Greater Love Hath No Man/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI
COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENCE
FOUR days had passed.
The scene with Mrs. Merton, though a contretemps to the intention in visiting the house, had, to the district attorney's mind, at least, accomplished the object sought in a more positive manner than he had perhaps hoped for. Varge was guilty.
To Marston it seemed less positive, and he still wavered.
Berley Falls, ignorant of what had transpired, held doggedly to its first impressions and watched the formal, routine progress of the law—the finding of the coroner's inquest against Varge; the finding, the next morning, by the grand jury, then in session, of a "true bill"; Varge's arraignment in the afternoon before Judge Crosswaite—with the confident expectation that at the actual trial it would be vindicated in its belief.
To Varge, as a sort of compensation for the ordeal to which he had been so unwittingly subjected, bringing a measure of relief, had been the attitude then adopted by the district attorney. Believing him guilty, Lee would make quick and summary work of the case without further sifting and probing of details. But in this, at the arraignment following the grand jury's indictment, he had been met with a new turn that had not only dissipated entirely the relief thus experienced, but had brought him a fresh anxiety.
Judge Crosswaite had, as Varge had known he would do, refused to accept a plea of guilty; but, then, instead of proceeding at once with the trial, he had, despite Varge's persistent refusal to be represented by counsel, appointed a lawyer for the defence and adjourned the trial for three days to give the appointee an opportunity to prepare his case. This action in itself was sufficiently disturbing, but increasing Varge's concern was the fact that Judge Crosswaite's choice of counsel should have fallen where it did—on John Randall.
Randall was young, but little older than Varge, and between the two there had always been a strong, mutual liking—and keen, bright, clever, what Randall lacked in experience to make him the equal of Lee, the district attorney, he made up in youth and unbounded enthusiasm in his belief in the innocence of the man who was now both his friend and client. And it was this enthusiasm that had troubled Varge.
Nor had Varge's fears been without reason. For the first two days Randall had haunted him in the jail, alternately cajoling, threatening, pleading in an effort to make him talk. "I am guilty, John. I did it. There is nothing more to say," Varge had told him invariably each time—but it had been useless. Again and again, Randall had returned to the attack. At last, however, on the third day, Varge's refusal either to talk or discuss the case appeared, finally, to have had a discouraging effect on the young lawyer, to the extent that, apparently giving it up as hopeless, Randall had left Varge entirely to himself. To Varge, this had been as a weight lifted from his shoulders, for he had lived in hourly dread that the well-meant persistency might, in some unexpected, unanticipated way, result in supplying a line of defence to the other that would shatter the structure he himself had so carefully reared.
And so the four days had passed; and now, on the morning of the trial itself, Varge rose soberly confident and prepared. He dressed quietly and ate the breakfast that was brought him. There was still some time before he would be taken into court, and he sat down on the edge of the cot to go over his story in his mind for the last time, as a final rehearsal, detail by detail. The sun streaming in through the grated bars caught a glint of gold in the brown of his hair, seemed to caress the massive, splendid head exultantly, and play softly on the clean-cut, thoughtful face, as he leaned a little forward, his chin cupped in one hand. For perhaps five minutes he sat there without motion, buried in thought, and then, as a key grated in the lock, he turned his head in calm inquiry.
The door opened and closed—Randall stood in the cell.
"I thought you had given it up, John," said Varge quietly.
"You'd deserve it if I had," responded Randall tartly. "You've tried hard enough to go to the devil in your own way. Well, what do you say this morning?"
Varge shook his head.
"There is nothing to say, John," he answered, with a serious, patient smile. "I am guilty, and I am ready to answer for it."
Randall, short, broad-shouldered, leaned against the door for a moment, and his cheery face clouded as he fixed his clear, penetrating blue eyes, a troubled look in them now, on Varge; then he stepped suddenly across the cell and laid both hands impulsively on Varge's shoulders.
"Varge, for God's sake, open up on this," he pleaded, with a catch in his voice. "What have you done this for?—who are you doing it for? You're as innocent of this crime as I am!"
Varge's two hands clasped over Randall's, still on his shoulders, and tightened in a friendly pressure.
"John," he said steadily, "I have only the same answer for you as before. Don't force it from me again. You are wrong—I am guilty."
Randall pulled away his hands and drew back—and abruptly his manner changed. He shook his finger in Varge's face.
"You lie!" he cried passionately. "You lie; and you know it! And what's more, I know it. If you think I'm going to stand by and see an innocent man go to his death for some one else, you're mistaken. Do you hear, Varge? I thought from the first you were innocent—but I know it, know it now, and I'll prove it upstairs in that courtroom this morning in spite of you. I wasn't idle yesterday, even if—"
"What do you mean?"—quick as the winking of an eye Varge had risen from the cot and his hand had closed on Randall's left shoulder—and Randall, seeming literally to crumple up on his left side, went down to his knee. "What do you mean?" repeated Varge, but more slowly now, and his hand dropped to his side.
Randall rose, white-faced, and felt his shoulder with his right hand.
"My God, Varge," he muttered, with a shiver, "you're strong"
Varge sat down on the cot again, smiling, as quiet as though he had never risen from it.
"I'm sorry, John," he said; "but you have no one but yourself to blame. You tried to trick me, didn't you? You tried to startle me into what you would call giving myself away—well, I don't like that sort of thing, and I don't think you will try it again."
"I did not," said Randall. "I meant what I said. You can lay me out again if you like, but I'm going to repeat it. I meant what I said. I know you're innocent—and I can prove it." His voice dropped to a pleading tone once more. "Varge, what's the use? I tell you, I know. You might as well drop the mask with me."
"And again," said Varge, "whatever you may think or believe, you are wrong."
"You stick to that, do you," demanded Randall, with sudden impatience. "Even to me?"
"Even to you," said Varge. "What the proof you imagine you have to the contrary is, I do not know, but—"
"Ah!" interrupted Randall quickly. "Confidences should be mutual. All I ask is yours, and—"
"You have my confidence," said Varge. "I am guilty. Your position is not very strong, John, I am afraid. Why do you make conditions? If you had any such proof there could be no reason for hiding it from me."
Randall, from pacing up and down the cell, stopped in front of Varge.
"There's a very good reason," he said bluntly. "I am afraid of you. And as long as you persist in trying to run your neck into a noose, I am afraid of you. That's honest, isn't it? I am afraid that if I gave you the chance to let that head of yours work, you'd beat me even now. Now then, Varge, for the last time, won't you let us go into this shoulder to shoulder? Won't you open up?"
"I have nothing to open up," said Varge monotonously.
"That is final?"
"That is final," answered Varge.
Randall moved slowly to the door and rattled for Handerlie, who had let him in. Then he turned and looked at Varge.
"There's a verse in the Bible, Varge, I've been thinking about a good deal these last few days," he said, in a low, husky voice. "You know it—it begins like this, 'Greater love hath no man …'"
Varge's chin was cupped again in his hand, his eyes were on the stone floor and he did not look up.
Handerlie's step sounded along the corridor. Then Randall spoke again.
"You're a big man, Varge—according to that verse, there aren't any bigger. And so—well so, thank God, I can save you."