Page:Scribner's Monthly, Volume 12 (May–October 1876).djvu/521

Rh charged. But as they were here to try Gabriel Conroy only, he could not see the relevancy of the testimony to that fact. He should content himself with the weakness of the accusation. He should not occupy their time, but should call at once to the stand, the prisoner; the man who, the jury would remember, was now, against all legal precedent, actually, if not legally, placed again in peril of his life, in the very building which but a few days before had seen his danger and his escape.

He should call Gabriel Conroy! There was a momentary sensation in the court. Gabriel uplifted his huge frame slowly and walked quietly toward the witness box. His face slightly flushed under the half-critical, half-amused gaze of the spectators, and those by whom he brushed as he made his way through the crowd, noticed that his breathing was hurried. But when he reached the box, his face grew more composed, and his troubled eyes presently concentrated their light fixedly upon Col. Starbottle. Then the clerk mumbled the oath, and he took his seat.

"What is your name?" asked Arthur.

"I reckon ye mean my real name?" queried Gabriel, with a touch of his usual apology.

"Yes, certainly, your real name, sir," replied Arthur, a little impatiently.

Col. Starbottle pricked up his ears, and lifting his eyes met Gabriel's dull concentrated fires full in his own.

Gabriel then raised his eyes indifferently to the ceiling. "My real name—my genooine name is Johnny Dumbledee. J-o-n-n-y, Johnny, D-u-m-b-i-l-d-e, Johnny Dumbledee!"

There was a sudden thrill, and then a stony silence. Arthur and Maxwell rose to their feet at the same moment. "What?" said both those gentlemen sharply, in one breath.

"Johnny Dumbledee," repeated Gabriel slowly, and with infinite deliberation, "Johnny Dumbledee ez my rele name. I hev frequent," he added, turning around in easy confidence to the astonished Judge Boompointer, "I hev frequent allowed I was Gabriel Conroy—the same not bein' the truth. And the woman ez I married—her name was Grace Conroy, and the heap o' lies ez thet God-forsaken old liar over thar—" (he indicated the gallant Col. Starbottle with his finger)—" hez told passes my pile! Thet woman, my wife ez was and ez—waz Grace Conroy. (To the Colonel gravely.) You hear me! And the only imposture, please your Honor and this yer Court, and you gentl'men, was ME!"

CHAPTER L. IN REBUTTAL.

THE utter and complete astonishment created by Gabriel's reply was so generally diffused that the equal participation of Gabriel's own counsel in this surprise was unobserved. Maxwell would have risen again hurriedly, but Arthur laid his hand on his shoulder.

"The man has gone clean mad!—this is suicide," whispered Maxwell excitedly. "We must get him off the stand. You must explain!"

"Hush!" said Arthur quickly. "Not a word! Show any surprise and we're lost!"

In another instant all eyes were fixed upon Arthur, who had remained standing, outwardly calm. There was but one idea dominant in the audience. What revelation would the next question bring? The silence became almost painful as Arthur quietly and self-containedly glanced around the court-room and at the jury, as if coolly measuring the effect of a carefully planned dramatic sensation. Then, when every neck was bent forward and every ear alert, Arthur turned nonchalantly yet gracefully to the bench.

"We have no further questions to ask, your Honor," he said quietly, and sat down.

The effect of this simple, natural, and perfectly consistent action was tremendous! In the various triumphs of Arthur's successful career, he felt that he had never achieved so universal and instantaneous a popularity. Gabriel was forgotten; the man who had worked up this sensation—a sensation whose darkly mysterious bearing upon the case no one could fathom, or even cared to fathom, but a sensation that each man confidently believed held the whole secret of the crime—this man was the hero! Had it been suggested, the jury would have instantly given a verdict for this hero's client without leaving their seats. The betting was two to one on Arthur. I beg to observe that I am writing of men, impulsive, natural, and unfettered in expression and action by any tradition of logic or artificial law—a class of beings much idealized by poets, and occasionally, I believe, exalted by latter-day philosophers.

Judge Boompointer looked at Col. Starbottle. That gentleman, completely stunned and mystified by the conduct of the defense,