A Master Hand: The Story of a Crime

by Richard Dallas

Nothing more was said, and during the remainder of our journey I was absorbed in the intricacies of the case, and I think Miles was similarly engaged, for he seemed in a deep study. I was glad to think it so, for I wanted to thoroughly engage his interest, as I had determined to make him an ally. I felt that I could not handle the matter alone, for while I was willing and able, as I thought, to reason out all the abstractions involved, I must have expert assistance in the detective work to furnish me the material of facts with which to really accomplish anything.

I had no hesitation in using Miles in this way, for while I realized that its end was to establish, if possible, the innocence of the accused, which was contrary to the usual attitude of a prosecuting officer, I, nevertheless, felt at that time and feel now that it is not the single duty of the prosecution to convict, but also, and even more importantly, its duty to see that each accused have every opportunity to prove his innocence and that there be no conviction if there be reasonable doubt of guilt. Sentiment has no place with the prosecution: charity should be dealt out with a sparing and discriminating hand, but justice should always be guarded, and above and before all, no innocent man should be convicted.

Upon arriving at the Tombs we were promptly admitted, and saw the superintendent, who at my request directed that Winters be brought from his cell to the private office for our interview with him.

While we waited, I confess to a feeling of some doubt and apprehension as to the result of the interview. I was inclined to think the man innocent, I hoped he was so, and the confirmation or disappointment of my hopes depended to a great extent upon his own statement of the case. Could he and would he explain the circumstances of his part in that night's tragedy consistently with his innocence, or would he establish his guilt by some palpable fabrication, or it might even be by a confession! I felt anything was possible.

We were kept waiting only a short while before one of the guards conducted Winters into our presence.

He showed the severe strain of his recent dissipation, and forty-eight hours of confinement: but he was sober and in the full possession of his senses, as his look of intelligent recognition when he saw me proved. His physically exhausted condition I did not altogether regret, for I felt it made it next to impossible for him to manufacture any plausible story in his defence or to successfully evade direct questions. I shook hands with him and introduced Miles in his proper capacity, and then, as he had dropped wearily into a chair, suspended my questions, intending to give him a moment to recover his strength. He anticipated me, however, by asking abruptly if I believed he had killed Arthur.

I made no direct answer, but replied evasively that I had come to see him to hear what he might have to say on the subject in case he felt disposed to talk.

He rested his head in his hands for a few minutes, apparently reflecting, and then said:

"I did not realize my position or understand the evidence against me until I read of it all in the papers." Then raising his head and looking at me, he continued in a despondent tone:

"I did not kill Arthur and I know nothing about his death, but everything those witnesses testified to concerning me was true just the same. I did go to his house that night, and I went there to try and get money from him. I had been drinking as usual and had no money, and I wanted it to drink and gamble with. Arthur had given me money before, when I asked him for it," he continued, "and I knew if I could find him, he would again. So I went to his house and seeing a light in his room, looked in the window to find out whether he was there and alone or not. I saw him asleep on the sofa—or perhaps he was dead then, I do not know." He stopped a moment to recover his breath, and then went on. "I was about to ring the bell when I saw a policeman observing me, and as it was late I thought I had better wait until he was gone and so went away. After awhile I returned again and started to enter the house when I saw something lying on the flagging in the vestibule. I picked it up, and finding it was a fifty-dollar bill, put it in my pocket and hurried back to the saloon where I had left my friend.