"Yes," he said, "do you know him?"
I made no answer, but my thoughts went back to the old college days when Winters was a bright-faced, merry boy, and we had been chums and inseparable companions. Since then he had gone from bad to worse till he had become a social outcast, and we had drifted altogether apart, but even thus I could not believe of him this awful charge. There must, I felt, be some mistake somewhere, and I asked, doubtfully, why they thought it was Winters.
"Because," the Inspector replied, "the officer had seen him come out of White's house at night on other occasions and the man in this instance was of about his size and appearance."
I said no more, but thought it looked a little black for poor Winters, whom the police were evidently still hunting.
After I left them I walked slowly uptown, reflecting upon the situation in the light of the Inspector's view of the case.
I was not disposed to altogether condemn police methods, for they were generally successful, if illogical, but I saw that in this case they were pursuing their usual course of first determining who ought to be the criminal and then securing the evidence to convict him; instead of, as seemed to me proper, developing first the evidence and reserving conclusions till it discovered the offender.
I thought the police method unfortunate, to say the least, for with the best intentions the exercise of unprejudiced judgment and the fair use of evidence is made difficult where the case is "worked up" upon a preconceived theory that a particular individual has committed the crime. It is extraordinary how in many such cases evidence is secured, and in good faith, that seems to bear out their theory and many little things that in themselves have no importance, when presented in the light of the theory furnish circumstantial evidence in its support. These same little things are often hard to explain away too, because they had no purpose at the time and have no explanation; for each act of a man deliberately done and with a purpose, there are a hundred that have no conception, no purpose, and hardly consciousness.
Truly I saw a hard time ahead for poor Winters, who, without friends, money, or character, would have little chance against the machinery of the law; and with the warm impulse of youth I was inclined to become my old friend's champion while yet knowing almost nothing of the facts. I had condemned the police for premature judgment of the case and now, influenced by sympathy, I was near doing the same myself, unconscious of the inconsistency of my mental attitude. I would be more deliberate to-day; time has taught me the wisdom of going slow, but I hope it has yet to teach me indifference to the troubles of others.
I had walked some distance thus absorbed in thought when I was suddenly recalled to my surroundings by finding myself on Nineteenth Street opposite White's house—following unconsciously the bent of my thoughts, I had taken that route home. I was about to hurry on, having no desire to linger on the scene, when my attention was attracted to a man leaning dejectedly against the railing of the steps. On a closer look I recognized Winters and with a pang of regret saw that he wore a light coat and derby hat such as described by the night-officer.
After some hesitation, I crossed over and spoke to him. He stared at me for a moment in a half-dazed way, and then recognized me indifferently. He looked wretched; his clothes were soiled and threadbare, his face haggard, and his eyes bloodshot with drink and lack of sleep; he seemed a being utterly hopeless and lost to manhood. Before I could collect myself to speak to him, he had relapsed again into his stupor and had apparently forgotten my presence.