# Woman Without Love?/Chapter 27

Chapter XXVII
During the intervening weeks before the trial, life went on much as ever in the Fifth Avenue house. The relationship between Dorothy and Mary was not even slightly strained, nor did Dorothy ever refer to the unpleasant matter.
Mary admired her tact. Secretly she grieved that she must so soon depart from such a lovely home. It would be so pleasant to grow old gracefully here. That is unless Timothy objected. He was the real master of the house. No dog could bark without his express permission.
Finally the morning of the trial arrived. The period of waitng had been trying for Mary but now it was over. For her everything was ended.
Judge Jarrot was the presiding justice and by agreement of counsel a jury had been dispensed with. Judge Jarrot was to render a verdict solely on the merits of the case. At the request of Clive Reardon the court was cleared of everyone except those intimately connected with the case. Not a newspaper man was in evidence. In any event Reardon was powerful enough to keep the case from the press even if it did leak out.
The opening court formalities were of no particular moment. Then the first witness for the estate was called. She was Terese, Madame's maid. She came to the stand reluctantly and was placed under oath.
Clive Reardon asked: "How long have you been employed by the defendant?"
"About twenty years," replied Terese.
"Where were most of these years spent?"
"In a Midwestern city, Need I state the exact name of it?"
"Not unless the court wishes it."
Judge Jarrot interjected: "The court is in no way concerned if the counsellor thinks the matter of no importance."
​"Will you state to the court the type of house which the defendant kept in that city?"
"It was a four-story brownstone house. It was detached and had a garden surrounding it."
"Why did Madame need such a large house?"
"It was a house of love."
"You mean a house where men were entertained by women for a stipulated price?"
"Yes."
"And the defendant was known under what name?"
"Madame Leota."
"Was that the name you always called her?"
"It was."
"You have every cause to believe the defendant is actually Madame Leota?"
"I have."
"That is all."
Phil Gould said: "No cross-examination."
The next witness was a surprise. He was Blackie Gray. He seemed slightly ill at ease. He was faultlessly attired and attempted unsuccessfully to swagger as he walked up to the witness box.
He was placed under oath, gave his name and residence.
"You know the defendant?" asked Clive Reardon.
"I do."
"What is her name?"
"Madame Leota."
"How do you know?"
"I spent many a night at her joy palace."
"You knew the witness who preceded you on the stand?"
"Yes. She was Madame's maid."
"You were acquainted with her?"
"Not intimately."
"But you knew her?"
"I did."
"And she resided with Madame Leota at the aforementioned establishment?"
"For many years."
​"Did you ever hear the defendant referred to as Mary Blaine?"
"Never."
"Do you think she is Mary Blaine?"
"Of course not. She is Madame Leota. She is known everywhere throughout the Midwest."
"That is all."
"No questions," drawled Phil Gould.
Clive Reardon called Madame Leota to the stand.
She came simpering, smiling, brazen. She was dressed more loudly than usual and her rouge was heavier if that yvere possible. She was placed under oath.
Then Clive Reardon asked: "What is your name?"
"Mary Blaine," was the reply.
"Were you ever known as Madame Leota?"
"I was."
"Why did you change your name?"
"For professional reasons. I believed Louella Leota was a name that would be more attractive to men."
"Where were you born?"
Madame hesitated for a moment. Then she hazarded: "Springfield, Illinois."
"How long did you live in Springfield?"
"About twelve years."
"You still remember that town?"
"Perfectly."
"I understand that Mary Blaine was born in Galvey, Illinois. Templeton Blaine told me so on several occasions. Would you like to change your testimony as to where you were born?"
Madame seemed confused. "Yes I would," she said.
"Then may I ask again where this important birth took place?"
"At Galvey, Illinois."
"You wouldn't like to change your mind again?"
"No, I think not."
"Most babies are pretty definite about their place of birth. Now you are sure you were born in Galvey?"
"Positive."
"May I ask about how far Galvey is from Chicago?"
​"I was never good at judging distances."
"Did you ever go to Chicago from Galvey?"
"Several times."
"How long did it take you to make the journey."
"About two hours."
"If I told you that Galvey was fully two hundred miles from Chicago, would you still believe you had made the journey in two hours?"
"I may have been mistaken."
"As a matter of fact Galvey is really five hundred miles from Chicago, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Then you traveled five hundred miles in two hours?"
"I said I may have been mistaken."
"As a matter of fact you don't even know where Galvey is, do you?"
"Of course I do. Wasn't I born there?"
"Perhaps it is Springfield you remember so well."
"It must be Galvey I remember."
"It's nice to know you remember something."
Clive Reardon paused for a moment, then he asked: "How long did you know Templeton Blaine?"
"Five years."
"You mean you only knew your brother five years? Was it because he was born in Galvey and you were born in Springfield that you were so distant?"
"I didn't understand the question. I meant to say I knew my brother all his life."
"Do you remember him as a small boy?"
"Perfectly!"
"Do you remember him when he was six years old?"
"I certainly do. He was a cute kid and bright."
"Will you please tell the court how old you are?"
"I am sixty."
"According to the records Templeton Blaine was about seventy when he died. He was six years old four years before you were born, yet you remember he was a cute kid. Permit me to compliment you on a most exceptional memory. It is ​too bad, though, that you forgot you were born in Galvey and imagined it was Springfield, no doubt due to the similarity of names.
"That is all." Clive Reardon turned to the Judge. "Your Honor, I rest my case."
Phil Gould rose to his feet. "Your Honor, I will try to summon my witnesses and end this case as quickly as possible. I ask the indulgence of the court if I appear to be too abrupt. With the consent of the court I wish to summon Blackie Gray back to the stand."
Blackie returned to the box.
"I meant to ask you whether you ever threatened to extort money from the defendant?" said Gould softly.
Blackie swallowed once or twice. "I tried to borrow some," he reluctantly admitted.
"And you failed because Madame would not pay blackmail. Is that not correct?"
"No, it is untrue."
"Reflect that you are under oath and liable to be prosecuted for perjury. Now would you like to change your answer?"
"No, I never blackmailed anybody."
"Did Madame like you?"
"She hated me."
"Did you like her?"
"I should say not."
"So that it can truthfully be said you were enemies?"
"And how!"
"That is not an answer."
"At least it is impressive," smiled the Judge.
"It is, quite. Is it not rather odd that you went to an enemy to borrow money?"
"No, she was rich."
"I see, and you imagined it would be quite easy to get money from a rich enemy if you were persuasive enough."
"Yes, as a loan."
"Of course. We concede it was a loan."
Phil Gould scratched his chin. "That's all," he said.
"No questions," said Clive Reardon.
​Madame Leota sat glaring at her lawyer. The man was an idiot. That wasn't the sort of question she wanted asked. But now a new witness was in the box. And Madame was horrified to see that he was Ivan Alter.
"You know the defendant?" asked Gould.
"I certainly do."
"Will you tell the court who she is?"
"May I do so in my own way?"
"You may," said Judge Jarrot.
Ivan looked at the ceiling, then he started slowly on one of the most extraordinary stories ever heard in that court room. Nor was there any attempt to stop him when he grew voluble, and the matters of which he spoke might have been considered extraneous.
"This woman," he said, "was born on a farm in Galvey, Illinois. When she was fourteen she eloped with a traveling man whom she adored. He remained with her several nights, then he ruthlessly sold her to a white slaver. From that moment on Mary Blaine ceased to exist and Madame Louella Leota came into being. She decided that she would make men pay for her degradation. She was of a strange, passionate nature. Men could not turn from her. Coldly, methodically, she set out to exploit men. She was in a business not of her own choosing but it must pay her big dividends. I am not going to tell you all the trials and heartaches this girl endured. She went through fire, though somehow her soul could not be destroyed. There was a period when for several years she lived in common law with a man on a farm near Fort Wayne, Indiana. She worked like a drudge, stood the solitude as long as she was able. Then she fled. On the farm she was known as Mary Blaine. Thus her life has been lived as two distinct women, Mary Blaine and Louella Leota. But there is still a third woman, a woman whom she might have been had she not been snatched as a child from all that was decent, and sold into slavery. This woman was good. She had something divine about her. An artist long since dead, Steve Garland, caught a glimpse of her first. I was the second who caught a glimpse of this good woman and as I beheld her I almost thought that I had caught a glimpse of ​Heaven. I know Madame Leota. I know Mary Blaine. They are one and the same woman. I also know this third woman, the glorious woman she should have been and has become in spite of everything. It is my absolute belief that the defendant is attempting to sacrifice herself because she imagines Dorothy Blaine would be smirched by association with her if the facts ever became known to the world. In this connection I am reminded of a story which I once read. It was called 'The Dust of God.' In it there was a strange parable, an old belief. This it was, as nearly as I can recall: 'I was brought up to believe that the silver shower flying through the sky was really the Dust of God. As He walked along the Blue Highway of the Universe His white flowing robes, which men call the Milky Way, brushed against the star-flowers, causing the golden pollen to be swept about by the wind. This is the Dust of God and sometimes it falls to earth and sprinkles upon the shoulders of a man. Such a man is doubly blessed, for no matter how hard he tries he cannot be aught in the final analysis, but is a saint among men.' And I say to you, this woman who has been variously known as Louella Leota and Mary Blaine, this great lady, too, has had the Dust of God fall upon her shoulders. Therefore, anyone who now associates with her can only be uplifted. I thank whatever gods there be that I number her among my most cherished friends."
There was a hush as Ivan Alter left the witness box. No attempt was made to cross-examine him.
"Your Honor," began Phil Gould, "I had several more witnesses to call, including Dorothy Blaine who wished to plead for the defense. I also have many letters written by Templeton Blaine to his sister. Also her letters to him. These have been procured in a rather nefarious manner, perilously close to being polite burglary. However, I have now decided not to place anything more in evidence. The defense rests."
Louella Leota sat with bowed head. Her fingers were working nervously. She was trying perilously hard not to weep. She was unutterably nervous. What a fool she had been not to bring her snuff-box.
Judge Jarrot studied a memorandum on his desk for a ​moment, then he said: "The court finds that the defendent is without the shadow of a doubt, Mary Blaine, sister of Templeton Blaine, and is therefore rightfully entitled to share in his estate. There has been some mention made here today of a certain woman known as Louella Leota. The court is not sure that such a woman exists or ever did exist, nor does it concede the relevancy of establishing her identity. It is Mary Blaine who is on trial and it gives me rare pleasure to award her the verdict."
As court broke up, Dorothy threw her arms about Mary Blaine's neck.
"You are very precious to me!" she sobbed. "Jimmy is waiting downstairs in the Rolls-Royce. We've come to take you home."
"I'm glad," sighed Madame wearily, "because my bunion hurts. First, though, I want to find Ivan, the Terrible. He is far more terrible than I ever imagined."
But Ivan could not be located. He had already left the court. Clive Reardon, too, had slipped away unnoticed. For the first time in his life he was delighted over the fact that he had lost a case.
As Mary Blaine drove uptown with Dorothy and Jimmy, she said: "Apparently everything ended happily but I am sad, too. Nobody will ever wed Dorothy now. Some day this case is bound to come out and if Dorothy married without telling her husband she'd live continually in fear that her disgrace would become known. So she'll have to die a spinster or else pay some fellow to marry her. Even her money is no inducement. Her life is ruined."
Jimmy swallowed several times, "Ruined, hell," he laid. "I'd love to marry her, if for no other reason than that I could be related to you. You're great."
"Are you going to marry me or Dorothy?" asked Madame quizzically.
"I'm going to marry Dorothy."
"Thanks for mentioning it," said Dorothy curtly.
"You shut up," cried Jimmy. "I'm talking to your aunt."
"When are you going to be married?" asked Mary Blaine.
​"I don't know but at least right now we're going back to the Municipal Building to get the license."
"Since I can't talk to this boor," murmured Dorothy. "I'm going to talk to you, Aunty. I don't know what I ever would have done if you had always been a good woman. I guess Jimmy would never have had me if we didn't have such a glorious stain on our escutcheon."
Jimmy was going wildly through his pockets and therefore he didn't hear what Dorothy was saying. Finally, he burst out, "How much does a license cost? Hell, I've only got eighty-seven cents."
"Put your money away, Mr. Whale," said Louella. "This will be my treat, but if it ever happens again you'll have to buy your own license."
The End