Alden spoke first. "You are aware, Mr. Durgan, that Mr. Claxton and his second wife were suddenly killed, that a large body of circumstantial evidence proved that Hermione was alone in the house with them, that by her own arranging she was alone with them—in fact, I must say there was complete circumstantial proof that she had committed the heinous crime. There was even motive, if just anger and love of money are motive enough. Against this stood, I may say, only her personality, for so reticent and modest is she that few know her character. To my mind, it is a great honor to America that the twelve ordinary men who formed the jury could be so impressed by her personality that, while the whole world hooted, they were resolute in a verdict of acquittal."
"It was you—your eloquence that did it."
"So the world said; but I only appealed to their sense of truth, and out of the truth of their hearts they pronounced her 'not guilty.' You are aware, Mr. Durgan, that the world pronounced another verdict."
Durgan would have been glad to be silent. In the rush of his thought he was conscious that he chose the most childish thing to say. "But—but—someone must have done it."
When Alden did not seem to find this remark worthy even of assent he hastened, stumbling, to explain it. "I would be understood to mean that, familiar as you were with them, it is hardly possible that you do not suspect, do not, perhaps, know, who might be guilty. I am not, of course, asking you who—I have not the slightest right to ask—but——"
"Do you suggest that, while the whole nation was roused, and rightly, to demand justice, I screened the sinner? Mr. Durgan, I come of Puritan descent. So strongly do I feel the wickedness of lax justice that if my own son had done it I would have led him to the scaffold."
Durgan believed him. There had flashed out of this little, dainty man so hot a spark from the lightnings of Mount Sinai that the onlooker felt for the moment scorched by the sudden heat.
Also by this time Durgan had perceived that his imputation had really arisen, not from the public reports of the case, or from Alden's epitome, but from his knowledge of Bertha's perplexity, terror, and distress. He was glad that Alden went on without waiting for reply.
"You must surely be aware, Mr. Durgan, that, admitting the daughter's innocence, the case was one of those termed 'mysteries,' and ranks among the most obscure of these. The murder must have been the work of some maniac intruder; my own suspicions have always centered about a boy who certainly came to the house that morning, but was never heard of after, altho large rewards were offered. But that only shifts the unknown a step farther back. Who was this boy who could so vanish? Who sent him, and who concealed him? Indeed, Mr. Durgan, who can have thought on this problem as I have done? And there were many even astute lawyers and commercial men who have confessed to me that they induced insomnia by merely trying to conceive an adequate explanation. Remember that the dual crime and the vanishing of this boy occurred at midday in a fashionable neighborhood, in a household noted for propriety, elegance, and culture. I, who know more than anyone else, know nothing; but this I do say, Mr. Durgan: rather than believe Hermione Claxton guilty, I would believe that the deed was done by an invisible fiend from the nether world; and I am not superstitious."
"I quite agree with you. Anyone who knows Miss Claxton must agree with you. She is innocent of every evil thought."