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Most of the confession was completed by the time we arrived, but as it had all been carefully taken down we knew we had missed nothing. "You see, Mr. Carton," Rubano was saying as we three entered and he turned from the assistant who was quizzing him, "it's like this. I can't tell you all about the System. No one can. You understand that. All any of us know is the men next to us above and below.
Carton nodded and sent his stenographer to get a new one. "Just a minute, please," cut in Kennedy. "Mr. Carton will be here in a few moments, now." Carton took the telephone and placed his hand over it, until, with a nod from Kennedy as he affixed the machine, he answered. "Yes this is the District Attorney," we heard him answer. "What? Rubano? Why you can't talk to him. He's a convicted man.
Dopey Jack is the leader of a gang of gunmen over there and is Murtha's first lieutenant whenever there is a tough political battle of the organization either at the primaries or on Election Day." "Has a record, I suppose?" prompted Kennedy. "Would have if it wasn't for the influence of Murtha," rejoined Carton. I had heard, in knocking about the city, of Dopey Jack Rubano.
Outside, I knew that it was being well noised abroad, in fact I had nodded to an old friend on the Star who had whispered to me that the editor had already called him up and offered to give Rubano any sum for a series of articles for the Sunday supplement on life in the underworld. I knew, then, that the organization had heard of it, by this time too late.
Even before that, Rubano, the District Attorney having looked into all the facts surrounding this charge had come to the conclusion that the evidence was sufficiently strong to convict you. You were convicted in his mind. In my mind, of course, there could be no prejudgment.
The spectators fairly held their breath as the prisoner now stood before the tribune of justice. "Jack Rubano," he began impressively, "you have been convicted by twelve of your peers so the law looks on them, although the fact is that any honest man is immeasurably your superior.
But not the League. We don't want you for District Attorney, Carton. You know it. But here's a practical proposition. All you have to do is just to let this Rubano case take its natural course. That's all I ask." He dwelt on the word "natural" as if it were in itself convincing.
Carton had been engaged in a struggle with the System so long that he knew just how to get action, the magistrates he could depend on, the various pitfalls that surrounded the snaring of one high in gangland, the judges who would fix bail that was prohibitively high. As he had anticipated and prepared for, every wire was pulled to secure the release of Rubano.
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