A Private Chivalry by Francis Lynde

WHEN the rumour of the tragedy ran through the clubhouse the small card room on the second floor filled quickly with a curious throng. Some made haste to ease the limp body of the slain to the floor, and others examined the pistol and tried to dig the bullet out of the wainscot. A brother craftsman knelt to unlace the victim's shoes, but he desisted at a word from one who had thrust his hand into the dead man's bosom.

"No use doing that now; he's dead," said the objector; and at the announcement William Langford sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands. Whereat the witnesses exchanged significant glances.

"He's only a boy," said one under his breath, and there was a touch of commiseration and rough pity in the comment that ran quickly from one to another of those who heard.

Jarvis, busy with pencil and notebook, was among the earliest comers, writing at top speed and asking questions which no one could answer. But the lack of answers was no bar to a very succinct and complete story of the tragedy which grew under the flying pencil.

As his chief had said of him, Jarvis was a reporter first and everything else afterward, and the diploma of that degree is given to the man who can make the most of the visible facts. This is why every good reporter is more than half a detective; and Jarvis saw and noted some things which escaped the more morbid and less investigative curiosity of the others.

Brant stood aside, seeing and hearing, it is to be presumed, but only with the outward eye and ear, if his face were any index. To those who saw him when the light first leaped into the big chandelier overhead, his face was the face of one dazed; but later the shrewd eyes narrowed and the rapture of those who can isolate themselves and think to the mark in any crisis wrote itself in the square-set jaw and compressed lips and far-seeing gaze. What turmoil of soul these crucial minutes measured none knew and none could know, least of all those whom the balder facts of the horror held spellbound; and so it came about that Brant was ignored until he pushed his way through the throng to bend over the boy. What he said was whispered, and it went no farther than to the ear for which it was intended.

"Brace yourself quickly, and don't let them rattle you," he commanded. "The police will be here in a minute, and you must deny it and stick to it through thick and thin. Do you understand?"

The boy looked up, and blankness was in his face. "Tell them I didn't kill him? " he began vaguely; and Brant had no more than time to nod before two officers pushed through the throng and laid hands on the cowering figure in the chair. The boy started to his feet in a sudden panic of awakening, protesting his innocence with such passionate vehemence that Brant's warning seemed to have been quite unnecessary, and those who looked on wondered at the boy's hardihood.

"My God, I didn't do it -- as God sees me, I didn't! " he cried. "Perhaps I might, if he'd given me a chance, but he didn't; he held a gun on me at first, and then when he laid it on the table I couldn't -- -- "

The sergeant of police shook him silent and gave him his warning. "Least said's the soonest minded for you, me b'y. Ivery wurrud ye say'll be used against ye. Come on wid us."

"But I say I didn't! " quavered the boy. "Ask Mr. Brant, there; he was here, and he knows."

All eyes were turned upon Brant. In the excitement of the moment no one had thought of him as having been a witness to the tragedy. It was known that Harding and young Langford had occupied the card room together, and the earliest comers had supposed, if they thought anything about it, that Brant had merely outrun them in the rush to the scene. Jarvis alone seemed to comprehend the situation, and his pencil flew swiftly in the moment of strained silence following Langford's appeal. Brant faced the battery of eyes without flinching and stepped forward.

"The boy is right," he said quietly. "I do know -- and I am ready to go with you."

It was characteristic of time and place that a low buzz of applause greeted the announcement. "That's Plucky George, every day in the week! " said one who knew him; and at the mention of the name the buzz went around again. But Sergeant McCafferty was not to be so easily turned aside.

"Do I understand that ye surrinder yourself as the murtherer of this man? " he demanded, with a jerk of his thumb toward the limp figure on the floor.

In the hush that followed Jarvis's pencil paused, and the reporter thought it a measure of Brant's fortitude that he could smile.

"I am not required to criminate myself before witnesses," was the reply. "I neither deny nor affirm; but I am ready to go with you and to answer to the charge at the proper time and place."

He held out his wrists for the handcuffs, but the sergeant ignored the gesture and contented himself with searching his prisoner for weapons.

"You come along wid us quietlike, and there won't be no use for the darbies," he said. "Officer Connell, ye'll bring the b'y."

But Brant protested quickly. "What for? " he demanded.