Рекс Стаут - Her Forbidden Knight

“What did I tell you?” said Dougherty to Driscoll sotto voce. “Didn’t I say he was a slick guy?”

Then the prosecuting attorney turned to face the courtroom:

“Miss Williams, please take the stand.”

There was a silence. No one moved. Knowlton kept his eyes fastened on the desk before him. Three of the Erring Knights glanced accusingly at the other two.

Mr. Brant, whose temper had not been improved by the discrediting of Sherman’s testimony, looked directly at Lila, who had remained in her seat, and repeated his question.

“Will you please take the stand?”

Lila rose and faced him.

“Do you mean me?” she asked.

“Yes. I called your name. Take the stand.”

Lila did not move.

“I beg your pardon, but you did not call my name.”

“Aren’t you Miss Williams?” said Mr. Brant testily.

Lila answered clearly:

“No.”

The attorney started with incredulous surprise. Driscoll, Booth, and Jennings looked around at her in amazement, while Dougherty and Dumain smiled in their superior knowledge. Knowlton did not move.

Sherman sprang from his seat and, crossing to the side of Attorney Brant, whispered excitedly:

“That’s her, all right. They’re up to some trick. Call her up. She won’t lie on the stand.”

But Mr. Brant shook him off, and after a moment’s hesitation again spoke to Lila:

“Then what is your name?”

Lila sent a single fleeting glance to the prisoner, who had turned in his chair to face her; then looked directly at the questioner. Her answer was low, but distinct and half triumphant:

“Mrs. John Knowlton.”

Then she sat down and buried her face in her hands; and, as everybody stared at her in consternation, surprise, or wonder, Lawyer Siegel rose to his feet and addressed the listening judge:

“Your honor, this woman is the wife of the accused; and, therefore, may not be called as a witness by the prosecution. Your honor sees that she is in distress. May I ask that counsel be instructed not to question her further in court?”

But Mr. Brant turned on him angrily:

“Your proof! Show us your proof!”

“Of course,” said the other, taking a paper from his portfolio, “I expected you would demand it; I do not expect courtesy from you, sir.” He handed the paper to the judge. “That is the marriage certificate, your honor.”

There was a breathless silence throughout the room while the judge adjusted his eyeglasses and inspected the large, stamped document. He looked at the date and the signatures, and glanced at Attorney Siegel searchingly; then turned to Lila and asked her to step to the witness stand.

“I object, your honor—” began Lawyer Siegel, but the judge stopped him with a gesture.

Lila was in the witness chair. The clerk of the court administered the oath. The judge turned to her.

“Are you the ‘Lila Williams’ mentioned in this certificate?”

Lila barely glanced at it before answering:

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the wife of the accused, John Knowlton?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you wish to testify for the people in this action?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is all,” said the judge; “you may go.”

Then, as Lila glanced at him gratefully and rose to return to her seat, he handed the certificate back to Lawyer Siegel and turned to speak to the prosecuting attorney with judicial calmness:

“Call your next witness, Mr. Brant.”

But the trial had become a farce; a huge joke — on the prosecution. Of his two chief witnesses, one had been discredited and the other disqualified; and Attorney Brant stammered in angry confusion that he had no others.

He recalled Sherman to the stand to give a recital of Lila’s movements, as observed by him, on the evening of Knowlton’s arrest; but Sherman could tell little, and it was easy to perceive by the expression on the faces of the jurors that the little he could tell was not believed.

Mr. Brant also called an expert, who testified that the bills in the wallet in evidence for the prosecution were counterfeit; then the prosecution rested.

The defense rested without calling a witness.

Then came the closing speeches.

Young Mr. Brant stammered and hesitated for a quarter of an hour, and, considering the paucity of his material, made a very creditable effort; but it was thrown completely in the shade by that of Lawyer Siegel, which may be given in full:

“May it please your honor, Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury: Without any desire to be flippant, I can only state that since I am confined to the evidence, and since there has been no evidence worth speaking of, I have nothing to say.”

And five minutes later, without leaving their box, the jury returned a verdict of “Not guilty,” and John Knowlton was a free man.

It was Lila who reached his side first, but the Erring Knights were not far behind; and Knowlton found himself the center of an excited, laughing group of faces filled with goodwill and friendship and — one of them — with love.

In one of his hands he held both of Lila’s, and gave the other to each of the Erring Knights in turn; but his lips were silent. Before all these faces, at that moment, he could not trust himself to speak.

“But I was so frightened,” Lila was saying. “Oh, I was so frightened!”

“Bah!” said Dumain. “At what, madam?”

Lila’s cheek flushed at the title, and Driscoll, observing it, put in mischievously:

“Yes; that really isn’t very complimentary to us, Mrs. Knowlton.”

“Oh!” said Lila helplessly, while the flush deepened.

“And now,” said Dougherty, “where’s that guy, Siegel? I want to ask him to come up to the dinner tonight. I wonder where — What? Look at that!”

He was pointing excitedly across the room. The others turned and saw Billy Sherman being escorted to the door of the courtroom by two police officers in uniform.

“Probably some of his friends,” observed Booth.

“No,” said Driscoll; “it’s more likely that little slip-up in his testimony. I believe they call it perjury.”

At that moment Siegel approached the group.

“Come on,” he called gaily; “they’re going to clear the room. And I guess we’ll be glad enough to go, since we don’t have to leave anyone behind. And, by the way, did you notice our friend, Sherman? He seems to be having a little trouble of his own. They just arrested him.”

“What is it?” asked Booth. “Perjury? They certainly didn’t lose much time.”

“No. It isn’t that. That was merely a lapse of memory. They came from the outside. I didn’t hear what they said, but from the expression on Mr. Sherman’s face I wouldn’t be surprised if it was murder. We caught him prettily, didn’t we?”

They had left the courtroom and were standing at the head of the stairs in the corridor.

“Well, let’s forget him,” said Driscoll. “He was bound to hang himself sooner or later. Maybe he’s done it already. Come on — everybody.”

They moved down the stairs and out to the sidewalk, chattering and laughing, still nervous and ill at ease from the restraint and anxiety of the courtroom.

Lined up along the curb were three big gray limousines.

“Now,” said Dougherty, stopping in front of them, in the tone of a general marshaling his forces, “here’s where we separate.”

He pointed to the first of the limousines. “Dumain, you take this car with Knowlton and take him to your rooms. He’ll find there what he needs.

“Can’t help it, Mrs. Knowlton; it’s only for an hour or two. Driscoll, you are to take Mrs. Knowlton to One Hundred and Fourth Street, and get her trunk and bags. The rest of you come with me. And remember: six o’clock at Dumain’s rooms. No later. Come on, boys!”