Held to Answer/Chapter 30
Silas Wadham, mine-owner; William Hayes, merchant, and E. H. Wilson, capitalist, subscribed to Hampstead's bond. Each was a big man in his way; each had unbounded faith in the integrity and good sense of the minister. They were not men to be swept off their feet by mere surface currents. They laughed a little and rallied John upon his plight, yet he knew somehow by the bend of the jaw when they dipped their pens in ink and with clamped lips subscribed their signatures, that these men were his unshakably.
One circumstance might have seemed strange. None of them were members of All People's. Yet this was not because there were not men in All People's who would have qualified as unhesitatingly; but because John had a feeling that he was being assailed as a community character rather than as a clerical one.
Within ten minutes the formalities in Judge Brennan's chamber were concluded, Hampstead was free, but as he turned to Searle waiting suavely, backed by the suggestive presence of the two detectives, there came suddenly into his mind the memory that Rollie Burbeck's I. O. U. for eleven hundred dollars was in his safe deposit box in the envelope marked "Wadham Currency." This was a chaos-producing thought. If Searle once got an eye on that card, it would start innumerable trains of suspicion, each of which must center on the young bank cashier. In his present state, that boy was too weak to resist pressure of any sort. He would crumble and go to pieces, And yet, it was not the thought of the exposure and ruin of this spoiled young man that moved Hampstead to another of those acts which only riveted the chains of suspicion more tightly upon himself. It was the vision of the mother who only an hour before had murmured tremulously: "If anything should happen to him, I should not be able to live."
"Searle!" exclaimed the minister passionately. "You must not proceed with this. If you are a man of any heart, you will not persist against my pleadings. I tell you frankly there are secrets in that box which, while they would do you no good, could be used to ruin innocent men—guilty ones, too, perhaps; but the innocent with the guilty."
Hampstead was speaking hoarsely, his voice raised and trembling with an excitement and lack of nerve control he had never exhibited before in public.
The prosecutor's face pictured surprise and even gloating, but his eyes expressed a purpose unshaken.
"Confidences in my possession must be respected," Hampstead went on, arguing vehemently. "The confidences of a patient to his physician, of a penitent to his priest, are respected by the law. Because some of these confidences happen to be in writing, you have no right to violate them."
"And I tell you I have no intention to violate them," Searle returned testily. "My order is a warrant of search for a diamond necklace."
"And I tell you I will not respect the order of the court," blazed the minister. "You shall not examine the box!"
Judge Mortimer was startled; the bondsmen, although surprised by the minister's show of feeling, were sympathetic.
"I do not care whether you consent or not," Searle rejoined sarcastically. "I have the key, and I have the order of court, which the vault custodian must respect. I have done you the courtesy to meet you here so that you might be present when the box was examined. You must be beside yourself to suppose that I can be swayed from my duty, even temporarily, by an appeal like this."
"I think, Doctor, you should have the advice of your attorney on this," suggested Mr. Wilson considerately; and then turning to the Assistant District Attorney, observed sharply: "It seems to me, Searle, that this is rather a high-handed procedure."
But this remark of the practical Mr. Wilson had an instantly calming effect upon the minister.
"No, no," Hampstead exclaimed, turning to his friend; "I do not want an attorney. I do not need an attorney. I should only be misunderstood. It is the thought of what might result to innocent people through an examination of this box that stirs me so deeply."
"All the same, I think we had better have an attorney immediately," declared Wilson. "I can send my car for Bowen and have him here in fifteen minutes."
"An attorney," commented Searle brusquely, "could do nothing except to get an order from a Superior Court judge enjoining the bank from obeying the search warrant of this court. He would be lucky if, at this time of night, he caught a judge and got that under two or three hours. I will be in that box in five minutes. Come along, if you want to."
Searle moved toward the door, followed by the two detectives, his purpose perfectly plain; yet the minister hung back, for the first time so confused by entangling developments that he could not see where to put his foot down next.
"I think, Doctor Hampstead," advised Mr. Wadham kindly, "that since the District Attorney has matters in his own hands, you had better go with him and witness the search. If you do not object, we shall be glad to accompany you. Our presence may prove helpful later."
Because his mind ran forward in an absorbed attempt to forecast and forestall the probable developments from the impending discovery of the clue against Rollie, the minister still paused, until his silence became as conspicuous as his inaction.
"Oh, yes, yes," he exclaimed, suddenly aware of the waiting group about him. "Yes, by all means, go with me. What we must face, we must face," he concluded desperately, with an uneasy inner intimation that he was saying perhaps the wrong thing. Yet with the vision of Mrs. Burbeck's saintly, smiling face before him, Hampstead, usually so calm and self-controlled, had little care what he said or how he said it so long as his mind was busy with some plan to fend off this frightful blow from her.
Mr. Wadham was a man of mature years and fatherly ways. He took the young minister's arm affectionately in his, and urged him forward in the wake of Searle, who had already moved out into the wide hall accompanied by the two plain-clothes men. Hayes and Wilson, still sympathetic, but no longer quite comprehending the undue excitement of the young divine in whose integrity their confidence was so great, fell in behind.
Once before the custodian of the vault, another evidence of the thoughtfulness of Searle appeared. John R. Costello, attorney of the bank, was conveniently on hand to read the warrant of the court and to instruct the custodian of the vault upon whom it was served that it was in proper form and must be obeyed.
Because the number of witnesses was too large to be accommodated in the rooms provided for customers, the inspection of the minister's box was made upon a table in the vault room itself. In the group of onlookers, Hampstead, because of his commanding figure, his remarkable face, and his very natural interest in the proceedings, was the most conspicuous presence. As naturally as all eyes centered on the box, just so they kept breaking away at intervals to scan the face of the big man who stood before them in an attitude of embarrassed helplessness. He was obviously making a considerable effort to control himself. Only Searle was sure that he understood this. But at the same moment, two of the bondsmen, the kind-hearted Wadham and the shrewd, practical Wilson, appeared to observe this attitude and to detect its significance. They exchanged questioning glances, and were further mystified when for a single moment a look of confident reassurance flickered like the play of a sunbeam upon the face of the minister.
That was in his one selfish moment, when he recalled how the search of the box, after all these excessive precautions of the District Attorney's office, could only recoil upon their case like a boomerang; but his countenance shaded again to an expression of anxious helplessness as Searle paused dramatically a moment with his hand upon the box. Then the hand lifted the hinged cover, revealing the contents.
As if from a nervous eagerness to come quickly at the object of his search, the Assistant District Attorney turned the box upside down and emptied its contents on the table; and yet, when this was done, nothing appeared but papers.
Searle attempted to open none of them. Proceeding with deliberate care, as if to vindicate himself in the eyes of the bondsmen from the suspicion of the minister that he might be on a "fishing expedition", he merely took up each piece singly and precisely, felt it over with his long, thin fingers and laid it by, until at length but two envelopes remained. The first of these was long and empty looking and gave evidence that the flap had been rudely, if not hastily, torn open. Searle held it in his hand now.
Hampstead's heart stood still; he knew that this must be the envelope which had contained the Wadham currency, hence between this attorney's thumb and forefinger, screened by one thickness of paper, lay the card that was the clue to Rollie Burbeck's crime. But the moment of suspense passed.
Submitting it to the same inquisitive finger manipulation as the others, yet not looking within it nor turning it over to read what might be written on the face, Searle laid the Wadham envelope on the pile of discards.
"Thank God," gulped Hampstead, yet with utterance so inchoate that Hayes, the third bondsman, standing nearest, did not catch the words, but a few minutes later, discussing the matter with Wilson, said: "I heard the apprehensive rattle in his throat just before Searle came to that last envelope."
But in the meantime, Hampstead was asking himself suspiciously what was this last envelope? He thought he knew by heart every separate document that was in the box, and he could not recall what this might be.
"You must be convinced by now," argued Searle, as if deliberately heightening the suspense, while he turned a straight glance upon the minister, "that I had no object in inspecting the contents of this box except to search for the diamonds."
"And you have not found them!"
This was obviously the remark which should have come in triumphant, challenging tones from the minister. As a matter of fact, it came quietly, and with a sigh of relief, from Silas Wadham.
The minister did not speak at all, did not even raise his eyes to meet the glance of Searle. His gaze was fixed as his mind was fascinated by the mystery of the last lone envelope.
"Not yet," replied Searle significantly to Wadham's interjection, but instead of disappointment there was that quality in his tones which heightens and intensifies expectancy. At the same time he took up the envelope by one end, but, under the weight of something within, the paper bent surprisingly in the middle and the lower end swung pendant and baglike, accompanied by the slightest perceptible metallic sound. Every member of the group of witnesses leaned forward with an involuntary start. Triumph flooded the face of Searle. With his left hand he seized the heavy, bag-like end and raised it while the envelope was turned in his fingers bringing into view the printing in the corner.
"This envelope bears the name and address of the Reverend John Hampstead," he announced in formal tones. "I now open it in your presence."
Nervously the Assistant District Attorney tore off the end of the envelope, squinted within, and exclaimed: "It contains—" His voice halted for an instant while he dramatically tipped the envelope toward the table and a string of fire flowed out and lay quivering before the eyes of all—"the Dounay diamonds!"
The jewels, trembling under the impulse of the movement by which they had been deposited upon the table, sparkled as if with resentful brilliance at having been thus darkly immured, and for an appreciable interval they compelled the attention of all; then every eye was turned upon the accused minister.
But these inquisitorial glances came too late. Amazement, bewilderment, a sense of outrage, and hot indignation, had been reeled across the screen of his features; but that was in the ticking seconds while the gaze of all was on the envelope and then upon the diamonds and their aggressive scintillations. Now the curious eyes rested upon a man who, after a moment in which to think, had visioned himself surrounded and overwhelmed by circumstances that were absolutely damning,—his own conduct of the last few minutes the most damning of all. His face was as white as the paper of the envelope which contained the irrefutable evidence. His eyes revolved uncertainly and then went questioningly from face to face in the circle round him as if for confirmation of the conclusion to which the logic of his own mind forced him irresistibly. In not one was that confirmation wanting.
"But," he protested wildly, and then his glance broke down. "It has come," he murmured hoarsely, covering his face with his hands. "It has come!"
His cross had come!
Some odd, disastrous chain of sequences which he had not yet had time to reason out had fixed this crime on him. By another equally disastrous chain of sequences, he must bear its guilt or be false to his confessor's vow. Especially must he bear it, if he would shield that doting mother who trusted him and loved him.
As if to hold himself together, he clasped his arms before him, and his chin sunk forward on his breast. As if to accustom his mind to the new view from which he must look out upon the world, he closed his eyes. The heaving chest, the tense jaws, the quivering lips, and the mop of hair that fell disheveled round his temples, all combined to make up the convincing picture of a strong man breaking.
Not one of those present, crass or sympathetic, but felt himself the witness to a tragedy in which a man of noble aspirations had been overtaken and hopelessly crushed by an ingrained weakness which had expressed itself in sordid crime.
Even the hard face of Searle softened. With the diamonds gleaming where they lay, he began mechanically to replace the contents of the box. But at the first sound of rustling papers, the minister appeared to rouse again. He had stood all alone. No one had touched him. No one had addressed him. The most indifferent in this circle were stricken dumb by the spectacle of his fall, while his friends were almost as much appalled and dazed as he himself appeared to be.
"I suppose," he said with melancholy interest, at the same time moving round the table to the box, "that I may take it now."
"Certainly, Doctor," replied Searle suavely, yielding his place. Nevertheless, there was a slight expression of surprise upon his face, as upon those of the others, at the minister's sudden revival of concern in what must now be an utterly trifling detail so far as his own future went. Hampstead appeared to perceive this.
"There are sacred responsibilities here," he explained gravely, with a halting utterance that proclaimed the deeps that heaved within him; "which, strange as it may seem to you gentlemen, even at such an hour I would not like to forget."
Taking up a handful of the papers, he ran them through his fingers, his eye pausing for a moment to scan each one of them, and his expression kindling with first one memory and then another, as if he found a mournful satisfaction in recalling past days when many a man and woman had found peace for their souls in making him the sharer in their heart-burdens,—days which every member of that little circle felt instinctively were now gone forever.
Last of all his eye checked itself upon the envelope marked "Wadham Currency." Allowing the other papers to slip back to their place in the box the minister turned his glance into the open side of this remaining envelope. It was empty, save for a card tucked in the corner.
"This thing appears to have served its purpose," he commented absently, as if talking to himself. Then casually he tore the envelope across, and then again and again; finer and finer; yet not so fine as to excite suspicion. Looking for a wastebasket and finding none, he was about to drop the fragments in his coat pocket.
"I will take them," said the vault custodian, holding out his hand. To it the minister unhesitatingly committed the shredded envelope and card which contained the only documentary clue to any other person than himself as the thief of the Dounay diamonds. A few minutes later, this clue was in the wastebasket outside. The next morning it was in the furnace.
The group in the vault room broke away with dispirited slowness, as mourners turn from the freshly heaped earth. Behind all the minister lingered, as if unwilling to leave the presence of his dead reputation.
But the man's appearance somewhat belied his mood. He was thinking swiftly. This was no uncommon plot which had overtaken him. It was conceived in craft and laid with power to kill. The diabolical cunning of the scheme was that it forced him to be silent or to be a traitor. The indications were that he had been betrayed outrageously; but he did not know this positively, therefore he could venture no defense at all against this black array of circumstances. It might be only some terrible mistake, and for him to venture more now than the most general denial might bring about the very calamities he was trying to avert. He dared not even tell the truth: that he did not know the diamonds were in the box. Especially, he dared not say that he did not put them there.
For the first time an emotion like fear entered his soul, but it passed the moment the priestly ardor in him saw which way his duty lay. If Rollie had grossly sold him into the power of the actress at the price of his own escape, he felt more sorry for the poor wretch than before. He was glad that he had destroyed the I. O. U., discovery of which might have incriminated the young man helplessly, and he resolved to continue upon his mission as a saviour, even though he himself were lost. It suddenly occurred to him with doubling force that this was what it meant to be a saviour.
With this conviction firmly in his mind, Hampstead turned to Wilson, Wadham, and Hayes, who had been waiting in considerate silence, and led the way upward to the dimly lighted lobby of the bank, feeling himself grow stronger with every step he mounted; for the maze of complexities in which he found himself had quickly reduced itself to the simple duty of being true to trust. Eternal Loyalty was again to be the price of success.
As his friends gathered about him on the upper floor for a word of conference, they were astonished at the change in his expression. It was calm and even confident; while a kind of spiritual radiance suffused his features.
"My friends," the minister began in an even voice, that nevertheless was full of the echo of deep feeling, "I can offer you no explanation of the scene to which you have just been witnesses. It is almost inevitable that you should think me guilty or criminally culpable. I am neither!" The affirmation was made as if to acquit his conscience, rather than as if to be expected to be believed.
"But," and his utterance became incisive, "there is nothing to that effect which can be said now."
"Something had better be said now," blurted out the practical Wilson flatly, "or this story in the morning papers will damn you as black as tar."
"Not one word," declared the minister with quiet emphasis, "can be spoken now!"
In Hampstead's bearing there was a notable return of that subtle power of man mastery which had been so important an element in his success. Before this even the aggressive, outspoken Wilson was silent; but the three men stood regarding John with an air at once sympathetic and doubtful. They were also expectant, for it was evident from the minister's manner that he was deliberating whether he might not take them at least a little way into his confidence.
"Only this much I can indicate," he volunteered presently. "A part of what has happened I understand very clearly. A part I do not understand at all. In the meantime, some one, but not myself, is in jeopardy. Until the confusion is cleared, or until I can see better what to do than I see now, I can do nothing but rest under the circumstances which you have seen enmesh me to-night. Of course, it is impossible that such a monstrous injustice can long continue. I hold the power to clear myself instantly, but it is a power I cannot use without violating the most sacred obligation a minister can assume. I will not violate it. I must insist that not one single word which I have just hinted to you be given to the public. Silence, absolute and unwavering silence, is the course which is forced upon me and upon every friend who would be true to me, as I shall seek to be true to my duty."
The three friends heard this declaration rather helplessly. In the presence of such a lofty spirit of self-immolation, what were mere men like themselves to say, or do? Obviously nothing, except to look the reverence and wonder which they felt and to bow tacitly to his will. Hampstead knew instinctively and without one word of assurance that these men, at first overwhelmingly convinced of his guilt by what they had seen, and then bewildered by his manner, now believed in him absolutely. It put him at ease with them and gave him assurance to add:
"I know that not one of you is a man to desert a friend in the hour of his extremity, and no matter what happens I believe your faith in me will not falter. You will understand my wish to thank you for what you have done and may do, and to say good-by for to-night. My burning desire now is to get by myself and try to comprehend what has happened and what may yet happen before this miserable business is concluded."
Cordially taking the hand of each, while the men one after another responded with fervent expressions of faith and confidence, the minister turned quickly upon his heel, crossed the street, and leaped lightly upon a passing car.
Silence! Silence! Unwavering silence! The car wheels seemed to beat this injunction up to him with every revolution. Silence for the sake of others, some of whom were supremely worthy, one at least of whom might be wretchedly unworthy! Above all, silence for the sake of his vow as a vicar of Christ on earth. What was it to be a Christian if not to be a miniature Christ,—a poor, stumbling, tottering, stained and far-off pattern of the mighty archetype of human goodness and perfection? According to his strength, he, John Hampstead, was to be permitted to suffer as a saviour of a very small part of mankind and in a very temporary and no doubt in a very inadequate way, the virtue of which should lie in the fact that it pointed beyond himself to the one saviour who was supremely able. He, too, must be "dumb before his shearers", not stubbornly, not guiltily, and not spectacularly, but faithfully and for a worth-while purpose,—the saving of a man.
For a change had come swiftly in the relative importance of the motives which determined his course. With the actual coming of his cross, he had caught a loftier vision. It was not to save the few remaining weeks or months or years of the life of a saintly and beautiful woman that he was to stand silent even to trial, conviction, and disgrace. It was to save the soul of a man, a wretched, vain, ornamental and unutilitarian sort of person, but none the less unusually gifted in many of his faculties, perhaps wanting only an experience like this to precipitate the better elements in his nature into the foundation of such a character as his mother believed him to possess.
This change of emphasis strengthened Hampstead enormously. It gave him calm and resolution, increasing self-control and fortitude, a dignity of bearing that promised at least to remain unbroken, and a sense of the presence of the Presence which it seemed could not depart from him.
When John reached home, he found Rose, Dick, and Tayna waiting anxiously. A sight of his face, with the new strength and dignity upon it, allayed their apprehension, but the solemnity of manner in which he gathered them about him in the study roused their fears again. Briefly he related how the diamonds had been discovered in his safe deposit vault. Sternly but kindly he repressed the hot outburst of Dick; sympathetically he tried to stem the tears of Tayna, but before the pale face and the dry, fixed eyes of Rose he stood a moment, mute and hesitant, then said with tender brotherliness:
"Old girl, in the silence of waiting for my vindication, it is going to be easier for you and the children to trust me than for others. But even for you it will be hard. Others can withdraw from me, can wash their hands of me; and they may do it. You cannot, and would not if you could."
Rose clasped her brother's hand in silent assurance; but Hampstead went on with saddened voice to portray what was to be expected.
"You will all have to bear the shame with me. In fact, my shame will be yours. You, Rose, will be pointed out upon the street as my sister. Tayna, at school to-morrow, may encounter fewer smiles and some eyes that refuse to meet hers. Dick will have some hurts to bear among his fellows, for he has been loyally and perhaps boastfully proud of me. I have only this to ask, that you will each walk with head up and unafraid, with no attempt at apology nor justification, and with no unkind word for those who in act or judgment seem unkind to me."
The feeling that they were to be honored with bearing a part of the burden of the big man whom they loved so deeply stirred the emotions of the little group almost beyond control. Dick moved first, clutching his uncle's hand.
"You bet your life!" he blurted, then turned and bolted from the room. Tayna next flung her arms about her uncle's neck and wet his cheek with scalding tears, then dashed away after Dick. Last of all, Rose stood with her hands upon his shoulders. She was taller for a woman than he for a man, and could look almost level into his eyes.
"My brother!" she said significantly. "My strong, noble, innocent"—and then a gleam of light shot into her eyes as she added—"my triumphant brother!"
"My bravest, truest of sisters!" The big man breathed softly, and drawing the woman to him imprinted that kiss upon the forehead which, seldom bestowed, marked when given his genuine tribute of respect and affection to the woman who, older than himself by ten years, had been the mother to his orphaned youth and had created the obligation which, uncharged, he none the less acknowledged and had striven to repay by a life of conscientious devotion to her and to her children.
The door closed after her "Good night", and John stood alone glancing reflectively about the long, book-lined room. Here many of his greatest experiences had come to him. Here he had caught the far-off kindling visions of that rarely human Galilean, with his rarely human group about him, trudging over the hills, sitting by the side of the sea, teaching, healing, helping. Here he had caught the vision of himself following, afar off, two thousand years behind, but following—teaching, healing, helping—in His name.
The telephone rang, its sharp, metallic jingle shocking the very atmosphere into apprehensive tremors. Yet instantly recalled to himself and to the new height on which he stood, Hampstead lifted the receiver with a firm hand and replied in an even, measured voice: "The Sentinel?—Yes—Yes—No—There is nothing to say—Absolutely!—I do."
The receiver was hung up. The only change in Hampstead's voice from the beginning to the end of this conversation, the larger part of which had taken place upon the other end of the line, was a deepening gravity of utterance. In a few moments the 'phone rang again. It was The Press. The papers all had the story now. The Oakland offices of the San Francisco papers were also clamoring. Each wanted to know what the minister had to say to the damning discovery of the diamonds in his box.
For them all Hampstead had the same answer: "I have nothing to say—yet." Some of the inquisitors cleverly attempted to draw the clergyman out by suggesting that there was plenty of opportunity for a countercharge that the diamonds had been planted in his box, since it was improbable in the last degree that a man of ordinary intelligence would conceal stolen diamonds in a safe deposit box held in his own name, the key to which he carried in his own pocket; but the self-controlled man at the other end of the telephone fell into no such trap. To direct attention to an inquiry as to who had visited his vault, or might have visited it, during the time since the diamonds were stolen was the last thing the minister would do. Already he had reasoned that the vault custodian on duty in the morning, knowing that Hampstead had not been to the vault during the day, but that Assistant Cashier Burbeck had, would do some excogitating upon his own account; but the minister reflected that this would not be dangerous, since the custodian, sharing in the very great confidence which Rollie enjoyed, would conclude that this young man had been made the innocent messenger for depositing the diamonds in the vault, and for the sake of unpleasant consequences which might result to the bank, would no doubt keep his mouth tightly shut.
The last call of all came from Haggard, whose city editor had just told him that the minister declined any sort of an explanation. Haggard was managing editor of The Press and Hampstead's true friend.
"Do you know what this does to your friends?" demanded Haggard passionately. "It makes them as dumb as you are. I know you; you've got something up your sleeve. But this case isn't going to be tried in the courts. It's being tried in the newspapers right now. Once the court of public opinion goes against you, it's hard to get a reversal. And it's going against you from the minute this story gets before the public—our version of it even—for we have got to print the news, you know. We've never had bigger."
Some sort of a protest gurgled from Hampstead's lips.
"Oh," broke out Haggard still more impatiently, "I think the majority have too much sense to believe you're a common thief; but they're going to be convinced you're a damned fool. A public man had better be found guilty of being a thief than an ass, any day. Now, what can I say?"
"I am very sorry," replied Hampstead in a patient voice, "but you can say nothing—absolutely nothing."