CHAPTER XL
THE STORM GATHERS
It was Nesbitt who told Broderick of the murder. Nesbitt, of whom Richardson had said the night before, "he slings a wicked pen."
"My God, Jim, this is awful!" Broderick exclaimed. "You're sure there's no mistake ... I saw the two of them go out arm in arm."
"Mistake! I wish it were," cried Nesbitt angrily. "No, poor Billy Richardson is dead. Cora's in jail.... They say Cora laughed when he went to prison with Scannell.... Scannell and Mulligan!" He spat out the words with a savage distaste.
"Let me show you something, Dave. A reporter from the New York _Express_ was out here gathering data--crime statistics for the year. He showed it to me. Listen to this: Four hundred and eighty-nine murders in California during ten months. Six executions by sheriffs, forty-six hanged by mobs; that makes fifty-two in all."
He tapped the paper with his lean forefinger. "Probably two hundred of these killings were local.... And in the entire history of this city there's been exactly one legal execution. That was in 1852."
Broderick shook his head. "What are you going to do with that stuff?" asked Broderick.
"Publish it in the _Bulletin_," returned Nesbitt decisively. "We're going to stir things up."
They walked along together, Broderick's head bent in thought. Everywhere people were discussing the evening's tragedy. More than once "Judge Lynch's" name was mentioned threateningly.
About the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide. Some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threats against Cora. As Broderick and Nesbitt passed the door, a handsome and richly clad woman emerged. Trickling tears had devastated the cosmetic smoothness of her cheeks. Her eyes looked frantic. But she proceeded calmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage. The driver whipped his horses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some of whom shouted epithets after it.
"That was Belle Cora, who keeps that bawdy house up town," Nesbitt volunteered.
"Yes," said Broderick musingly, "she seemes to take it hard."
"She's mad about the fellow," Nesbitt waved a parting salutation and walked toward the Bulletin office.
Broderick turned homeward, thinking of the two dark figures he had passed on Clay street where the killing had taken place. Perchance if he had stopped as he was minded, the tragedy might have been averted. Nobody seemed to know just how it came about. The thing was most unfortunate politically. King would stir up a hornet's nest of public opinion. Broderick reached his lodgings and at once retired. His sleep was fitful. He dreamed that Alice Windham and Sheriff Scannell were fighting for his soul.
In the morning he met Benito on the plaza and the two encountered Colonel E.D. Baker.
"I hear you're Cora's counsel," said Benito with a touch of disapproval.
Baker looked at the young man over his spectacles. He was a big impressive man whose appearance as well as his words swayed juries. He commanded large fees. It was to Broderick rather than Benito that he made reply.
"That Belle woman--she calls herself Mrs. Cora--came to me last night. By the Lord, she melted my heart. She got down on her knees. How she loves that gambler!... Well, I promised to defend him, confound it." He passed on shaking his head.
"Didn't mention what his fee was," Broderick spoke cynically.
"I'm informed he tried to give it back to her this morning," said Benito. "But she wouldn't take it. Made a scene and held him to his honor." He laughed.
* * * * *
Cora's trial dragged itself into the following January on the slow feet of countless technicalities. Every legal subterfuge was exhausted by the quartet of talented and high-priced attorneys provided by Belle Cora's questionable fortune but unquestioned affection. The trial proved a feast of oratory, a mass of contradictory evidence. Before it began a juror named Jacob Mayer accused L. Sokalasky with offering him a bribe. Sokalasky, brought into court, denied the charge. And there it ended, save that thenceforth the "twelve good men and true" were exiled even from their families by the order of Judge Hagar. None the less it seemed quite evident as a morning paper cynically remarked, that the stable had been locked after the horses were stolen.
On January 17 the Cora jury announced its inability to agree. The trial ended minus a conviction.
* * * * *
Ned McGowan, James P. Casey, Sheriff Scannell and his aid, Billy Mulligan, had frequent conferences in the offices of Casey's _Sunday Times_. Broderick held more or less aloof from his political subordinates these troublous days. But Charley Duane, former chief engineer of the fire department, was their frequent consort. The _Sunday Times_ concentrated its fire chiefly on James King of William. It was his biting, unstudied verbiage that struck "The Federal Brigade" on the raw.
Early in May the _Times_ accused Thomas King, the _Bulletin_ editor's brother, of scheming by illegal means to gain the office that Richardson's death had left vacant.
To this imputation, the _Bulletin_ made a sharp reply. Among other items calculated to enrage his foe appeared the following:
"The fact that Casey has been an inmate of Sing Sing prison in New York is no offense against the laws of this State; nor is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the ballot box, as elected to the Board of Supervisors from a district where it is said he was not even a candidate, any justification why Mr. Bagley should shoot Casey, however richly he may deserve having his neck stretched for such fraud upon the people...."
There was more, but this was all that Casey read. He tore the paper into shreds and stamped upon it, inarticulate with fury. When at last he found his tongue a flood of obscenities flowed. He drew a pistol from his pocket; brandishing the weapon, he reached for the door knob. But Doane, who had brought the paper, caught his arm.
"Don't be a fool. Put that pistol away," he warned. "The public's crazy-mad about the Cora verdict. They won't stand for shooting King."
"Listen," said McGowan, craftily, "go up there and protest like a gentleman. Try to make the ---- insult you in the presence of a witness.... Afterward--we'll see."
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