“I don’t quite understand,” ventured the puzzled lawyer.
“Neither do I,” said Caleb. “Tell me your story as brief as you can.”
“Your son reached town a little after six o’clock this evening,” answered Wendell. “It seems he went directly to a restaurant in the theatre district of Broadway, a place frequented by men of a certain class and by the women they take there. It was early, but on account of the election night fun to come later many people were already dining. Gerald afterward told me he went there in the hope of catching a glimpse of his former wife. He saw her there. With her was a man she had known before she met your son, a bookmaker named Stange, whom Gerald—or Gerald’s money—had originally won her from, and for whom he always, it appears, retained some jealousy. Gerald walked straight up to the table where they sat, drew a revolver and fired four times point-blank in Stange’s face. Any one of the shots by itself would have been fatal. Then he tossed the revolver to a waiter and spent the time until the police arrived in trying to console this Montmorency woman and to quiet her hysterics. They took him to the Tenderloin station and he got the police to telephone for me. I found him in a state of semi-collapse. A police surgeon was working over him. Heart failure brought on by excitement. His heart was already in a depressed, weakened state, the surgeon said, from an overdose of morphine. The poor boy apparently was in the habit of taking it, for they found a case with a hypodermic syringe and tablets in his pocket. And one of his arms——”
“So that was the ‘third thing’ beside booze and cigarettes?”
It was Caleb’s first interruption. During the recital of his son’s crime he had stood motionless, expressionless. Not until this trivial detail was reached had he spoken. And even now his voice was as emotionless as was his face. The inscrutable Spartan quiet that had so often left his business and political opponents in the dark was now upon him. Wendell saw and wondered. Mistaking the other’s mental attitude for the first daze of horror, he resumed:
“He came around in a few minutes. I did what I could for him. Then I tried to reach you by long-distance telephone. But the wires were down all through this State. I had no better fortune in telegraphing. So I caught the eight-ten train and came straight here. I thought you ought to be told at once, so that——”
“Quite so. Thank you. It was very white. I’m sorry I was so brisk with you awhile ago.”
The lawyer stared. Conover was talking as though a mere financial matter were involved. Still supposing his client suffering from shock that dulled his sensibilities, Wendell continued:
“Morphine and jealousy combining to cause temporary insanity. That must be our line of defence. You agree with me of course?”
“Suit yourself. I’ll stand by whatever you suggest.”