with its romantic little history."

Mr. Merkel here resumed.

"Now then, Doctor, let us go back to the evening of November third, the night before Señor de Sanchez's death. At what time did he call at your office?"

"At about five-thirty or six o'clock."

"Was he alone?"

"No, sir. He was accompanied by Señor Vargas."

"Please relate just what happened at that time."

"Señor de Sanchez and I went immediately into my consultation-room, while Señor Vargas remained in the reception-room. The former began, in a polite enough manner, to ask me my reasons for objecting to him as a suitor for my sister, and he presently assumed an insinuating attitude that soon angered me and made me refuse to listen further to his representations. Although he was a model of suavity throughout the interview, I presently gathered the idea that his words were hiding a covert threat; that he was holding something back which he considered would be sufficient to cause me to change my mind. I abruptly interrupted his flow of speech, and told him, in words incapable of misconstruction, that my mind was made up, and if he continued to press his attentions where they were not wanted, he should regret it.

"As he was leaving, De Sanchez said, 'You desire to know more of my past relations with your honored father?' To this I replied that I cared nothing about them. He then said, 'I am sure that you would rather have the facts in your own bosom than that they should become known inadvertently to your and his friends.' This was so directly a threat that I immediately closed the interview. He smiled, bowed, and passed out. As he did so he continued, 'I shall take great pleasure in relating these facts to you--you only, Doctor; and I have no doubt that I can surprise you--even to commending my humble person to your charming--' Oh, I fail to remember all the insulting nonsense he unburdened himself of. It was much to the same effect."

"Well?"

"I told him to go to the devil. He merely laughed again and said that he was then on his way to my father's. After remarking that he would return the next evening at about five o'clock, he rejoined Señor Vargas and withdrew.

"When I had thought it over, my anger cooled somewhat, and I resolved to hear what the man had to say--to know if he would really go to the extreme of saying anything that would reflect upon a member of my family. This, I finally concluded, would put such an advantage into my hands that I could bring his attentions to an end for all time."

"You never heard, then, what it was he intended to say?"

"No. When next I saw him he was practically a dead man."

"Recurring once more to the night of the fourth, Doctor, did not Clay Fairchild come into your office shortly after De Sanchez expired?"

"He did."

"Relate the circumstance in full, please."

"About four or five minutes after Jim--Mr. Lynden--had left to notify the police of the tragedy, the door suddenly opened, and Clay entered the room. He stopped, his hand on the knob, and stood staring at De Sanchez with a look of bewilderment. This quickly gave way to an expression of horror, such as I never saw before in a sane human countenance. All at once he looked at me, and apparently tried to speak; but a queer, choking sound in the throat was the only result. Without an instant's warning--before Howe or I could realize it--he darted through the door and ran swiftly down the hall. Before that, however, I called upon him to speak and explain himself. I fail to remember just what I said; but his actions were very strange, and I didn't know what to make of them."

"Did Mr. Fairchild have on his hat when he entered your office?"

"He had on his hat and a light overcoat."

Next there followed a minute description of the young man's dress, together with his personal appearance, such as had been given to the police shortly after his disappearance: Height, about six feet; weight, 168 pounds; eyes and hair, very dark, the latter worn rather long and inclined to curl; form, slender, with a stoop to the shoulders, so slight as to be scarcely noticeable; all of his movements slow and deliberate, a striking feature being an air of interested attention with which he listened to anybody addressing him, together with a low and decisive manner of speech--almost a drawl. The description contained the further information that he was not easily moved from his natural reserve, a circumstance making his conduct after the murder all the more remarkable, suggesting that he was then laboring under an extraordinary emotion.

With their heads almost touching, the Coroner and the District Attorney whispered briefly together; after which Mr. Merkel addressed the witness.

"When your office door was thrown open, and De Sanchez staggered through, did you not, in looking up, have that portion of the hall between your room and Mr. Nettleton's private office directly before your eyes?"

"Yes. But while, at the time, I was not looking for any one else but De Sanchez, I am now able to recall that no one was there--that that part of the hall was empty. The occasion was so startling that the association of ideas did not suggest the possibility of the assassin being near by, or even that a murder had been committed. It was some minutes before I came to a realization of the gravity of what had happened."

"Can you recall whether Mr. Nettleton's door was open or closed?"

"Not positively. But I believe if it had been wide open and no light in his office, I should have noticed it--the circumstance would have been unusual."

"Then, his door might have been ajar or closed completely, but not entirely open?"

"Yes; I believe that is correct. I have a strong impression that it was entirely closed, or very nearly so; yet I would not make a positive statement to that effect."

During the entire time Doctor Westbrook occupied the stand Mr. Mountjoy watched him narrowly, and seemed to weigh carefully each word of the witness's replies. They followed the interrogations so promptly, the manner of their utterance was so convincing, that the truth of the Doctor's statements could not be doubted. Still, there was that fleeting shade of apprehension in his eyes, the vague shadow of worry that clouded his face. What caused them?

"We have been groping all about the focal point," Mr. Mountjoy whispered to the Coroner and Converse. "We have not yet laid our finger upon the _primum mobile_. There is a question that will open up the whole thing, if we can only find it. Think!" And he stopped, staring fixedly at the detective.

The Captain remained silent a few moments--a long time it seemed to those who waited--before he spoke. Then he whispered to Mr. Merkel, who turned immediately to the witness and asked:

"Doctor, do you know, or have you any reason to believe, there was any person other than yourself, Ferdinand Howe, J. Howard Lynden, Clay Fairchild, and William Slade on the second floor of the Nettleton Building at or about the time of Señor de Sanchez's death?"

The answer came unhesitatingly.

"I have not."

But was that an expression of relief that hid the worry in his eyes, that lightened the shadow on his face? or were the worry and the shadow still there? Neither the District Attorney nor Mr. Converse could determine.

"Very well, Doctor, that is all," said the Coroner. "Call General Westbrook."

Stiffly erect, and with an air of obeying only the inevitable mandate of Justice, the General entered the room.

However, little additional light was shed upon the mystery by his testimony; though it cannot be said that it was entirely devoid of interest. He related at length his acquaintance with the deceased, but with a reserve no one could ever attempt or expect to penetrate. He stated that their relations in Mexico,--which had been solely of a business nature,--had been dissolved by mutual agreement; that there had been no subsequent correspondence between them, as their affairs had been entirely wound up; and that his social connection with Señor de Sanchez dated only from that gentleman's arrival in the city. He would not undertake to say that Señor de Sanchez had or had not a living enemy. If there were any such he was in complete ignorance of that person's existence.

"General, did not Señor de Sanchez desire to marry your daughter?"

"He did."

"With your approval, of course?"

"Yes."

"And Mrs. Westbrook's?"

"Certainly," returned the witness, with a mild expression of astonishment.

"But Doctor Westbrook rather emphatically opposed it, did he not?"

The General suddenly glared, and Mr. Merkel stirred uneasily.

"Pardon me," the latter added with a propitiatory tone, "er-ah--General; I shouldn't ask the question were it not necessary." The witness then coldly replied:

"Doctor Westbrook saw fit to obtrude himself into my private affairs in a manner that would have had no effect one way or another on the result."

"You mean?" Mr. Merkel innocently asked.

"Just what I say, sir."

"You--you say he intruded, General," the Coroner persisted. "Is it not a fact that his attitude in this matter has brought about a severance of his relations with the rest of the family?"

"We hold no communication."

"Was Miss Westbrook opposed to the proposed marriage?"

"This is nonsense. What have the vagaries and whims of a young girl to do with this--"

"Again, General, pardon me; I must press the question," interrupted the Coroner. "If it is possible, we will avoid calling upon Miss Westbrook to testify."

General Westbrook stared at his questioner in speechless astonishment, for so long a time that the latter was obliged to speak again.

"We may presume, then, that she was not in complete sympathy with the idea?"

The witness all at once smiled--the kind of smile his opponents had learned to dread.

"I would not take it upon myself to correct any ideas you may have formed upon the subject," he said, pleasantly, while an audible, but quickly suppressed, titter ran round the room, and the heavy countenance of the Coroner became a dull red.

Mr. Mountjoy relieved the situation--and certainly relieved Mr. Merkel--finally eliciting the fact that Miss Westbrook was at first not in sympathy with the idea of accepting Señor de Sanchez's attentions; that she had later asserted a woman's prerogative by changing her mind and agreeing to receive him, although the matter had not arrived at the stage of a definite engagement.

"At the last interview between Doctor Westbrook and yourself," Mr. Merkel then resumed, "was he not very vehement in expressing his opinion on the subject of the proposed marriage?"

"I believe he was not very successful in concealing his feelings."

"Will you repeat what Doctor Westbrook said on that occasion?"

"I would rather not attempt it."

"I assure you, General, it is essential."

"I cannot recall his exact language."

"Well, its purport."

"His statements amounted to this: that the marriage should not take place as long as he was alive to prevent it; that he should certainly find ways and means of preventing its celebration--no more and no less."

Ferdinand Howe followed the General. His testimony, of course, was of prime importance; but as its nature is already familiar it need not be repeated here--with a single exception. After corroborating the Doctor's evidence regarding Fairchild's behavior when the latter encountered the body, the witness added:

"Mobley cried, 'Clay, what do mean? Why do you stare at me so?' But the look of horror only deepened; his jaw dropped, and his eyes became fairly glassy. I believe, then, Mobley half rose from his chair. 'Speak!' he cried. But the young man seemed incapable of doing so. He uttered a peculiar gurgling cry, darted abruptly through the open door, and disappeared."

Judge Elihu Petty, of the firm of Petty & Carlton, attorneys, testified that on the evening of November fourth, at about five o'clock, he was in his office in the Field Building. After confirming the previous testimony regarding the light-well and the impossibility of anybody having entered the Nettleton hall window by that means, the witness continued with a description of the other Nettleton windows. He asserted that in broad daylight, and at other times when there was a light in Mr. Nettleton's private office, he could see the books on the further wall of the room mentioned.

_Question by the Coroner_: "Could you see the books on the evening of November fourth?"

"No, sir. While there was light enough outside, yet it was so late that the interior shadows were dense enough to prevent me seeing any distance into the room. There was no light in that room."

"Had there been a person in Mr. Nettleton's private room at that time, could you have seen him?"

Witness shook his head doubtfully.

"Not unless such person had approached quite close to the windows," he presently replied. "It is possible that somebody might have been there without my seeing him. But I saw no one."

Judge Petty stated that he remembered the five-o'clock whistles, associating the circumstance with Mr. Howe's abrupt disappearance from the Doctor's window, which ended his testimony.

The calling of Señor Vargas--Juan Sebastian de Vargas y Escolado, as he announced his name after being sworn--occasioned a quick accession of interest; and he surprised even the Coroner by revealing an unexpected acquaintance with his dead compatriot, and an intimate knowledge of his life and affairs. Aside from this, Señor Vargas added nothing to the information regarding the tragedy; but as the only hope, it would seem, of eliciting anything at all lay in the past, witness was questioned closely, the examination covering the whole period of his acquaintance with the deceased. He continued to evince a stolid lack of interest; on the other hand, however, it seemed obvious that he had nothing to reserve, and he answered all questions fully and with an apparent desire to throw whatever light he might upon the mystery. As his examination lengthened considerably, it will here be merely summarized.

The witness had known De Sanchez ever since his (the witness's) residence in Mexico--about seven or eight years. Socially he knew little of the deceased; but early in their acquaintance they had become interested in a number of commercial undertakings, which, proving profitable, led naturally to other enterprises. There never had been anything in the nature of a partnership,--so far as the world knew, at least,--but a mutual confidence had grown up between them, and each frequently intrusted the other with large sums; "an association," added Señor Vargas, "that has more than doubled my fortune." They usually struck a balance twice in the year, when funds were divided and other enterprises planned.

_Question_: "Did Señor de Sanchez owe you anything at the time of his death?"

_Answer_: "Neither of us was indebted to the other, except in this way: at the present time there is a joint account approximating one hundred and eighty-two thousand dollars. I have my own figures; but I shall abide by his. He was a careful business man,--so much so, that I can confidently assert that a proper division of this sum can be made, to a centavo, from his private books. Our association was exceptionally pleasant and profitable; there was never the shadow of a dispute or misunderstanding between us."

"Were the relations between you amicable at the time you left Mexico?"

"As much so as they ever were. On the day Señor de Sanchez left Mexico City he executed to me a power of attorney to certain lands of which he was at that time negotiating a sale. I consummated the deal, and deposited to his account the sum of sixty-two thousand dollars."

"Why, then, should you have experienced difficulty in closing with him the Paquita Gold Mine matter, which led you, as you say, to follow him here?"

The witness considered some time, and presently replied:

"I do not want it to appear that I desire to reserve any information; but understand, please, that this is a matter in which I am merely acting as an agent for other parties, and that it is not closed yet. Perhaps you will appreciate my position from the fact that Señor de Sanchez owned the property, and I am making a purchase for a party of English capitalists."

Mr. Merkel smiled knowingly, adding, "And of course you have no interest in the property yourself. I see."

But the knowing look brought no answering light to the dark, impassive features; and neither, apparently, did witness feel called upon to make any response at all.

"Señor Vargas," said the Coroner, "we are seeking to ascertain if the unfortunate gentleman had an enemy; or if any of his affairs or business transactions were of such a nature that they would antagonize anybody to the point of such extreme retaliation as has been meted out to him. Now, from your association with Señor de Sanchez, do you know of any such person, or any such affair?"

Witness slowly shook his head.

"I know of no such affair or enemy--at least, I am sure there is no enemy in Mexico."

For the first time during the entire proceedings the District Attorney ignored the Coroner to put an interrogation himself.

"In Mexico?" he asked, quickly. "Do you know or suspect an enemy in this country--here--or elsewhere?"

"No, no, señor. Perhaps I should not have said that; but in Spain--in Mexico--Don Alberto could not have loved so beautiful a maiden as the Señorita Westbrook without making many enemies, and bitter ones too. I was thinking of that alone." He spread out his hands in true Latin fashion. "_Eso se comprende_--it is a matter of course--but I know nothing."

The inquiry now turned to the relations between General Westbrook and De Sanchez. It appeared that the witness had never met the General, and knew nothing of their mutual affairs. The two had separated amicably, so far as he knew. He had no reason to think otherwise. "When the Señorita Westbrook departed from Mexico, after her visit with her father, the Señor General accompanied his daughter home, and never returned."

So ended the testimony. The audience rapidly dwindled away as the jury filed out to deliberate; while the few who remained separated into groups and fell to discussing the "De Sanchez Mystery,"--now more of a mystery than ever.

For a reason not made known to the witnesses, they, with the exception of General Westbrook and Judge Petty, are requested to remain until the jury report. The request, regardless of the politeness in which it was couched, might have excited some doubt and apprehension among those who obeyed it, if the officers, in managing to keep near them, had been less adroit in doing so. Nobody can conjecture at whom the jury's verdict will point, and they are quite an hour in making up their own minds.

When they finally file back into the room there are very few remaining to hear what the result of their deliberations may be. The foreman slurred over the verdict with such haste that it was all but unintelligible. It ran:

We, the jury, in the matter of the death of Alberto de Sanchez, find that said De Sanchez came to his death by a dagger wound in the throat, at the hand of some person or persons to this jury unknown.

So ended the first act of the drama of the "De Sanchez Mystery." As for Mr. Converse, "Now I can get to work," he confided to himself, as he walked home to his lodgings in Ash Lane.