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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Know who he is, of course? Dr. John B. Stell, the biggest alienist in the country " Granice, with a start, bent again between the heads in front of him. "That man the fourth from the aisle? You're mistaken. That's not Dr. Stell." McCarren laughed. "Well, I guess I've been in court enough to know Stell when I see him. He testifies in nearly all the big cases where they plead insanity."
The District Attorney's large hand, outstretched on his desk, had an almost imperceptible gesture, and a moment later, as if an answer to the call of an electric bell, a clerk looked in from the outer office. "Sorry, my dear fellow lot of people waiting. Drop in on Stell some morning," Allonby said, shaking hands. McCarren had to own himself beaten: there was absolutely no flaw in the alibi.
"Well we may run Leffler down somewhere; I've seen harder jobs done," said McCarren, cheerfully noting down the name. As they walked back toward Sixth Avenue he added, in a less sanguine tone: "I'd undertake now to put the thing through if you could only put me on the track of that cyanide." Granice's heart sank. Yes there was the weak spot; he had felt it from the first!
Between the acts, McCarren amused him with anecdotes about the audience: he knew every one by sight, and could lift the curtain from every physiognomy. Granice listened indulgently. He had lost all interest in his kind, but he knew that he was himself the real centre of McCarren's attention, and that every word the latter spoke had an indirect bearing on his own problem.
"See that fellow over there the little dried-up man in the third row, pulling his moustache? His memoirs would be worth publishing," McCarren said suddenly in the last entr'acte. Granice, following his glance, recognized the detective from Allonby's office. For a moment he had the thrilling sense that he was being shadowed. "Caesar, if he could talk !" McCarren continued.
McCarren had fastened on the case at once, "like a leech," as he phrased it jumped at it, thrilled to it, and settled down to "draw the last drop of fact from it, and had not let go till he had." No one else had treated Granice in that way even Allonby's detective had not taken a single note.
"Well we may run Leffler down somewhere; I've seen harder jobs done," said McCarren, cheerfully noting down the name. As they walked back toward Sixth Avenue he added, in a less sanguine tone: "I'd undertake now to put the thing through if you could only put me on the track of that cyanide." Granice's heart sank. Yes there was the weak spot; he had felt it from the first!
But he still hoped to convince McCarren that his case was strong enough without it; and he urged the reporter to come back to his rooms and sum up the facts with him again. "Sorry, Mr. Granice, but I'm due at the office now. Besides, it'd be no use till I get some fresh stuff to work on. Suppose I call you up tomorrow or next day?"
If there were moments when he hardly believed his own story, there were others when it seemed impossible that every one should not believe it; and young Peter McCarren, peering, listening, questioning, jotting down notes, inspired him with an exquisite sense of security.
But he still hoped to convince McCarren that his case was strong enough without it; and he urged the reporter to come back to his rooms and sum up the facts with him again. "Sorry, Mr. Granice, but I'm due at the office now. Besides, it'd be no use till I get some fresh stuff to work on. Suppose I call you up tomorrow or next day?"
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