The Nine of Hearts

I

What struck me particularly in your cable message was that portion of it in which you made reference to a Mr. James Rutland. It happens, singularly enough, that this Mr. James Rutland was on the jury, and that he was the one juryman who held out in Mr. Layton's favor, and through whose unconquerable determination not to bring him in guilty has arisen the necessity for a new trial. Eleven of the jury were for a conviction, one only for an acquittal-this one, Mr. Rutland.

The first thing to ascertain was his address, which you could not give me. However, we have engines at our hand whereby such small matters are easily arrived at, and on the evening of the day after the arrival of your cable message I was put in possession of the fact that Mr. Rutland lives in Wimpole Street. I drove there immediately, and sent up my card.

"I have called upon you, Mr. Rutland," I said, "with respect to Mr. Edward Layton's case, in the hope that you may be able to give me some information by which he may be benefited."

Mr. Rutland is a gentleman of about sixty years of age. He has a benevolent face, and I judged him, and I think judged him correctly, to be a man of a kindly nature. Looking upon him, there was no indication in his appearance of a dogged disposition, and I lost sight for a moment of the invincible tenacity with which he had adhered to his opinion when he was engaged upon the trial with his fellow-jurymen. However, his conduct during this interview brought it to my mind.

"It is a thousand pities," he said, in response to my opening words, "that Mr. Layton refused to accept professional assistance and advice. I was not the only one upon the jury who failed to understand his reason for so doing."

"It is indeed," I observed, "inexplicable, and I am in hopes that you may be able to throw some light upon it. I have come to you for assistance."

"I can give you no information," was his reply; "I cannot assist you."

"May I speak to you in confidence?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "although I have nothing to tell. To any but a gentleman of position I should refuse to enter into conversation upon this lamentable affair; and, indeed, it will be useless for us to converse upon it. As I have already said, I have nothing to tell you."

This iteration of having nothing to say and nothing to tell was to me suspicions, not so much from the words in which the determination was conveyed as from the tone in which they were spoken. It was flurried, anxious, uneasy; a plain indication that Mr. James Rutland could say something if he chose.

"Speaking in confidence," I said, taking no outward notice of his evident reluctance to assist me, "I think I am right in my conjecture that you believe in Mr. Layton's innocence."

"I decline to say anything upon the matter," was his rejoinder to this remark.

"We live in an age of publicity," I observed, without irritation; "it is difficult to keep even one's private affairs to one's self. What used to be hidden from public gaze and knowledge is now exposed and freely discussed by strangers. You are doubtless aware that it is known that there were eleven of the jury who pronounced Mr. Layton guilty, and only one who pronounced him innocent."

"I was not," he said, "and am not aware that it is known."

"It is nevertheless a fact," I said, "and it is also known that you, Mr. Rutland, are the juryman who held out in Mr. Layton's favor."

"These matters should not be revealed," he muttered.

"Perhaps not," I said, "but we must go with the age in which we live. Mr. Layton's case has excited the greatest interest. The singular methods he adopted during so momentous a crisis in his life, and the unusual termination of the judicial inquiry, have intensified that interest, and I have not the slightest doubt that there will be a great deal said and written upon the subject."

"Which should not be said and written," muttered Mr. Rutland.

"Neither have I the slightest doubt," I continued, "that your name will be freely used, and your motives for not waiving your opinion when eleven men were against you freely discussed. We are speaking here, if you will allow me to say so, as friends of the unfortunate man, and I have no hesitation in declaring to you that I myself believe in his innocence."

He interrupted me.

"Then, if you had been on the jury, you would not have yielded to the opinions of eleven, or of eleven hundred men?"

He spoke eagerly, and I saw that it would be a satisfaction to him to obtain support in his view of the case.

"I am not so sure," I said "our private opinion of a man when he is placed before his country charged with a crime has nothing whatever to do with the evidence brought against him. Let us suppose, for instance, that you have been at some time or other, under more fortunate circumstances, acquainted with Mr. Layton."

"Who asserts that?" he cried, much disturbed.

"No person that I am aware of," I replied. "I am merely putting a case, and I will prove to you presently that I have a reason for doing so. Say, I repeat, that under more fortunate circumstances you were acquainted with Mr. Layton, and that you had grown to esteem him. What has that purely personal view to do with your functions as a juryman?"

"Mr. Bainbridge," he said, "I do not wish to be discourteous, but I cannot continue this conversation."

"Nay," I urged, "a gentleman's life and honor are at stake, and I am endeavoring to befriend him. I am not the only one who is interested in him. There are others, thousands of miles away across the seas, who are desirous and anxious to make a sacrifice, if by that sacrifice they can clear the honor of a friend. See, Mr. Rutland, I will place implicit confidence in you. Last night I received a cable from America, from Mr. Archibald Laing."

"Mr. Archibald Laing!" he cried, taken by surprise. "Why, he and Mr. Layton were-"

But he suddenly stopped, as though fearful of committing himself.

"Were once friends," I said, finishing the sentence for him, and, I was certain, finishing it aright. "Yes, I should certainly say so. Read the cable I received." And I handed it to him.

At first he seemed as if he were disinclined, but he could not master his curiosity, and after a slight hesitation he read the message but he handed it back to me without remark.

"Mr. Archibald Laing," I said, "as I dare say you have heard or read, is one of fortune's favorites. He left this country three or four years ago, and settled in America-where, I believe, he has taken out letters of naturalization-and plunged into speculation which has made him a millionaire. No further evidence than his cable message is needed to prove that he is a man of vast means. Why does he ask me to apply to you for information concerning Mr. Layton which I may probably turn to that unhappy gentleman's advantage?"

"I was but slightly acquainted with Mr. Laing," said Mr. Rutland. "He and I were never friends. I repeat once more that I have nothing to tell you."

I recognized then that I was in the presence of a man who, whether rightly or wrongly, was not to be moved from any decision at which he had arrived, and I understood thoroughly the impossible task set before eleven jurymen to win him over to their convictions.

"Can I urge nothing," I said, "to induce you to speak freely to me

"Nothing," he replied.

I spent quite another quarter of an hour endeavoring to prevail upon him, but in the result I left his house no wiser than I had entered it, except that I was convinced he knew something which he was doggedly concealing from me. I did not think it was anything of very great importance, but it might at least be a clew that I could work upon, and I was both discouraged and annoyed by his determined attitude.

On the following morning, having paved the way to further access to Mr. Edward Layton, I visited the unhappy man in his prison. He was unaffectedly glad to see me, and he took the opportunity of expressing his cordial thanks for the friendliness I had evinced towards him. I felt it necessary to be on my guard with him, and I did not, thus early, make any endeavor to prevail upon him to accept me as his counsel in the new trial which awaited him. There were one or two points upon which I wished to assure myself, and I approached them gradually and cautiously.

"Are you aware," I said, "of the extent of the disagreement among the jury?"

"Well," he replied, "we hear something even within these stone walls. I am told that eleven were against me and one for me."

"Yes," I said, "that is so."

"A bad lookout for me when I am tried again. Mr. Bainbridge," he said, "it is very kind of you to visit me here, and I think you do so with friendly intent."

"Indeed," I said, "it is with friendly intent."

"Is it of any use," he then said, "for me to declare to you that I am innocent of the horrible charge brought against me?"

"I don't know," I said, "whether it is of any use or not, because of the stand you have taken, and seem determined to take."

"Yes," he said, "upon my next trial I shall defend myself, as I did on my last. I will accept no legal assistance whatever. Still, as a matter of interest and curiosity-looking upon myself as if I were somebody else-tell me frankly your own opinion."

"Frankly and honestly," I replied, "I believe you to be an innocent man."

"Thank you," he said, and I saw the tears rising in his eyes.

"Do you happen," I said, presently, "to know the name of the juryman who was in your favor?"

"No," he replied, "I am quite ignorant of the names of the jurymen."

"But they were called over before the trial commenced."

"Yes, that is the usual course, I believe, but I did not hear their names. Indeed, I paid no heed to them. Of what interest would they have been to me? Twelve strangers were twelve strangers; one was no different from the other."

"They were all strangers to you?" I asked, assuming a purposed carelessness of tone.

"Yes, every one of them."

"And you to them?"

"I suppose so. How could it have been otherwise?"

"But when they finally came back into court, and the foreman of the jury stated that they could not agree, you seemed surprised."

"Were you watching me?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Do you not think it natural," I said, in reply, "that every person's eyes at that moment should be turned upon you?"

"Of course," he said, recovering himself-"quite natural. I should have done the same myself had I been in a better place than the dock. Well, I was surprised; I fully anticipated a verdict of guilty."

"And," I continued, "although you may not remember it, you leaned forward and gazed at the jury with an appearance of eagerness."

"I remember that I did so," he said; "it was an impulsive movement on my part."

"Did you recognize any among them whose face was familiar to you?"

"No; to tell you the truth, I could not distinguish their faces, I am so short-sighted."

"But you had your glasses hanging round your neck. Why did you not use them?"

It amazed me to hear him laugh at this question. It was a gentle, kindly laugh, but none the less was I astonished at it.

"You lawyers are so sharp," he said, "that there is scarcely hiding anything from you. Be careful what questions you ask me, or I shall be compelled" – and here his voice grew sad-"to beg of you not to come again."

I held myself well within control, although his admonition startled me, for I had it in my mind to ask him something concerning the surprise he had evinced when the Nine of Hearts was produced from the pocket of his ulster; and I had it also in my mind to ask him whether he was acquainted, either directly or indirectly, with Mr. James Rutland. His caution made me cautious; his wariness made me wary; I seemed to be pitted against him in a friendly contest in which I was engaged in his interests and he was engaged against them.

"I will be careful," I said; "you must not close your door against me, although it is, unhappily, a prison door. I am here truly as a sympathizing friend. Look upon me in that light, and not in the light of a professional man."

"You comfort me," he said. "Although I may appear to you careless and indifferent, you know well enough it is impossible that I can be so; you know that I must be tearing my heart out in the terrible position in which I have been forced by ruthless circumstance. Make no mistake I am myself greatly to blame for what has occurred. It has been folioed upon me by my sense of honor and right and truth. Why, life once spread itself before me with a prospect so glad, so beautiful, that it almost awed me! But, after all, if a man bears within him the assurance that he is doing what he is in honor bound to do, surely that should be something! There-you see what you have forced from me. Yes, I did look eagerly forward when I heard that the jury could not agree. At least there was one man there who believed me to be innocent, and without the slightest knowledge of him I blessed him for the belief."

He gazed round with the air of a man who was fearful that every movement he made was watched and observed by enemies, and then he said, in a low tone,

"I need a friend."

I replied, instantly, following the tone that he had used, "I am here; I will be your friend."

"It is a simple service I require," he said; "I have a letter about me which I wish to be posted. What it contains concerns no one whom you know. It is my affair and mine only, and rather than make it another man's I would be burned at the stake, though we don't live in such barbarous times;" and then he added, with a sigh, "But they are barbarous enough."

"I will post the letter for you," I said. He looked me in the face, a long, searching, wistful look, and as he gazed, I saw in his eyes a nobility of spirit which drew me as close to him in sympathy and admiration as I had sever been drawn in my life to any man.

"Dare I trust you?" he said, still preserving his low tone. "But if not you, whom can I trust?"

"You may trust me," I said; "I will post the letter for you faithfully."

"Not close to the prison," he said. "Not in this district. Put it into a pillar-box at some distance from this spot."

"I will do as you desire."

"Honestly and honorably?" he said.

"Honestly," I responded, "and honorably, as between man and man."

"You are a good fellow," he said, "I will trust you. I can never hope to repay yon, but one day, perhaps, you may live to be glad that you did me even this slight service." And he slipped the letter into my hand, which I as secretly slipped into my pocket. Then I said,

"May I come to see you again?"

"Do. You have lightened the day for me-and many a day in addition to this!"

Soon afterwards I left him. I was honorably careful in the carrying out of his directions. I did not take the letter from my pocket until I was quite three miles from the prison, and then I put it into a pillar-box but before I deposited it there, I looked at the address. Layton had not extracted a promise from me that I should not do so, and I will not say, therefore, whether, if he had, I should have violated it. I was engaged, against his will and wish, in his vital interests, and I might have broken such a promise however that may be, my surprise was overwhelming when I saw that his letter was addressed to "Miss Mabel Rutland, 32 Lavender Terrace, South Kensington."

Rutland! Why, that was the name of the one juryman who had held out upon Layton's trial, and from whom I had vainly endeavored to obtain some useful information! Of all the cases I have been engaged in, this promised to be not only the most momentous, but the most pregnant and interesting. Rutland! Rutland! Had it been a common name, such as Smith or Jones, I might not have been so stirred. It was no chance coincidence. I was on the track, and with all the powers of my intellect I determined to carry it to a successful issue.

Cable message from Mr. Bainbridge, London, to Mr. Archibald Laing, U. S.

"Who is Miss Mabel Rutland, and is there any relationship between her and Mr. James Rutland? Also, in what relation does she stand to Edward Layton? Can you give me any information respecting the Nine of Hearts?"

Cable message from Mr. Archibald Laing, U S., to Mr. Bainbridge, London.

"Miss Mabel Rutland is the niece of Mr. James Rutland. She and Mr. Edward Layton were once engaged to be married. The breaking off of the engagement caused great surprise, as they were deeply in love with each other. I do not understand your reference to the Nine of Hearts."

Cable message from Mr. Bainbridge to Mr. Archibald Laing.

"The Nine of Hearts I refer to is a playing-card. I have reasons for asking."

Cable message from Mr. Archibald Laing to Mr. Bainbridge.

"I know nothing whatever concerning the Nine of Hearts."

II

The information you give me in your cable that Miss Mabel Rutland and Edward Layton were once engaged to be married is of the utmost interest to me. You will doubtless in your letters explain more fully what you know, but I do not wait for letters from you. Time is too precious for me to lose an hour, a moment. I feel confident, before you enlighten me upon this point, that I shall ferret out something of importance which may lead to the end we both desire. I may confess to you at once that the case has taken complete hold of me, and that, without any prospect of monetary compensation, I should devote myself to it. That Edward Layton is bent upon sacrificing himself in some person's interests seems to me to be certain. It would take something in the shape of a miracle to convince me that he is guilty of the crime of which he is charged. I have elected myself his champion, and if it be in the power of man to bring him out of his desperate strait with honor, I resolve, with all the earnestness of my heart and with all the strength of my intellect, to accomplish it. The intelligence that Mr. James Rutland is uncle to the young lady to whom Edward Layton was engaged may be of use to me. I do not yet despair of obtaining useful information from him.

My inquiry respecting the Nine of Hearts was not idly made. This particular playing-card, which was found in the pocket of Layton's ulster, and of which he had no knowledge, is, I am convinced, an important feature in the case.

I have already enlisted the services of three or four agents, and as I intend to spare no expense, it may be that I shall call upon your bankers for a further sum of money, which I feel assured you will not begrudge.

Certain events are working in my favor. Of those that do not immediately bear upon the matter I shall make no mention, but those that do shall find a record here.

For some portion of the day after my interview with Edward Layton in prison, I was, apart from my practical work, engaged upon the consideration of the question whether I should call upon Miss Mabel Rutland, at 32 Lavender Terrace, South Kensington. I went there in a cab, and reconnoitred the house outside, but I did not venture to enter it. It is one of a terrace of fourteen mansions, built in the Elizabethan style. No person could afford to reside there who was not in a position to spend a couple of thousand a year. The natural conclusion, therefore, is that Miss Rutland's people are wealthy.

That in the absence of some distinct guide or clew or information I should have been compelled to present myself at the address, for the purpose of seeking an interview with the young lady to whom Edward Layton's letter was addressed, was certain; but chance or destiny came here to my assistance.

Dr. Daincourt called upon me at between ten and eleven o'clock in the night.

"I make no apology for this late visit," he said; "I have something of importance to communicate.

"When you spoke to me last night about the jury, you gave me the list of names to look over. I glanced at them casually, and gathered nothing from them, until Mr. Laing's cable message arrived from America. That incident, of course, impressed upon my mind the name of Mr. James Rutland. It was strange to me; I was not acquainted with any person hearing it. But it is most singular that this afternoon I was unexpectedly called into consultation upon a serious case-a young lady, Miss Mabel Rutland, who has been for some time in a bad state. The diagnosis presents features sufficiently familiar to a specialist, and also sufficiently perplexing. Her nerves are shattered; she is suffering mentally, and there is decided danger."

"Miss Mabel Rutland," I said, mechanically, "living at 32 Lavender Terrace, South Kensington."

"You know her?" exclaimed Dr. Daincourt, in astonishment.

"I have never seen her," I said, "but I know where she lives."

"Is she related," inquired Dr. Daincourt, "to the one juryman who held out upon Edward Layton's trial?"

"There is no need for secrets between us," I replied; "but it will be as well to keep certain matters to ourselves."

"Certainly. I will not speak of them to any one. It is agreed that what passes between us is in confidence."

"Miss Mabel Rutland is niece to the Mr. James Rutland who was on the jury."

"That is strange," exclaimed Dr. Daincourt.

"Very strange," I said; "but I shall be surprised if, before we come to the end of this affair, we do not meet with even stranger circumstances than that. Proceed, I beg, with what you have to tell me concerning Miss Rutland."

"Well," said Dr. Daincourt, "her parents are in great distress about her. I saw and examined her, and I am much puzzled. There is nothing radically wrong with her. There is no confirmed disease; her lungs are sufficiently strong; she is not in a consumption, and yet it may be that she will die. It is not her body that is suffering, it is her mind. Of course I was very particular in making the fullest inquiries, and indeed she interested me. Although her features are wasted, she is very beautiful, and there rests upon her face an expression of suffering exaltation and self-sacrifice which deeply impressed me. In saying that this expression rests upon her face, I am speaking with exactness. It is not transient; it does not come and go. It is always there, and to my experienced eyes it appears to denote some strong trouble which has oppressed her for a considerable time, and under the pressure of which she has at length broken down. I could readily believe what her parents told me, that there were times when she was delirious for many hours."

"Has she been long ill?" I inquired.

"She has been confined to her bed," replied Dr. Daincourt, "since the 26th of March."