The Cadaver of Gideon Wyck (29 page)

Alling came up to my cell, and began to reassure me that I would be released at once—remarks which I took for what they seemed to be worth. He had been speaking for a few minutes only when the country prosecutor also arrived from Phillipston. I was brought back into the courtroom to answer his questions.

(For a while, now, I shall quote the record made by the court stenographer, which such extra descriptions as seem necessary to show what really occurred.)

The county prosecutor said, “Mr. Saunders, do you know the identity of the person whose fingerprints appear on this lantern slide?”

I examined it, and said, “No.”

“They are not your own?” he asked.

“Sheriff Palmer will affirm that they are not.”

The sheriff said, “They ain’t—they’re not his.”

“Who else might have handled these slides, except yourself, Mr. Saunders?”

“So far as I know, there was no one else who handled them, from the time I originally prepared them, except—” I paused, and looked at Alling. Somewhat to my surprise, he gave his head a distinct affirmative nod, as if he were expecting me to name him. Something however, urged me to take a flyer, and I said, “—except that they may have been examined by another doctor especially interested in arteriosclerosis, such as Dr. Kent.”

Alling started violently, and the sheriff leaped around and stared at me. My inquisitor also looked distinctly surprised, but he went on firmly. “You have then no knowledge that they actually were handled by another person?”

“No actual knowledge,” I said, “except by me and, of course, Dr. Alling himself.”

“Dr. Alling,” the prosecutor said, “merely as a formality, will you formally deny that these are your fingerprints?”

“I decline to deny that,” Alling replied.

“Do you mean to say that these fingerprints are yours?”

“I don’t know, sir. You have given me no opportunity to compare them with my own.”

“Oh, I see. Well, as this is a preliminary hearing, would you mind waiving the formality of being charged with a felony? As a matter of routine I must arraign you on that charge in order to obtain your prints for comparison, unless you are willing to give them voluntarily.”

“I am willing,” said Alling. I noticed that he was living up to the letter of his own prescription to answer the precise question in the simplest possible way.

Meanwhile, I saw the sheriff staring surreptitiously into his notebook, which contained the record of his search for the elusive fingerprint. “Wal, I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed. “I’d ’a’ sworn I copied this here list right out o’ that official register of the faculty, in the yearbook, but your name ain’t on it a-tall.”

Alling smiled slightly. “I noticed that I was the only person connected with the school or hospital whose name did not appear in your book, when you showed it to me last February, Sheriff,” he said. “Your error grew out of the fact that you listed students, members of the hospital staff, and members of the faculty. My own position is listed under none of these categories.”

I saw in a flash how this could have happened. The administrative staff was listed on the first page of the yearbook, in large ornamental type. All of its other members except Alling were included in one of the other lists, as the treasurer of the school was also comptroller of the hospital, and so on. The sheriff had turned to the solid alphabetical listing of faculty members, and had copied it off, never thinking that the name of anyone connected with the school would be omitted. The sheriff stood scratching his head, then turned to me and made an awkward bow. “I’m downright sorry, Mr. Saunders, fer callin’ you dumb. Even if that name warn’t on my list, I might ’a’ somehow remembered that there was a man named Alling in town, and eligible. Once I’d started crossin’ ’em off, I never thought about anythin’ but the names that warn’t crossed off yet. Wal, let’s take ’em now, and see what they look like.”

He produced his materials, and Alling submitted gravely to the process. As Sheriff Palme rolled the suspect’s fingers on the card, I saw his eyes begin to pop out.

“Hey,” he yelled, “you’re under arrest!” and excitedly he poked under the nose of the prosecutor the new record of Alling’s fingerprints for comparison with those on the bulb. Then, regaining his dignity, Sheriff Palmer drew himself up and announced, “Manfred Alling, I John Palme, Sheriff of Alton County, charge you with the murder of Gideon Wyck.”

“Wait, wait, Mr. Palmer,” the prosecutor interposed. “Dr. Alling, from the first I have considered the matter of the fingerprints of minor importance. Perhaps you will be good enough to explain how they came to be on the bulb.”

“Will you please be more specific in your question?” Prexy inquired.

“Very well. We will call this bulb exhibit A, and the slide exhibit B. Do your fingerprints appear on both exhibits?”

“They do.”

“Do you know when they were impressed upon the surface of exhibit A?”

“I do.”

“When was it?”

“About seven o’clock in the morning of April 4, 1932.”

All our jaws sagged, but the prosecutor’s dropped wonderfully. He made no objection, this time, when the sheriff placed Dr. Alling formally under arrest. After a long, impressive silence, the prosecutor said, “Please, tell us, Dr. Alling, the circumstances leading up to the placing of your fingerprints on exhibit a.”

“I protest that the question is too general,” Dr. Alling replied.

“Very well, Sheriff, swear the accused.”

Dr. Alling was sworn in, and at once was asked the blunt question, “Did you, Manfred Alling, with a sharp instrument pierce the skin of the neck and sever the spinal cord of Gideon Wyck, deceased?”

“I did not,” said Dr. Alling.

“Did you in any way aid, abet, procure, or conceal the death of Gideon Wyck?”

“I did not aid, abet or procure it. I did conceal it.”

“In what manner did you conceal the death of Gideon Wyck?”

“By embalming his body and placing it in the vault of the Maine State College of Surgery.”

“Why did you do this?”

“The answer to that question can best be given if illustrated by the display of certain documents and other exhibits. Until I am permitted to introduce these materials I stand upon my constitutional privilege.”

It was consequently ruled that Dr. Alling be held without bail for the murder of Gideon Wyck, and that I be held, also without bail, as an accomplice after the fact. And here I am, trying to make some sense out of all this. As yet, Alling has not been brought to the adjacent cell, and it is a least an hour since the hearing was concluded. I wonder what they’ve done with him—

3:20 P.M.
5th May, 1933

The sheriff has just come in with the pleasant news that somebody got to my place ahead of him, turned it upside down, and left. Biddy told him, however, that Daisy had gone up around noontime, saying that I had asked her to get some things for me. The sheriff wanted to know what I had told her to get, and why. Daisy’s clever enough to have hidden my diaries where the about just what her game is before doing anything about it, so I simply refused to answer his questions at all. He now thinks I communicated with Daisy somehow. Perhaps it’s just as well to have him think so, and keep an eye on her.

8:00 P.M. (same day)
5th May, 1933

I seem to have saved myself some embarrassment by refusing to say anything at all about Daisy to the sheriff, because he has decided to hold me incommunicado. He says Daisy came around to see me, a little after seven o’clock. She spent her noon hour looting my rooms, and now she comes around to call. Judge Cole asked me this morning if I wanted to hire an attorney or to have one appointed, but I decided it would be best to refuse to have anything to do with one. The attitude heightens my presumption of innocence. And, anyway, I can’t decide just how much I’d want to tell a lawyer, if I had one.

The sheriff says they’ve taken Alling down to Phillipston. I wouldn’t want to be in the cell next to the guy, and evidently they were afraid that we would have a chance to plot together. The sheriff also asked me if I knew anybody named Theodore Gideon, alias Watson. I said I wouldn’t tell him if I did. That probably means that either Alling or Daisy has spilled the beans about his being in these parts, recently.

I’ve been doing my best to puzzle out Alling’s game. The sheriff said that the complete hearing will be held by the coroner and the county prosecutor, jointly, as soon as some stuff arrives from Portland that Alling impounded with his lawyers down there, under bond. It seems funny that the law would allow a lawyer to receive clues and evidence from a criminal, and let him seal them up and say nothing about them, even when it’s practically certain that they have something to do with a notorious mystery. All of which seems to back up Mr. Dicken’s succinct statement that the law is an ass.

I’m beginning to see Alling’s grand strategy. He has blandly confessed to the embalming job, but had denied that he committed the act of murder. Probably he is going to claim that he was at the Connells’ when the knife thrust was delivered in Wyck’s spine, and that I came in shortly afterward, direct from having inflicted the wound. Well, if Daisy’s got my diary, it won’t help things any. I didn’t bother to explain all that blundering around in the woods. They’ll just take the hiatus to mean that that was the time when I sneaked up on Wyck and killed him. Ho hum, I’m going to turn in on my nice hard little wall cot.

Saturday Evening
6th May, 1933

Nothing much happened all day, today, until about six o’clock, when who should turn up but Ted Gideon, handcuffed. I haven’t yet had any explanation of how they got him, and he hasn’t been inclined to talk. Our cells are separated by nothing but a row of good stout bars, with a mesh of thick wire. Several times I’ve caught a glimpse of the sheriff trying to overhear anything Ted and I might be saying. I honestly don’t believe the bird recognizes me from Adam. I asked him what he was in for, and he just grunted and said he didn’t know. He must remember the chicanery up on the hill, but he might have no realization that he killed Muriel. When he came to from that fit, it would be perfectly possible for him to think that someone had done it before he came to the room.

The sheriff says the inquest will be held Monday morning. They’ve even subpoenaed Senator Tolland, he says, to testify to Alling’s whereabouts for the period they were together after the faculty meeting. They aren’t taking any chances about the grand jury refusing to indict, this time.

I suppose what I have most to fear is that Alling will show evidence which appears to prove that I murdered Muriel. Ted may feel himself utterly innocent of the act of murder itself, in her case. If so, he’d make a good witness against me. They’ll have no trouble proving that I was there at the time, and Ted no doubt would swear that he entered Muriel’s room and found her dead just after I had left. Nice prospect. Of course, I can prove he’s an epileptic. But the rub comes in the likelihood that Alling will merely use the Nurse Finch murder to increase the presumption of my guilt with regard to the other one—the murder of Wyck. Oh, hell. This isn’t getting me anywhere.

Saturday Evening,
7th May, 1933

Nothing new. Daisy tried to get a letter to me, but the sheriff opened it and read it in full view, finishing up with the remark that that kind of thing would be very acceptable indeed to the prosecuting attorney. Daisy may of course have taken this nice means of making some information known to the authorities which she would rather not give them direct, some trumped-up information that’s part of the plot to frame me. One thing I hadn’t though about till today is the possibility that the narrative I mailed may be a help to me. Having been sent before this crisis developed, its story would be more likely to be credited than anything I could say now. Well, tomorrow’s the day of days.

(My story ends with events that occurred on Monday, the 8th of May, 1933. It was not until I had a chance to examine the report of the hearing that the full picture of what had happened became apparent. I was not permitted to hear the testimony of other witnesses; so my own session before the prosecutor and the coroner was the only part of the official proceedings at which I was present. In consequence, I am abandoning the policy of making direct quotations from my diary, and shall merely use it for reference, telling what happened as direct as possible, with occasionally quotations from the stenographer’s report which now is public property.)

A little before nine o’clock on Monday morning, Sheriff Palmer appeared with Ted Gideon handcuffed between deputies, and I was escorted by the sheriff, without bracelets. The magistrate’s court was obviously too small for the hearing. We were conducted up the street to the medical school. Quite a crowd had collected. I saw Daisy in a group of friends. She slipped deftly out to whisper in my ear, “Try not to say anything at all about the monsters. I’ve got your diaries hidden. Dr. Alling says to stick to his advice about testimony. I’ll—” At this point the sheriff noticed her, and yanked me out of hearing distance.

I was taken to a small classroom, where Biddy, Charlie, and Marjorie Wyck also were seated. Dick Prendergast and his uncle the senator passed the door, then paused. A state cop barred the way with his arm, as Dick tried to come in.

“Oh, well,” he called, “I just wanted to say that uncle and I will get you out on a habeas writ.”

The cop objected to the conversation, so Dick went on.

Charlie was the first witness called. Again he refused to give his alibi, but admitted that he had told it to the grant jurors. He was ordered held as a material witness. My turn came next; and, like Charlie’s, my answers were about the same as before, in reference to the sealing of the vault and the discovery of the body. But that was not to be all. When the coroner was done, the county prosecutor snapped out:

“Give us a careful and detailed account of your whereabouts, Mr. Saunders, from 9:30 P.M., April 3, 1932, until noon of the following day.”

Of course I had realized that the question would be asked, this time; but, up to the very moment of hearing it, I had been undecided as to my answer. That, doubtless, is the reason why I took the plunge without hesitation. Here is what the record shows that I said: