The Straw Man

by Melville Davisson Post

　　IT WAS A DAY of early June in Virginia. The afternoon sun lay warm onthe courthouse with its great plaster pillars; on the tavern with itstwo-story porch; on the stretches of green fields beyond and the lowwooded hill, rimmed by the far-off mountains like a wall of the world.

　　It was the first day of the circuit court, which all the countryattended. And on this afternoon, two men crossed the one thoroughfarethat lay through the county seat, and went up the wide stone steps intothe courthouse.

　　The two men were in striking contrast. One, short of stature andbeginning to take on the rotundity of age, was dressed with elaboratecare, his great black stock propping up his chin, his linen and thecloth of his coat immaculate. He wore a huge carved ring and a bunch ofseals attached to his watch-fob. The other was a big, broad-shouldered,deep-chested Saxon, with all those marked characteristics of a raceliving out of doors and hardened by wind and sun. His powerful framecarried no ounce of surplus weight. It was the frame of the empirebuilder on the frontier of the empire. The face reminded one ofCromwell, the craggy features in repose seemed molded over iron, but thefine gray eyes had a calm serenity, like remote spaces in the summersky. The man's clothes were plain and somber. And he gave one theimpression of things big and vast.

　　As the two entered between the plaster pillars, a tall old man came outfrom the county clerk's office. But for his face, he might have been oneof a thousand Englishmen in Virginia. There was nothing in the big,spare figure or the cranial lines of the man to mark.

　　But the face seized you. In it was an unfathomable disgust with life,joined, one would say, with a cruel courage. The hard, bony jawprotruded; bitter lines descended along the planes of the face, and theeyes circled by red rims were expressionless and staring, as though, bysome abominable negligence of nature, they were lidless.

　　The two approached, and the one so elaborately dressed spoke to the oldman.

　　"How do you do, Northcote Moore?" he said. "You know Abner?"

　　The old man stopped instantly and stood very still. He moved the stickin his hand a trifle before him. Then he spoke in a high-pitched,irascible voice.

　　"Abner, eh! Well, what the devil is Abner here for?"

　　The little pompous man clenched his fingers in his yellow gloves, buthis voice showed no annoyance.

　　"I asked him to have a look at Eastwood Court."

　　"Damn the justice of the peace of every county," cried the old man, "andyou included, Randolph! You never make an end of anything."

　　He gave no attention to Abner, who remained unembarrassed, regarding theimpolite old man as one regards some strange, new, and particularlyoffensive beast.

　　"Chuck the whole business, Randolph, that's what I say," the irascibleold man continued, "and forget about it. Who the devil cares? A droolingold paralytic is snuffed out. Well, he ought to have gone five andtwenty years ago! He couldn't manage his estate and he kept me out. Iwas like to hang about until I rotted, while the creature played atPatience, propped up against the table and the wall. A nigger, on asearch for shillings, knocks him on the head. Shall I hunt the niggerdown and hang him? Damme! I would rather get him a patent of statelands!"

　　The face of Randolph was a study in expression.

　　"But, sir," he said, "there are some things about this affair that arepeculiar-I may say extraordinarily peculiar."

　　Again the old man stood still. When he spoke his voice was in a lowernote.

　　"And so," he said, "you have nosed out a new clew and got Abner over,and we are to have another inquisition."

　　He reflected, moving his stick idly before him. Then he went on in apetulant, persuasive tone.

　　"Why can't you let sleeping dogs lie? The country is beginning to forgetthis affair, and you set about to stir it up. Shall I always have thething clanking at my heels like a ball and chain?"

　　Then he rang the paved court with the ferrule of his stick. "Damme,man!" he cried. "Has Virginia no mysteries, that you yap forever on oldscents at Eastwood? What does it matter who did this thing? It was apublic service. Virginia needs a few men on her lands with a bit ofcourage. This state is rotten with old timber. In youth, Duncan Moorewas a fool. In age, he was better dead. Let there be an end to this,Randolph."

　　And he turned about and went back into the county clerk's office.

　　Randolph was a justice of the peace in Virginia. He looked a momentafter the departing figure; then he spoke to his companion.

　　"He is here to have the lands of Duncan Moore transferred on theassessor's book to his own name. He takes the estate under the Life andLives statute of Virginia, that the legislature got up to soften therigor of Mr. Jefferson's Statute of Descents. Under it, this estate withits great English manor house was devised by the original ancestor toDuncan Moore for his life, and after him to Northcote Moore for hislife, and at his death to Esdale Moore. It could have run twenty-oneyears farther if the scrivener had known the statute. Mr. Jefferson didnot entirely decapitate the law of entail." He paused and lifted hisfinger with a curious gesture. "It is a queer family-I think the veryqueerest in Virginia. There is something defective about every one ofthem. Duncan Moore, the decedent, had no children. His two brothers diedepileptics. This man, the son of the elder brother, is blind. And theson of the junior, Mr. Esdale Moore, the attorney-at-law--"

　　The Justice of the Peace was interrupted. A little dapper man, sunburnedand bareheaded, dressed like a tailor's print, but with the smart,aggressive air of a well-bred colonial Englishman, pushed through thecrowd and clapped the Justice on the shoulder.

　　"What luck, Randolph?" he cried. "I am sure Abner has run the assassinto cover." And he bobbed his head to Abner like one whose professionpermits a certain familiarity. "Come along to the tavern; 'I wouldlisten to your wondrous tales,' as Homer says it."

　　He led the way, calling out to a member of the bar, hailing anacquaintance, and hurling banter about him in the bluff, hearty fashionwhich he imagined to be the correct manner of a man of the people who isgetting on. He was in the strength and vigor of his race at forty.

　　"Beastly dull, Randolph," he rattled; "nothing exciting since the dawnexcept old Baron-Vitch's endless suit in chancery. But one must sittight, rain or shine. The people must know where to find a lawyer whenthey want him."

　　He swung along with a big military stride.

　　"The life of a lawyer is far from jolly. I should like to cut it,Randolph, if I had a good shooting and a bit of trout water. Alas, I ampoor!" And he made a dramatic gesture.

　　One felt that under this froth the man was calling out the truth. Forall his hearty interest in affairs, the law was merely a sort of game.It was nothing real. He played to win, and he had chosen his professionwith care and after long reflection, as a breeder chooses a colt for theDerby, or as an English family of influence selects a crack regiment forthe heir at Oxford. He cared not one penny what the laws were or thegreat policies of Virginia. But he did care, with an inbred and abidinginterest, about the value of a partridge shooting, or the damming of atrout stream by the grist mills. These things were the realities oflife, and not the actions at law or the suits in chancery.

　　"How does one get a fortune nowadays, Abner?" he called back across hisshoulder, "for I need one like the devil. Marriage or crime, eh? Crimerequires a certain courage, and they say out in the open that lawyersare decadent. With you and Randolph on the lookout, I should be afraidto go in for crime!"

　　He clapped a passing giant on the back, called him Harrison, accused himof having an eye on Congress, and went on across his shoulder to Abner:

　　"Marriage, then? Do you know a convenient orphan with a golden goose?Pleasure and a certain gain would be idyllic! The simplest menunderstand that. Do not the writers in Paris tell us that the Frenchpeasant on his marriage night, while embracing his bride with one arm,extends the other in order to feel the sack that contains her dowry?"

　　They were now on the upper floor of the tavern porch. Mr. Esdale Mooresent a Negro for a dish of tea, after the English fashion.

　　Then he got a table at the end of the porch, somewhat apart, and thethree men sat down.

　　"And now, Randolph," he said, "what did you find in Eastwood?"

　　"I am afraid," replied the Justice of the Peace, "that we found littlenew there. The evidence remains, with trifling additions, what it was;but Abner has arrived at some interesting opinions upon this evidence."

　　"I am sure Abner can clap his hand on the assassin," said the attorney."Come, sir, let me fill your cup, and while I stand on one foot, as St.Augustine used to say, tell me who ejected my uncle, the venerableDuncan Moore, out of life."

　　The. Negro servant had returned with a great silver pot, and a tray ofcups with queer kneeling purple cows on them.

　　Abner held out his cup.

　　"Sir," he said, "one must be very certain, to answer that question." Hisvoice was deep and level, like some balanced element in nature.

　　He waited while the man filled the cup; then he replaced it on thetable.

　　"And, sir," he continued slowly, "I am not yet precisely certain."

　　He slipped a lump of sugar slowly into the cup.

　　"It is the Ruler of Events who knows, sir; we can only conjecture. Wecannot see the truth naked before us as He does; we must grope for itfrom one indication to another until we find it."

　　"But, reason, Abner," interrupted the lawyer, bustling in his chair; "wehave that, and God has nothing better!"

　　"Sir," replied Abner, "I cannot think of God depending on a thing socrude as reason. If one reflects upon it, I think one will immediatelysee that reason is a quality exclusively peculiar to the human mind. Itis a thing that God could never, by any chance, require. Reason is themethod by which those who do not know the truth, step by step, finallydiscover it."

　　He paused and looked out across the table at the far-off mountains.

　　"And so, sir. God knows who in Virginia has a red hand from this work atEastwood Court, without assembling the evidence and laboring todetermine whither these signboards point. But Randolph and I are likechildren with a puzzle. We must get all the pieces first, and then sitdown and laboriously fit them up."

　　He looked down into his cup, his face in repose and reflective.

　　"Ah, sir," he went on, "if one could be certain that one had alwaysevery piece, there would no longer remain such a thing as a humanmystery. Every event dovetails into every other event that precedes andfollows. With the pieces complete, the truth could never elude us. But,alas, sir, human intelligence is feeble and easily deludes itself, andthe relations and ramifications of events are vast and intricate."

　　"Then, sir," said Mr. Esdale Moore, "you do not believe that thecriminal can create a series of false evidences that will be at allpoints consistent with the truth."

　　"No man can do it," replied Abner. "For to do that, one must knoweverything that goes before and everything that follows the event whichone is attempting to falsify. And this omniscience only the intelligenceof God can compass. It is impossible for the human mind to manufacture afalse consistency of events except to a very limited extent."

　　"Then, gentlemen," cried the lawyer, "you can make me no excuse forleaving this affair a mystery."

　　"Yes," replied my uncle, "we could make you an excuse-a valid and soundexcuse: the excuse of incompetency." Mr. Esdale Moore laughed in hisbig, hearty voice.

　　"With your reputation, Abner, and that of Squire Randolph in Virginia, Ishould refuse to receive it."

　　"Alas," continued Abner, "we are no better than other men. A certainexperience, some knowledge of the habits of criminals, and a littleskill in observation are the only advantages we have. If one were bornamong us with, let us say, a double equipment of skull space, nocriminal would ever escape him."

　　"He would laugh at us, Abner," said the Justice. "He would never ceaseto laugh," returned my uncle, "but he would laugh the loudest at thebungling criminal. To him, the most cunning crime would be a botch;fabricated events would be conspicuous patch-work, and he would see theidentity of the criminal agent in a thousand evidences." He hesitated amoment; then he added:

　　"Fortunately for human society, the inconsistency of false evidence isusually so glaring that any one of us is able to see it."

　　"As in Lord William Russell's case," said the Justice, "where the valet,having killed his master in such a manner as to create the aspect ofsuicide, inadvertently carried away the knife with which his victim wassupposed to have cut his own throat."

　　"Precisely," said Abner. "And there is, I think, in every case somethingequally inconsistent, if we only look close enough to find it."

　　He turned to Mr. Esdale Moore.

　　"With a little observation, sir, to ascertain the evidence, and a littlecommon sense to interpret its intent, Randolph and I manage to get on."

　　The lawyer put a leading question.

　　"What glaring inconsistency did you find at Eastwood?" he said.

　　Abner looked at Randolph, as though for permission to go on. The Justicenodded.

　　"Why, this thing, sir," he answered, "that a secretary that was notlocked should be broken open."

　　"But, Abner," said the lawyer, "who, but myself, knew that thissecretary was not locked? It was the custom to lock it, although itcontained nothing but my uncle's playing cards. As I told Randolph, onthe day of my uncle's death I put the key down among the litter ofpapers inside the secretary, after I had opened it, and could not findit again, so I merely closed the lid. But I alone knew this. Everybodyelse would imagine the secretary to be locked as usual."

　　"Not everybody," continued my uncle. "Reflect a moment: to believe thesecretary locked on this night, one must have known that it was lockedon every preceding night. To believe that it was locked on this nightbecause the lid was closed, one must have known that it was alwayslocked on every preceding night when the lid was closed. And further,sir, one must have known this custom so well-one must have been socertain of it-that one knew it was not worth while to attempt to openthe secretary by pulling down the lid on the chance that it might not belocked, and so, broke it open at once.

　　"Now, sir," he went on, "does this not exclude the theory that DuncanMoore was killed by a common burglar who entered the house for thepurpose of committing a robbery? Such a criminal agent could not haveknown this custom. He might have believed the secretary to be locked, orimagined it to be, but he could not have known it conclusively. He couldnot have been so certain that he would fail to lay hold of the lid tomake sure. One must assume the lowest criminal will act with some degreeof intelligence."

　　"By Jove!" cried the attorney, striking the table, "I had a feeling thatmy uncle was not killed by a common thief! I thought the authoritieswere not at the bottom of this thing, and that is why I kept atRandolph, why I urged him to get you out to Eastwood Court."

　　"Sir," replied Abner, "I am obliged to you for the compliment. But yourfeeling was justified, and your persistence in this case will, I think,be rewarded.

　　"Nevertheless, sir, if you will pardon the digression, permit me to saythat your remark interests me profoundly. Whence, I wonder, came thisfeeling that caused you to reject the obvious explanation and to urge afurther and more elaborate inquiry?"

　　"Now, Abner," returned Mr. Esdale Moore, "I cannot answer that question.The thing was a kind of presentiment. I had a sort of feeling, as weexpress it. I cannot say more than that."

　　"I have had occasion," continued Abner, "to examine the theory ofpresentiments, and I find that we are forced to one of two conclusions:Either they are of an origin exterior to the individual, of which wehave no reliable proof, or they are founded upon some knowledge of whichthe correlation in the mind is, for the moment, obscure. That is to say,a feeling, presentiment, or premonition, may be a sort of shadow thrownby an unformed conclusion.

　　"An unconscious or subconscious mental process produces an impression.We take this impression to be from behind the stars, when, in fact, itmerely indicates the rational conclusion at which we would have arrivedif we had made a strong, conscious effort to understand the enigmabefore us."

　　He drank a little tea and put the cup back gently on the table.

　　"Perhaps, sir, if you had gone forward with the mental processes thatproduced your premonition, you would have worked out the solution ofthis mystery. Why, I wonder, did your deductions remain subconscious?"

　　"That is a question in mental science," replied the lawyer.

　　"Is not all science mental?" continued my uncle. "Do not men take theirfacts in a bag to the philosopher that he may put them together? Let usreflect a moment, sir: Are not the primitive emotions-as, for example,fear-in their initial stages always subconscious, or, as we say,instinctive? Thus, a thousand times in the day do not our bodies drawback from danger of which we are wholly unconscious? We do not goforward into these perils, and we pass on with no realization of theirexistence. Can we doubt, sir, that the mind also instinctively perceivesdanger at the end of certain mental processes and does not go forwardupon them?" The lawyer regarded my uncle in a sort of wonder. "Abner,"he said, "you forget my activities in this affair. It is I who have keptat Randolph. What instinctive fear, then, could have mentally restrainedme?"

　　"Why, sir," replied Abner, "the same fear that instinctively restrainedRandolph and myself."

　　Mr. Esdale Moore looked my uncle in the face.

　　"What fear?" he said.

　　"The fear," continued Abner, "of what these deductions lead to."

　　Abner moved his chair a little nearer to the table and went on in alower voice.

　　"Now, sir, if we exclude the untenable hypothesis that this crime wascommitted by an unknown thief, from the motive of robbery, whatexplanation remains? Let us see: This secretary could have been brokenopen only by some one who knew that it was the custom to keep it locked.Who was certain of that custom? Obviously, sir, only those in thehousehold of the aged Duncan Moore."

　　The face of the lawyer showed a profound interest. He leaned over, puthis right elbow on the table, rested his chin in the trough of the thumband finger, and with his other hand, took a box of tobacco cigarettesfrom his pocket and began to break it open. It was one of the eleganciesof that day.

　　Abner went on, "Was it a servant at Eastwood Court?"

　　He paused, and Randolph interrupted.

　　"On the night of this tragedy," said the Justice of the Peace, "all theNegroes in the household attended a servants' ball on a neighboringestate. They went in a body and returned in a body. The aged DuncanMoore was alive when they left the house, and dead when they returned."

　　"But, Randolph," Abner went on, "independent of this chance event,conclusive in itself-which I feel is an accident to which we are hardlyentitled-do not our inferences legitimately indicate a criminal agentother than a servant at Eastwood Court?

　　"Sane men do not commit violent crimes without a motive. There was nomotive to move any servant except that of gain, and there was no gain tobe derived from the death of the aged Duncan Moore, except that to begot from rifling his secretary. But the one who knew so much about thissecretary that he was certain it was locked, would also have knownenough about it to know that it contained nothing of value." Hehesitated and moved the handle of his cup. "Now, sir," he added, "twopersons remain." The lawyer, fingering the box of cigarettes, broke itopen and presented them to my uncle and Randolph. He lighted one, andover the table looked Abner in the face.

　　"You mean Northcote Moore and myself," he said in a firm, even voice."Well, sir, which one was it?" My uncle remained undisturbed.

　　"Sir," he said, "there was at least a pretense of consistency in thework of the one who manufactured the evidences of a burglar. There was awindow open in the north wing at the end of the long, many-corneredpassage that leads through Eastwood Court to the room in the south wingwhere the aged Duncan Moore was killed. Now some one had gone along thatpassage, as you pointed out to Randolph when Eastwood Court was firstinspected, because there were fingerprints on the walls at the turns andangles. These finger-prints were marked in the dust on the walls of thepassage on the east side, but on the west side, beginning heaviest nearDuncan Moore's room, the prints were in blood.

　　"These marks on the wall show that the assassin did, in fact, enter bythis passage and return along it. But he did not enter by the openwindow. The frame of this window was cemented into the casement withdust. This dust was removed only on the inside. Moreover, violence hadbeen used to force it open, and the marks of this violence were allplainly visible on the inside of the frame."

　　He stopped, remained a moment silent, and then continued;

　　"This corridor is the usual and customary way-in fact, the only wayleading from the north wing of Eastwood Court to the south wing. DuncanMoore alone occupied the south wing. And, sir, on this night, NorthcoteMoore and yourself alone occupied the north wing. You were both equallyfamiliar with this passage, since you lived in the house, and used itconstantly." Abner paused and looked at Mr. Esdale Moore. "Shall I goon, sir?" he said.

　　"Pray do," replied the lawyer.

　　Abner continued, in his deep, level voice.

　　"Now, sir, you will realize why Randolph and I felt an instinctive fearof the result of these deductions, and perhaps, sir, why yoursubconscious conclusions went no further than a premonition."

　　"But the law of Virginia," put in the Justice, "is no respecter ofpersons. If the Governor should do a murder, his office would not savehim from the gallows."

　　"It would not," said the lawyer. "Go on, Abner."

　　My uncle moved slightly in his chair.

　　"If the aged Duncan Moore were removed," he continued, "Northcote Moorewould take the manor-house and the lands. For Esdale Moore to take theestate, both the aged Duncan Moore and the present incumbent must beremoved. Only the aged Duncan Moore was removed. Who was planning again, then, by this criminal act? Esdale Moore or Northcote Moore?

　　"Another significant thing: Mr. Esdale Moore knew this secretary wasunlocked on this night; Northcote Moore did not. Who, then, was the morelikely to break it open as evidence of a presumptive robbery?

　　"And, finally, sir, who would grope along this corridor feeling with hishands for the corners and angles of the wall, one who could see, or ablind man?"

　　My uncle stopped and sat back in his chair.

　　The lawyer leaned over and put both arms on the table.

　　"Gentlemen," he said, since he addressed both Randolph and Abner, "youamaze me! You accuse the most prominent man in Virginia."

　　"Before the law," said the Justice, "all men are equal." The lawyerturned toward my uncle, as to one of more consideration.

　　"While you were making your deductions," he said, "I had to insist thatyou go on, for I was myself included. I wag bound to hear you to theend, although you shocked me at every step. But now, I beg you toreflect. Northcote Moore belongs to an ancient and honorable family. Heis old; he is blind. Surely something can be done to save him."

　　"Nothing," replied the Justice firmly.

　　Abner lifted his face, placid, unmoving, like a mask. "Perhaps," hesaid.

　　The two men before him at the table moved with astonishment.

　　"Perhaps!" cried the Justice of the Peace. "This is Virginia!"

　　But it was the lawyer who was the more amazed. He had not moved; he didnot move; but his face, as by some sorcery, became suddenly perplexed.

　　The tavern was now deserted; every one had gone back into thecourthouse. The three men were alone. There was silence except for thenoises of the village and the far-off hum of winged insects in the air.Mr. Esdale Moore sat facing north along the upper porch; Abner opposite;Randolph looking eastward toward the courthouse. My uncle did not go onat once. He reached across the table for one of the tobacco cigarettes.The lawyer mechanically took up the box with his hand nearest to theJustice of the Peace and opened the lid with his thumb and finger. Abnerselected one but did not light it.

　　"Writers on the law," he began, "warn us against the obvious inferencewhen dealing with the intelligent criminal agent, and for this reason:while the criminal of the lowest order seeks only to cover his identity,and the criminal of the second order to indicate another rather thanhimself, the criminal of the first order, sir, will sometimes undertakea subtle finesse-a double intention.

　　"The criminal of the lowest order gives the authorities no one tosuspect. The criminal of the second order sets up a straw man before hisown door, hoping to mislead the authorities. But the criminal of thefirst order sets it before the door of another, expecting theauthorities of the state to knock it down and take the man behind it.

　　"Now, sir,"-my uncle paused-"looked at from this quarter, do not ourobvious deductions lack a certain conclusiveness?

　　"If Northcote Moore were hanged for murder, Esdale Moore would take themanor-house and the landed estate. Therefore, he might wish NorthcoteMoore hanged, just as Northcote Moore might wish Duncan Moore murdered.

　　"And, if one were deliberately placing a straw man, would there be anyinconsistency in breaking open a secretary obviously unlocked? Thestraw, sir, would be only a trifle more conspicuous!

　　"And the third deduction"-his gray eyes narrowed, and he spoke slowly:"If one born blind, and another, were accustomed to go along a passageday after day; in the dark, who would grope, feeling his way in thenight, step by step, along the angles of the wall-the one who could see,or the blind man?"

　　The amazed Justice struck the tables with his clenched hand.

　　"By the gods," he cried, "not the blind man! For to the blind man, thepassage was always dark!"

　　The lawyer had not moved, but his face, in its desperate perplexity,began to sweat. The Justice swung around upon him, but Abner put out hishand.

　　"A moment, Randolph," he said. "The human body is a curious structure.It has two sides, as though two similar mechanisms were joined with acentral trunk-the dexter side, or that which is toward the south whenthe man is facing the rising sun, and the sinister side, or that whichis toward the north. These sides are not coequal. One of them iscontrolling and dominates the man, and when the task before him isdifficult, it is with this more efficient controlling side that heapproaches it.

　　"Thus, one set on murder and desperately anxious to make no sound, tomake no false step, to strike no turn or angle, would instinctivelyfollow the side of the wall that he could feel along with hiscontrolling hand. This passage runs north and south. The bloodyfinger-prints are all on the west side of the wall, the prints in thedust on the east side; therefore, the assassin followed the east side ofthe wall when he set out on his deadly errand, and the west side when hereturned with the blood on him.

　　"That is to say," and his voice lifted into a stronger note, "he alwaysfollowed the left side of the wall.

　　"Why, sir?" And he got on his feet, his voice ringing, his fingerpointing at the sweating, cornered man. "Because his controlling sidewas on the left-because he was left handed!

　　"And you, sir-I have been watching you--"

　　The pent-up energies of Mr. Esdale Moore seemed to burst asunder.

　　"It's a lie!" he cried.

　　And he lunged at Abner across the table, with his clenched left hand.