it was some little time before the powers that are could be convinced that tristrem varick was guilty of the self-accused murder. it was not that murders are rare, but a murder such as that was tolerably uncommon. the sergeant who presided over the police-station in which tristrem had delivered himself up was a mild-mannered man, gentle of voice, and sceptical as a rag-picker. he received tristrem's statement without turning a hair.
"what did you do it for?" he asked, and when tristrem declined to enter into any explanation, he smiled with affable incredulity. "i can, if you insist," he said, "accommodate you with a night's lodging." and he was as good as his word; but the cell which tristrem subsequently occupied was not opened for him until the sergeant was convinced that death had really visited the precinct.
concerning the form in which that death had come, there was at first no doubt. weldon had been found stretched lifeless on a sofa. the physician who was then summoned made a cursory examination, and declared that death was due to disease of the heart. had tristrem held his tongue, that verdict, in all probability, would never have been questioned; indeed, it was not until the minuter autopsy which tristrem's statement instigated that the real cause was discovered.
it was then that it began to be admitted that violence had been used, but as to whether that violence was accidental or intentional, and if intentional, whether or not it was premeditated, was a matter which, according to our archaic law, twelve men in a pen could alone decide. the case was further complicated by a question of sanity. granting that some form of manslaughter had been committed, was it the act of one in full possession of his faculties, or was it the act of one bereft of his senses?
generally speaking, public opinion inclined to the latter solution. indeed, there seemed to be but one other in any way tenable, and that was, that the blow was self-inflicted. this theory had many partisans. the records, if not choked, are well filled with the trials of individuals who have confessed to crimes of which they were utterly guiltless. it was discovered that a recent slump in wall street had seriously affected weldon's credit. it was known that his manner of living had compelled his wife to return to her father's house, and it was shown that she had begun an action for divorce. it seemed, therefore, possible that he had taken his own life in tristrem's presence, and that tristrem, in the horror of the spectacle, had become mentally unhinged.
in addition to this, there was against tristrem—aside, of course, from the confession—barely a scintilla of evidence. the very instrument which was found on his person, and with which he declared the murder had been committed, was said not to belong to him. a servant of weldon's thought she had once seen it in the possession of her late master. and it was argued that tristrem had caught it up when it fell from the hand of the dead, and, in the consternation of the moment, had thrust it in his own pocket. moreover, as suicides go, there was in weldon's case a tangible excuse. he was on the edge of bankruptcy, and his matrimonial venture was evidently infelicitous. his life was an apparent failure. many other men have taken their own lives for causes much minor.
the theory of suicide was therefore not untenable, and those who preferred to believe that a murder had been really committed were at a loss for a motive. tristrem and weldon were known to have been on terms of intimacy. tristrem had been absent from the country a number of months, while weldon had steadfastly remained in new york. during the intervening period it was impossible to conjecture the slightest cause of disagreement. and yet, no sooner did the two men have the opportunity of meeting, than one fell dead, and the other gave himself up as his murderer. and if that murder had been really committed, then what was the motive?
this was the point that particularly perplexed the district attorney. it could not have been money. tristrem had never speculated, and his financial relations with weldon were confined to certain loans made to the latter, and long since repaid. nor, through the whole affair, could the sharpest ear detect so much as the rustle of a petticoat. inasmuch, then, as neither of the two great motor forces, woman and gold, was discernible, it is small wonder that the district attorney was perplexed. to that gentleman the case was one of peculiar importance. his term of office had nearly expired, and he ardently desired re-election. two wealthy misdemeanants had recently slipped through his fingers—not through any fault of his own, but they had slipped, none the less—and some rhetoric had been employed to show that there was a law for the poor and a more elastic one for the rich. now tristrem's conviction would be the finest plume he could stick in his hat. the possessor of an historic name, a member of what is known as the best society, an habitué of exclusive clubs—a representative, in fact, of everything that is most hateful to the mob—and yet a murderer. no, such a prize as that must not be allowed to escape. the district attorney felt that, did such a thing occur, he might bid an eternal farewell to greatness and the bench.
but what was the motive of the crime? long before that question, which eventually assumed the proportions of a pyramid, was seriously examined, it had been demonstrated that the wound from which weldon had died was not one that could have been self-inflicted. the theory of suicide was thereupon and at once abandoned. and those who had been most vehement in its favor now asserted that tristrem was insane. what better evidence of insanity could there be than the giving away of seven millions? but apart from that, there were a number of people willing to testify that on shipboard tristrem's demeanor was that of a lunatic—moreover, did he not insist that he was perfectly sane, and where was the lunatic that ever admitted himself to be demented? of course he was insane.
a committee, however, composed of a lawyer, a layman, and a physician, visited tristrem, and announced exactly the contrary. according to their report, he was as sane as the law allows, and, although that honorable committee did not seem to suspect it, it may be that he was even a trifle saner. one of the committee—the layman—started out on his visit with no inconsiderable trepidation. in after-conversation, he said that it had never been his privilege to exchange speech with one gentler and more courteous than that self-accused murderer.
yet still the motive was elusive. in this particular, tristrem hindered everybody to the best of his ability. he was resolutely mute.
the attorney who was retained for the defence—not, however, through any wish of tristrem's—could make nothing of his client. "it is pathetic," he said; "he keeps telling me that he is guilty, that he is sane, that he is infinitely indebted for my kindness and sympathy, but that he does not wish to be defended. sane? he is no more sane than the king of bavaria. who ever heard of an inmate of the tombs that did not want to be defended? isn't that evidence enough?"
it was possible, of course, to impugn the testimony of the committee, but the attorney in this instance deemed it wiser to let it go for what it was worth, while showing that tristrem, if sane at the time of the committee's examination, was insane at the time the crime, if crime there were, was committed. it was his settled conviction that if tristrem would only explain the motive, it would be of such a nature that the chances of acquittal would be in his favor. in this, presumably, he was correct. but, in default of any explanation, he determined that the only adoptable line of defence was the one already formulated; to wit, that in slaying weldon his client was temporarily deranged.
meanwhile he expressed his conviction to the grief-stricken old man by whom he had been retained, and who himself had tried, unavailingly, to learn the cause. whether he divined, or not, what it really was, is a matter of relative unimportance. in any event, he had discovered that on leaving weldon's house tristrem, instead of giving himself up at once, which he would have done had he at the time intended to do so at all, had gone directly to miss raritan.
and one day he, too, went to her. "you can save him," he said.
he might as well have asked alms of a statue. he went again, but the result was the same. and then a third time he went to her, and on his knees, with clasped and trembling hands, in a voice broken and quavering, he besought her to save his grandson from the gallows. "come to court," he pleaded; "if you will only come to court!"
"i will come," the girl at last made answer, "i will come to see him sentenced."
such is the truth about tristrem varick. in metropolitan drawing-rooms it was noticed that since miss raritan's return from europe the quality of her voice had deteriorated. mrs. manhattan said that for her part she did not approve of the french method.
