It was the first day of the trial, and the excitement was intense. The court-house was filled at an early hour to its utmost capacity, whilst the lanes leading to it were completely blocked up with crowds of inquisitive inquirers. The professor left his study, the trader his accounts, and the mechanic dismissed for a while the toil of his avocation.
The judges had arrived; the counsel of both parties were at their respective desks; all were eager to get a full sight-if not this, a passing glance-at the prisoner's face. They were looking for his arrival, and if a close carriage drew near, they believed he was within, until the carriage passing by withered all their hopes, and blasted their fond expectations. Such was the state of feeling when a rumor began to pass round that he, the prisoner, had been privately conveyed into court. Some believed, and some disbelieved; some went away, whilst others remained, not giving up all hope of having their desire gratified.-But why all this?
Pedro Castello, a young man, an Italian by birth, had been indicted, and was soon to be tried, charged with two heinous crimes-murder and robbery. The murdered was an aged person, one of a very quiet and sedate character, whose every movement seemed to be by stealth, and who seemed to care for none but himself, but who took particular interest in what he did care for. This individual had, for quite a number of years, been a resident in the town where the incidents we now propose to relate transpired.
Lorenzo Pedan had the reputation of being wealthy. Whether he was so or not, no one could positively determine; at least, many thought so, and here a farmer, there a mechanic, offered to bet all that he was worth that "Renzo," as he was called, could show his fifty thousand. It was well known that he was once in prosperous business; that then, as the saying is, he moved on "swimmingly." But, two or three years previous to the time we now speak of, he suddenly gave up business, closed his store, hired a small and retired house, and lived in as secluded a state as living in the world and not in a forest would admit of. He was his own master, his own servant, cook and all else. Visitors seldom if ever darkened his door; and, when necessity obliged him to leave his house, it was with the utmost precaution he made fast his door before starting. Proceeding a short distance, he became possessed with the idea that all was not right, and would return to his dwelling closely to scrutinize every part. This and many other characteristics of Pedan induced a belief in the minds of his townsmen that he had by degrees become possessed of an avaricious disposition, and that his miserly views of the "whole duty of man" had induced him to secrete huge boxes of silver, and bags, of gold in crevices of his cellar, vacancies in his chimney, and musty and dusty corners of his garret.
Various were the tricks played upon Lorenzo by the boys of the town. At times they would place logs of wood against his door, and arrange them in such a position that when the door was opened they would inevitably fall in; yet he did not care for this,—we mean he found no fault with this trick, for he usually claimed the fuel for damages occasioned by its coming in too close proximity with his aged self.
Sometimes these "villanous boys," as widow Todd, a notorious disseminator of town scandal, called them, would fasten his door; then, having hid behind some bushes, laugh heartily as they beheld Mr. Pedan exhibit himself at the window, at which place he got out. We will not attempt to relate one half or one quarter of these tricks; we will say nothing of sundry cats, kittens, etc., that were crowded into boxes and marked "Pedro-this side up with infinite care;" nor about certain black, white, and yellow dogs, that were tied to all his door-handles, and made night hideous in the exercise of their vocal powers. We will not weary our readers with such details. Suffice it to say that they were all perpetrated, and that he, the aforesaid Lorenzo Pedan, received the indignities heaped upon him with a degree of patience and fortitude rivalled only by that of the martyrs of the dark ages. He was, in fact, a martyr to his love of gold; and a recompense for all his outward troubles was the satisfaction of knowing that he might be rich some time, if he was prudent.
Lorenzo was undoubtedly rich, yet he derived no enjoyment from his abundance; on the contrary, it caused him much trouble, care, and watchfulness; and not possessing any benevolent feelings, prompting him to spend his gold and silver for his own good or the good of his fellow-men, the poorest man, with all his poverty,—he who only by his daily toil earned his daily bread,—was far more wealthy than he.
He passed on in this way for some time, when, on a certain morning, he not having made his appearance for some days previous, his door was burst open, and the expectations of not a few realized upon finding him murdered. All the furniture and even the wainscotings of the house were thrown about in dread disorder; scarcely an article seemed to be in its right place. The robber or robbers were undoubtedly on the alert for money, and they left no spot untouched where possibly they might find it. They pulled up parts of the floor, tore away the ceiling, and left marks of their visit from cellar to garret.
Immediate efforts were made and measures taken to ferret out the perpetrator of this daring crime. These were, for a considerable length of time, fruitless, and, the excitement that at first arose being somewhat quelled, some thought the search that had been instituted was given, or about to be given, up, when a man by the name of Smith came forward, and stated that, about nine days previous to the discovery, as he was passing the house of the deceased, he heard a faint cry, as of one in distress, and, turning round, noticed a young man running in great haste. He, at the time, thought little of this incident, as he supposed the boys were engaged in some of their tricks. It had entirely passed his recollection, until, hearing of the murder, he instantly recollected the circumstance, and now he did not entertain a doubt that the young man whom he saw was the murderer.
It appeared strange to some that this man had not made all this known before; and that now, at so late a period, he should come forward and with such apparent eagerness make the disclosures. Being asked why he had not come forward before, he promptly replied that he did not wish to suspect any person, for fear he might be mistaken.