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diff --git a/2371-0.txt b/2371-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a56320d --- /dev/null +++ b/2371-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10277 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Filigree Ball, by Anna Katherine Green + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Filigree Ball + +Author: Anna Katherine Green + +Release Date: October, 2000 [eBook #2371] +[Most recently updated: January 27, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. HTML version by Al Haines. + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FILIGREE BALL *** + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Filigree Ball + +by Anna Katherine Green + + +Contents + + BOOK I. THE FORBIDDEN ROOM + I. “THE MOORE HOUSE?” + II. I ENTER + III. I REMAIN + IV. SIGNED, VERONICA + V. MASTER AND DOG + VI. GOSSIP + VII. SLY WORK + VIII. SLYER WORK + IX. JINNY + X. FRANCIS JEFFREY + + BOOK II. THE LAW AND ITS VICTIM + XI. DETAILS + XII. THRUST AND PARRY + XIII. CHIEFLY THRUST + XIV. “LET US HAVE TALLMAN!” + XV. WHITE BOW AND PINK + XVI. AN EGOTIST OF THE FIRST WATER + XVII. A FRESH START + XVIII. IN THE GRASS + + BOOK III. THE HOUSE OF DOOM + XIX. IN TAMPA + XX. “THE COLONEL’S OWN” + XXI. THE HEART OF THE PUZZLE + XXII. A THREAD IN HAND + XXIII. WORDS IN THE NIGHT + XXIV. TANTALIZING TACTICS + XXV. “WHO WILL TELL THE MAN!” + XXVI. RUDGE + XXVII. “YOU HAVE COME!” + + + + +THE FILIGREE BALL + + + + +BOOK I +THE FORBIDDEN ROOM + + + + +I. +“THE MOORE HOUSE? ARE YOU SPEAKING OF THE MOORE HOUSE?” + + +For a detective whose talents, had not been recognized at headquarters, +I possessed an ambition which, fortunately for my standing with the +lieutenant of the precinct, had not yet been expressed in words. Though +I had small reason for expecting great things of myself, I had always +cherished the hope that if a big case came my way I should be found +able to do something with it something more, that is, than I had seen +accomplished by the police of the District of Columbia since I had had +the honor of being one of their number. Therefore, when I found myself +plunged, almost without my own volition, into the Jeffrey-Moore affair, +I believed that the opportunity had come whereby I might distinguish +myself. + +It had complications, this Jeffrey-Moore affair; greater ones than the +public ever knew, keen as the interest in it ran both in and out of +Washington. This is why I propose to tell the story of this great +tragedy from my own standpoint, even if in so doing I risk the charge +of attempting to exploit my own connection with this celebrated case. +In its course I encountered as many disappointments as triumphs, and +brought out of the affair a heart as sore as it was satisfied; for I am +a lover of women and— + +But I am keeping you from the story itself. + +I was at the station-house the night Uncle David came in. He was always +called Uncle David, even by the urchins who followed him in the street; +so I am showing him no disrespect, gentleman though he is, by giving +him a title which as completely characterized him in those days, as did +his moody ways, his quaint attire and the persistence with which he +kept at his side his great mastiff, Rudge. I had long since heard of +the old gentleman as one of the most interesting residents of the +precinct. I had even seen him more than once on the avenue, but I had +never before been brought face to face with him, and consequently had +much too superficial a knowledge of his countenance to determine +offhand whether the uneasy light in his small gray eyes was natural to +them, or simply the result of present excitement. But when he began to +talk I detected an unmistakable tremor in his tones, and decided that +he was in a state of suppressed agitation; though he appeared to have +nothing more alarming to impart than the fact that he had seen a light +burning in some house presumably empty. + +It was all so trivial that I gave him but scant attention till he let a +name fall which caused me to prick up my ears and even to put in a +word. “The Moore house,” he had said. + +“The Moore house?” I repeated in amazement. “Are you speaking of the +Moore house?” + +A thousand recollections came with the name. + +“What other?” he grumbled, directing toward me a look as keen as it was +impatient. “Do you think that I would bother myself long about a house +I had no interest in, or drag Rudge from his warm rug to save some +ungrateful neighbor from a possible burglary? No, it is _my_ house +which some rogue has chosen to enter. That is,” he suavely corrected, +as he saw surprise in every eye, “the house which the law will give me, +if anything ever happens to that chit of a girl whom my brother left +behind him.” + +Growling some words at the dog, who showed a decided inclination to lie +down where he was, the old man made for the door and in another moment +would have been in the street, if I had not stepped after him. + +“You are a Moore and live in or near that old house?” I asked. + +The surprise with which he met this question daunted me a little. + +“How long have you been in Washington, I should like to ask?” was his +acrid retort. + +“Oh, some five months.” + +His good nature, or what passed for such in this irascible old man, +returned in an instant; and he curtly but not unkindly remarked: + +“You haven’t learned much in that time.” Then, with a nod more +ceremonious than many another man’s bow, he added, with sudden dignity: +“I am of the elder branch and live in the cottage fronting the old +place. I am the only resident on the block. When you have lived here +longer you will know why that especial neighborhood is not a favorite +one with those who can not boast of the Moore blood. For the present, +let us attribute the bad name that it holds to—malaria.” And with a +significant hitch of his lean shoulders which set in undulating motion +every fold of the old-fashioned cloak he wore, he started again for the +door. + +But my curiosity was by this time roused to fever heat. I knew more +about this house than he gave me credit for. No one who had read the +papers of late, much less a man connected with the police, could help +being well informed in all the details of its remarkable history. What +I had failed to know was his close relationship to the family whose +name for the last two weeks had been in every mouth. + +“Wait!” I called out. “You say that you live opposite the Moore house. +You can then tell me—” + +But he had no mind to stop for any gossip. + +“It was all in the papers,” he called back. “Read them. But first be +sure to find out who has struck a light in the house that we all know +has not even a caretaker in it.” + +It was good advice. My duty and my curiosity both led me to follow it. + +Perhaps you have heard of the distinguishing feature of this house; if +so, you do not need my explanations. But if, for any reason, you are +ignorant of the facts which within a very short time have set a final +seal of horror upon this old, historic dwelling, then you will be glad +to read what has made and will continue to make the Moore house in +Washington one to be pointed at in daylight and shunned after dark, not +only by superstitious colored folk, but by all who are susceptible to +the most ordinary emotions of fear and dread. + +It was standing when Washington was a village. It antedates the Capitol +and the White House. Built by a man of wealth, it bears to this day the +impress of the large ideas and quiet elegance of colonial times; but +the shadow which speedily fell across it made it a marked place even in +those early days. While it has always escaped the hackneyed epithet of +“haunted,” families that have moved in have as quickly moved out, +giving as their excuse that no happiness was to be found there and that +sleep was impossible under its roof. That there was some reason for +this lack of rest within walls which were not without their tragic +reminiscences, all must acknowledge. Death had often occurred there, +and while this fact can be stated in regard to most old houses, it is +not often that one can say, as in this case, that it was invariably +sudden and invariably of one character. A lifeless man, lying +outstretched on a certain hearthstone, might be found once in a house +and awaken no special comment; but when this same discovery has been +made twice, if not thrice, during the history of a single dwelling, one +might surely be pardoned a distrust of its seemingly home-like +appointments, and discern in its slowly darkening walls the presence of +an evil which if left to itself might perish in the natural decay of +the place, but which, if met and challenged, might strike again and +make another blot on its thrice-crimsoned hearthstone. + +But these are old fables which I should hardly presume to mention, had +it not been for the recent occurrence which has recalled them to all +men’s minds and given to this long empty and slowly crumbling building +an importance which has spread its fame from one end of the country to +the other. I refer to the tragedy attending the wedding lately +celebrated there. + +Veronica Moore, rich, pretty and wilful, had long cherished a strange +liking for this frowning old home of her ancestors, and, at the most +critical time of her life, conceived the idea of proving to herself and +to society at large that no real ban lay upon it save in the +imagination of the superstitious. So, being about to marry the choice +of her young heart, she caused this house to be opened for the wedding +ceremony; with what result, you know. Though the occasion was a joyous +one and accompanied by all that could give cheer to such a function, it +had not escaped the old-time shadow. One of the guests straying into +the room of ancient and unhallowed memory, the one room which had not +been thrown open to the crowd, had been found within five minutes of +the ceremony lying on its dolorous hearthstone, dead; and though the +bride was spared a knowledge of the dreadful fact till the holy words +were said, a panic had seized the guests and emptied the house as +suddenly and completely as though the plague had been discovered there. + + +This is why I hastened to follow Uncle David when he told me that all +was not right in this house of tragic memories. + + + + +II. +I ENTER + + +Though past seventy, Uncle David was a brisk walker, and on this night +in particular he sped along so fast that he was half-way down H Street +by the time I had turned the corner at New Hampshire Avenue. + +His gaunt but not ungraceful figure, merged in that of the dog trotting +closely at his heels, was the only moving object in the dreary vista of +this the most desolate block in Washington. As I neared the building, I +was so impressed by the surrounding stillness that I was ready to vow +that the shadows were denser here than elsewhere and that the few gas +lamps, which flickered at intervals down the street, shone with a more +feeble ray than in any other equal length of street in Washington. + +Meanwhile, the shadow of Uncle David had vanished from the pavement. He +had paused beside a fence which, hung with vines, surrounded and nearly +hid from sight the little cottage he had mentioned as the only house on +the block with the exception of the great Moore place; in other words, +his own home. + +As I came abreast of him I heard him muttering, not to his dog as was +his custom, but to himself. In fact, the dog was not to be seen, and +this desertion on the part of his constant companion seemed to add to +his disturbance and affect him beyond all reason. I could distinguish +these words amongst the many he directed toward the unseen animal: + +“You’re a knowing one, too knowing! You see that loosened shutter over +the way as plainly as I do; but you’re a coward to slink away from it. +I don’t. I face the thing, and what’s more, I’ll show you yet what I +think of a dog that can’t stand his ground and help his old master out +with some show of courage. Creaks, does it? Well, let it creak! I don’t +mind its creaking, glad as I should be to know whose hand—Halloo! +You’ve come, have you?” This to me. I had just stepped up to him. + +“Yes, I’ve come. Now what is the matter with the Moore house?” + +He must have expected the question, yet his answer was a long time +coming. His voice, too, sounded strained, and was pitched quite too +high to be natural. But he evidently did not expect me to show surprise +at his manner. + +“Look at that window over there!” he cried at last. “That one with the +slightly open shutter! Watch and you will see that shutter move. There! +it creaked; didn’t you hear it?” + +A growl—it was more like a moan—came from the porch behind us. +Instantly the old gentleman turned and with a gesture as fierce as it +was instinctive, shouted out: + +“Be still there! If you haven’t the courage to face a blowing shutter, +keep your jaws shut and don’t let every fellow who happens along know +what a fool you are. I declare,” he maundered on, half to himself and +half to me, “that dog is getting old. He can’t be trusted any more. He +forsakes his master just when—” The rest was lost in his throat which +rattled with something more than impatient anger. + +Meanwhile I had been attentively scrutinizing the house thus pointedly +brought to my notice. + +I had seen it many times before, but, as it happened, had never stopped +to look at it when the huge trees surrounding it were shrouded in +darkness. The black hollow of its disused portal looked out from +shadows which acquired some of their somberness from the tragic +memories connected with its empty void. + +Its aspect was scarcely reassuring. Not that superstition lent its +terrors to the lonely scene, but that through the blank panes of the +window, alternately appearing and disappearing from view as the shutter +pointed out by Uncle David blew to and fro in the wind, I saw, or was +persuaded that I saw, a beam of light which argued an unknown presence +within walls which had so lately been declared unfit for any man’s +habitation. + +“You are right,” I now remarked to the uneasy figure at my side. “Some +one is prowling through the house yonder. Can it possibly be Mrs. +Jeffrey or her husband?” + +“At night and with no gas in the house? Hardly.” + +The words were natural, but the voice was not. Neither was his manner +quite suited to the occasion. Giving him another sly glance, and +marking how uneasily he edged away from me in the darkness, I cried out +more cheerily than he possibly expected: + +“I will summon another officer and we three will just slip across and +investigate.” + +“Not I!” was his violent rejoinder, as he swung open a gate concealed +in the vines behind him. “The Jeffreys would resent my intrusion if +they ever happened to hear of it.” + +“Indeed!” I laughed, sounding my whistle; then, soberly enough, for I +was more than a little struck by the oddity of his behavior and thought +him as well worth investigation as the house in which he showed such an +interest: “You shouldn’t let that count. Come and see what’s up in the +house you are so ready to call yours.” + +But he only drew farther into the shade. + +“I have no business over there,” he objected. “Veronica and I have +never been on good terms. I was not even invited to her wedding though +I live within a stone’s throw of the door. No; I have done my duty in +calling attention to that light, and whether it’s the bull’s-eye of a +burglar—perhaps you don’t know that there are rare treasures on the +book shelves of the great library—or whether it is the fantastic +illumination which frightens fool-folks and some fool-dogs, I’m done +with it and done with you, too, for tonight.” + +As he said this, he mounted to his door and disappeared under the +vines, hanging like a shroud over the front of the house. In another +moment the rich peal of an organ sounded from within, followed by the +prolonged howling of Rudge, who, either from a too keen appreciation of +his master’s music or in utter disapproval of it,—no one, I believe, +has ever been able to make out which,—was accustomed to add this +undesirable accompaniment to every strain from the old man’s hand. The +playing did not cease because of these outrageous discords. On the +contrary, it increased in force and volume, causing Rudge’s expression +of pain or pleasure to increase also. The result can be imagined. As I +listened to the intolerable howls of the dog cutting clean through the +exquisite harmonies of his master, I wondered if the shadows cast by +the frowning structure of the great Moore house were alone to blame for +Uncle David’s lack of neighbors. + +Meantime, Hibbard, who was the first to hear my signal, came running +down the block. As he joined me, the light, or what we chose to call a +light, appeared again in the window toward which my attention had been +directed. + +“Some one’s in the Moore house!” I declared, in as matter of-fact tones +as I could command. + +Hibbard is a big fellow, the biggest fellow on the force, and so far as +my own experience with him had gone, as stolid and imperturbable as the +best of us. But after a quick glance at the towering walls of the +lonely building, he showed decided embarrassment and seemed in no haste +to cross the street. + +With difficulty I concealed my disgust. + +“Come,” I cried, stepping down from the curb, “let’s go over and +investigate. The property is valuable, the furnishings handsome, and +there is no end of costly books on the library shelves. You have +matches and a revolver?” + +He nodded, quietly showing me first the one, then the other; then with +a sheepish air which he endeavored to carry of with a laugh, he cried: + +“Have you use for ’em? If so, I’m quite willing to part with ’em for a +half-hour.” + +I was more than amazed at this evidence of weakness in one I had always +considered as tough and impenetrable as flint rock. Thrusting back the +hand with which he had half drawn into view the weapon I had mentioned, +I put on my sternest sir and led the way across the street. As I did +so, tossed back the words: + +“We may come upon a gang. You do not wish me to face some half-dozen +men alone?” + +“You won’t find any half-dozen men there,” was his muttered reply. +Nevertheless he followed me, though with less spirit than I liked, +considering that my own manner was in a measure assumed and that I was +not without sympathy—well, let me, say, for a dog who preferred howling +a dismal accompaniment to his master’s music, to keeping open watch +over a neighborhood dominated by the unhallowed structure I now propose +to enter. + +The house is too well known for me to attempt a minute description of +it. The illustrations which have appeared in all the papers have +already acquainted the general public with its simple facade and rows +upon rows of shuttered windows. Even the great square porch with its +bench for negro attendants has been photographed for the million. Those +who have seen the picture in which the wedding-guests are shown flying +from its yawning doorway, will not be especially interested in the +quiet, almost solemn aspect it presented as I passed up the low steps +and laid my hand upon the knob of the old-fashioned front door. + +Not that I expected to win an entrance thereby, but because it is my +nature to approach everything in a common-sense way. Conceive then my +astonishment when at the first touch the door yielded. It was not even +latched. + +“So! so!” thought I. “This is no fool’s job; some one _is_ in the +house.” + +I had provided myself with an ordinary pocket-lantern, and, when I had +convinced Hibbard that I fully meant to enter the house and discover +for myself who had taken advantage of the popular prejudice against it +to make a secret refuge or rendezvous of its decayed old rooms, I took +out this lantern and held it in readiness. + +“We may strike a hornets’ nest,” I explained to Hibbard, whose feet +seemed very heavy even for a man of his size. “But I’m going in and so +are you. Only, let me suggest that we first take off our shoes. We can +hide them in these bushes.” + +“I always catch cold when I walk barefooted,” mumbled my brave +companion; but receiving no reply he drew off his shoes and dropped +them beside mine in the cluster of stark bushes which figure so +prominently in the illustrations that I have just mentioned. Then he +took out his revolver, and cocking it, stood waiting, while I gave a +cautious push to the door. + +Darkness! silence! + +Rather had I confronted a light and heard some noise, even if it had +been the ominous click to which eve are so well accustomed. Hibbard +seemed to share my feelings, though from an entirely different cause. + +“Pistols and lanterns are no good here,” he grumbled. “What we want at +this blessed minute is a priest with a sprinkling of holy water; and I +for one—” + +He was actually sliding off. + +With a smothered oath I drew him back. + +“See here!” I cried, “you’re not a babe in arms. Come on or— Well, what +now?” + +He had clenched my arm and was pointing to the door which was slowly +swaying to behind us. + +“Notice that,” he whispered. “No key in the lock! Men use keys but—” + +My patience could stand no more. With a shake I rid myself of his +clutch, muttering: + +“There, go! You’re too much of a fool for me. I’m in for it alone.” And +in proof of my determination, I turned the slide of the lantern and +flashed the light through the house. + +The effect was ghostly; but while the fellow at my side breathed hard +he did not take advantage of my words to make his escape, as I half +expected him to. Perhaps, like myself, he was fascinated by the dreary +spectacle of long shadowy walls and an equally shadowy staircase +emerging from a darkness which a minute before had seemed impenetrable. +Perhaps he was simply ashamed. At all events he stood his ground, +scrutinizing with rolling eyes that portion of the hall where two +columns, with gilded Corinthian capitals, marked the door of the room +which no man entered without purpose or passed without dread. Doubtless +he was thinking of that which had so frequently been carried out +between those columns. I know that I was; and when, in the sudden draft +made by the open door, some open draperies hanging near those columns +blew out with a sudden swoop and shiver, I was not at all astonished to +see him lose what little courage had remained in him. The truth is, I +was startled myself, but I was able to hide the fact and to whisper +back to him, fiercely: + +“Don’t be an idiot. That curtain hides nothing worse than some sneaking +political refugee or a gang of counterfeiters.” + +“Maybe. I’d just like to put my hand on Upson and—” + +“Hush!” + +I had just heard something. + +For a moment we stood breathless, but as the sound was not repeated I +concluded that it was the creaking of that far-away shutter. Certainly +there was nothing moving near us. + +“Shall we go upstairs?” whispered Hibbard. + +“Not till we have made sure that all is right down here” + +A door stood slightly ajar on our left. + +Pushing it open, we looked in. A well furnished parlor was before us. + +“Here’s where the wedding took place,” remarked Hibbard, straining his +head over my shoulder. + +There were signs of this wedding on every side. Walls and ceilings had +been hung with garlands, and these still clung to the mantelpiece and +over and around the various doorways. Torn-off branches and the +remnants of old bouquets, dropped from the hands of flying guests, +littered the carpet, adding to the general confusion of overturned +chairs and tables. Everywhere were evidences of the haste with which +the place had been vacated as well as the superstitious dread which had +prevented it being re-entered for the commonplace purpose of cleaning. +Even the piano had not been shut, and under it lay some scattered +sheets of music which had been left where they fell, to the probable +loss of some poor musician. The clock occupying the center of the +mantelpiece alone gave evidence of life. It had been wound for the +wedding and had not yet run down. Its tick-tick came faint enough, +however, through the darkness, as if it too had lost heart and would +soon lapse into the deadly quiet of its ghostly surroundings. + +“It’s—it’s funeral-like,” chattered Hibbard. + +He was right; I felt as if I were shutting the lid of a coffin when I +finally closed the door. + +Our next steps took us into the rear where we found little to detain +us, and then, with a certain dread fully justified by the event, we +made for the door defined by the two Corinthian columns. + +It was ajar like the rest, and, call me coward or call me fool—I have +called Hibbard both, you will remember—I found that it cost me an +effort to lay my hand on its mahogany panels. Danger, if danger there +was, lurked here; and while I had never known myself to quail before +any ordinary antagonist, I, like others of my kind, have no especial +fondness for unseen and mysterious perils. + +Hibbard, who up to this point had followed me almost too closely, now +accorded me all the room that was necessary. It was with a sense of +entering alone upon the scene that I finally thrust wide the door and +crossed the threshold of this redoubtable room where, but two short +weeks before, a fresh victim had been added to the list of those who +had by some unheard-of, unimaginable means found their death within its +recesses. + +My first glance showed me little save the ponderous outlines of an old +settle, which jutted from the corner of the fireplace half way out into +the room. As it was seemingly from this seat that the men, who at +various times had been found lying here, had fallen to their doom, a +thrill passed over me as I noted its unwieldy bulk and the deep shadow +it threw on the ancient and dishonored hearthstone. To escape the +ghastly memories it evoked and also to satisfy myself that the room was +really as empty as it seemed, I took another step forward. This caused +the light from the lantern I carried to spread beyond the point on +which it had hitherto been so effectively concentrated; but the result +was to emphasize rather than detract from the extreme desolation of the +great room. The settle was a fixture, as I afterwards found, and was +almost the only article of furniture to be seen on the wide expanse of +uncarpeted floor. There was a table or two in hiding somewhere amid the +shadows at the other end from where I stood, and possibly some kind of +stool or settee; but the general impression made upon me was that of a +completely dismantled place given over to moth and rust. + +I do not include the walls. They were not bare like the floor, but +covered with books from floor to ceiling. These books were not the +books of today; they had stood so long in their places unnoted and +untouched, that they had acquired the color of fungus, and smelt— Well, +there is no use adding to the picture. Every one knows the spirit of +sickening desolation pervading rooms which have been shut up for an +indefinite length of time from air and sunshine. + +The elegance of the heavily stuccoed ceiling, admitted to be one of the +finest specimens of its kind in Washington, as well as the richness of +the carvings ornamenting the mantel of Italian marble rising above the +accursed hearthstone, only served to make more evident the extreme +neglect into which the rest of the room had sunk. Being anything but +anxious to subject myself further to its unhappy influence and quite +convinced that the place was indeed as empty as it looked, I turned to +leave, when my eyes fell upon something so unexpected and so +extraordinary, seen as it was under the influence of the old tragedies +with which my mind was necessarily full, that I paused, balked in my +advance, and well-nigh uncertain whether I looked upon a real thing or +on some strange and terrible fantasy of my aroused imagination. + +A form lay before me, outstretched on that portion of the floor which +had hitherto been hidden from me by the half-open door—a woman’s form, +which even in that first casual look impressed itself upon me as one of +aerial delicacy and extreme refinement; and this form lay as only the +dead lie; _the dead!_ And I had been looking at the hearthstone for +just such a picture! No, not just such a picture, for this woman lay +face uppermost, and, on the floor beside her was blood. + +A hand had plucked my sleeve. It was Hibbard’s. Startled by my +immobility and silence, he had stepped in with quaking members, +expecting he hardly knew what. But no sooner did his eyes fall on the +prostrate form which held me spellbound, than an unforeseen change took +place in him. What had unnerved me, restored him to full +self-possession. Death in this shape was familiar to him. He had no +fear of blood. He did not show surprise at encountering it, but only at +the effect it appeared to produce on me. + +“Shot!” was his laconic comment as he bent over the prostrate body. +“Shot through the heart! She must have died before she fell.” + +Shot! + +That was a new experience for this room. No wound had ever before +disfigured those who had fallen here, nor had any of the previous +victims been found lying on any other spot than the one over which that +huge settle kept guard. As these thoughts crossed my mind, I +instinctively glanced again toward the fireplace for what I almost +refused to believe lay outstretched at my feet. When nothing more +appeared there than that old seat of sinister memory, I experienced a +thrill which poorly prepared me for the cry which I now heard raised by +Hibbard. + +“Look here! What do you make of this?” + +He was pointing to what, upon closer inspection, proved to be a strip +of white satin ribbon running from one of the delicate wrists of the +girl before us to the handle of a pistol which had fallen not far away +from her side. “It looks as if the pistol was attached to her. That is +something new in my experience. What do you think it means?” + +Alas! there was but one thing it could mean. The shot to which she had +succumbed had been delivered by herself. This fair and delicate +creature was a suicide. + +But suicide in this place! How could we account for that? Had the story +of this room’s ill-acquired fame acted hypnotically on her, or had she +stumbled upon the open door in front and been glad of any refuge where +her misery might find a solitary termination? Closely scanning her +upturned face, I sought an answer to this question, and while thus +seeking received a fresh shock which I did not hesitate to communicate +to my now none-too-sensitive companion. + +“Look at these features,” I cried. “I seem to know them, do you?” + +He growled out a dissent, but stooped at my bidding and gave the +pitiful young face a pro longed stare. When he looked up again it was +with a puzzled contraction of his eyebrows. + +“I’ve certainly seen it somewhere,” he hesitatingly admitted, edging +slowly away toward the door. “Perhaps in the papers. Isn’t she like—?” + +“Like!” I interrupted, “it is Veronica Moore _herself;_ the owner of +this house and she who was married here two weeks since to Mr. Jeffrey. +Evidently her reason was unseated by the tragedy which threw so deep a +gloom over her wedding.” + + + + +III. +I REMAIN + + +Not for an instant did I doubt the correctness of this identification. +All the pictures I had seen of this well-known society belle had been +marked by an individuality of expression which fixed her face in the +memory and which I now saw repeated in the lifeless features before me. + +Greatly startled by the discovery, but quite convinced that this was +but the dreadful sequel of an already sufficiently dark tragedy, I +proceeded to take such steps as are common in these cases. Having sent +the too-willing Hibbard to notify headquarters, I was on the point of +making a memorandum of such details as seemed important, when my +lantern suddenly went out, leaving me in total darkness. + +This was far from pleasant, but the effect it produced upon my mind was +not without its result. For no sooner did I find myself alone and in +the unrelieved darkness of this grave-like room, than I became +convinced that no woman, however frenzied, would make her plunge into +an unknown existence from the midst of a darkness only too suggestive +of the tomb to which she was hastening. It was not in nature, not in +woman’s nature, at all events. Either she had committed the final act +before such daylight as could filter through the shutters of this +closed-up room had quite disappeared,—an hypothesis instantly destroyed +by the warmth which still lingered in certain portions of her body,—or +else the light which had been burning when she pulled the fatal trigger +had since been carried elsewhere or extinguished. + +Recalling the uncertain gleams which we had seen flashing from one of +the upper windows, I was inclined to give some credence to the former +theory, but was disposed to be fair to both. So after relighting my +lamp, I turned on one of the gas cocks of the massive chandelier over +my head and applied a match. The result was just what I anticipated; no +gas in the pipes. A meter had not been put in for the wedding. This the +papers had repeatedly stated in dwelling upon the garish effect of the +daylight on the elaborate costumes worn by the ladies. Candles had not +even been provided—ah, candles! What, then, was it that I saw +glittering on a small table at the other end of the room? Surely a +candlestick, or rather an old-fashioned candelabrum with a half-burned +candle in one of its sockets. Hastily crossing to it, I felt of the +candlewick. It was quite stiff and hard. But not considering this a +satisfactory proof that it had not been lately burning—the tip of a +wick soon dries after the flame is blown out—I took out my penknife and +attacked the wick at what might be called its root; whereupon I found +that where the threads had been protected by the wax they were +comparatively soft and penetrable. The conclusion was obvious. True to +my instinct in this matter the woman had not lifted her weapon in +darkness; this candle had been burning. But here my thoughts received a +fresh shock. If burning, then by whom had it since been blown out? Not +by her; her wound was too fatally sure for that. The steps taken +between the table where the candelabrum stood and the place where she +lay, were taken, if taken at all by her, before that shot was fired. +Some one else—some one whose breath still lingered in the air about +me—had extinguished this candle-flame after she fell, and the death I +looked down upon was not a suicide, _but a murder!_ + +The excitement which this discovery caused to tingle through my every +nerve had its birth in the ambitious feeling referred to in the opening +paragraph of this narrative. I believed that my long-sought-for +opportunity had come; that with the start given me by the conviction +just stated, I should be enabled to collect such clues and establish +such facts as would lead to the acceptance of this new theory instead +of the apparent one of suicide embraced by Hibbard and about to be +promulgated at police headquarters. If so, what a triumph would be +mine; and what a debt I should owe to the crabbed old gentleman whose +seemingly fantastic fears had first drawn me to this place! + +Realizing the value of the opportunity afforded me by the few minutes I +was likely to spend alone on this scene of crime, I proceeded to my +task with that directness and method which I had always promised myself +should characterize my first success in detective work. + +First, then, for another look at the fair young victim herself! What a +line of misery on the brow! What dark hollows disfiguring cheeks +otherwise as delicate as the petals of a rose! An interesting, if not +absolutely beautiful face, it told me something I could hardly put into +words; so that it was like leaving a fascinating but unsolved mystery +when I finally turned from it to study the hands, each of which +presented a separate problem. That offered by the right wrist you +already know—the long white ribbon connecting it with the discharged +pistol. But the secret concealed by the left, while less startling, was +perhaps fully as significant. All the rings were gone, even the wedding +ring which had been placed there such a short time before. Had she been +robbed? There were no signs of violence visible nor even such +disturbances as usually follow despoliation by a criminal’s hand. The +boa of delicate black net which encircled her neck rose fresh and +intact to her chin; nor did the heavy folds of her rich broadcloth gown +betray that any disturbance had taken place in her figure after its +fall. If a jewel had flashed at her throat, or earrings adorned her +ears, they had been removed by a careful, if not a loving, hand. But I +was rather inclined to think that she had entered upon the scene of her +death without ornaments,—such severe simplicity marked her whole +attire. Her hat, which was as plain and also as elegant as the rest of +her clothing, lay near her on the floor. It had been taken off and +thrown down, manifestly by an impatient hand. That this hand was her +own was evident from a small but very significant fact. The pin which +had held it to her hair had been thrust again into the hat. No hand but +hers would have taken this precaution. A man would have flung it aside +just as he would have flung the hat. + +Question: + +Did this argue a natural expectation on her part of resuming her hat? +Or was the action the result of an unconscious habit? + +Having thus noted all that was possible concerning her without +infringing on the rights of the coroner, I next proceeded to cast about +for clues to the identity of the person whom I considered responsible +for the extinguished candle. But here a great disappointment awaited +me. I could find nothing expressive of a second person’s presence save +a pile of cigar ashes scattered near the legs of a common kitchen chair +which stood face to face with the book shelves in that part of the room +where the candelabrum rested on a small table. But these ashes looked +old, nor could I detect any evidence of tobacco smoke in the general +mustiness pervading the place. Was the man who died here a fortnight +since accountable for these ashes? If so, his unfinished cigar must be +within sight. Should I search for it? No, for this would take me to the +hearth and that was quite too deadly a place to be heedlessly +approached. + +Besides, I was not yet finished with the spot where I then stood. If I +could gather nothing satisfactory from the ashes, perhaps I could from +the chair or the shelves before which it had been placed. Some one with +an interest in books had sat there; some one who expected to spend +sufficient time over these old tomes to feel the need of a chair. Had +this interest been a general one or had it centered in a particular +volume? I ran my eye over the shelves within reach, possibly with an +idea of settling this question, and though my knowledge of books is +limited I could see that these were what one might call rarities. Some +of them contained specimens of black letter, all moldy and smothered in +dust; in others I saw dates of publication which placed them among +volumes dear to a collector’s heart. But none of them, so far as I +could see, gave any evidence of having been lately handled; and anxious +to waste no time on puerile details, I hastily quitted my chair, and +was proceeding to turn my attention elsewhere, when I noticed on an +upper shelf, a book projecting slightly beyond the others. Instantly my +foot was on the chair and the book in my hand. Did I find it of +interest? Yes, but not on account of its contents, for they were pure +Greek to me; but because it lacked the dust on its upper edge which had +marked every other volume I had handled. This, then, was what had +attracted the unknown to these shelves, this—let me see if I can +remember its title—Disquisition upon Old Coastlines. Pshaw! I was +wasting my time. What had such a dry compendium as this to do with the +body lying in its blood a few steps behind me, or with the hand which +had put out the candle upon this dreadful deed? Nothing. I replaced the +book, but not so hastily as to push it one inch beyond the position in +which I found it. For, if it had a tale to tell, then was it my +business to leave that tale to be read by those who understood books +better than I did. + +My next move was toward the little table holding the candelabrum with +the glittering pendants. This table was one of a nest standing against +a near-by wall. Investigation proved that it had been lifted from the +others and brought to its present position within a very short space of +time. For the dust lying thick on its top was almost entirely lacking +from the one which had been nested under it. Neither had the +candelabrum been standing there long, dust being found under as well as +around it. Had her hand brought it there? Hardly, if it came from the +top of the mantel toward which I now turned in my course of +investigation. + +I have already mentioned this mantel more than once. This I could +hardly avoid, since in and about it lay the heart of the mystery for +which the room was remarkable. But though I have thus freely spoken of +it, and though it was not absent from my thoughts for a moment, I had +not ventured to approach it beyond a certain safe radius. Now, in +looking to see if I might not lessen this radius, I experienced that +sudden and overwhelming interest in its every feature which attaches to +all objects peculiarly associated with danger. + +I even took a step toward it, holding up my lamp so that a stray ray +struck the faded surface of an old engraving hanging over the +fireplace. + +It was the well-known one—in Washington at least—of Benjamin Franklin +at the Court of France; interesting no doubt in a general way, but +scarcely calculated to hold the eye at so critical an instant. Neither +did the shelf below call for more than momentary attention, for it was +absolutely bare. So was the time-worn, if not blood-stained hearth, +save for the impenetrable shadow cast over it by the huge bulk of the +great settle standing at its edge. + +I have already described the impression made on me at my first entrance +by this ancient and characteristic article of furniture. + +It was intensified now as my eye ran over the clumsy carving which +added to the discomfort of its high straight back and as I smelt the +smell of its moldy and possibly mouse-haunted cushions. A crawling +sense of dread took the place of my first instinctive repugnance; not +because superstition had as yet laid its grip upon me, although the +place, the hour and the near and veritable presence of death were +enough to rouse the imagination past the bounds of the actual, but +because of a discovery I had made—a discovery which emphasized the +tradition that all who had been found dead under the mantel had fallen +as if from the end of this monstrous and patriarchal bench. Do you ask +what this discovery was? It can be told in a word. This one end and +only this end had been made comfortable for the sitter. For a space +scarcely wide enough for one, the seat and back at this special point +had been upholstered with leather, fastened to the wood with heavy +wrought nails. The remaining portion stretched out bare, hard and +inexpressibly forbidding to one who sought ease there, or even a moment +of casual rest. The natural inference was that the owner of this quaint +piece of furniture had been a very selfish man who thought only of his +own comfort. But might he not have had some other reason for his +apparent niggardliness? As I asked myself this question and noted how +the long and embracing arm which guarded this cushioned retreat was +flattened on top for the convenient holding of decanter and glass, +feelings to which I can give no name and which I had fondly believed +myself proof against, began to take the place of judgment and reason. +Before I realized the nature of my own impulse or to what it was +driving me, I found myself moving slowly and steadily toward this +formidable seat, under an irresistible desire to fling myself down upon +these old cushions and— + +But here the creaking of some far-off shutter—possibly the one I had +seen swaying from the opposite side of the street—recalled me to the +duties of the hour, and, remembering that my investigations were but +half completed and that I might be interrupted any moment by detectives +from headquarters, I broke from the accursed charm, which horrified me +the moment I escaped it, and quitting the room by a door at the farther +end, sought to find in some of the adjacent rooms the definite traces I +had failed to discover on this, the actual scene of the crime. + +It was a dismal search, revealing at every turn the almost maddened +haste with which the house had been abandoned. The dining-room +especially roused feelings which were far from pleasant. The table, +evidently set for the wedding breakfast, had been denuded in such +breathless hurry that the food had been tossed from the dishes and now +lay in moldering heaps on the floor. The wedding cake, which some one +had dropped, possibly in the effort to save it, had been stepped on; +and broken glass, crumpled napery and withered flowers made all the +corners unsightly and rendered stepping over the unwholesome floors at +once disgusting and dangerous. The pantries opening out of this room +were in no better case. Shrinking from the sights and smells I found +there, I passed out into the kitchen and so on by a close and narrow +passage to the negro quarters clustered in the rear. + +Here I made a discovery. One of the windows in this long disused +portion of the house was not only unlocked but partly open. But as I +came upon no marks showing that this outlet had been used by the +escaping murderer, I made my way back to the front of the house and +thus to the stairs communicating with the upper floor. + +It was on the rug lying at the foot of these stairs that I came upon +the first of a dozen or more burned matches which lay in a distinct +trail up the staircase and along the floors of the upper halls. As +these matches were all burned as short as fingers could hold them, it +was evident that they had been used to light the steps of some one +seeking refuge above, possibly in the very room where we had seen the +light which had first drawn us to this house. How then? Should I +proceed or await the coming of the “boys” before pushing in upon a +possible murderer? I decided to proceed, fascinated, I think, by the +nicety of the trail which lay before me. + +But when, after a careful following in the steps of him who had so +lately preceded me, I came upon a tightly closed door at the end of +aside passage, I own that I stopped a moment before lifting hand to it. +So much may lie behind a tightly closed door! But my hesitation, if +hesitation it was, lasted but a moment. My natural impatience and the +promptings of my vanity overcame the dictates of my judgment, and, +reckless of consequences, perhaps disdainful of them, I soon had the +knob in my grasp. I gave a slight push to the door and, on seeing a +crack of light leap into life along the jamb, pushed the door wider and +wider till the whole room stood revealed. + +The instantaneous banging of a shutter in one of its windows proved the +room to be the very one which we had seen lighted from below. Otherwise +all was still; nor was I able to detect, in my first hurried glance, +any other token of human presence than a candle sputtering in its own +grease at the bottom of a tumbler placed on one corner of an +old-fashioned dressing table. This, the one touch of incongruity in a +room otherwise rich if not stately in its appointments, was loud in its +suggestion of some hidden presence given to expedients and reckless of +consequences; but of this presence nothing was to be seen. + +Not satisfied with this short survey,—a survey which had given me the +impression of a spacious old-fashioned chamber, fully furnished but +breathing of the by-gone rather than of the present—and resolved to +know the worst, or, rather, to dare the worst and be done with it, I +strode straight into the center of the room and cast about me quickly a +comprehensive glance which spared nothing, not even the shadows lurking +in the corners. But no low-lying figure started up from those corners, +nor did any crouching head rise into sight from beyond the leaves of +the big screen behind which I was careful to look. + +Greatly reassured, and indeed quite convinced that wherever the +criminal lurked at that moment he was not in the same room with me, I +turned my attention to my surroundings, which had many points of +interest. Foremost among these was the big four-poster which occupied a +large space at my right. I had never seen its like in use before, and I +was greatly attracted by its size and the air of mystery imparted to it +by its closely drawn curtains of faded brocade. In fact, this bed, +whether from its appearance or some occult influence inherent in it, +had a fascination for me. I hesitated to approach it, yet could not +forbear surveying it long and earnestly. Could it be possible that +those curtains concealed some one in hiding behind them? Strange to say +I did not feel quite ready to lay hand on them and see. + +A dressing table laden with woman’s fixings and various articles of the +toilet, all of an unexpected value and richness, occupied the space +between the two windows; and on the floor, immediately in front of a +high mahogany mantel, there lay, amid a number of empty boxes, an +overturned chair. This chair and the conjectures its position awakened +led me to look up at the mantel with which it seemed to be in some way +connected, and thus I became aware of a wan old drawing hanging on the +wall above it. Why this picture, which was a totally uninteresting +sketch of a simpering girl face, should have held my eye after the +first glance, I can not say even now. It had no beauty even of the +sentimental kind and very little, if any, meaning. Its lines, weak at +the best, were nearly obliterated and in some places quite faded out. +Yet I not only paused to look at it, but in looking at it forgot myself +and well-nigh my errand. Yet there was no apparent reason for the spell +it exerted over me, nor could I account in any way for the really +superstitious dread which from this moment seized me, making my head +move slowly round with shrinking backward looks as that swaying shutter +creaked or some of the fitful noises, which grow out of silence in +answer to our inner expectancy, drew my attention or appalled my sense. + +To all appearance there was less here than below to affect a man’s +courage. No inanimate body with the mark of the slayer upon it lent +horror to these walls; yet sensations which I had easily overcome in +the library below clung with strange insistence to me here, making it +an effort for me to move, and giving to the unexpected reflection of my +own image in the mirror I chanced to pass, a power to shock my nerves +which has never been repeated in my experience. + +It may seem both unnecessary and out of character for a man of my +calling to acknowledge these chance sensations, but only by doing so +can I account for the minutes which elapsed before I summoned +sufficient self-possession to draw aside the closed curtains of the bed +and take the quick look inside which my present doubtful position +demanded. But once I had broken the spell and taken the look just +mentioned, I found my manhood return and with it my old ardor for +clues. The bed held no gaping, chattering criminal; yet was it not +quite empty. Something lay there, and this something, while commonplace +in itself, was enough out of keeping with the place and hour to rouse +my interest and awaken my conjectures. It was a lady’s wrap so rich in +quality and of such a festive appearance that it was astonishing to +find it lying in a neglected state in this crumbling old house. Though +I know little of the cost of women’s garments, I do know the value of +lace, and this garment was covered with it. + +Interesting as was this find, it was followed by one still more so. +Nestled in the folds of the cloak, lay the withered remains of what +could only have been the bridal bouquet. Unsightly now and scentless, +it was once a beautiful specimen of the florist’s art. As I noted how +the main bunch of roses and lilies was connected by long satin ribbons +to the lesser clusters which hung from it, I recalled with conceivable +horror the use to which a similar ribbon had been put in the room +below. In the shudder called up by this coincidence I forgot to +speculate how a bouquet carried by the bride could have found its way +back to this upstairs room when, as all accounts agree, she had fled +from the parlor below without speaking or staying foot the moment she +was told of the catastrophe which had taken place in the library. That +her wrap should be lying here was not strange, but that the wedding +bouquet— + +That it really was the wedding bouquet and that this was the room in +which the bride had dressed for the ceremony was apparent to the most +casual observer. But it became an established fact when in my further +course about the room I chanced on a handkerchief with the name +Veronica embroidered in one corner. + +This handkerchief had an interest apart from the name on it. It was of +dainty texture and quite in keeping, so far as value went, with the +other belongings of its fastidious owner. But it was not clean. Indeed +it was strangely soiled, and this soil was of a nature I did not +readily understand. A woman would doubtless have comprehended +immediately the cause of the brown streaks I found on it, but it took +me several minutes to realize that this bit of cambric, delicate as a +cobweb, had been used to remove dust. To remove dust! Dust from what? +From the mantel-shelf probably, upon one end of which I found it. But +no! one look along the polished boards convinced me that whatever else +had been dusted in this room this shelf had not. The accumulation of +days, if not of months, was visible from one end to the other of its +unrelieved surface save where the handkerchief had lain, and—the +greatest discovery yet—where five clear spots just to the left of the +center showed where some man’s finger-tips had rested. Nothing but the +pressure of fingertips could have caused just the appearance presented +by these spots. By scrutinizing them closely I could even tell where +the thumb had rested, and at once foresaw the possibility of +determining by means of these marks both the size and shape of the hand +which had left behind it so neat and unmistakable a clue. + +Wonderful! but what did it all mean? Why should a man rest his +finger-tips on this out-of-the-way shelf? Had he done so in an effort +to balance himself for a look up the chimney? No; for then the marks +made by his fingers would have extended to the edge of the shelf, +whereas these were in the middle of it. Their shape, too, was round, +not oblong; hence, the pressure had come from above and—ah! I had it, +these impressions in the dust of the shelf were just such as would be +made by a person steadying himself for a close look at the old picture. +And this accounted also for the overturned chair, and for the +handkerchief used as a duster. Some one’s interest in this picture had +been greater than mine; some one who was either very near-sighted or +whose temperament was such that only the closest inspection would +satisfy an aroused curiosity. + +This gave me an idea, or rather impressed upon me the necessity of +preserving the outline of these tell-tale marks while they were still +plain to the eye. Taking out my penknife, I lightly ran the point of my +sharpest blade around each separate impression till I had fixed them +for all time in the well worn varnish of the mahogany. + +This done, my thoughts recurred to the question already raised. What +was there in this old picture to arouse such curiosity in one bent on +evil if not fresh from a hideous crime? I have said before that the +picture as a picture was worthless, a mere faded sketch fit only for +lumbering up some old garret. Then wherein lay its charm,—a charm which +I myself had felt, though not to this extent? It was useless to +conjecture. A fresh difficulty had been added to my task by this +puzzling discovery, but difficulties only increased my interest. It was +with an odd feeling of elation that, in a further examination of this +room, I came upon two additional facts equally odd and irreconcilable. + +One was the presence of a penknife with the file blade open, on a small +table under the window marked by the loosened shutter. Scattered about +it were some filings which shone as the light from my lantern fell upon +them, but which were so fine as to call for a magnifying-glass to make +them out. The other was in connection with a closet not far from the +great bed. It was an empty closet so far as the hooks went and the two +great drawers which I found standing half open at its back; but in the +middle of the floor lay an overturned candelabrum similar to the one +below, but with its prisms scattered and its one candle crushed and +battered out of all shape on the blackened boards. If upset while +alight, the foot which had stamped upon it in a wild endeavor to put +out the flames had been a frenzied one. Now, by whom had this frenzy +been shown, and when? Within the hour? I could detect no smell of +smoke. At some former time, then? say on the day of the bridal? + +Glancing from the broken candle at my feet to the one giving its last +sputter in the tumbler on the dressing table, I owned myself perplexed. + +Surely, no ordinary explanation fitted these extraordinary and +seemingly contradictory circumstances. + + + + +IV. +SIGNED, VERONICA + + +I am in some ways hypersensitive. Among my other weaknesses I have a +wholesome dread of ridicule, and this is probably why I failed to press +my theory on the captain when he appeared, and even forbore to mention +the various small matters which had so attracted my attention. If he +and the experienced men who came with him saw suicide and nothing but +suicide in this lamentable shooting of a bride of two weeks, then it +was not for me to suggest a deeper crime, especially as one of the +latter eyed me with open scorn when I proposed to accompany them +upstairs into the room where the light had been seen burning. No, I +would keep my discoveries to myself or, at least, forbear to mention +them till I found the captain alone, asking nothing at this juncture +but permission to remain in the house till Mr. Jeffrey arrived. + +I had been told that an officer had gone for this gentleman, and when I +heard the sound of wheels in front I made a rush for the door, in my +anxiety to catch a glimpse of him. But it was a woman who alighted. + +As this woman was in a state of great agitation, one of the men +hastened down to offer his arm. As she took it, I asked Hibbard, who +had suddenly reappeared upon the scene, who she was. + +He said that she was probably the sister of the woman who lay inside. +Upon which I remembered that this lady, under the name of Miss +Tuttle—she was but half-sister to Miss Moore—had been repeatedly +mentioned by the reporters, in the accounts of the wedding before +mentioned, as a person of superior attainments and magnificent beauty. + +This did not take from my interest, and flinging decorum to the winds, +I approached as near as possible to the threshold which she must soon +cross. As I did so I was astonished to hear the strains of Uncle +David’s organ still pealing from the opposite side of the way. This at +a moment so serious and while matters of apparent consequence were +taking place in the house to which he had himself directed the +attention of the police, struck me as carrying stoicism to the extreme. +Not very favorably impressed by this display of open if not insulting +indifference on the part of the sole remaining Moore,—an indifference +which did not appear quite natural even in a man of his morbid +eccentricity,—I resolved to know more of this old man and, above all, +to make myself fully acquainted with the exact relations which had +existed between him and his unhappy niece. + +Meanwhile Miss Tuttle had stepped within the circle of light cast by +our lanterns. + +I have never seen a finer woman, nor one whose features displayed a +more heart-rending emotion. This called for respect, and I, for one, +endeavored to show it by withdrawing into the background. But I soon +stepped forward again. My desire to understand her was too great, the +impression made by her bearing too complex, to be passed over lightly +by one on the lookout for a key to the remarkable tragedy before us. + +Meanwhile her lips had opened with the cry: + +“My sister! Where is my sister?” + +The captain made a hurried movement toward the rear and then with the +laudable intention, doubtless, of preparing her for the ghastly sight +which awaited her, returned and opened a way for her into the +drawing-room. But she was not to be turned aside from her course. +Passing him by, she made directly for the library which she entered +with a bound. Struck by her daring, we all crowded up behind her, and, +curious brutes that we were, grouped ourselves in a semicircle about +the doorway as she faltered toward her sister’s outstretched form and +fell on her knees beside it. Her involuntary shriek and the fierce +recoil she made as her eyes fell on the long white ribbon trailing over +the floor from her sister’s wrist, struck me as voicing the utmost +horror of which the human soul is capable. It was as though her very +soul were pierced. Something in the fact itself, something in the +appearance of this snowy ribbon tied to the scarce whiter wrist, seemed +to pluck at the very root of her being; and when her glance, in +traveling its length, lighted on the death dealing weapon at its end, +she cringed in such apparent anguish that we looked to see her fall in +a swoon or break out into delirium. We were correspondingly startled +when she suddenly burst forth with this word of stern command: + +“Untie that knot! Why do you leave that dreadful thing fast to her? +Untie it, I say, it is killing me; I can not bear the sight.” And from +trembling she passed to shuddering till her whole body shook +convulsively. + +The captain, with much consideration, drew back the hand he had +impulsively stretched toward the ribbon. + +“No, no,” he protested; “we can not do that; we can do nothing till the +coroner comes. It is necessary that he should see her just as she was +found. Besides, Mr. Jeffrey has a right to the same privilege. We +expect him any moment.” + +The beautiful head of the woman before us shook involuntarily, but her +lips made no protest. I doubt if she possessed the power of speech at +that moment. A change, subtle, but quite perceptible, had taken place +in her emotions at mention of her sister’s husband, and, though she +exerted herself to remain calm, the effort seemed too much for her +strength. Anxious to hide this evidence of weakness, she rose +impetuously; and then we saw how tall she was, how the long lines of +her cloak became her, and what a glorious creature she was altogether. + +“It will kill him,” she groaned in a deep inward voice. Then, with a +certain forced haste and in a tone of surprise which to my ear had not +quite a natural ring, she called aloud on her who could no longer +either listen or answer: + +“Oh, Veronica, Veronica! What cause had you for death? And why do we +find you lying here in a spot you so feared and detested?” + +“Don’t you know?” insinuated the captain, with a mild persuasiveness, +such as he was seldom heard to use. “Do you mean that you can not +account for your sister’s violent end, you, who have lived with her—or +so I have been told—ever since her marriage with Mr. Jeffrey?” + +“Yes.” + +Keen and clear the word rang out, fierce in its keenness and almost too +clear to be in keeping with the half choked tones with which she added: +“I know that she was not happy, that she never has been happy since the +shadow which this room suggests fell upon her marriage. But how could I +so much as dream that her dread of the past or her fear of the future +would drive her to suicide, and in this place of all places! Had I done +so—had I imagined in the least degree that she was affected to this +extent—do you think that I would have left her for one instant alone? +None of us knew that she contemplated death. She had no appearance of +it; she laughed when I—” + +What had she been about to say? The captain seemed to wonder, and after +waiting in vain for the completion of her sentence, he quietly +suggested: + +“You have not finished what you had to say, Miss Tuttle.” + +She started and seemed to come back from some remote region of thought +into which she had wandered. “I don’t know—I forget,” she stammered, +with a heart-broken sigh. “Poor Veronica! Wretched Veronica! How shall +I ever tell _him!_ How, how, can we ever prepare _him!_” + +The captain took advantage of this reference to Mr. Jeffrey to ask +where that gentleman was. The young lady did not seem eager to reply, +but when pressed, answered, though somewhat mechanically, that it was +impossible for her to say; Mr. Jeffrey had many friends with any one of +whom he might be enjoying a social evening. + +“But it is far past midnight now,” remarked the captain. “Is he in the +habit of remaining out late?” + +“Sometimes,” she faintly admitted. “Two or three times since his +marriage he has been out till one.” + +Were there other causes for the young bride’s evident disappointment +and misery besides the one intimated? There certainly was some excuse +for thinking so. + +Possibly some one of as may have shown his doubts in this regard, for +the woman before us suddenly broke forth with this vehement assertion: + +“Mr. Jeffrey was a loving husband to my sister. A _very_ loving +husband,” she emphasized. Then, growing desperately pale, she added, “I +have never known a better man,” and stopped. + +Some hidden anguish in this cry, some self-consciousness in this pause, +suggested to me a possibility which I was glad to see ignored by the +captain in his next question. + +“When did you see your sister last?” he asked. “Were you at home when +she left her husband’s house?” + +“Alas!” she murmured. Then seeing that a more direct answer was +expected of her, she added with as little appearance of effort as +possible: “I _was_ at home and I heard her go out. But I had no idea +that it was for any purpose other than to join some social gathering.” + +“Dressed this way?” + +The captain pointed to the floor and her eyes followed. Certainly Mrs. +Jeffrey was not appareled for an evening company. As Miss Tuttle +realized the trap into which she had been betrayed, her words rushed +forth and tripped each other up. + +“I did not notice. She often wore black—it became her. My sister was +eccentric.” + +Worse, worse than useless. Some slips can not be explained away. Miss +Tuttle seemed to realize that this was one of them, for she paused +abruptly, with the words half finished on her tongue. Yet her attitude +commanded respect, and I for one was ready to accord it to her. + +Certainly, such a woman was not to be seen every day, and if her +replies lacked candor, there was a nobility in her presence which gave +the lie to any doubt. At least, that was the effect she produced on me. +Whether or not her interrogator shared my feeling I could not so +readily determine, for his attention as well as mine was suddenly +diverted by the cry which now escaped her lips. + +“Her watch! Where is her watch? It is gone! I saw it on her breast and +it’s gone. It hung just—just where—” + +“Wait!” cried one of the men who had been peering about the floor. “Is +this it?” + +He held aloft a small object blazing with jewels. + +“Yes,” she gasped, trying to take it. + +But the officer gave it to the captain instead. + +“It must have slipped from her as she fell,” remarked the latter, after +a cursory examination of the glittering trinket. “The pin by which she +attached it to her dress must have been insecurely fastened.” Then +quickly and with a sharp look at Miss Tuttle: “Do you know if this was +considered an accurate timepiece?” + +“Yes. Why do you ask? Is it—” + +“Look!” He held it up with the face toward us. The hands stood at +thirteen minutes past seven. “The hour and the moment when it struck +the floor,” he declared. “And consequently the hour and the moment when +Mrs. Jeffrey fell,” finished Durbin. + +Miss Tuttle said nothing, only gasped. + +“Valuable evidence,” quoth the captain, putting the watch in his +pocket. Then, with a kind look at her, called forth by the sight of her +misery: + +“Does this hour agree with the time of her leaving the house?” + +“I can not say. I think so. It was some time before or after seven. I +don’t remember the exact minute.” + +“It would take fifteen for her to walk here. Did she walk?” + +“I do not know. I didn’t see her leave. My room is at the back of the +house.” + +“You can say if she left alone or in the company of her husband?” + +“Mr. Jeffrey was not with her?” + +“Was Mr. Jeffrey in the house?” + +“He was not.” + +This last negative was faintly spoken. + +The captain noticed this and ventured upon interrogating her further. + +“How long had he been gone?” + +Her lips parted; she was deeply agitated; but when she spoke it was +coldly and with studied precision. + +“Mr. Jeffrey was not at home tonight at all. He has not been in all +day.” + +“Not at home? Did his wife know that he was going to dine out?” + +“She said nothing about it.” + +The captain cut short his questions and in another moment I understood +why. A gentleman was standing in the doorway, whose face once seen, was +enough to stop the words on any man’s lips. Miss Tuttle saw this +gentleman almost as quickly as we did and sank with an involuntary moan +to her knees. + +It was Francis Jeffrey come to look upon his dead bride. + +I have been present at many tragic scenes and have beheld men under +almost every aspect of grief, terror and remorse; but there was +something in the face of this man at this dreadful moment that was +quite new to me, and, as I judge, equally new to the other hardy +officials about me. To be sure he was a gentleman and a very high-bred +one at that; and it is but seldom we have to do with any of his ilk. + +Breathlessly we awaited his first words. + +Not that he showed frenzy or made any display of the grief or surprise +natural to the occasion. On the contrary, he was the quietest person +present, and among all the emotions his white face mirrored I saw no +signs of what might be called sorrow. Yet his appearance was one to +wring the heart and rouse the most contradictory conjectures as to just +what chord in his evidently highly strung nature throbbed most acutely +to the horror and astonishment of this appalling end of so short a +married life. + +His eye, which was fixed on the prostrate body of his bride, did not +yield up its secret. When he moved and came to where she lay and caught +his first sight of the ribbon and the pistol attached to it, the most +experienced among us were baffled as to the nature of his feelings and +thoughts. One thing alone was patent to all. He had no wish to touch +this woman whom he had so lately sworn to cherish. His eyes devoured +her, he shuddered and strove several times to speak, and though +kneeling by her side, he did not reach forth his hand nor did he let a +tear fall on the appealing features so pathetically turned upward as if +to meet his look. + +Suddenly he leaped to his feet. + +“Must she stay here?” he demanded, looking about for the person most in +authority. + +The captain answered by a question: + +“How do you account for her being here at all? What explanation have +you, as her husband, to give for this strange suicide of your wife?” + +For reply, Mr. Jeffrey, who was an exceptionally handsome man, drew +forth a small slip of crumpled paper, which he immediately handed over +to the speaker. + +“Let her own words explain,” said he. “I found this scrap of writing in +our upstairs room when I returned home tonight. She must have written +it just before—before—” + +A smothered groan filled up the break, but it did not come from his +lips, which were fixed and set, but from those of the woman who +crouched amongst us. Did he catch this expression of sorrow from one +whose presence he as yet had given no token of recognizing? He did not +seem to. His eye was on the captain, who was slowly reading, by the +light of a lantern held in a detective’s hand, the almost illegible +words which Mr. Jeffrey had just said were his wife’s last +communication. + +Will they seem as pathetic to the eye as they did to the ear in that +room of awesome memories and present death? + +“I find that I do not love you as I thought I did. I can not live, +knowing this to be so. I pray God that you may forgive me. + + +VERONICA” + + +A gasp from the figure in the corner; then silence. We were glad to +hear the captain’s voice again. + +“A woman’s heart is a great mystery,” he remarked, with a short glance +at Mr. Jeffrey. + +It was a sentiment we could all echo; for he, to whom she had alluded +in these few lines as one she could not love, was a man whom most women +would consider the embodiment of all that was admirable and attractive. + +That one woman so regarded him was apparent to all. If ever the heart +spoke in a human face, it spoke in that of Miss Tuttle as she watched +her sister’s husband struggling for composure above the prostrate form +of her who but a few hours previous had been the envy of all the +fashionable young women in Washington. I found it hard to fix my +attention on the next question, interesting and valuable as every small +detail was likely to prove in case my theory of this crime should ever +come to be looked on as the true one. + +“How came you to search here for the wife who had written you this +vague and far from satisfactory farewell? I see no hint in these lines +of the place where she intended to take her life.” + +“No! no!” Even this strong man shrank from this idea and showed a very +natural recoil as his glances flew about the ill-omened room and +finally rested on the fireside over which so repellent a mystery hung +in impenetrable shadow. “She said nothing of her intentions; nothing! +But the man who came for me told me where she was to be found. He was +waiting at the door of my house. He had been on a search for me up and +down the town. We met on the stoop.” + +The captain accepted this explanation without cavil. I was glad he did. +But to me the affair showed inconsistencies which I secretly felt it to +be my especial duty to unravel. + + + + +V. +MASTER AND DOG + + +No further opportunity was afforded me that night for studying the +three leading characters in the remarkable drama I saw unfolding before +me. A task was assigned me by the captain which took me from the house, +and I missed the next scene—the arrival of the coroner. But I repaid +myself for this loss in a way I thought justified by the importance of +my own theory and the evident necessity there was of collecting each +and every point of evidence which could give coloring to the charge, in +the event of this crime coming to be looked on at headquarters as one +of murder. + +Observing that a light was still burning in Uncle David’s domicile, I +crossed to his door and rang the bell. I was answered by the deep and +prolonged howl of a dog, soon cut short by his master’s amiable +greeting. This latter was a surprise to me. I had heard so often of Mr. +Moore’s churlishness as a host that I had expected some rebuff. But I +encountered no such tokens of hostility. His brow was smooth and his +smile cheerfully condescending. Indeed, he appeared anxious to have me +enter, and cast an indulgent look at Rudge, whose irrepressible joy at +this break in the monotony of his existence was tinged with a very +evident dread of offending his master. Interested anew, I followed this +man of contradictory impulses into the room toward which he led me. + +The time has now come for a more careful description of this peculiar +man. Mr. Moore was tall and of that refined spareness of shape which +suggests the scholar. Yet he had not the scholar’s eye. On the +contrary, his regard was quick, if not alert, and while it did not +convey actual malice or ill-will, it roused in the spectator an +uncomfortable feeling, not altogether easy to analyze. He wore his iron +gray locks quite long, and to this distinguishing idiosyncrasy, as well +as to his invariable custom of taking his dog with him wherever he +went, was due the interest always shown in him by street urchins. On +account of his whimsicalities, he had acquired the epithet of Uncle +David among them, despite his aristocratic connections and his +gentlemanlike bearing. His clothes formed no exception to the general +air of individuality which marked him. They were of different cut from +those of other men, and in this as in many other ways he was a law to +himself; notably so in the following instance: He kept one day of the +year religiously, and kept it always in the same way. Long years +before, he had been blessed with a wife who both understood and loved +him. He had never forgotten this fact, and once a year, presumably on +the anniversary of her death, it was his custom to go to the cemetery +where she lay and to spend the whole day under the shadow of the stone +he had raised to her memory. No matter what the weather, no matter what +the condition of his own health, he was always to be seen in this spot, +at the hour of seven, leaning against the shaft on which his wife’s +name was written, eating his supper in the company of his dog. It was a +custom he had never omitted. So well known was it to the boys and +certain other curious individuals in the neighborhood that he never +lacked an audience, though woe betide the daring foot that presumed to +invade the precincts of the lot he called his, or the venturesome voice +which offered to raise itself in gibe or jeer. He had but to cast a +glance at Rudge and an avenging rush scattered the crowd in a +twinkling. But he seldom had occasion to resort to this extreme measure +for preserving the peace and quiet of his solemn watch. As a rule he +was allowed to eat his meal undisturbed, and to pass out unmolested +even by ridicule, though his teeth might still be busy over some final +tidbit. Often the great tears might be seen hanging undried upon his +withered cheeks. + +So much for one oddity which may stand as a sample of many others. + +One glance at the room into which he ushered me showed why he cherished +so marked a dislike for visitors. It was bare to the point of +discomfort, and had it not been for a certain quaintness in the shape +of the few articles to be seen there, I should have experienced a +decided feeling of repulsion, so pronounced was the contrast between +this poverty-stricken interior and the polished bearing of its owner. +He, I am sure, could have shown no more elevated manners if he had been +doing the honors of a palace. The organ, with the marks of home +construction upon it, was the only object visible which spoke of luxury +or even comfort. + +But enough of these possibly uninteresting details. I did not dwell on +them myself, except in a vague way and while waiting for him to open +the conversation. This he did as soon as he saw that I had no intention +of speaking first. + +“And did you find any one in the old house?” he asked. + +Keeping him well under my eye, I replied with intentional brusqueness: + +“She has gone there once too often!” + +The stare he gave me was that of an actor who feels that some +expression of surprise is expected from him. + +“She?” he repeated. “Whom can you possibly mean by she?” + +The surprise I expressed at this bold attempt at ingenuousness was +better simulated than his, I hope. + +“You don’t know!” I exclaimed. “Can you live directly opposite a place +of such remarkable associations and not interest yourself in who goes +in and out of its deserted doors?” + +“I don’t sit in my front window,” he peevishly returned. + +I let my eye roam toward a chair standing suspiciously near the very +window he had designated. + +“But you saw the light?” I suggested. + +“I saw that from the door-step when I went out to give Rudge his usual +five minutes’ breathing spell on the stoop. But you have not answered +my question; whom do you mean by _she?_” + +“Veronica Jeffrey,” I replied. “She who was Veronica Moore. She has +visited this haunted house of hers for the last time.” + +“Last time!” Either he could not or would not understand me. + +“What has happened to my niece?” he cried, rising with an energy that +displaced the great dog and sent him, with hanging head and trailing +tail, to his own special sleeping-place under the table. “Has she run +upon a ghost in those dismal apartments? You interest me greatly. I did +not think she would ever have the pluck to visit this house again after +what happened at her wedding.” + +“She has had the pluck,” I assured him; “and what is more, she has had +enough of it not only to reenter the house, but to reenter it alone. At +least, such is the present inference. Had you been blessed with more +curiosity and made more frequent use of the chair so conveniently +placed for viewing the opposite house, you might have been in a +position to correct this inference. It would help the police materially +to know positively that she had no companion in her fatal visit.” + +“Fatal?” he repeated, running his finger inside his neckband, which +suddenly seemed to have grown too tight for comfort. “Can it be that my +niece has been frightened to death in that old place? You alarm me.” + +He did not look alarmed, but then he was not of an impressible nature. +Yet he was of the same human clay as the rest of us, and, if he knew no +more of this occurrence than he tried to make out, could not be +altogether impervious to what I had to say next. + +“You have a right to be alarmed,” I assented. “She was not frightened +to death, yet is she lying dead on the library floor.” Then, with a +glance at the windows about me, I added lightly: “I take it that a +pistol-shot delivered over there could not be heard in this room.” + +He sank rather melodramatically into his seat, yet his face and form +did not lose that sudden assumption of dignity which I had observed in +him ever since my entrance into the house. + +“I am overwhelmed by this news,” he remarked. “She has shot herself? +Why?” + +“I did not say that she had shot _herself_,” I carefully repeated. “Yet +the facts point that way and Mr. Jeffrey accepts the suicide theory +without question.” + +“Ah, Mr. Jeffrey is there!” + +“Most certainly; he was sent for at once.” + +“And Miss Tuttle? She came with him of course?” + +“She came, but not with him. She is very fond of her sister.” + +“I must go over at once,” he cried, leaping again to his feet and +looking about for his hat. “It is my duty to make them feel at home; in +short, to—to put the house at their disposal.” Here he found his hat +and placed it on his head. “The property is mine now, you know,” he +politely explained, turning, with a keen light in his gray eye, full +upon me and overwhelming me with the grand air of a man who has come +unexpectedly into his own. “Mrs. Jeffrey’s father was my younger +brother—the story is an old and long one—and the property, which in all +justice should have been divided between us, went entirely to him. But +he was a good fellow in the main and saw the injustice of his father’s +will as clearly as I did, and years ago made one on his own account +bequeathing me the whole estate in case he left no issue, or that issue +died. Veronica was his only child; Veronica has died; therefore the old +house is mine and all that goes with it, _all that goes with it_.” + +There was the miser’s gloating in this repetition of a phrase +sufficiently expressive in itself, or rather the gloating of a man who +sees himself suddenly rich after a life of poverty. There was likewise +a callousness as regarded his niece’s surprising death which I +considered myself to have some excuse for noticing. + +“You accept her death very calmly,” I remarked. “Probably you knew her +to be possessed of an erratic mind.” + +He was about to bestow an admonitory kick on his dog, who had been +indiscreet enough to rise at his master’s first move, but his foot +stopped in mid air, in his anxiety to concentrate all his attention on +his answer. + +“I am a man of few sentimentalities,” he coldly averred. “I have loved +but one person in my whole life. Why then should I be expected to mourn +over a niece who did not care enough for me to invite me to her +wedding? It would be an affectation unworthy the man who has at last +come to fill his rightful position in this community as the owner of +the great Moore estate. For great it shall be,” he emphatically +continued. “In three years you will not know the house over yonder. +Despite its fancied ghosts and death-dealing fireplace, it will stand A +Number One in Washington. I, David Moore, promise you this; and I am +not a man to utter fatuous prophecies. But I must be missed over +there.” Here he gave the mastiff the long delayed kick. “Rudge, stay +here! The vestibule opposite is icy. Besides, your howls are not wanted +in those old walls tonight even if you would go with me, which I doubt. +He has never been willing to cross to that side of the street,” the old +gentleman went on to complain, with his first show of irritation. “But +he’ll have to overcome that prejudice soon, even if I have to tear up +the old hearthstone and reconstruct the walls. I can’t live without +Rudge, and I will not live in any other place than in the old home of +my ancestors.” + +I was by this time following him out. + +“You have failed to answer the suggestion I made you a minute since,” I +hazarded. “Will you pardon me if I put it now as a question? Your +niece, Mrs. Jeffrey, seemed to have everything in the world to make her +happy, yet she took her life. Was there a taint of insanity in her +blood, or was her nature so impulsive that her astonishing death in so +revolting a place should awaken in you so little wonder?” + +A gleam of what had made him more or less feared by the very urchins +who dogged his steps and made sport of him at a respectful distance +shot from his eye as he glowered back at me from the open door. But he +hastily suppressed this sign of displeasure and replied with the +faintest tinge of sarcasm: + +“There! you are expecting from me feelings which belong to youth or to +men of much more heart than understanding. I tell you that I have no +feelings. My niece may have developed insanity or she may simply have +drunk her cup of pleasure dry at twenty-two and come to its dregs +prematurely. I do not know and I do not care. What concerns me is that +the responsibility of a large fortune has fallen upon me most +unexpectedly and that I have pride enough to wish to show myself +capable of sustaining the burden. Besides, they may be tempted to do +some mischief to the walls or floors over there. The police respect no +man’s property. But I am determined they shall respect mine. No +rippings up or tearings down will I allow unless I stand by to +supervise the job. I am master of the old homestead now and I mean to +show it.” And with a last glance at the dog, who uttered the most +mournful of protests in reply, he shut the front door and betook +himself to the other side of the street. + +As I noticed his assured bearing as he disappeared within the +forbidding portal which, according to his own story, had for so long a +time been shut against him, I asked myself if the candle which I had +noticed lying on his mantel-shelf was of the same make and size as +those I had found in my late investigations in the house he was then +entering. + + + + +VI. +GOSSIP + + +Next morning the city was in a blaze of excitement. All the burning +questions of the hour—the rapid mobilization of the army and the +prospect of a speedy advance on Cuba—were forgotten in the one +engrossing topic of young Mrs. Jeffrey’s death and the awful +circumstances surrounding it. Nothing else was in any one’s mouth and +but little else in any one’s heart. Her youth, her prominence, her +union with a man of such marked attractions as Mr. Jeffrey, the tragedy +connected with her marriage, thrown now into shadow by the still more +poignant tragedy which had so suddenly terminated her own life, gave to +the affair an interest which for those first twenty-four hours did not +call for any further heightening by a premature suggestion of murder. + +Though I was the hero of the hour and, as such, subjected to an +infinite number of questions, I followed the lead of my superiors in +this regard and carefully refrained from advancing any theories beyond +the obvious one of suicide. The moment for self-exploitation was not +ripe; I did not stand high enough in the confidence of the major, or, I +may say, of the lieutenant of my own precinct, to risk the triumph I +anticipated ultimately by a premature expression of opinion. + +I had an enemy at headquarters; or, rather, one of the men there had +always appeared peculiarly interested in showing me up in the worst +light. The name of this man was Durbin, and it was he who had uttered +something like a slighting remark when on that first night I endeavored +to call the captain’s attention to some of the small matters which had +offered themselves to me in the light of clues. Perhaps it was the +prospect of surprising him some day which made me so wary now as well +as so alert to fill my mind with all known facts concerning the +Jeffreys. One of my first acts was to turn over the files of the Star +and reread the following account of the great wedding. As it is a +sensational description of a sensational event, I shall make no apology +for the headlines which startled all Washington the night they +appeared. + +“STARTLING TERMINATION OF THE JEFFREY-MOORE WEDDING. + + +THE TRADITIONAL DOOM FOLLOWS THE OPENING OF THE OLD HOUSE ON WAVERLEY +AVENUE. + + +ONE OF THE GUESTS FOUND LYING DEAD ON THE LIBRARY HEARTHSTONE. + + +LETTERS IN HIS POCKET SHOW HIM TO HAVE BEEN ONE W. PFEIFFER OF DENVER. + + +NO INTERRUPTION TO THE CEREMONY FOLLOWS THIS GHASTLY DISCOVERY, BUT THE +GUESTS FLY IN ALL DIRECTIONS AS SOON AS THE NUPTIAL KNOT IS TIED. + + +“The festivities attendant upon the wedding of Miss Veronica Moore to +Mr. Francis Jeffrey of this city met with a startling check today. As +most of our readers know, the long-closed house on Waverley Avenue, +which for nearly a century has been in possession of the bride’s +family, was opened for the occasion at the express wish of the bride. +For a week the preparations for this great function have been going on. +When at an early hour this morning a line of carriages drew up in front +of the historic mansion and the bridal party entered under its once +gloomy but now seemingly triumphant portal, the crowds, which blocked +the street from curb to curb, testified to the interest felt by the +citizens of Washington in this daring attempt to brave the traditions +which have marked this house out as solitary, and by a scene of joyous +festivity make the past forgotten and restore again to usefulness the +decayed grandeurs of an earlier time. As Miss Moore is one of +Washington’s most charming women, and as this romantic effort naturally +lent an extraordinary interest to the ceremony of her marriage, a large +number of our representative people assembled to witness it, and by +high noon the scene was one of unusual brilliancy. + +“Halls which had moldered away in an unbroken silence for years echoed +again with laughter and palpitated to the choicest strains of the +Marine Band. All doors were open save those of the library—an exception +which added a pleasing excitement to the occasion—and when by chance +some of the more youthful guests were caught peering behind the two +Corinthian pillars guarding these forbidden precincts the memories thus +evoked were momentary and the shadow soon passed. + +“The wedding had been set for high noon, and as the clock in the +drawing-room struck the hour every head was craned to catch the first +glimpse of the bride coming down the old-fashioned staircase. But five +minutes, ten minutes, a half-hour, passed without this expectation +being gratified. The crowd above and below was growing restless, when +suddenly a cry was heard from beyond the gilded pillars framing the +library door, and a young lady was seen rushing from the forbidden +quarter, trembling with dismay and white with horror. It was Miss +Abbott of Stratford Circle, who in the interim of waiting had allowed +her curiosity to master her dread, and by one peep into the room, which +seemed to exercise over her the fascination of a Bluebeard’s chamber, +discovered the outstretched form of a man lying senseless and +apparently dead on the edge of the hearthstone. The terror which +instantly spread amongst the guests shows the hold which superstition +has upon all classes of humanity. Happily, however, an unseemly panic +was averted, by the necessity which all felt of preserving some sort of +composure till the ceremony for which they had assembled had been +performed. For simultaneously with this discovery of death in the +library there had come from above the sound of the approaching bridal +procession, and cries were hushed, and beating hearts restrained, as +Miss Moore’s charming face and exquisite figure appeared between the +rows of flowering plants with which the staircase was lined. No need +for the murmur to go about, ‘Spare the bride! Let nothing but cheer +surround her till she is Jeffrey’s wife!’ The look of joy which +irradiated her countenance, and gave a fairy-like aspect to her whole +exquisite person would have deterred the most careless and +self-centered person there from casting a shadow across her pathway one +minute sooner than necessity demanded. The richness of the ancestral +veil which covered her features and the natural timidity which prevents +a bride from lifting her eyes from the floor she traverses saved her +from observing the strange looks by which her presence was hailed. She +was consequently enabled to go through the ceremony in happy +unconsciousness of the forced restraint which held that surging mass +together. + +“But the bridesmaids were not so happy. Miss Tuttle especially held +herself upright simply by the exercise of her will; and though +resplendent in beauty, suffered so much in her anxiety for the bride +that it was a matter of small surprise when she fainted at the +conclusion of the ceremony. + +“Mr. Jeffrey showed more composure, but the inward excitement under +which he was laboring made him trip more than once in his responses, as +many there noted whose minds were not fixed too strongly on flight. + +“Only Doctor Auchincloss was quite himself, and by means of the +solemnity with which he invested his words kept the hubbub down, which +was already making itself heard on the outskirts of the crowd. But even +his influence did not prevail beyond the moment devoted to the +benediction. Once the sacred words were said, such a stampede followed +that the bride showed much alarm, and it was left for Mr. Jeffrey to +explain to her the cause of this astonishing conduct on the part of her +guests. She bore the disclosure well, all things considered, and once +she was fully assured that the unhappy man whose sudden death had thus +interrupted the festivities was an intruder upon the scene, and quite +unknown, not only to herself but to her newly-made husband, she +brightened perceptibly, though, like every one around her, she seemed +anxious to leave the house, and, indeed, did so as soon as Miss +Tuttle’s condition warranted it. + +“The fact that the bride went through the ceremony without her bridal +bouquet is looked upon by many as an unfavorable omen. In her anxiety +not to impose any longer upon the patience of her guests, she had +descended without it. + +“As to the deceased, but little is known of him. Letters found on his +person prove his name to be W. Pfeiffer, and his residence Denver. His +presence in Miss Moore’s house at a time so inopportune is unexplained. +No such name is on the list of wedding guests, nor was he recognized as +one of Miss Moore’s friends either by Mr. Jeffrey or by such of her +relatives and acquaintances as had the courage to enter the library to +see him. + +“With the exception of the discolored mark on his temple, showing where +his head had come in contact with the hearthstone, his body presents an +appearance of natural robustness, which makes his sudden end seem all +the more shocking. + +“His name has been found registered at the National Hotel.” + +Turning over the files, I next came upon the following despatch from +Denver: + +“The sudden death in Washington of Wallace Pfeiffer, one of our best +known and most respected citizens, is deeply deplored by all who knew +him and his unfortunate mother. He is the last of her three sons, all +of whom have died within the year. The demise of Wallace leaves her +entirely unprovided for. It was not known here that Mr. Pfeiffer +intended to visit Washington. He was supposed to go in quite the +opposite direction, having said to more than one that he had business +in San Francisco. His intrusion into the house of Miss Moore during the +celebration of a marriage in which he could have taken no personal +interest is explained in the following manner by such as knew his +mental peculiarities: Though a merchant by trade and latterly a miner +in the Klondike, he had great interest in the occult and was a strong +believer in all kinds of supernatural manifestations. He may have heard +of the unhappy reputation attaching to the Moore house in Washington +and, fascinated by the mystery involved, embraced the opportunity +afforded by open doors and the general confusion incident to so large a +gathering to enter the interesting old place and investigate for +himself the fatal library. The fact of his having been found secluded +in this very room, at a moment when every other person in the house was +pushing forward to see the bride, lends color to this supposition; and +his sudden death under circumstances tending to rouse the imagination +shows the extreme sensitiveness of his nature. + +“He will be buried here.” + +The next paragraph was short. Fresher events were already crowding this +three-days-old wonder to the wall. + +“Verdict in the case of Wallace Pfeiffer, found lying dead on the +hearthstone of the old Moore house library. + +“Concussion of the brain, preceded by mental shock or heart failure. + +“The body went on to Denver today.” + +And below, separated by the narrowest of spaces: + +“Mr. and Mrs. Francis Jeffrey have decided to give up their wedding +tour and spend their honeymoon in Washington. They will occupy the +Ransome house on K Street.” + +The last paragraph brought me back to the question then troubling my +mind. Was it in the household of this newly married pair and in the +possible secret passions underlying their union that one should look +for the cause of the murderous crime I secretly imagined to be hidden +behind this seeming suicide? Or were these parties innocent and old +David Moore the one motive power in precipitating a tragedy, the result +of which had been to enrich him and impoverish them? Certainly, a most +serious and important question, and one which any man might be pardoned +for attempting to answer, especially if that man was a young detective +lamenting his obscurity and dreaming of a recognition which would yield +him fame and the wherewithal to marry a certain clever but mischievous +little minx of whom you are destined to hear more. + +But how was that same young detective, hampered as he was, and held in +thrall by a fear of ridicule and a total lack of record, to get the +chance to push an inquiry requiring opportunities which could only come +by special favor? This was what I continually asked myself, and always +without result. + +True, I might approach the captain or the major with my story of the +tell-tale marks I had discovered in the dust covering the southwest +chamber mantel-shelf, and, if fortunate enough to find that these had +been passed over by the other detectives, seek to gain a hearing +thereby and secure for myself the privileges I so earnestly desired. +But my egotism was such that I wished to be sure of the hand which had +made these marks before I parted with a secret which, once told, would +make or mar me. Yet to obtain the slight concession of an interview +with any of the principals connected with this crime would be difficult +without the aid of one or both of my superiors. Even to enter the house +again where but a few hours before I had made myself so thoroughly at +home would require a certain amount of pluck; for Durbin had been +installed there, and Durbin was a watch-dog whose bite as well as his +bark I regarded with considerable respect. Yet into that house I must +sooner or later go, if only to determine whether or not I had been +alone in my recognition of certain clues pointing plainly toward +murder. Should I trust my lucky star and remain for the nonce +quiescent? This seemed a wise suggestion and I decided to adopt it, +comforting myself with the thought that if after a day or two of modest +waiting I failed in obtaining what I wished, I could then appeal to the +lieutenant of my own precinct. He, I had sometimes felt assured, did +not regard me with an altogether unfavorable eye. + +Meantime I spent all my available time in loitering around newspaper +offices and picking up such stray bits of gossip as were offered. As no +question had yet been raised of any more serious crime than suicide, +these mostly related to the idiosyncrasies of the Moore family and the +solitary position into which Miss Tuttle had been plunged by this +sudden death of her only relative. As this beautiful and distinguished +young woman had been and still was a great belle in her special circle, +her present homeless, if not penniless, position led to many surmises. +Would she marry, and, if so, to which of the many wealthy or prominent +men who had openly courted her would she accord her hand? In the +present egotistic state of my mind I secretly flattered myself that I +was right in concluding that she would say yes to no man’s entreaty +till a certain newly-made widower’s year of mourning had expired. + +But this opinion received something of a check when in a quiet talk +with a reporter I learned that it was openly stated by those who had +courage to speak that the tie which had certainly existed at one time +between Mr. Jeffrey and the handsome Miss Tuttle had been entirely of +her own weaving, and that the person of Veronica Moore, rather than the +large income she commanded, had been the attractive power which had led +him away from the older sister. This seemed improbable; for the charms +of the poor little bride were not to be compared with those of her +maturer sister. Yet, as we all know, there are other attractions than +those offered by beauty. I have since heard it broadly stated that the +peculiar twitch of the lip observable in all the Moores had proved an +irresistible charm in the unfortunate Veronica, making her a radiant +image when she laughed. This was by no means a rare occurrence, so they +said, before the fancy took her to be married in the ill-starred home +of her ancestors. + +The few lines of attempted explanation which she had left behind for +her husband seemed to impose on no one. To those who knew the young +couple well it was an open proof of her insanity; to those who knew +them slightly, as well as to the public at large, it was a woman’s way +of expressing the disappointment she felt in her husband. + +That I might the more readily determine which of these two theories had +the firmest basis in fact, I took advantage of an afternoon off and +slipped away to Alexandria, where, I had been told, Mr. Jeffrey had +courted his bride. I wanted a taste of local gossip, you see, and I got +it. The air was fully charged with it, and being careful not to rouse +antagonism by announcing myself a detective, I readily picked up many +small facts. Brought into shape and arranged in the form of a +narrative, the result was as follows: + +John Judson Moore, the father of Veronica, had fewer oddities than the +other members of this eccentric family. It was thought, however, that +he had shown some strain of the peculiar independence of his race when, +in selecting a wife, he let his choice fall on a widow who was not only +encumbered with a child, but who was generally regarded as the plainest +woman in Virginia—he who might have had the pick of Southern beauty. +But when in the course of time this despised woman proved to be the +possessor of those virtues and social graces which eminently fitted her +to conduct the large establishment of which she had been made mistress, +he was forgiven his lack of taste. Little more was said of his +peculiarities until, his wife having died and his child proved weakly, +he made the will in his brother’s favor which has since given that +gentleman such deep satisfaction. + +Why this proceeding should have been so displeasing to their friends +report says not; but that it was so, is evident from the fact that +great rejoicing took place on all sides when Veronica suddenly +developed into a healthy child and the probability of David Moore’s +inheriting the coveted estate decreased to a minimum. It was not a long +rejoicing, however, for John Judson followed his wife to the grave +before Veronica had reached her tenth year, leaving her and her +half-sister, Cora, to the guardianship of a crabbed old bachelor who +had been his father’s lawyer. This lawyer was morose and peevish, but +he was never positively unkind. For two years the sisters seemed happy +enough when, suddenly and somewhat peremptorily, they were separated, +Veronica being sent to a western school, where she remained, seemingly +without a single visit east, till she was seventeen. During this long +absence Miss Tuttle resided in Washington, developing under masters +into an accomplished woman. Veronica’s guardian, severe in his +treatment of the youthful owner of the large fortune of which he had +been made sole executor, was unexpectedly generous to the penniless +sister, hoping, perhaps, in his close, peevish old heart, that the +charms and acquired graces of this lovely woman would soon win for her +a husband in the brilliant set in which she naturally found herself. + +But Cora Tuttle was not easy to please, and the first men of Washington +came and went before her eyes without awakening in her any special +interest till she met Francis Jeffrey, who stole her heart with a look. + +Those who remember her that winter say that under his influence she +developed from a handsome woman into a lovely one. Yet no engagement +was announced, and society was wondering what held Francis Jeffrey back +from so great a prize, when Veronica Moore came home, and the question +was forever answered. + +Veronica was now nearly eighteen, and during her absence had blossomed +into womanhood. She was not as beautiful as her sister, but she had a +bright and pleasing expression with enough spice in her temperament to +rob her girlish features of insipidity and make her conversation witty, +if not brilliant. Yet when Francis Jeffrey turned his attentions from +Miss Tuttle and fixed them without reserve, or seeming shame, upon this +pretty butterfly, but one term could be found to characterize the +proceeding, and that was, fortune hunting. Of small but settled income, +he had hitherto shown a certain contentment with his condition +calculated to inspire respect and make his attentions to Miss Tuttle +seem both consistent and appropriate. But no sooner did Veronica’s +bright eyes appear than he fell at the young heiress’ feet and pressed +his suit so close and fast that in two months they were engaged and at +the end of the half-year, married—with the disastrous consequences just +made known. + +So much for the general gossip of the town. Now for the special. + +A certain gentleman, whom it is unnecessary to name, had been present +at one critical instant in the lives of these three persons. He was not +a scandalmonger, and if everything had gone on happily, if Veronica had +lived and Cora settled down into matrimony, he would never have +mentioned what he heard and saw one night in the great drawing-room of +a hotel in Atlantic City. + +It was at the time when the engagement was first announced between +Jeffrey and the young heiress. This and his previous attentions to Cora +had made much talk, both in Washington and elsewhere, and there were +not lacking those who had openly twitted him for his seeming +inconstancy. This had been over the cups of course, and Jeffrey had +borne it well enough from his so-called friends and intimates. But +when, on a certain evening in the parlor of one of the large hotels in +Atlantic City, a fellow whom nobody knew and nobody liked accused him +of knowing on which side his bread was buttered, and that certainly it +was not on the side of beauty and superior attainments, Jeffrey got +angry. Heedless of who might be within hearing, he spoke up very +plainly in these words: “You are all of a kind, rank money-worshipers +and self-seeker, or you would not be so ready to see greed in my +admiration for Miss Moore. Disagreeable as I find it to air my +sentiments in this public manner, yet since you provoke me to it, I +will say once and for all, that I am deeply in love with Miss Moore, +and that it is for this reason only I am going to marry her. Were she +the penniless girl her sister is, and Miss Tuttle the proud possessor +of the wealth which, in your eyes, confers such distinction upon Miss +Moore, you would still see me at the latter’s feet, and at hers only. +Miss Tuttle’s charms are not potent enough to hold the heart which has +once been fixed by her sister’s smile.” + +This was pointed enough, certainly, but when at the conclusion of his +words a tall figure rose from a near corner and Cora Tuttle passed the +amazed group with a bow, I dare warrant that not one of the men +composing it but wished himself a hundred miles away. + +Jeffrey himself was chagrined, and made a move to follow the woman he +had so publicly scorned, but the look she cast back at him was one to +remember, and he hesitated. What was there left for him to say, or even +to do? The avowal had been made in all its bald frankness and nothing +could alter it. As for her, she behaved beautifully, and by no word or +look, so far as the world knew, ever showed that her woman’s pride, if +not her heart, had been cut to the quick, by the one man she adored. + +With this incident filling my mind, I returned to Washington. I had +acquainted myself with the open facts of this family’s history; but +what of its inner life? Who knew it? Did any one? Even the man who +confided to me the _contretemps_ in the hotel parlor could not be sure +what underlay Mr. Jeffrey’s warm advocacy of the woman he had elected +to marry. He could not even be certain that he had really understood +the feeling shown by Cora Tuttle when she heard the man, who had once +lavished attentions on her, express in this public manner a preference +for her sister. A woman has great aptness in concealing a mortal hurt, +and, from what I had seen of this one, I thought it highly improbable +that all was quiet in her passionate breast because she had turned an +impassive front to the world. + +I was becoming confused in the maze of my own imaginings. To escape the +results of this confusion, I determined to drop theory and confine +myself to facts. + +And thus passed the first few days succeeding the tragic discovery in +the Moore house. + + + + +VII. +SLY WORK + + +The next morning my duty led me directly in the way of that little +friend of mine whom I have already mentioned. It is strange how often +my duty did lead me in her way. + +She is a demure little creature, with wits as bright as her eyes, which +is saying a great deal; and while, in the course of our long +friendship, I had admired without making use of the special abilities I +saw in her, I felt that the time had now come when they might prove of +inestimable value to me. + +Greeting her with pardonable abruptness, I expressed my wishes in these +possibly alarming words: + +“Jinny, you can do something for me. Find out—I know you can, and that, +too, without arousing suspicion or compromising either of us—where Mr. +Moore, of Waverley Avenue, buys his groceries, and when you have done +that, whether or not he has lately resupplied himself with candles.” + +The surprise which she showed had a touch of naivete in it which was +very encouraging. + +“Mr. Moore?” she cried, “the uncle of her who—who—” + +“The very same,” I responded, and waited for her questions without +adding a single word in way of explanation. + +She gave me a look—oh, what a look! It was as encouraging to the +detective as it was welcome to the lover; after which she nodded, once +in doubt, once in question and once in frank and laughing consent, and +darted off. + +I thanked Providence for such a self-contained little aide-de-camp and +proceeded on my way, in a state of great self-satisfaction. + +An hour later I came upon her again. It is really extraordinary how +frequently the paths of some people cross. + +“Well?” I asked. + +“Mr. Moore deals with Simpkins, just two blocks away from his house; +and only a week ago he bought some candles there.” + +I rewarded her with a smile which summoned into view the most +exasperating of dimples. + +“You had better patronize Simpkins yourself for a little while,” I +suggested; and by the arch glance with which my words were received, I +perceived that my meaning was fully understood. + +Experiencing from this moment an increased confidence, not only in the +powers of my little friend, but in the line of investigation thus +happily established, I cast about for means of settling the one great +question which was a necessary preliminary to all future action: +Whether the marks detected by me in the dust of the mantel in the +southwest chamber had been made by the hand of him who had lately felt +the need of candles, albeit his house appeared to be fully lighted by +gas? + +The subterfuge by which, notwithstanding my many disadvantages, I was +finally enabled to obtain unmistakable answer to this query was the +fruit of much hard thought. Perhaps I was too proud of it. Perhaps I +should have mistrusted myself more from the start. But I was a great +egotist in those days, and reckoned quite above their inherent worth +any bright ideas which I could safely call my own. + +The point aimed at was this: to obtain without Moore’s knowledge an +accurate impression of his finger-tips. + +The task presented difficulties, but these served duly to increase my +ardor. + +Confiding to the lieutenant of the precinct my great interest in the +mysterious house with whose suggestive interior I had made myself +acquainted under such tragic circumstances, I asked him as a personal +favor to obtain for me an opportunity of spending another night there. + +He was evidently surprised by the request, not cherishing, as I +suppose, any great longings himself in this direction; but recognizing +that for some reason I set great store on this questionable +privilege,—I do not think that he suspected in the least what that +reason was,—and being, as I have intimated, favorably disposed to me, +he exerted himself to such good effect that I was formally detailed to +assist in keeping watch over the premises that very night. + +I think that it was at this point I began to reckon on the success +which, after many failures and some mischances, was yet to reward my +efforts. + +As I prepared to enter the old house at nightfall, I allowed myself one +short glance across the way to see if my approach had been observed by +the man whose secret, if secret he had, I was laying plans to surprise. +I was met by a sight I had not expected. Pausing on the pavement in +front of me stood a handsome elderly gentleman whose appearance was so +fashionable and thoroughly up to date, that I should have failed to +recognize him if my glance had not taken in at the same instant the +figure of Rudge crouching obstinately on the edge of the curb where he +had evidently posted himself in distinct refusal to come any farther. +In vain his master,—for the well-dressed man before me was no less a +personage than the whilom butt of all the boys between the Capitol and +the Treasury building,—signaled and commanded him to cross to his side; +nothing could induce the mastiff to budge from that quarter of the +street where he felt himself safe. + +Mr. Moore, glorying in the prospect of unlimited wealth, presented a +startling contrast in more ways than one to the poverty-stricken old +man whose curious garb and lonely habits had made him an object of +ridicule to half the town. I own that I was half amused and half awed +by the condescending bow with which he greeted my offhand nod and the +affable way in which he remarked: + +“You are making use of your prerogatives as a member of the police, I +see.” + +The words came as easily from his lips as if his practice in affability +had been of the very longest. + +“I wonder how the old place enjoys its present distinction,” he went +on, running his eye over the dilapidated walls under which we stood, +with very evident pride in their vast proportions and the air of gloomy +grandeur which signalized them. “If it partakes in the slightest degree +of the feelings of its owner, I can vouch for its impatience at the +free use which is made of its time-worn rooms and halls. Are these +intrusions necessary? Now that Mrs. Jeffrey’s body has been removed, do +you feel that the scene of her demise need hold the attention of the +police any longer?” + +“That is a question to put to the superintendent and not to me,” was my +deprecatory reply. “The major has issued no orders for the watch to be +taken off, so we men have no choice. I am sorry if it offends you. +Doubtless a few days will end the matter and the keys will be given +into your hand. I suppose you are anxious to move in?” + +He cast a glance behind him at his dog, gave a whistle which passed +unheeded, and replied with dignity, if but little heart: + +“When a man has passed his seventh decade he is not apt to be so +patient with delay as when he has a prospect of many years before him. +I am anxious to enter my own house, yes; I have much to do there.” + +I came very near asking him what, but feared to seem too familiar, in +case he was the cold but upright man he would fain appear, and too +interested and inquiring if he were the whited sepulcher I secretly +considered him. So with a nod a trifle more pronounced than if I had +been unaffected by either hypothesis, I remounted the steps, carelessly +remarking: + +“I’ll see you again after taking a turn through the house. If I +discover anything—ghost marks or human marks which might be of interest +to you—I’ll let you know.” + +Something like a growl answered me. But whether it came from master or +dog, I did not stop to inquire. I had serious work before me; very +serious, considering that it was to be done on my own responsibility +and without the knowledge of my superiors. But I was sustained by the +thought that no whisper of murder had as yet been heard abroad or at +headquarters, and that consequently I was interfering in no great case; +merely trying to formulate one. + +It was necessary, for the success of my plan, that some time should +elapse before I reapproached Mr. Moore. I therefore kept my word to him +and satisfied my own curiosity by taking a fresh tour through the +house. Naturally, in doing this, I visited the library. Here all was +dark. The faint twilight still illuminating the streets failed to +penetrate here. I was obliged to light my lantern. + +My first glance was toward the fireplace. Venturesome hands had been +there. Not only had the fender been drawn out and the grate set aside, +but the huge settle had been wrenched free from the mantel and dragged +into the center of the room. Rather pleased at this change, for with +all my apparent bravado I did not enjoy too close a proximity to the +cruel hearthstone, I stopped to give this settle a thorough +investigation. The result was disappointing. To all appearance—and I +did not spare it the experiment of many a thump and knock—it was a +perfectly innocuous piece of furniture, clumsy of build, but solid and +absolutely devoid of anything that could explain the tragedies which +had occurred so near it. I even sat down on its musty old cushion and +shut my eyes, but was unrewarded by alarming visions, or disturbance of +any sort. Nor did the floor where it had stood yield any better results +to the inquiring eye. Nothing was to be seen there but the marks left +by the removal of its base from the blackened boards. + +Disgusted with myself, if not with this object of my present +disappointment, I left that portion of the room in which it stood and +crossed to where I had found the little table on the night of Mrs. +Jeffrey’s death. It was no longer there. It had been set back against +the wall where it properly belonged, and the candelabrum removed. Nor +was the kitchen chair any longer to be seen near the book shelves. This +fact, small as it was, caused me an instant of chagrin. I had intended +to look again at the book which I had examined with such unsatisfactory +results the time before. A glance showed me that this book had been +pushed back level with the others; but I remembered its title, and, had +the means of reaching it been at hand, I should certainly have stolen +another peep at it. + +Upstairs I found the same signs of police interference. The shutter had +been fastened in the southwest room, and the bouquet and wrap taken +away from the bed. The handkerchief, also, was missing from the mantel +where I had left it, and when I opened the closet door, it was to find +the floor bare and the second candelabrum and candle removed. + +“All gone,” thought I; “each and every clue.” + +But I was mistaken. In another moment I came upon the minute filings I +had before observed scattered over a small stand. Concluding from this +that they had been passed over by Durbin and his associates as +valueless, I swept them, together with the dust in which they lay, into +an old envelope I happily found in my pocket. Then I crossed to the +mantel and made a close inspection of its now empty shelf. The +scratches which I had made there were visible enough, but the +impressions for which they stood had vanished in the handling which +everything in the house had undergone. Regarding with great +thankfulness the result of my own foresight, I made haste to leave the +room. I then proceeded to take my first steps in the ticklish +experiment by which I hoped to determine whether Uncle David had had +any share in the fatal business which had rendered the two rooms I had +just visited so memorable. + +First, satisfying myself by a peep through the front drawing-room +window that he was positively at watch behind the vines, I went +directly to the kitchen, procured a chair and carried it into the +library, where I put it to a use that, to an onlooker’s eye, would have +appeared very peculiar. Planting it squarely on the hearthstone,—not +without some secret perturbation as to what the results might be to +myself,—I mounted it and took down the engraving which I have already +described as hanging over this mantelpiece. + +Setting it on end against one of the jambs of the fireplace, I mounted +the chair once more and carefully sifted over the high shelf the +contents of a little package which I had brought with me for this +purpose. + +Then, leaving the chair where it was, I betook myself out of the front +door, ostentatiously stopping to lock it and to put the key in my +pocket. + +Crossing immediately to Mr. Moore’s side of the street, I encountered +him as I had expected to do, at his own gateway. + +“Well, what now?” he inquired, with the same exaggerated courtesy I had +noticed in him on a previous occasion. “You have the air of a man +bringing news. Has anything fresh happened in the old house?” + +I assumed a frankness which seemed to impose on him. + +“Do you know,” I sententiously informed him, “I have a wonderful +interest in that old hearthstone; or rather in the seemingly innocent +engraving hanging over it, of Benjamin Franklin at the Court of France. +I tell you frankly that I had no idea of what would be found behind the +picture.” + +I saw, by his quick look, that I had stirred up a hornets’ nest. This +was just what I had calculated to do. + +“Behind it!” he repeated. “There is nothing behind it.” + +I laughed, shrugged my shoulders, and backed slowly toward the door. + +“Of course, you should know,” I retorted, with some condescension. +Then, as if struck by a sudden remembrance: “Oh, by the way, have you +been told that there is a window on that lower floor which does not +stay fastened? I speak of it that you may have it repaired as soon as +the police vacate. It’s the last one in the hall leading to the negro +quarters. If you shake it hard enough, the catch falls back and any one +can raise it even from the outside.” + +“I will see to it,” he replied, dropping his eyes, possibly to hide +their curious twinkle. “But what do you mean about finding something in +the wall behind that old picture? I’ve never heard—” + +But though he spoke quickly and shouted the last words after me at the +top of his voice, I was by this time too far away to respond save by a +dubious smile and a semi-patronizing wave of the hand. Not until I was +nearly out of earshot did I venture to shout back the following words: + +“I’ll be back in an hour. If anything happens—if the boys annoy you, or +any one attempts to enter the old house, telephone to the station or +summon the officer at the corner. I don’t believe any harm will come +from leaving the place to itself for a while.” Then I walked around the +block. + +When I arrived in front again it was quite dark. So was the house; but +there was light in the library. I felt assured that I should find Uncle +David there, and I did. When, after a noiseless entrance and a careful +advance through the hall, I threw open the door beyond the gilded +pillars, it was to see the tall figure of this old man mounted upon the +chair I had left there, peering up at the nail from which I had so +lately lifted the picture. He started as I presented myself and almost +fell from the chair. But the careless laugh I uttered assured him of +the little importance I placed upon this evidence of his daring and +unappeasable curiosity, and he confronted me with an enviable air of +dignity; whereupon I managed to say: + +“Really, Mr. Moore, I’m glad to see you here. It is quite natural for +you to wish to learn by any means in your power what that picture +concealed. I came back, because I suddenly remembered that I had +forgotten to rehang it.” + +Involuntarily he glanced again at the wall overhead, which was as bare +as his hand, save for the nail he had already examined. + +“It has concealed nothing,” he retorted. “You can see yourself that the +wall is bare and that it rings as sound as any chimneypiece ever made.” +Here he struck it heavily with his fist. “What did you imagine that you +had found?” + +I smiled, shrugged my shoulders in tantalizing repetition of my former +action upon a like occasion and then answered brusquely: + +“I did not come back to betray police secrets, but to restore this +picture to its place. Or perhaps you prefer to have it down rather than +up? It isn’t much of an ornament.” + +He scrutinized me darkly from over his shoulder, a wary gleam showing +itself in his shrewd old eyes; and the idea crossed me that the moment +might possess more significance than appeared. But I did not step +backward, nor give evidence in any way that I had even thought of +danger. I simply laid my hand on the picture and looked up at him for +orders. + +He promptly signified that he wished it hung, adding as I hesitated +these words: “The pictures in this house are supposed to stay on the +walls where they belong. There is a traditional superstition against +removing them.” + +I immediately lifted the print from the floor. No doubt he had me at a +disadvantage, if evil was in his heart, and my position on the hearth +was as dangerous as previous events had proved it to be. But it would +not do to show the white feather at a moment when his fate, if not my +own, hung in the balance; so motioning him to step down, I put foot on +the chair and raised the picture aloft to hang it. As I did so, he +moved over to the huge settle of his ancestors, and, crossing his arms +over its back, surveyed me with a smile I rather imagined than saw. + +Suddenly, as I strained to put the cord over the nail he called out: + +“Look out! you’ll fall.” + +If he had intended to give me a start in payment for my previous rebuff +he did not succeed; for my nerves had grown steady and my arm firm at +the glimpse I had caught of the shelf below me. The fine brown powder I +had scattered there had been displaced in five distinct spots, and not +by my fingers. I had preferred to risk the loss of my balance, rather +than rest my hand on the shelf, but he had taken no such precaution. +The clue I so anxiously desired and for which I had so recklessly +worked, was obtained. + +But when half an hour later I found an opportunity of measuring these +marks and comparing them with those upstairs, I did not enjoy the full +triumph I had promised myself. For the two impressions utterly failed +to coincide, thus proving that whoever the person was who had been in +this house with Mrs. Jeffrey on the evening she died, it was not her +uncle David. + + + + +VIII. +SLYER WOES + + +Let me repeat. The person who had left the marks of his presence in the +upper chamber of the Moore house was not the man popularly known as +Uncle David. Who, then, had it been? But one name suggested itself to +me,—Mr. Jeffrey. + +It was not so easy for me to reach this man as it had been for me to +reach his singular and unimaginative uncle. In the first place, his +door had been closed to every one since his wife’s death. Neither +friends nor strangers could gain admittance there unless they came +vested with authority from the coroner. And this, even if I could +manage to obtain it, would not answer in my case. What I had to say and +do would better follow a chance encounter. But no chance encounter with +this gentleman seemed likely to fall to my lot, and finally I swallowed +my pride and asked another favor of the lieutenant. Would he see that I +was given an opportunity for carrying some message, or of doing some +errand which would lead to my having an interview with Mr. Jeffrey? If +he would, I stood ready to promise that my curiosity should stop at +this point and that I would cease to make a nuisance of myself. + +I think he suspected me by this time; but he made no remark, and in a +day or so I was summoned to carry a note to the house in K Street. + +Mrs. Jeffrey’s funeral had taken place the day before and the house +looked deserted. But my summons speedily brought a neat-looking, but +very nervous maid to the door, whose eyes took on an unmistakable +expression of resistance when I announced my errand and asked to see +Mr. Jeffrey. The expression would not have struck me as peculiar if she +had raised any objection to the interview I had solicited. But she did +not. Her fear and antipathy, consequently, sprang from some other +source than her interest in the man most threatened by my visit. Was +it—could it be, on her own account? Recalling what I had heard +whispered about the station concerning a maid of the Jeffreys who +always seemed on the point of saying something which never really left +her lips, I stopped her as she was about to slip upstairs and quietly +asked: + +“Are you Loretta?” + +The way she turned, the way she looked at me as she gave me a short +affirmative, and then quickly proceeded on her way, convinced me that +my colleagues were right as to her being a woman who had some cause for +dreading police interference. I instantly made up my mind that here was +a mine to be worked and that I knew just the demure little soul best +equipped to act the part of miner. + +In a moment she came back, and I had a chance to note again her pretty +but expressionless features, among which the restless eyes alone +bespoke character or decision. + +“Mr. Jeffrey is in the back room upstairs,” she announced. “He says for +you to come up.” + +“Is it the room Mrs. Jeffrey used to occupy?” I asked with open +curiosity, as I passed her. + +An involuntary shudder proved that she was not without feeling. So did +the quick disclaimer: + +“No, no! Those rooms are closed. He occupies the one Miss Tuttle had +before she went away.” + +“Oh, then, Miss Tuttle is gone?” + +Loretta disdained to answer. She had already said enough to cause her +to bite her lip as she disappeared down the basement stair. Decidedly +the boys were right. An uneasy feeling followed any conversation with +this girl. Yet, while there was slyness in her manner, there was a +certain frank honesty visible in it too, which caused me to think that +if she could ever be made to speak, her evidence could be relied on. + +Mr. Jeffrey was sitting with his back to the door when I entered, but +turned as I spoke his name and held out his hand for the note I +carried. I had no expectation of his remembering me as one of the men +who had stood about that night in the Moore house, and I was not +disappointed. To him I was merely a messenger, or common policeman; and +he consequently paid me no attention, while I bestowed upon him the +most concentrated scrutiny of my whole life. Till now I had seen him +only in half lights, or under circumstances precluding my getting a +very accurate idea of him as a man and a gentleman. Now he sat with the +broad daylight on his face, and I had every opportunity for noting both +his features and expression. He was of a distinguished type; but the +cloud enshrouding him was as heavy as any I had ever seen darkening +about a man of his position and character. His manner, fettered though +it was by gloomy thoughts, was not just the manner I had expected to +encounter. + +He had a large, clear eye, but the veil which hid the brightness of his +regard was misty with suspicion, not with tears. He appeared to shrink +from observation, and shifted uneasily as long as I stood in front of +him, though he said nothing and did not lift his eyes from the letter +he was perusing till he heard me step back to the door I had purposely +left open and softly close it. Then he glanced up, with a keen, if not +an alarmed look, which seemed an exaggerated one for the occasion,—that +is, if he had no secret to keep. + +“Do you suffer so from drafts?” he asked, rising in a way which in +itself was a dismissal. + +I smiled an amused denial, then with the simple directness I thought +most likely to win me his confidence, entered straight upon my business +in these plain words: + +“Pardon me, Mr. Jeffrey, I have something to say which is not exactly +fitted for the ears of servants.” Then, as he pushed his chair suddenly +back, I added reassuringly: “It is not a police matter, sir, but an +entirely personal one. It may strike you as important, and it may not. +Mr. Jeffrey, I was the man who made the unhappy discovery in the Moore +mansion, which has plunged this house into mourning.” + +This announcement startled him and produced a visible change in his +manner. His eyes flew first to one door and then to another, as if it +were he who feared intrusion now. + +“I beg your pardon for speaking on so painful a topic,” I went on, as +soon as I saw he was ready to listen to me. “My excuse is that I came +upon a little thing that same night which I have not thought of +sufficient importance to mention to any one else, but which it may +interest you to hear about.” + +Here I took from a book I held, a piece of blotting-paper. It was white +on one side and blue on the other. The white side I had thickly +chalked, though this was not apparent. Laying down this piece of +blotting-paper, chalked side up, on the end of a large table near which +we were standing, I took out an envelope from my pocket, and, shaking +it gently to and fro, remarked: + +“In an upper room of the Moore house—you remember the southwest +chamber, sir?” + +Ah! didn’t he! There was no misdoubting the quick emotion—the shrinking +and the alarm with which he heard this room mentioned. + +“It was in that room that I found these.” + +Tipping up the envelope, I scattered over the face of the blotter a few +of the glistening particles I had collected from the place mentioned. + +He bent over them, astonished. Then, as was natural, brushed them +together in a heap with the tips of his fingers, and leaned to look +again, just as I breathed a heavy sigh which scattered them far and +wide. + +Instinctively, he withdrew his hand; whereupon I embraced the +opportunity of turning the blotter over, uttering meanwhile the most +profuse apologies. Then, as if anxious not to repeat my misadventure, I +let the blotter lie where it was, and pouring out the few remaining +particles into my palm, I held them toward the light in such a way that +he was compelled to lean across the table in order to see them. +Naturally, for I had planned the distance well, his finger-tips, white +with the chalk he had unconsciously handled, touched the blue surface +of the blotter now lying uppermost and left their marks there. + +I could have shouted in my elation at the success of this risky +maneuver, but managed to suppress my emotion, and to stand quite still +while he took a good look at the filings. They seemed to have great and +unusual interest for him and it was with no ordinary emotion that he +finally asked: + +“What do you make out of these, and why do you bring them here?” + +My answer was written under his hand; but this it was far from my +policy to impart. So putting on my friendliest air, I returned, with +suitable respect: + +“I don’t know what to make of them. They look like gold; but that is +for you to decide. Do you want them, sir?” + +“No,” he replied, starting erect and withdrawing his hand from the +blotter. “It’s but a trifle, not worth our attention. But I thank you +just the same for bringing it to my notice.” + +And again his manner became a plain dismissal. + +This time I accepted it as such without question. Carelessly restoring +the piece of blotting-paper to the book from which I had taken it, I +made a bow and withdrew toward the door. He seemed to be thinking, and +the deep furrows which I am sure had been lacking from his brow a week +previous, became startlingly visible. Finally he observed: + +“Mrs. Jeffrey was not in her right mind when she so unhappily took her +life. I see now that the change in her dates back to her wedding day, +consequently any little peculiarity she may have shown at that time is +not to be wondered at.” + +“Certainly not,” I boldly ventured; “if such peculiarities were shown +after the fright given her by the catastrophe which took place in the +library.” + +His eyes, which were fixed on mine, flashed, and his hands closed +convulsively. + +“We will not consider the subject,” he muttered, reseating himself in +the chair from which he had risen. + +I bowed again and went out. I did not dwell on the interview in my own +mind nor did I allow myself to draw any conclusions from it, till I had +carried the blotter into the southwest chamber of the Moore house and +carefully compared the impressions made on it with the marks I had +scratched on the surface of the mantel-shelf. This I did by laying the +one over the other, after having made holes where his finger-tips had +touched the blotter. + +The holes in the blotter and the marks outlined upon the shelf +coincided exactly. + + + + +IX. +JINNY + + +I have already mentioned the man whom I secretly looked upon as +standing between me and all preferment. He was a good-looking fellow, +but he wore a natural sneer which for some reason I felt to be always +directed toward myself. This sneer grew pronounced about this time, and +that was the reason, no doubt, why I continued to work as long as I did +in secret. I dreaded the open laugh of this man, a laugh which always +seemed hovering on his lips and which was only held in restraint by the +awe we all felt of the major. + +Notwithstanding, I made one slight move. Encountering the +deputy-coroner, I ventured to ask if he was quite satisfied with the +evidence collected in the Jeffrey case. + +His surprise did not prevent him from asking my reasons for this +question. + +I replied to this effect: + +“Because I have a little friend, winsome enough and subtle enough to +worm the truth out of the devil. I hear that the girl Loretta is +suspected of knowing more about this unfortunate tragedy than she is +willing to impart. If you wish this little friend of mine to talk to +her, I will see that she does so and does so with effect.” + +The deputy-coroner looked interested. + +“Whom do you mean by ‘little friend’ and what is her name?” + +“I will send her to you.” + +And I did. + +The next day I was standing on the corner of Vermont Avenue when I saw +Jinny advancing from the house in K Street. She was chipper, and she +was smiling in a way which made me say to myself: + +“It is fortunate that Durbin is not here.” + +For Jinny’s one weakness is her lack of power to hide the satisfaction +she takes in any detective work that comes her way. I had told her of +this and had more than once tried to impress upon her that her smile +was a complete give-away, but I noticed that if she kept it from her +lips, it forced its way out of her eyes, and if she kept it out of her +eyes, it beamed like an inner radiance from her whole face. So I gave +up the task of making her perfect and let her go on smiling, glad that +she had such frequent cause for it. + +This morning her smile had a touch of pride in it as well as of +delight, and noting this, I remarked: + +“You have made Loretta talk.” + +Her head went up and a demure dimple appeared in her cheek. + +“What did she say?” I urged. “What has she been keeping back?” + +“You will have to ask the coroner. My orders were strict to bring the +results of my interview immediately to him.” + +“Does that include Durbin?” + +“Does it include you?” + +“I am afraid not.” + +“You are right; but why shouldn’t it include you?” + +“What do you mean, Jinny?” + +“Why do you keep your own counsel so long? You have ideas about this +crime, I know. Why not mention them?” + +“Jinny!” + +“A word to the wise is sufficient;” she laughed and turned her pretty +face toward the coroner’s once. But she was a woman and could not help +glancing back, and, meeting my dubious look, she broke into an arch +smile and naively added this remark: “Loretta is a busybody ashamed of +her own curiosity. So much there can be no harm in telling you. When +one’s knowledge has been gained by lingering behind doors and peeping +through cracks, one is not so ready to say what one has seen and heard. +Loretta is in that box, and being more than a little scared of the +police, was glad to let her anxiety and her fears overflow into a +sympathizing ear. Won’t she be surprised when she is called up some +fine day by the coroner! I wonder if she will blame _me_ for it?” + +“She will never think of doing so,” I basely assured my little friend, +with an appreciative glance at her sparkling eye and dimpled cheek. + +The arch little creature started to move off again. As she did so, she +cried: “Be good, and don’t let Durbin cut in on you;” but stopped for +the second time when half across the street, and when, obedient to her +look, I hastily rejoined her, she whispered demurely: “Oh, I forgot to +tell you something that I heard this morning, and which nobody but +yourself has any right to know. I was following your commands and +buying groceries at Simpkins’, when just as I was coming out with my +arms full, I heard old Mr. Simpkins mention Mr. Jeffrey’s name and with +such interest that I naturally wanted to hear what he had to say. +Having no real excuse for staying, I poked my finger into a bag of +sugar I was carrying, till the sugar ran out and I had to wait till it +was put up again. This did not take long, but it took long enough for +me to hear the old grocer say that he knew Mr. Jeffrey, and that that +gentleman had come into his shop only a day or two before his wife’s +death, to buy—_candles!_” + +The archness with which this was said, together with the fact itself, +made me her slave forever. As her small figure faded from sight down +the avenue, I decided to take her advice and follow up whatever +communication she had to make to the coroner by a confession of my own +suspicions and what they had led me into. If he laughed—well, I could +stand it. It was not the coroner’s laugh, nor even the major’s, that I +feared; it was Durbin’s. + + + + +X. +FRANCIS JEFFREY + + +Jinny had not been gone an hour from the coroner’s office when an +opportunity was afforded for me to approach that gentleman myself. + +With few apologies and no preamble, I immediately entered upon my story +which I made as concise and as much to the point as possible. I did not +expect praise from him, but I did look for some slight show of +astonishment at the nature of my news. I was therefore greatly +disappointed, when, after a moment’s quiet consideration, he carelessly +remarked: + +“Very good! very good! The one point you make is excellent and may +prove of use to us. We had reached the same conclusion, but by another +road. You ask, ‘Who blew out the candle?’ We, ‘Who tied the pistol to +Mrs. Jeffrey’s arm?’ It could not have been tied by herself. Who was +her accessory then? Ah, you didn’t think of that.” + +I flushed as if a pail of hot water had been dashed suddenly over me. +He was right. The conclusion he spoke of had failed to strike me. Why? +It was a perfectly obvious one, as obvious as that the candle had been +blown out by another breath than hers; yet, absorbed in my own train of +thought, I had completely overlooked it. The coroner observing my +embarrassment, smiled, and my humiliation was complete or would have +been had Durbin been there, but fortunately he was not. + +“I am a fool,” I cried. “I thought I had discovered something. I might +have known that there were keener minds than mine in this office—” + +“Easy! easy!” was the good-natured interruption. “You have done well. +If I did not think so, I would not keep you here a minute. As it is, I +am disposed to let you see that in a case like this, one man must not +expect to monopolize all the honors. This matter of the bow of ribbon +would strike any old and experienced official. I only wonder that we +have not seen it openly discussed in the papers.” + +Taking a box from his desk, he opened it and held it out toward me. A +coil of white ribbon surmounted by a crisp and dainty bow met my eyes. + +“You recognize it?” he asked. + +Indeed I did. + +“It was cut from her wrist by my deputy. Miss Tuttle wished him to +untie it, but he preferred to leave the bow intact. Now lift it out. +Careful, man, don’t soil it; you will see why in a minute.” + +As I held the ribbon up, he pointed to some spots on its fresh white +surface. “Do you see those?” he asked. “Those are dust-marks, and they +were made as truly by some one’s fingers, as the impressions you noted +on the mantel-shelf in the upper chamber. This pistol was tied to her +wrist after the deed; possibly by that same hand.” + +It was my own conclusion but it did not sound as welcome to me from his +lips as I had expected. Either my nature is narrow, or my inordinate +jealousy lays me open to the most astonishing inconsistencies; for no +sooner had he spoken these words than I experienced a sudden revulsion +against my own theory and the suspicions which it threw upon the man +whom an hour before I was eager to proclaim a criminal. + +But Coroner Z. gave me no chance for making such a fool of myself. +Rescuing the ribbon from my hands, which no doubt were running a little +too freely over its snowy surface, he smiled with the indulgence proper +from such a man to a novice like myself, and observed quite frankly: + +“You will consider these observations as confidential. You know how to +hold your tongue; that you have proved. Hold it then a little longer. +The case is not yet ripe. Mr. Jeffrey is a man of high standing, with a +hitherto unblemished reputation. It won’t do, my boy, to throw the +doubt of so hideous a crime upon so fine a gentleman without ample +reason. That no such mistake may be made and that he may have every +opportunity for clearing himself, I am going to have a confidential +talk with him. Do you want to be present?” + +I flushed again; but this time from extreme satisfaction. + +“I am obliged for your confidence,” said I; then, with a burst of +courage born of his good nature, I inquired with due respect if my +little friend had answered his expectations. “Was she as clever as I +said?” I asked. + +“Your little friend is a trump,” was his blunt reply. “With what we +have learned through her and now through you, we can approach Mr. +Jeffrey to some purpose. It appears that, before leaving the house on +that Tuesday morning, he had an interview with his wife which ought in +some way to account for this tragedy. Perhaps he will tell us about it, +and perhaps he will explain how he came to wander through the Moore +house while his wife lay dying below. At all events we will give him +the opportunity to do so and, if possible, to clear up mysteries which +provoke the worst kind of conjecture. It is time. The ideas advanced by +the papers foster superstition; and superstition is the devil. Go and +tell my man out there that I am going to K Street. You may say ‘we’ if +you like,” he added with a humor more welcome to me than any serious +concession. + +Did I feel set up by this? Rather. + +Mr. Jeffrey was expecting us. This was evident from his first look, +though the attempt he made at surprise was instantaneous and very well +feigned. Indeed, I think he was in a constant state of apprehension +during these days and that no inroad of the police would have +astonished him. But expectation does not preclude dread; indeed it +tends to foster it, and dread was in his heart. This he had no power to +conceal. + +“To what am I indebted for this second visit from you?” he asked of +Coroner Z., with an admirable presence of mind. “Are you not yet +satisfied with what we have been able to tell you of my poor wife’s +unhappy end?” + +“We are not,” was the plain response. “There are some things you have +not attempted to explain, Mr. Jeffrey. For instance, why you went to +the Moore house previous to your being called there by the death of +your wife.” + +It was a shot that told; an arrow which found its mark. Mr. Jeffrey +flushed, then turned pale, rallied and again lost himself in a maze of +conflicting emotions from which he only emerged to say: + +“How do you know that I was there? Have I said so; or do those old +walls babble in their sleep?” + +“Old walls have been known to do this,” was the grave reply. “Whether +they had anything to say in this case is at present quite immaterial. +That you were where I charge you with being is evident from your own +manner. May I then ask if you have anything to say about this visit. +When a person has died under such peculiar circumstances as Mrs. +Jeffrey, everything bearing upon the case is of interest to the +coroner.” + +I was sorry he added that last sentence; sorry that he felt obliged to +qualify his action by anything savoring of apology; for the time spent +in its utterance afforded his agitated hearer an opportunity not only +of collecting himself but of preparing an answer for which he would not +have been ready an instant before. + +“Mrs. Jeffrey’s death was a strange one,” her husband admitted with +tardy self-control. “I find myself as much at a loss to understand it +as you do, and am therefore quite ready to answer the question you have +so openly broached. Not that my answer has any bearing upon the point +you wish to make, but because it is your due and my pleasure. I did +visit the Moore house, as I certainly had every right to do. The +property was my wife’s, and it was for my interest to learn, if I +could, the secret of its many crimes.” + +“Ah!” + +Mr. Jeffrey looked quickly up. “You think that an odd thing for me to +do?” + +“At night. Yes.” + +“Night is the time for such work. I did not care to be seen pottering +around there in daylight.” + +“No? Yet it would have been so much easier. You would not have had to +buy candles or carry a pistol or—” + +“I did not carry a pistol. The only pistol carried there was the one +with which my demented wife chose to take her life. I do not understand +this allusion.” + +“It grew out of a misunderstanding of the situation, Mr. Jeffrey; +excuse me if I supposed you would be likely to provide yourself with +some means of defense in venturing alone upon the scene of so many +mysterious deaths.” + +“I took no precaution.” + +“And needed none, I suppose.” + +“And needed none.” + +“When was this visit paid, Mr. Jeffrey? Before or after your wife +pulled the trigger which ended her life? You need not hesitate to +answer.” + +“I do not.” The elegant gentleman before us had acquired a certain +fierceness. “Why should I? Certainly, you don’t think that I was there +at the same time she was. It was not on the same night, even. So much +the walls should have told you and probably did, or my wife’s uncle, +Mr. David Moore. Was he not your informant?” + +“No; Mr. Moore has failed to call our attention to this fact. Did you +meet Mr. Moore during the course of your visit to a neighborhood over +which he seems to hold absolute sway?” + +“Not to my knowledge. But his house is directly opposite, and as he has +little to do but amuse himself with what he can see from his front +window, I concluded that he might have observed me going in.” + +“You entered by the front door, then?” + +“How else?” + +“And on what night?” + +Mr. Jeffrey made an effort. These questions were visibly harassing him. + +“The night before the one—the one which ended all my earthly +happiness,” he added in a low voice. + +Coroner Z. cast a glance at me. I remembered the lack of dust on the +nest of little tables from which the upper one had been drawn forward +to hold the candelabrum, and gently shook my head. The coroner’s +eyebrows went up, but none of his disbelief crept into his voice as he +made this additional statement. + +“The night on which you failed to return to your own house.” + +Instantly Mr. Jeffrey betrayed by a nervous action, which was quite +involuntary, that his outward calm was slowly giving way under a fire +of questions for which he had no ready reply. + +“It was odd, your not going home that night,” the coroner coldly +pursued. “The misunderstanding you had with your wife immediately after +breakfast must have been a very serious one; more serious than you have +hitherto acknowledged.” + +“I had rather not discuss the subject,” protested Mr. Jeffrey. Then as +if he suddenly recognized the official character of his interlocutor, +he hastily added: “Unless you positively request me to do so; in which +case I must.” + +“I am afraid that I must insist upon it,” returned the other. “You will +find that it will be insisted upon at the inquest, and if you do not +wish to subject yourself to much unnecessary unpleasantness, you had +better make clear to us today the cause of that special quarrel which +to all intents and purposes led to your wife’s death.” + +“I will try to do so,” returned Mr. Jeffrey, rising and pacing the room +in his intense restlessness. “We did have some words; her conduct the +night before had not pleased me. I am naturally jealous, vilely +jealous, and I thought she was a little frivolous at the German +ambassador’s ball. But I had no idea she would take my sharp speeches +so much to heart. I had no idea that she would care so much or that I +should care so much. A little jealousy is certainly pardonable in a +bridegroom, and if her mind had not already been upset, she would have +remembered how I loved her and hopefully waited for a reconciliation.” + +“You did love your wife, then? It was you and not she who had a right +to be jealous? I have heard the contrary stated. It is a matter of +public gossip that you loved another woman previous to your +acquaintance with Miss Moore; a woman whom your wife regarded with +sisterly affection and subsequently took into her new home.” + +“Miss Tuttle?” Mr. Jeffrey stopped in his walk to fling out this +ejaculation. “I admire and respect Miss Tuttle,” he went on to declare, +“but I never loved her. Not as I did my wife,” he finished, but with a +certain hard accent, apparent enough to a sensitive ear. + +“Pardon me; it is as difficult for me to put these questions as it is +for you to hear them. Were you and Miss Tuttle ever engaged?” + +I started. This was a question which half of Washington had been asking +itself for the last three months. + +Would Mr. Jeffrey answer it? or, remembering that these questions were +rather friendly than official, refuse to satisfy a curiosity which he +might well consider intrusive? The set aspect of his features promised +little in the way of information, and we were both surprised when a +moment later he responded with a grim emphasis hardly to be expected +from one of his impulsive temperament: + +“Unhappily, no. My attentions never went so far.” + +Instantly the coroner pounced on the one weak word which Mr. Jeffrey +had let fall. + +“Unhappily?” he repeated. “Why do you say, _unhappily?_” + +Mr. Jeffrey flushed and seemed to come out of some dream. + +“Did I say unhappily?” he inquired. “Well, I repeat it; Miss Tuttle +would never have given me any cause for jealousy.” + +The coroner bowed and for the present dropped her name out of the +conversation. + +“You speak again of the jealousy aroused in you by your wife’s +impetuosities. Was this increased or diminished by the tone of the few +lines she left behind her?” + +The response was long in coming. It was hard for this man to lie. The +struggle he made at it was pitiful. As I noted what it cost him, I +began to have new and curious thoughts concerning him and the whole +matter under discussion. + +“I shall never overcome the remorse roused in me by those few lines,” +he finally rejoined. “She showed a consideration for me—” + +“What!” + +The coroner’s exclamation showed all the surprise he felt. Mr. Jeffrey +tottered under it, then grew slowly pale as if only through our amazed +looks he had come to realize the charge of inconsistency to which he +had laid himself open. + +“I mean—” he endeavored to explain, “that Mrs. Jeffrey showed an +unexpected tenderness toward me by taking all the blame of our +misunderstanding upon herself. It was generous of her and will do much +toward making my memory of her a gentle one.” + +He was forgetting himself again. Indeed, his manner and attempted +explanations were full of contradictions. To emphasize this fact +Coroner Z. exclaimed, + +“I should think so! She paid a heavy penalty for her professed lack of +love. You believe that her mind was unseated?” + +“Does not her action show it?” + +“Unseated by the mishap occurring at her marriage?” + +“Yes.” + +“You really think that?” + +“Yes.” + +“By anything that passed between you?” + +“Yes.” + +“May I ask you to tell us what passed between you on this point?” + +“Yes.” + +He had uttered the monosyllable so often it seemed to come +unconsciously from his lips. But he recognized almost as soon as we did +that it was not a natural reply to the last question, and, making a +gesture of apology, he added, with the same monotony of tone which had +characterized these replies: + +“She spoke of her strange guest’s unaccountable death more than once, +and whenever she did so, it was with an unnatural excitement and in an +unbalanced way. This was so noticeable to us all that the subject +presently was tabooed amongst us; but though she henceforth spared us +all allusion to it, she continued to talk about the house itself and of +the previous deaths which had occurred there till we were forced to +forbid that topic also. She was never really herself after crossing the +threshold of this desolate house to be married. The shadow which lurks +within its walls fell at that instant upon her life. May God have +mercy—” + +The prayer remained unfinished. His head which had fallen on his breast +sank lower. + +He presented the aspect of one who is quite done with life, even its +sorrows. + +But men in the position of Coroner Z. can not afford to be +compassionate. Everything the bereaved man said deepened the impression +that he was acting a part. To make sure that this was really so, the +coroner, with just the slightest touch of sarcasm, quietly observed: + +“And to ease your wife’s mind—the wife you were so deeply angered +with—you visited this house, and, at an hour which you should have +spent in reconciliation with her, went through its ancient rooms in the +hope—of what?” + +Mr. Jeffrey could not answer. The words which came from his lips were +mere ejaculations. + +“I was restless—mad—I found this adventure diverting. I had no real +purpose in mind.” + +“Not when you looked at the old picture?” + +“The old picture? What old picture?” + +“The old picture in the southwest chamber. You took a look at that, +didn’t you? Got up on a chair on purpose to do so?” + +Mr. Jeffrey winced. But he made a direct reply. + +“Yes, I gave a look at that old picture; got up, as you say, on a chair +to do so. Wasn’t that the freak of an idle man, wandering, he hardly +knows why, from room to room in an old and deserted house?” + +His tormentor did not answer. Probably his mind was on his next line of +inquiry. But Mr. Jeffrey did not take his silence with the calmness he +had shown prior to the last attack. As no word came from his unwelcome +guest, he paused in his rapid pacing and, casting aside with one +impulsive gesture his hitherto imperfectly held restraint, he cried out +sharply: + +“Why do you ask me these questions in tones of such suspicion? Is it +not plain enough that my wife took her own life under a misapprehension +of my state of mind toward her, that you should feel it necessary to +rake up these personal matters, which, however interesting to the world +at large, are of a painful nature to me?” + +“Mr. Jeffrey,” retorted the other, with a sudden grave assumption of +dignity not without its effect in a case of such serious import, “we do +nothing without purpose. We ask these questions and show this interest +because the charge of suicide which has hitherto been made against your +wife is not entirely sustained by the facts. At least she was not alone +when she took her life. Some one was in the house with her.” + +It was startling to observe the effect of this declaration upon him. + +“Impossible!” he cried out in a protest as forcible as it was agonized. +“You are playing with my misery. She could have had no one there; she +would not. There is not a man living before whom she would have fired +that deadly shot; unless it was myself,—unless it was my own wretched, +miserable self.” + +The remorseful whisper in which those final words were uttered carried +them to my heart, which for some strange and unaccountable reason had +been gradually turning toward this man. But my less easily affected +companion, seeing his opportunity and possibly considering that it was +this gentleman’s right to know in what a doubtful light he stood before +the law, remarked with as light a touch of irony as was possible: + +“You should know better than we in whose presence she would choose to +die—if she did so choose. Also who would be likely to tie the pistol to +her wrist and blow out the candle when the dreadful deed was over.” + +The laugh which seemed to be the only means of violent expression +remaining to this miserable man was kept down by some amazing thought +which seemed to paralyze him. Without making any attempt to refute a +suggestion that fell just short of a personal accusation, he sank down +in the first chair he came to and became, as it were, lost in the +vision of that ghastly ribbon-tying and the solitary blowing out of the +candle upon this scene of mournful death. Then with a struggling sense +of having heard something which called for answer, he rose blindly to +his feet and managed to let fall these words: + +“You are mistaken—no one was there, or if any one was—it was not I. +There is a man in this city who can prove it.” + + +But when Mr. Jeffrey was asked to give the name of this man, he showed +confusion and presently was obliged to admit that he could neither +recall his name nor remember anything about him, but that he was some +one whom he knew well, and who knew him well. He affirmed that the two +had met and spoken near Soldiers’ Home shortly after the sun went down, +and that the man would be sure to remember this meeting if we could +only find him. + +As Soldiers’ Home was several miles from the Moore house and quite out +of the way of all his accustomed haunts, Coroner Z. asked him how he +came to be there. He replied that he had just come from Rock Creek +Cemetery. That he had been in a wretched state of mind all day, and +possibly being influenced by what he had heard of the yearly vigils Mr. +Moore was in the habit of keeping there, had taken a notion to stroll +among the graves, in search of the rest and peace of mind he had failed +to find in his aimless walks about the city. At least, that was the way +he chose to account for the meeting he mentioned. Falling into reverie +again, he seemed to be trying to recall the name which at this moment +was of such importance to him. But it was without avail, as he +presently acknowledged. + +“I can not remember who it was. My brain is whirling, and I can +recollect nothing but that this man and myself left the cemetery +together on the night mentioned, just as the gate was being closed. As +it closes at sundown, the hour can be fixed to a minute. It was +somewhere near seven, I believe; near enough, I am sure, for it to have +been impossible for me to be at the Moore house at the time my unhappy +wife is supposed to have taken her life. There is no doubt about your +believing this?” he demanded with sudden haughtiness, as, rising to his +feet, he confronted us in all the pride of his exceptionally handsome +person. + +“We wish to believe it,” assented the coroner, rising in his turn. +“That our belief may become certainty, will you let us know, the +instant you recall the name of the man you talked with at the cemetery +gate? His testimony, far more than any word of yours, will settle this +question which otherwise may prove a vexed one.” + +Mr. Jeffrey’s hand went up to his head. Was he acting a part or did he +really forget just what it was for his own best welfare to remember? If +he had forgotten, it argued that he was in a state of greater +disturbance on that night than would naturally be occasioned by a mere +lover’s quarrel with his wife. + +Did the same thought strike my companion? I can not say; I can only +give you his next words. + +“You have said that your wife would not be likely to end her life in +presence of any one but yourself. Yet you must see that some one was +with her. How do you propose to reconcile your assertions with a fact +so undeniable?” + +“I can not reconcile them. It would madden me to try. If I thought any +one was with her at that moment—” + +“Well?” + +Mr. Jeffrey’s eyes fell; and a startling change passed over him. But +before either of us could make out just what this change betokened he +recovered his aspect of fixed melancholy and quietly remarked: + +“It is dreadful to think of her standing there alone, aiming a pistol +at her young, passionate heart; but it is worse to picture her doing +this under the gaze of unsympathizing eyes. I can not and will not so +picture her. You have been misled by appearances or what in police +parlance is called a clue.” + +Evidently he did not mean to admit the possibility of the pistol having +been fired by any other hand than her own. This the coroner noted. +Bowing with the respect he showed every man before a jury had decided +upon his guilt, he turned toward the door out of which I had already +hurried. + +“We hope to hear from you in the morning,” he called back +significantly, as he stepped down the stairs. + +Mr. Jeffrey did not answer; he was having his first struggle with the +new and terrible prospect awaiting him at the approaching inquest. + + + + +BOOK II +THE LAW AND ITS VICTIM + + + + +XI. +DETAILS + + +The days of my obscurity were over. Henceforth, I was regarded as a +decided factor in this case—a case which from this time on, assumed +another aspect both at headquarters and in the minds of people at +large. The reporters, whom we had hitherto managed to hold in check, +now overflowed both the coroner’s office and police headquarters, and +articles appeared in all the daily papers with just enough suggestion +in them to fire the public mind and make me, for one, anticipate an +immediate word from Mr. Jeffrey calculated to establish the alibi he +had failed to make out on the day we talked with him. But no such word +came. His memory still played him false, and no alternative was left +but to pursue the official inquiry in the line suggested by the +interview just recounted. + +No proceeding in which I had ever been engaged interested me as did +this inquest. In the first place, the spectators were of a very +different character from the ordinary. As I wormed myself along to the +seat accorded to such witnesses as myself, I brushed by men of the very +highest station and a few of the lowest; and bent my head more than +once in response to the inquiring gaze of some fashionable lady who +never before, I warrant, had found herself in such a scene. By the time +I reached my place all the others were seated and the coroner rapped +for order. + +I was first to take the stand. What I said has already been fully +amplified in the foregoing pages. Of course, my evidence was confined +to facts, but some of these facts were new to most of the persons +there. It was evident that a considerable effect was produced by them, +not only on the spectators, but upon the witnesses themselves. For +instance, it was the first time that the marks on the mantel-shelf had +been heard of outside the major’s office, or the story so told as to +make it evident that Mrs. Jeffrey could not have been alone in the +house at the time of her death. + +A photograph had been taken of those marks, and my identification of +this photograph closed my testimony. + +As I returned to my seat I stole a look toward a certain corner where, +with face bent down upon his hand, Francis Jeffrey sat between Uncle +David and the heavily-veiled figure of Miss Tuttle. Had there dawned +upon him as my testimony was given any suspicion of the trick by which +he had been proved responsible for those marks? It was impossible to +tell. From the way Miss Tuttle’s head was turned toward him, one might +judge him to be laboring under an emotion of no ordinary character, +though he sat like a statue and hardly seemed to realize how many eyes +were at that moment riveted upon his face. + +I was followed by other detectives who had been present at the time and +who corroborated my statement as to the appearance of this unhappy +woman and the way the pistol had been tied to her arm. Then the doctor +who had acted under the coroner was called. After a long and no doubt +learned description of the bullet wound which had ended the life of +this unhappy lady,—a wound which he insisted, with a marked display of +learning, must have made that end instantaneous or at least too +immediate for her to move foot or hand after it,—he was asked if the +body showed any other mark of violence. + +To this he replied + +“There was a minute wound at the base of one of her fingers, the one +which is popularly called the wedding finger.” + +This statement made all the women present start with renewed interest; +nor was it altogether without point for the men, especially when the +doctor went on to say: + +“The hands were entirely without rings. As Mrs. Jeffrey had been +married with a ring, I noticed their absence.” + +“Was this wound which you characterize as minute a recent one?” + +“It had bled a little. It was an abrasion such as would be made if the +ring she usually wore there had been drawn off with a jerk. That was +the impression I received from its appearance. I do not state that it +was so made.” + +A little thrill which went over the audience at the picture this evoked +communicated itself to Miss Tuttle, who trembled violently. It even +produced a slight display of emotion in Mr. Jeffrey, whose hand shook +where he pressed it against his forehead. But neither uttered a sound, +nor looked up when the next witness was summoned. + +This witness proved to be Loretta, who, on hearing her name called, +evinced great reluctance to come forward. But after two or three words +uttered in her ear by the friendly Jinny, who had been given a seat +next her, she stepped into the place assigned her with a suddenly +assumed air of great boldness, which sat upon her with scant grace. She +had need of all the boldness at her command, for the eyes of all in the +room were fixed on her, with the exception of the two persons most +interested in her testimony. Scrutiny of any kind did not appear to be +acceptable to her, if one could read the trepidation visible in the +short, quick upheavals of the broad collar which covered her uneasy +breast. Was this shrinking on her part due to natural timidity, or had +she failings to avow which, while not vitiating her testimony, would +certainly cause her shame in the presence of so many men and women? I +was not able to decide this question immediately; for after the coroner +had elicited her name and the position she held in Mr. Jeffrey’s +household he asked whether her duties took her into Mrs. Jeffrey’s +room; upon her replying that they did, he further inquired if she knew +Mrs. Jeffrey’s rings, and could say whether they were all to be found +on that lady’s toilet-table after the police came in with news of her +death. The answer was decisive. They were all there, her rings and all +the other ornaments she was in the daily habit of wearing, with the +exception of her watch. That was not there. + +“Did you take up those rings?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Did you see any one else take them up?” + +“No, sir; not till the officer did so.” + +“Very well, Loretta, sit down again till we hear what Durbin has to say +about these rings.” + +And then the man I hated came forward, and though I shrank from +acknowledging it even to myself, I could but observe how strong and +quiet and self-possessed he seemed and how decisive was his testimony. +But it was equally brief. He had taken up the rings and he had looked +at them; and on one, the wedding-ring, he had detected a slight stain +of blood. He had called Mr. Jeffrey’s attention to it, but that +gentleman had made no comment. This remark had the effect of +concentrating general attention upon Mr. Jeffrey. But he seemed quite +oblivious of it; his attitude remained unchanged, and only from the +quick stretching out and withdrawal of Miss Tuttle’s hand could it be +seen that anything had been said calculated to touch or arouse this +man. The coroner cast an uneasy glance in his direction; then he +motioned Durbin aside and recalled Loretta. + +And now I began to be sorry for the girl. It is hard to have one’s +weaknesses exposed, especially if one is more foolish than wicked. But +there was no way of letting this girl off without sacrificing certain +necessary points, and the coroner went relentlessly to work. + +“How long have you been in this house?” + +“Three weeks. Ever since Mrs. Jeffrey’s wedding day, sir.” + +“Were you there when she first came as a bride from the Moore house?” + +“I was, sir.” + +“And saw her then for the first time?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“How did she look and act that first day?” + +“I thought her the gayest bride I had ever seen, then I thought her the +saddest, and then I did not know what to think. She was so merry one +minute and so frightened the next, so full of talk when she came +running up the steps and so struck with silence the minute she got into +the parlor, that I set her down as a queer one till some one whispered +in my ear that she was suffering from a dreadful shock; that ill-luck +had attended her marriage and much more about what had happened from +time to time at the Moore house.” + +“And you believed what was told you?” + +“Believed?” + +“Believed it well enough to keep a watch on your young mistress to see +if she were happy or not?” + +“Oh, sir!” + +“It was but natural,” the coroner suavely observed. “Every one felt +interested in this marriage. You watched her of course. Now what was +the result? Did you consider her well and happy?” + +The girl’s voice sank and she cast a glance at her master which he did +not lift his head to meet. + +“I did not think her happy. She laughed and sang and was always in and +out of the rooms like a butterfly, but she did not wear a happy look, +except now and then when she was seated with Mr. Jeffrey alone. Then I +have seen her flush in a way to make the heart ache; it was such a +contrast, sir, to other times when she was by herself or—” + +“Or what?” + +“Or just with her sister, sir.” + +The defiance with which this was said added point to what otherwise +might have been an unimportant admission. Those who had already +scrutinized Miss Tuttle with the curiosity of an ill-defined suspicion +now scrutinized her with a more palpable one, and those who had +hitherto seen nothing in this heavily-veiled woman but the bereaved +sister of an irresponsible suicide allowed their looks to dwell +piercingly on that concealing veil, as if they would be glad to +penetrate its folds and read in those beautiful features the meaning of +an allusion uttered with such a sting in the tone. + +“You refer to Miss Tuttle?” observed the coroner. + +“Mrs. Jeffrey’s sister? Yes, sir.” The menace was gone from the voice +now, but no one could forget that it had been there. + +“Miss Tuttle lived in the house with her sister, did she not?” + +“Yes, sir; till that sister died and was buried; then she went away.” + +The coroner did not pursue this topic, preferring to return to the +former one. + +“So you say that Mrs. Jeffrey showed uneasiness ever since her wedding +day. Can you give me any instance of this; mention, I mean, any +conversations overheard by you which would show us just what you mean?” + +“I don’t like to repeat things I hear. But if you say that I must, I +can remember once passing Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey in the hall, just as he +was saying: ‘You take it too much to heart! I expected a happy +honeymoon. Somehow, we have failed—’ That was all I heard, sir. But +what made me remember his words was that she was dressed for some +afternoon reception and looked so charming and so—and so, as if she +ought to be happier.” + +“Just so. Now, when was this? How long before her death?” + +“Oh, a week or so. It was very soon after the wedding day.” + +“And did matters seem to improve after that? Did she appear any better +satisfied or more composed?” + +“I think she endeavored to. But there was something on her mind, +something which she tried to laugh off; something that annoyed Mr. +Jeffrey and worried Miss Tuttle; something which caused a cloud in the +house, for all the dances and dinners and goings and comings. I am +sorry to speak of it, but it was so.” + +“Something that showed an unsettled mind?” + +“Almost. The glitter in her eye was not natural; neither was the way +she looked at her sister and sometimes at her husband.” + +“Did she talk much about the catastrophe which attended her wedding? +Did her mind seem to run on that?” + +“Incessantly at first; but afterward not so much. I think Mr. Jeffrey +frowned on that subject.” + +“Did he ever frown on her?” + +“No, sir—not—not when they were alone or with no one by but me. He +seemed to love her then very much.” + +“What do you mean by that, Loretta; that he lost patience with her when +other people were present—Miss Tuttle, for instance?” + +“Yes, sir. He used to change very much when—when—when Miss Tuttle came +into the room.” + +“Change toward his wife?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“How?” + +“He grew more distant, much more distant; got up quite fretfully from +his seat, if he were sitting beside her, and took up some book or +paper.” + +“And Miss Tuttle?” + +“She never seemed to notice but—” + +“But—?” + +“She did not come in very often after this had happened once or twice; +I mean into the room upstairs where they used to sit.” + +“Loretta, I regret to put this question, but after your replies I owe +it to the jury, if not to the parties themselves, to make Miss Tuttle’s +position in this household thoroughly understood. Do you think she was +a welcome visitor in this house?” + +The girl pursed up her lips, glanced at the lady and gentleman whose +feelings she was supposed to pass comment on, and seemed to lose heart. +Then, as they failed to respond to her look of appeal, she strove to +get the better of her sense of shame and, with a somewhat injured air, +replied: + +“I can only repeat what I once heard said about this by Mr. Jeffrey +himself. Miss Tuttle had just left the diningroom and Mrs. Jeffrey was +standing in one of her black moods, with her hand on the top of her +chair, ready to go but forgetting to do so. I was there, but neither of +them noticed me; he was staring at her, and she was looking down. +Neither seemed at ease. Suddenly he spoke and asked, ‘Why must Cora +remain with us?’ She started and her look grew strange and frightened. +‘Because I want her to,’ she cried. ‘I can not live without Cora.”’ + +These words, so different from what we were expecting, caused a +sensation in the room and consequently a stir. As the noise of shifting +feet and moving heads began to be heard in all directions, Miss +Tuttle’s head drooped a little, but Francis Jeffrey did not betray any +sign of feeling or even of attention. The coroner, embarrassed, +perhaps, by this exhibition of silent misery so near him, hesitated a +little before he put his next question. Loretta, on the contrary, had +gathered courage with every word she spoke and now looked ready for +anything. + +“It was Mrs. Jeffrey, then, who clung most determinedly to her sister?” +the coroner finally suggested. + +“I have told you what she said.” + +“Yet these sisters spent but little time together?” + +“Very little; as little as two persons could who lived together in one +house.” + +This statement, which seemed such a contradiction to her former one, +increased the interest; and much disappointment was covertly shown when +the coroner veered off from this topic and brusquely inquired “Did you +ever know Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey to have any open rupture?” + +The answer was a decided one. + +“Yes. On Tuesday morning preceding her death they had a long and angry +talk in their own room, after which Mrs. Jeffrey made no further effort +to conceal her wretchedness. Indeed, one may say she began to die from +that hour.” + +Mrs. Jeffrey’s death had occurred on Wednesday evening. + +“Let us hear what you have to say about this quarrel and what happened +after it.” + +The girl, with a renewed flush, cast a deprecatory look at the mass of +faces before her, and, meeting on all sides but one look of intense and +growing interest, drew up her neat figure with a relieved air and began +a story which I will proceed to transcribe for you in the fewest +possible words. + +Tuesday morning’s breakfast had been a silent one. There had been a +ball the night before at some great place on Massachusetts Avenue; but +no one spoke of it. Miss Tuttle made some remark about a friend she had +met there, but as no one listened to her, she soon stopped and in a +little while left the table. Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey sat on, but neither +said anything. Finally Mr. Jeffrey rose and, speaking in a voice hardly +recognizable, remarked that he had something to say to her, and led the +way to their room. Mrs. Jeffrey looked frightened as she followed him; +so frightened that it was evident that something very serious had +occurred or was about to occur between them. As nothing of this kind +had ever happened before, Loretta could not help waiting about till Mr. +Jeffrey reappeared; and when he did so and she saw no signs of relief +in his face or manner, she watched, with the silly interest of a girl +who had nothing else to occupy her mind, to see if he would leave the +house in such a mood, and without making peace with his young bride. To +her surprise, he did not go out at the usual time, but went to Miss +Tuttle’s room, where for a full half-hour he remained closeted with his +sister-in-law, talking in excited and unnatural tones. Then he went +back for a few minutes to where he had left his wife, in her own +boudoir. But he could not have had much to say to her this time, for he +presently came out again and ran hastily downstairs and out, almost +without stopping to catch up his hat. + +As it was Mary’s business, and not the witness’, to make Mrs. Jeffrey’s +bed in the morning, Loretta could think of no excuse for approaching +her mistress’ room at this moment; but later, when letters came, +followed by various messages and some visitors, she went more than a +dozen times to Mrs. Jeffrey’s door. She was not admitted, nor were her +appeals answered, except by a sharp “Go away!” + +Nor was Miss Tuttle received any better, though she tried more than +once to see her sister, especially as night came on and the hour +approached for Mr. Jeffrey’s return. Mrs. Jeffrey was simply determined +to remain alone; and when dinner time arrived, and no Mr. Jeffrey, she +could be induced to open her door only wide enough to take in the cup +of tea which Miss Tuttle insisted upon sending her. + +The witness here confessed that she had been very much excited by these +unusual proceedings and by the effect which they seemed to have on the +lady just mentioned; so she was ready to notice that Mrs. Jeffrey’s +hand shook like that of an old and palsied woman when she reached out +for the tray. + +Gladly would Loretta have caught one glimpse of her face, but it was +hidden by the door; nor did Mrs. Jeffrey answer a single one of her +questions. She simply closed her door and kept it so till toward +midnight, when Miss Tuttle, coming into the hall, ordered the house to +be closed for the night. Then the long-shut door softly swung open, but +before any one could reach it, it was again pulled to and locked. + +The next day brought no relief. Miss Tuttle, who had changed greatly +during this unhappy day and night, succeeded no better than before in +getting access to her sister, nor could Loretta gain the least word +from her mistress till toward the latter part of the afternoon, when +that lady, ringing her bell, gave her first order. + +“A substantial dinner,” she cried; and when Loretta, greatly relieved, +brought up the required meal she was astonished to find the door open +and herself bidden to enter. The sight which met her eyes staggered +her. From one end of the room to the other were signs of great nervous +unrest and of terrible suffering. The chairs were pushed into corners +as if the wretched bride had tramped the floor in an agony of +excitement. Curtains were torn and the piano-cover was hanging half on +and half off the open upright, as if she had clutched at it to keep +herself from falling. On the floor beneath lay several pieces of broken +china,—vases of whose value Mrs. Jeffrey had often spoken, but which, +jerked off with the cover, had been left where they fell; while +immediately in front of the fireplace lay one of the rugs tossed into a +heap, as if she had rolled in it on the floor or used it to smother her +cries of pain or anger. + +So much for the state in which the witness found the boudoir. The +adjoining bed-room was not in much better case, though it was evident +that the bed itself had not been lain in since it was made up the day +before at breakfast time. By this token Mrs. Jeffrey had not slept the +night before, or if she had laid her head anywhere it had been on the +rug already spoken of. + +These signs of extreme mental suffering, so much more extreme than any +Loretta had ever before witnessed, frightened her so that the tray +shook in her hand as she set it down on the table among the countless +objects Mrs. Jeffrey always had about her. The noise seemed to startle +her mistress, who had walked to the window after opening the door, for +she wheeled impetuously about and Loretta saw her face. It was as if a +blight had passed over it. Once gay and animated beyond the power of +any one to describe, it had become in twenty-four hours a ghost’s face, +with the glare of some awful resolve on it. Or so it would appear from +the way Loretta described it. But such girls do not always see +correctly, and perhaps all that can be safely stated is that Mrs. +Jeffrey was unnaturally pale and had lost her butterfly-like way of +incessant movement. + +Loretta, who was evidently accustomed to seeing her mistress arrayed in +brilliant colors and much begemmed, laid great stress on the fact that, +though it was on the verge of evening and she was evidently going out, +she was dressed in black cloth and without even a diamond or a flower +to relieve its severe simplicity. Her hair, too, which was always her +pride, was piled in a careless mass upon her head as if she had tried +to arrange it herself and had forgotten what she was doing while her +fingers were but half through their work. There was a cloak lying on a +chair near which she was standing, and she held a hat in her hand; but +Loretta saw no gloves. As the maid’s glance and that of her mistress +crossed, Mrs. Jeffrey spoke, and the effort she made in doing so +naturally frightened the girl still more. “I am going out,” were her +words. “I may not be home till late—What are you looking at?” + +Loretta declared that the words took her by surprise and that she did +not know what to say, but managed to cover up her embarrassment by +intimating that if her mistress would let her touch up her hair a bit +she would make her look more natural. + +At this suggestion, Mrs. Jeffrey cast a glance in the glass and +impetuously declared, “It doesn’t matter.” But she seemed to think +better of it the next minute; for, throwing herself in a chair, she +bade the girl to bring a comb, and sat quiet enough, though evidently +in a great tremor of haste and impatience, while Loretta combed her +hair and put it up in the old way. + +But the old way was not as becoming as usual, and Loretta was wondering +if she ought to call in Miss Tuttle, when Mrs. Jeffrey jumped to her +feet and went over to the table and began to eat with the feverish +haste of one who forces himself to take food in spite of hurry and +distaste. + +This was the moment for Loretta to leave the room; but she did not know +how to do so. She felt herself fixed to the spot and stood watching +Mrs. Jeffrey till that lady, suddenly becoming conscious of the girl’s +presence, turned, and in the midst of the moans which broke +unconsciously from her lips, said with a pitiable effort at her old +manner: + +“Go away, Loretta; I am ill; have been ill for two days. I don’t like +people to look at me like that!” Then, as the girl shrank back, added +in a breaking voice: “When Mr. Jeffrey comes home—” and said no more +for several minutes, during which she clutched her throat with both +hands and struggled with herself till she got her voice back and found +herself able to repeat: “When Mr. Jeffrey comes,—if he does come,—tell +him that I was right about the way that novel ended. Remember that you +are to say to him the moment you see him that I was right about the +novel, and that he is to look and see if it did not end as I said it +would. And Loretta—” here she rose and approached the speaker with a +sweet, appealing look which brought tears to the impressionable girl’s +eyes, “don’t go gossiping about me downstairs. I sha’n’t be sick long. +I am going to be better soon, very soon. By the time you see me here +again I shall be quite like my old self. Forget how—how”—and Loretta +said she seemed to have difficulty in finding the right word here—“how +childish I have been.” + +Of course Loretta promised, but she is not sure that she would have had +the courage to keep all this to herself if she had not heard Mrs. +Jeffrey stop in Miss Tuttle’s room on her way out. That relieved her, +and enabled her to go downstairs to her own supper with more appetite +than she had thought ever to have again. Alas! it was the last good +meal she was able to eat for days. In three hours afterward a man came +from the station house with the news of Mrs. Jeffrey’s suicide in the +horrible old house in which she had been married only two weeks before. + +As this had been a continuous narrative and concisely told, the coroner +had not interrupted her. When at this point a little gasp escaped Miss +Tuttle and a groan broke from Francis Jeffrey’s hitherto sealed lips, +the feelings of the whole assemblage seemed to find utterance. A young +wife’s misery culminating in death on the very spot where she had been +so lately married! What could be more thrilling, or appeal more closely +to the general heart of humanity? But the cause of that misery! This +was what every one present was eager to have explained. This is what we +now expected the coroner to bring out. But instead of continuing on the +line he had opened up, he proceeded to ask: + +“Where were you when this officer brought the news you mention?” + +“In the hall, sir. I opened the door for him.” + +“And to whom did he first mention his errand?” + +“To Miss Tuttle. She had come in just before him and was standing at +the foot of the stairs.” + +“What! Was Miss Tuttle out that evening?” + +“Yes; she went out very soon after Mrs. Jeffrey left. When she came in +she said that she had been around the block, but she must have gone +around it more than once, for she was absent two hours.” + +“Did you let her in?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And she said she had been around the block?” + +“Yes, sir” + +“Did she say anything else?” + +“She asked if Mr. Jeffrey had come in” + +“Anything else?” + +“Then if Mrs. Jeffrey had returned.” + +“To both of which questions you answered—” + +“A plain ‘No.’” + +“Now tell us about the officer.” + +“He rang the bell almost immediately after she did. Thinking she would +want to slip upstairs before I admitted any one, I waited a minute for +her to go, but she did not do so, and when the officer stepped in she—” + +“Well!” + +“She shrieked.” + +“What! before he spoke?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Just at sight of him?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Did he wear his badge in plain view?” + +“Yes, on his breast.” + +“So that you knew him to be a police officer?” + +“Yes.” + +“And Miss Tuttle shrieked at seeing a police officer?” + +“Yes, and sprang forward.” + +“Did she say anything?” + +“Not then.” + +“What did she do?” + +“Waited for him to speak.” + +“Which he did?” + +“At once, and very brutally. He asked if she was Mrs. Jeffrey’s sister, +and when she nodded and gasped ‘Yes,’ he blurted out that Mrs. Jeffrey +was dead; that he had just come from the old house in Waverley Avenue, +where she had just been found.” + +“And Miss Tuttle?” + +“Didn’t know what to say; just hid her face. She was leaning against +the newel-post, so it was easy for her to do so. I remember that the +man stared at her for taking it so quietly and asking no questions.” + +“And did she speak at all?” + +“Oh, yes, afterwards. Her face was wrapped in the folds of her cloak, +but I heard her whisper, as if to herself: ‘No! no! That old hearth is +not a lodestone. She can not have fallen there.’ And then she looked up +quite wildly and cried: ‘There is something more! Something which you +have not told me.’ ‘She shot herself, if that’s what you mean.’ Miss +Tuttle’s arms went straight up over her head. It was awful to see her. +‘Shot herself?’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Veronica, Veronica!’ ‘With a pistol,’ +he went on—I suppose he was going to say, ‘tied to her wrist,’ but he +never got it out, for Miss Tuttle, at the word ‘pistol’ clapped her +hands to her ears and for a moment looked quite distracted, so that he +thought better of worrying her any more and only demanded to know if +Mr. Jeffrey kept any such weapon. Miss Tuttle’s face grew very strange +at this. ‘Mr. Jeffrey! was he there?’ she asked. The man looked +surprised. ‘They are searching for Mr. Jeffrey,’ he replied. ‘Isn’t he +here?’ ‘No,’ came both from her lips and mine. The man acted very +impertinently. ‘You haven’t told me whether a pistol was kept here or +not,’ said he. Miss Tuttle tried to compose herself, but I saw that I +should have to speak if any one did, so I told him that Mr. Jeffrey did +have a pistol, which he kept in one of his bureau drawers. But when the +officer wanted Miss Tuttle to go up and see if it was there, she shook +her head and made for the front door, saying that she must be taken +directly to her sister.” + +“And did no one go up? Was no attempt made to see if the pistol was or +was not in the drawer?” + +“Yes; the officer went up with me. I pointed out the place where it was +kept, and he rummaged all through it, but found no pistol. I didn’t +expect him to—” Here the witness paused and bit her lip, adding +confusedly: “Mrs. Jeffrey had taken it, you see.” + +The jurors, who sat very much in the shadow, had up to this point +attracted but little attention. But now they began to make their +presence felt, perhaps because the break in the witness’ words had been +accompanied by a sly look at Jinny. Possibly warned by this that +something lay back of this hitherto timid witness’ sudden volubility, +one of them now spoke up. + +“In what room did you say this pistol was kept?” + +“In Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey’s bed-room, sir; the room opening out of the +sitting-room where Mrs. Jeffrey had kept herself shut up all day.” + +“Does this bed-room of which you speak communicate with the hall as +well as with the sitting room?” + +“No, sir; it is the defect of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey often +spoke of it as a great annoyance. You had to pass through the little +boudoir in order to reach it.” + +The juryman sank back, evidently satisfied with her replies, but we who +marked the visible excitement with which the witness had answered this +seemingly unimportant question, wondered what special interest +surrounded that room and the pistol to warrant the heightened color +with which the girl answered this new interlocutor. We were not +destined to know at this time, for the coroner, when he spoke again, +pursued a different subject. + +“How long was this before Mr. Jeffrey came in.” + +“Only a few minutes. I was terribly frightened at being left there +alone and was on my way to ask one of the other girls to come up and +stay with me, when I heard his key in the lock and came back. He had +entered the house and was standing near the door talking to an officer, +who had evidently come in with him. It was a different officer from the +one who had gone away with Miss Tuttle. Mr. Jeffrey was saying, ‘What’s +that? My wife hurt!’ ‘Dead, sir!’ blurted out the man. I had expected +to see Mr. Jeffrey terribly shocked, but not in so awful a way. It +really frightened me to see him and I turned to run, but found that I +couldn’t and that I had to stand still and look whether I wanted to or +not. Yet he didn’t say a word or ask a question.” + +“What did he do, Loretta?” + +“I can not say; he was on his knees and was white—Oh, how white! Yet he +looked up when the man described how and where Mrs. Jeffrey, had been +found and even turned toward me when I said something about his wife +having left a message for him when she went out. This message, which I +almost hesitated to give after the awful news of her death, was about +the ending of some story, as you remember, and it seemed heartless to +speak of it at a moment like this, but as she had told me to, I didn’t +dare to disobey her. So, with the man listening to my every word, and +Mr. Jeffrey looking as if he would fall to the ground before I could +finish, I repeated her words to him and was surprised enough when he +suddenly started upright and went flying upstairs. But I was more +surprised yet when, at the top of the first flight, he stopped and, +looking over the balustrade, asked in a very strange voice where Miss +Tuttle was. For he seemed just then to want her more than anything else +in the world and looked beaten and wild when I told him that she was +already gone to Waverley Avenue. But he recovered himself before the +man could draw near enough to see his face, and rushed into the +sitting-room above and shut the door behind him, leaving the officer +and me standing down by the front door. As I didn’t know what to say to +a man like him, and he didn’t know what to say to me, the time seemed +long, but it couldn’t have been very many minutes before Mr. Jeffrey +came back with a slip of paper in his hand and a very much relieved +look on his face. ‘The deed was premeditated,’ he cried. ‘My +unfortunate wife has misunderstood my affection for her.’ And from +being a very much broken-down man, he stood up straight and tall and +prepared himself very quietly to go to the Moore house. That is all I +can tell about the way the news was received by him.” + +Were these details necessary? Many appeared to regard them as futile +and uncalled for. But Coroner Z. was never known to waste time on +trivialities, and if he called for these facts, those who knew him best +felt certain that they were meant as a preparation for Mr. Jeffrey’s +testimony, which was now called for. + + + + +XII. +THRUST AND PARRY + + +When Francis Jeffrey’s hand fell from his forehead and he turned to +face the assembled people, an instinctive compassion arose in every +breast at sight of his face, which, if not open in its expression, was +at least surcharged with the deepest misery. In a flash the scene took +on new meaning. Many remembered that less than a month before his eye +had been joyous and his figure a conspicuous one among the favored sons +of fortune. And now he stood in sight of a crowd, drawn together mainly +by curiosity, to explain as best he might why this great happiness and +hope had come to a sudden termination, and his bride of a fortnight had +sought death rather than continue to live under the same roof with him. + +So much for what I saw on the faces about me. What my own face revealed +I can not say. I only know that I strove to preserve an impassive +exterior. If I secretly held this man’s misery to be a mask hiding +untold passions and the darkness of an unimaginable deed, it was not +for me to disclose in this presence either my suspicions or my fears. +To me, as to those about me, he apparently was a man who at some +sacrifice to his pride, would, yet be able to explain whatever seemed +dubious in the mysterious case in which he had become involved. + +His wife’s uncle, who to all appearance shared the general curiosity as +to the effect which this woeful tragedy had had upon his niece’s most +interested survivor, eyed with a certain cold interest, eminently in +keeping with his general character, the pallid forehead, sunken eyes +and nervously trembling lip of the once “handsome Jeffrey” till that +gentleman, rousing from his depression, manifested a realization of +what was required of him and turned with a bow toward the coroner. + +Miss Tuttle settled into a greater rigidity. I pass over the +preliminary examination of this important witness and proceed at once +to the point when the coroner, holding out the two or three lines of +writing which Mr. Jeffrey had declared to have been left him by his +wife, asked: + +“Are these words in your wife’s handwriting?” + +Mr. Jeffrey replied hastily, and, with just a glance at the paper +offered him: + +“They are.” + +The coroner pressed the slip upon him. + +“Look at them carefully,” he urged. “The handwriting shows hurry and in +places is scarcely legible. Are you ready to swear that these words +were written by your wife and by no other?” + +Mr. Jeffrey, with just a slight contraction of his brow expressive of +annoyance, did as he was bid. He scanned, or appeared to scan, the +small scrap of paper which he now took into his own hand. + +“It is my wife’s writing,” he impatiently declared. “Written, as all +can see, under great agitation of mind, but hers without any doubt.” + +“Will you read aloud these words for our benefit?” asked the coroner: + +It was a cruel request, causing an instinctive protest from the +spectators. But no protest disturbed Coroner Z. He had his reasons, no +doubt, for thus trying this witness, and when Coroner Z. had reason for +anything it took more than the displeasure of the crowd to deter him. + +Mr. Jeffrey, who had subdued whatever indignation he may have felt at +this unmistakable proof of the coroner’s intention to have his own way +with him whatever the cost to his sensitiveness or pride, obeyed the +latter’s command in firmer tones than I expected. + +The lines he was thus called upon to read may bear repetition: + +“I find that I do not love you as I thought. I can not live knowing +this to be so. Pray God you may forgive me! + + +VERONICA.” + + +As the last word fell with a little tremble from Mr. Jeffrey’s lips, +the coroner repeated: + +“You still think these words were addressed to you by your wife; that +in short they contain an explanation of her death?” + +“I do.” + +There was sharpness in the tone. Mr. Jeffrey was feeling the prick. +There was agitation in it, too; an agitation he was trying hard to keep +down. + +“You have reason, then,” persisted the coroner, “for accepting this +peculiar explanation of your wife’s death; a death which, in the +judgment of most people, was of a nature to call for the strongest +provocation possible.” + +“My wife was not herself. My wife was in an over strained and suffering +condition. For one so nervously overwrought many allowances must be +made. She may have been conscious of not responding fully to my +affection. That this feeling was strong enough to induce her to take +her life is a source of unspeakable grief to me, but one for which you +must find explanation, as I have so often said, in the terrors caused +by the dread event at the Moore house, which recalled old tragedies and +emphasized a most unhappy family tradition.” + +The coroner paused a moment to let these words sink into the ears of +the jury, then plunged immediately into what might be called the +offensive part of his examination. + +“Why, if your wife’s death caused you such intense grief, did you +appear so relieved at receiving this by no means consoling +explanation?” + +At an implication so unmistakably suggestive of suspicion Mr. Jeffrey +showed fire for the first time. + +“Whose word have you for that? A servant’s, so newly come into my house +that her very features are still strange to me. You must acknowledge +that a person of such marked inexperience can hardly be thought to know +me or to interpret rightly the feelings of my heart by any passing look +she may have surprised upon my face.” + +This attitude of defiance so suddenly assumed had an effect he little +realized. Miss Tuttle stirred for the first time behind her veil, and +Uncle David, from looking bored, became suddenly quite attentive. These +two but mirrored the feelings of the general crowd, and mine +especially. + +“We do not depend on her judgment alone,” the coroner now remarked. +“The change in you was apparent to many others. This we can prove to +the jury if they require it.” + +But no man lifting a voice from that gravely attentive body, the +coroner proceeded to inquire if Mr. Jeffrey felt like volunteering any +explanations on this head. Receiving no answer from him either, he +dropped the suggestive line of inquiry and took up the consideration of +facts. The first question he now put was: + +“Where did you find the slip of paper containing these last words from +your wife?” + +“In a book I picked out of the book-shelf in our room upstairs. When +Loretta gave me my wife’s message I knew that I should find some word +from her in the novel we had just been reading. As we had been +interested in but one book since our marriage, there was no possibility +of my making any mistake as to which one she referred.” + +“Will you give us the name of this novel?” + +“COMPENSATION.” + +“And you found this book called COMPENSATION in your room upstairs?” + +“Yes.” + +“On the book-shelf?” + +“Yes.” + +“Where does this book-shelf stand?” + +Mr. Jeffrey looked up as much as to say, “Why so many small questions +about so simple a matter?” but answered frankly enough: + +“At the right of the door leading into the bedroom.” + +“And at right angles to the door leading into the hall?” + +“Yes.” + +“Very good. Now may I ask you to describe the cover of this book?” + +“The cover? I never noticed the cover. Why do you—. Excuse me, I +suppose you have your reasons for asking even these puerile and +seemingly unnecessary questions. The cover is a queer one I believe; +partly red and partly green; and that is all I know about it.” + +“Is this the book?” + +Mr. Jeffrey glanced at the volume the coroner held up before him. + +“I believe so; it looks like it.” + +The book had a flaming cover, quite unmistakable in its character. + +“The title shows it to be the same,” remarked the coroner. “Is this the +only book with a cover of this kind in the house?” + +“The only one, I should say.” + +The coroner laid down the book. + +“Enough of this, then, for the present; only let the jury remember that +the cover of this book is peculiar and that it was kept on a shelf at +the right of the opening leading into the adjoining bed-room. And now, +Mr. Jeffrey, we must ask you to look at these rings; or, rather, at +this one. You have seen it before; it is the one you placed on Mrs. +Jeffrey’s hand when you were married to her a little over a fortnight +ago. You recognize it?” + +“I do.” + +“Do you also recognize this small mark of blood on it as having been +here when it was shown to you by the detective on your return from +seeing her dead body at the Moore house?” + +“I do; yes.” + +“How do you account for that spot and the slight injury made to her +finger? Should you not say that the ring had been dragged from her +hand?” + +“I should.” + +“By whom was it dragged? By you?” + +“No, sir.” + +“By herself, then?” + +“It would seem so.” + +“Much passion must have been in that act. Do you think that any +ordinary quarrel between husband and wife would account for the display +of such fury? Are we not right in supposing a deeper cause for the +disturbance between you than the slight one you offer in way of +explanation?” + +An inaudible answer; then a sudden straightening of Francis Jeffrey’s +fine figure. And that was all. + +“Mr. Jeffrey, in the talk you had with your wife on Tuesday morning was +Miss Tuttle’s name introduced?” + +“It was mentioned; yes, sir.” + +“With recrimination or any display of passion on the part of your +wife?” + +“You would not believe me if I said no,” was the unexpected rejoinder. + +The coroner, taken aback by this direct attack from one who had +hitherto borne all his innuendoes with apparent patience, lost +countenance for a moment, but, remembering that in his official +capacity he was more than a match for the elegant gentleman, who under +other circumstances would have found it only too easy to put him to the +blush, he observed with dignity: + +“Mr. Jeffrey, you are on oath. We certainly have no reason for not +believing you.” + +Mr. Jeffrey bowed. He was probably sorry for his momentary loss of +self-control, and gravely, but with eyes bent downward, answered with +the abrupt phrase: + +“Well, then, I will say no.” + +The coroner shifted his ground. + +“Will you make the same reply when I ask if the like forbearance was +shown toward your wife’s name in the conversation you had with Miss +Tuttle immediately afterward?” + +A halt in the eagerly looked-for reply; a hesitation, momentary indeed, +but pregnant with nameless suggestions, caused his answer, when it did +come, to lose some of the emphasis he manifestly wished to put into it. + +“Miss Tuttle was Mrs. Jeffrey’s half-sister. The bond between them was +strong. Would she—would I—be apt to speak of my young wife with +bitterness?” + +“That is not an answer to my question, Mr. Jeffrey. I must request a +more positive reply.” + +Miss Tuttle made a move. The strain on all present was so great we +could but notice it. He noticed it too, for his brows came together +with a quick frown, as he emphatically replied: + +“There were no recriminations uttered. Mrs. Jeffrey had displeased me +and I said so, but I did not forget that I was speaking of my wife and +_to_ her sister.” + +As this was in the highest degree non-committal, the coroner could be +excused for persisting. + +“The conversation, then, was about your wife?” + +“It was.” + +“In criticism of her conduct?” + +“Yes.” + +“At the ambassador’s ball?” + +“Yes.” + +Mr. Jeffrey was a poor hand at lying. That last “yes” came with great +effort. + +The coroner waited, possibly for the echo of this last “yes” to cease; +then he remarked with a coldness which lifted at once the veil from his +hitherto well disguised antagonism to this witness. + +“If you will recount to us anything which your wife said or did on that +evening which, in your mind, was worthy of all this coil, it might help +us to understand the situation.” + +But the witness made no attempt to do so, and while many of us were +ready to pardon him this show of delicacy, others felt that under the +circumstances it would have been better had he been more open. + +Among the latter was the coroner himself, who, from this moment, threw +aside all hesitation and urged forward his inquiries in a way to press +the witness closer and closer toward the net he was secretly holding +out for him. First, he obliged him to say that his conversation with +Miss Tuttle had not tended to smooth matters; that no reconciliation +with his wife had followed it, and that in the thirty-six hours which +elapsed before he returned home again he had made no attempt to soothe +the feelings of one, who, according to his own story, he considered +hardly responsible for any extravagances in which she might have +indulged. Then when this inconsistency had been given time to sink into +the minds of the jury, Coroner Z. increased the effect produced by +confronting Jeffrey with witnesses who testified to the friendly, if +not lover-like relations which had existed between himself and Miss +Tuttle prior to the appearance of his wife upon the scene; closing with +a question which brought out the denial, by no means new, that an +engagement had ever taken place between him and Miss Tuttle and hence +that a bond had been canceled by his marriage with Miss Moore. + +But his manner and careful choice of words in making this denial did +not satisfy those present of his entire candor; especially as Miss +Tuttle, for all her apparent immobility, showed, by the violent locking +of her hands, both her anxiety and the suffering she was undergoing +during this painful examination. Was the suffering merely one of +outraged delicacy? We felt justified in doubting it, and looked +forward, with cruel curiosity I admit, to the moment when this renowned +and universally admired beauty would be called on to throw aside her +veil and reveal the highly praised features which had been so openly +scorned for the sake of one whose chief claims to regard lay in her +great wealth. + +But this moment was as yet far distant. The coroner was a man of +method, and his plan was now to prove, as had been apparent to most of +us from the first, that the assumption of suicide on the part of Mrs. +Jeffrey was open to doubt. The communication suggesting such an end to +her troubles was the strongest proof Mr. Jeffrey could bring forward +that her death had been the result of her own act. Consequently it was +now the coroner’s business to show that this communication was either a +forgery, or a substitution, and that if she left some word in the book +to which she had in so peculiar a manner directed his attention, it was +not necessarily the one bewailing her absence of love for him and her +consequent intention of seeking relief from her disappointment in +death. + +Some hint of what the coroner contemplated had already escaped him in +the persistent and seemingly inconsequent questions to which he had +subjected this witness in reference to these very matters. But the time +had now come for a more direct attack, and the interest rose +correspondingly high, when the coroner, lifting again to sight the +scrap of paper containing the few piteous lines so often quoted, asked +of the now anxious and agitated witness, if he had ever noticed any +similarity between the handwriting of his wife and that of Miss Tuttle. + +An indignant “No!” was about to pass his lips, when he suddenly checked +himself and said more mildly: “There may have been a similarity; I +hardly know, I have seen too little of Miss Tuttle’s hand to judge.” + +This occasioned a diversion. Specimens of Miss Tuttle’s handwriting +were produced, which, after having been duly proved, were passed down +to the jury along with the communication professedly signed by Mrs. +Jeffrey. The grunts of astonishment which ensued as the knowing heads +drew near over these several papers caused Mr. Jeffrey to flush and +finally to cry out with startling emphasis: + +“I know that those words were written by my wife.” + +But when the coroner asked him his reasons for this conviction, he +could, or would not state them. + +“I have said,” he stolidly repeated; and that was all. + +The coroner made no comment, but when, after some further inquiry, +which added little to the general knowledge, he dismissed Mr. Jeffrey +and recalled Loretta, there was that in his tone which warned us that +the really serious portion of the day’s examination was about to begin. + + + + +XIII. +CHIEFLY THRUST + + +The appearance of this witness had undergone a change since she last +stood before us. She was shame-faced still, but her manner showed +resolve and a feverish determination to face the situation which could +but awaken in the breasts of those who had Mr. Jeffrey’s honor and +personal welfare at heart a nameless dread; as if they already foresaw +the dark shadow which minute by minute was slowly sinking over a +household which, up to a week ago, had been the envy and admiration of +all Washington society. + +The first answer she made revealed both the cause of her shame and the +reason of her firmness. It was in response to the question whether she, +Loretta, had seen Miss Tuttle before she went out on the walk she was +said to have taken immediately after Mrs. Jeffrey’s final departure +from the house. + +Her words were these: + +“I did sir. I do not think Miss Tuttle knows it, but I saw her in Mrs. +Jeffrey’s room.” + +The emphatic tone, offering such a contrast to her former manner of +speech, might have drawn all eyes to the speaker had not the person she +mentioned offered a still more interesting subject to the general +curiosity. As it was, all glances flew to that silent and seemingly +impassive figure upon which all open suggestions and covert innuendo +had hitherto fallen without creating more than a pressure of her +interlaced fingers. This direct attack, possibly the most threatening +she had received, appeared to produce no more effect upon her than the +others; less, perhaps, for no stir was visible in her now, and to some +eyes she hardly seemed to breathe. + +Curiosity, thus baffled, led the gaze on to Mr. Jeffrey, and even to +Uncle David; but the former had dropped his head again upon his hand, +and the other—well, there was little to observe in Mr. Moore at any +time, save the immense satisfaction he seemed to take in himself; so +attention returned to the witness, who, by this time, had entered upon +a consecutive tale. + +As near as I can remember, these are the words with which she prefaced +it: + +“I am not especially proud of what I did that night, but I was led into +it by degrees, and I am sure I beg the lady’s pardon.” And then she +went on to relate how, after she had seen Mrs. Jeffrey leave the house, +she went into her room with the intention of putting it to rights. As +this was no more than her duty, no fault could be found with her; but +she owned that when she had finished this task and removed all evidence +of Mrs. Jeffrey’s frenzied condition, she had no business to linger at +the table turning over the letters she found lying there. + +Here the coroner stopped her and made some inquiries in regard to these +letters, but as they seemed to be ordinary epistles from friends and +quite foreign to the investigation, he allowed her to proceed. + +Her cheeks were burning now, for she had found herself obliged to admit +that she had read enough of these letters to be sure that they had no +reference to the quarrel then pending between her mistress and Mr. +Jeffrey. Her eyes fell and she looked seriously distressed as she went +on to say that she was as conscious then as now of having no business +with these papers; so conscious, indeed, that when she heard Miss +Tuttle’s step at the door, her one idea was to hide herself. + +That she could stand and face that lady never so much as occurred to +her. Her own guilty consciousness made her cheeks too hot for her to +wish to meet an eye which had never rested on her any too kindly; so +noticing how straight the curtains fell over one of the windows on the +opposite side of the room, she dashed toward it and slipped in out of +sight just as Miss Tuttle came in. This window was one seldom used, +owing to the fact that it overlooked an adjoining wall, so she had no +fear of Miss Tuttle’s approaching it. Consequently, she could stand +there quite at her ease, and, as the curtains in falling behind her had +not come quite together, she really could not help seeing just what +that lady did. + +Here the witness paused with every appearance of looking for some token +of disapprobation from the crowd. + +But she encountered nothing there but eager anxiety for her to proceed, +so without waiting for the coroner’s question, she added in so many +words: + +“She went first to the book-shelves” + +We had expected it; but yet a general movement took place, and a few +suppressed exclamations could be heard. + +“And what did she do there?” + +“Took down a book, after looking carefully up and down the shelves.” + +“What color of book?” + +“A green one with red figures on it. I could see the cover plainly as +she took it down.” + +“Like this one?” + +“Exactly like that one.” + +“And what did she do with this book?” + +“Opened it, but not to read it. She was too quick in closing it for +that.” + +“Did she take the book away?” + +“No; she put it back on the shelf.” + +“After opening and closing it?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Did you see whether she put anything into the book?” + +“I can not swear that she did; but then her back was to me, and I could +not have seen it if she had.” + +The implied suggestion caused some excitement, but the coroner, +frowning on this, pressed the girl to continue, asking if Miss Tuttle +left the room immediately after turning from the book-shelves. Loretta +replied no; that, on the contrary, she stood for some minutes near +them, gazing, in what seemed like a great distress of mind, straight +upon the floor; after which she moved in an agitated way and with more +than one anxious look behind her into the adjoining room where she +paused before a large bureau. As this bureau was devoted entirely to +Mr. Jeffrey’s use, Loretta experienced some surprise at seeing his +wife’s sister approach it in so stealthy a manner. Consequently she was +watching with all her might, when this young lady opened the upper +drawer and, with very evident emotion, thrust her hand into it. + +What she took out, or whether she took out anything, this spy upon her +movements could not say, for when Loretta heard the drawer being pushed +back into place she drew the curtains close, perceiving that Miss +Tuttle would have to face this window in coming back. However, she +ventured upon one other peep through them just as that lady was leaving +the room, and remembered as if it were yesterday how clay-white her +face looked, and how she held her left hand pressed close against the +folds of her dress. It was but a few minutes after this that Miss +Tuttle left the house. + +As we all knew what was kept in that drawer, the conclusion was +obvious. Whatever excuse Miss Tuttle might give for going into her +sister’s room at this time, but one thought, one fear, or possibly one +hope, could have taken her to Mr. Jeffrey’s private drawer. She wished +to see if his pistol was still there, or if it had been taken away by +her sister,—a revelation of the extreme point to which her thoughts had +flown at this crisis, and one which effectually contradicted her former +statement that she had been conscious of no alarm in behalf of her +sister and had seen her leave the house without dread or suspicion of +evil. + +The temerity which had made it possible to associate the name of such a +man as Francis Jeffrey with an outrageous crime having been thus in a +measure explained, the coroner recalled that gentleman and again +thoroughly surprised the gaping public. + +Had the witness accompanied his wife to the Moore house? + +“No” + +Had he met her there by any appointment he had made with her or which +had been made for them both by some third person? + +“No” + +Had he been at the Moore house on the night of the eleventh at any time +previous to the hour when he was brought there by the officials? + +“No.” + +Would he glance at this impression of certain finger-tips which had +been left in the dust of the southwest chamber mantel? + +He had already noted them. + +Now would he place his left hand on the paper and see— + +“It is not necessary,” he burst forth, in great heat. “I own to those +marks. That is, I have no doubt they were made by my hand.” Here, +unconsciously, his eyes flew to the member thus referred to, as if +conscious that in some way it had proved a traitor to him; after which +his gaze traveled slowly my way, with an indescribable question in it +which roused my conscience and made the trick by which I had got the +impression of his hand seem less of a triumph than I had heretofore +considered it. The next minute he was answering the coroner under oath, +very much as he had answered him in the unofficial interview at which I +had been present. + +“I acknowledge having been in the Moore house and even having been in +its southwest chamber, but not at the time supposed. It was on the +previous night.” He went on to relate how, being in a nervous condition +and having the key to this old dwelling in his pocket, he had amused +himself by going through its dilapidated interior. All of this made a +doubtful impression which was greatly emphasized when, in reply to the +inquiry as to where he got the light to see by, he admitted that he had +come upon a candle in an upstairs room and made use of that; though he +could not remember what he had done with this candle afterward, and +looked dazed and quite at sea, till the coroner suggested that he might +have carried it into the closet of the room where his fingers had left +their impression in the dust of the mantel-shelf. Then he broke down +like a man from whom some prop is suddenly snatched and looked around +for a seat. This was given him, while a silence, the most dreadful I +ever experienced, held every one there in check. But he speedily +rallied and, with the remark that he was a little confused in regard to +the incidents of that night, waited with a wild look in his averted eye +for the coroner’s next question. + +Unhappily for him it was in continuation of the same subject. Had he +bought candles or not at the grocer’s around the corner? Yes, he had. +Before visiting the house? Yes. Had he also bought matches? Yes. What +kind? Common safety matches. Had he noticed when he got home that the +box he had just bought was half empty? No. Nevertheless he had used +many matches in going through this old house, had he not? Possibly. To +light his way upstairs, perhaps? It might be. Had he not so used them? +Yes. Why had he done so, if he had candles in his pocket, which were so +much easier to hold and so much more lasting than a lighted match? Ah, +he could not say; he did not know; his mind was confused. He was awake +when he should have been asleep. It was all a dream to him. + +The coroner became still more persistent. + +“Did you enter the library on your solitary visit to this old house?” + +“I believe so.” + +“What did you do there?” + +“Pottered around. I don’t remember.” + +“What light did you use?” + +“A candle, I think.” + +“You must know.” + +“Well, I had a candle; it was in a candelabrum.” + +“What candle and what candelabrum?” + +“The same I used upstairs, of course” + +“And you can not remember where you left this candle and candelabrum +when you finally quitted the house?” + +“No. I wasn’t thinking about candles.” + +“What were you thinking about?” + +“The rupture with my wife and the bad name of the house I was in.” + +“Oh! and this was on Tuesday night?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“How can you prove this to us?” + +“I can not.” + +“But you swear—” + +“I swear that it was Tuesday night, the night immediately preceding the +one when—when my wife’s death robbed me of all earthly happiness.” + +It was feelingly uttered, and several faces lightened; but the coroner +repeating: “Is there no way you can prove this to our satisfaction?” +the shadow settled again, and on no head more perceptibly than on that +of the unfortunate witness. + +It was now late in the day and the atmosphere of the room had become +stifling; but no one seemed to be conscious of any discomfort, and a +general gasp of excitement passed through the room when the coroner, +taking out a box from under a pile of papers, disclosed to the general +gaze the famous white ribbon with its dainty bow, lying on top of the +fatal pistol. + +That this special feature, the most interesting one of all connected +with this tragedy, should have been kept so long in reserve and brought +out just at this time, struck many of Mr. Jeffrey’s closest friends as +unnecessarily dramatic; but when the coroner, lifting out the ribbon, +remarked tentatively, “You know this ribbon?” we were more struck by +the involuntary cry of surprise which rose from some one in the crowd +about the door, than by the look with which Mr. Jeffrey eyed it and +made the necessary reply. That cry had something more than nervous +excitement in it. Identifying the person who had uttered it as a +certain busy little woman well known in town, I sent an officer to +watch her; then recalled my attention to the point the coroner was +attempting to make. He had forced Mr. Jeffrey to recognize the ribbon +as the one which had fastened the pistol to his wife’s arm; now he +asked whether, in his opinion, a woman could tie such a bow to her own +wrist, and when in common justice Mr. Jeffrey was obliged to say no, +waited a third time before he put the general suspicion again into +words: + +“Can not you, by some means or some witness, prove to us that it was on +Tuesday night and not on Wednesday you spent the hours you speak of on +this scene of your marriage and your wife’s death?” + +The hopelessness which more than once had marked Mr. Jeffrey’s features +since the beginning of this inquiry, reappeared with renewed force as +this suggestive question fell again upon his ears; and he was about to +repeat his plea of forgetfulness when the coroner’s attention was +diverted by a request made in his ear by one of the detectives. In +another moment Mr. Jeffrey had been waved aside and a new witness sworn +in. + +You can imagine every one’s surprise, mine most of all, when this +witness proved to be Uncle David. + + + + +XIV. +“TALLMAN! LET US HAVE TALLMAN!” + + +I do not know why the coroner had so long delayed to call this witness. +In the ordinary course of events his testimony should have preceded +mine, but the ordinary course of events had not been followed, and it +was only at the request of Mr. Moore himself that he was now allowed +the privilege of appearing before this coroner and jury. + +I speak of it as a privilege because he himself evidently regarded it +as such. Indeed, his whole attitude and bearing as he addressed himself +to the coroner showed that he was there to be looked at and that he +secretly thought he was very well worth this attention. Possibly some +remembrance of the old days, in which he had gone in and out before +these people in a garb suggestive of penury, made the moment when he +could appear before them in a guise more befitting his station one of +incalculable importance to him. + +At all events, he confronted us all with an aspect which openly +challenged admiration. When, in answer to the coroner’s inquiries, it +became his duty to speak, he did so with a condescension which would +have called up smiles if the occasion had been one of less seriousness, +and his connection with it as unimportant as he would have it appear. + +What he said was in the way of confirming the last witness’ testimony +as to his having been at the Moore house on Tuesday evening. Mr. Moore, +who was very particular as to dates and days, admitted that the light +which he had seen in a certain window of his ancestral home on the +evening when he summoned the police was but the repetition of one he +had detected there the evening before. It was this repetition which +alarmed him and caused him to break through all his usual habits and +leave his home at night to notify the police. + +“The old sneak!” thought I. “Why didn’t he tell us this before?” And I +allowed myself a fresh doubt of his candor which had always seemed to +me somewhat open to question. It is possible that the coroner shared my +opinion, or that he felt it incumbent upon him to get what evidence he +could from the sole person living within view of the house in which +such ghastly events had taken place. For, without betraying the least +suspicion, and yet with the quiet persistence for which men in his +responsible position are noted, he subjected this suave old man to such +a rigid examination as to what he had seen, or had not seen, from his +windows, that no possibility seemed to remain of his concealing a +single fact which could help to the elucidation of this or any other +mystery connected with the old mansion. + +He asked him if he had seen Mr. Jeffrey go in on the night in question; +if he had ever seen any one go in there since the wedding; or even if +he had seen any one loitering about the steps, or sneaking into the +rear yard. But the answer was always no; these same noes growing more +and more emphatic, and the gentleman more and more impenetrable and +dignified as the examination went on. In fact, he was as unassailable a +witness as I have ever heard testify before any jury. Beyond the fact +already mentioned of his having observed a light in the opposite house +on the two evenings in question, he admitted nothing. His life in the +little cottage was so engrossing—he had his organ—his dog—why should he +look out of the window? Had it not been for his usual habit of letting +his dog run the pavements for a quarter of an hour before finally +locking up for the night, he would not have seen as much as he did. + +“Have you any stated hour for doing this?” the coroner now asked. + +“Yes; half-past nine” + +“And was this the hour when you saw that light?” + +“Yes, both times.” + +As he had appeared at the station-house at a few minutes before ten he +was probably correct in this statement. But, notwithstanding this, I +did not feel implicit confidence in him. He was too insistent in his +regret at not being able to give greater assistance in the +disentanglement of a mystery so affecting the honor of the family of +which he was now the recognized head. His voice, nicely attuned to the +occasion, was admirable; so was his manner; but I mentally wrote him +down as one I should enjoy outwitting if the opportunity ever came my +way. + +He wound up with such a distinct repetition of his former emphatic +assertion as to the presence of light in the old house on Tuesday as +well as Wednesday evening that Mr. Jeffrey’s testimony in this regard +received a decided confirmation. I looked to see some open recognition +of this, when suddenly, and with a persistence understood only by the +police, the coroner recalled Mr. Jeffrey and asked him what proof he +had to offer that his visit of Tuesday had not been repeated the next +night and that he was not in the building when that fatal trigger was +pulled. + +At this leading question, a lawyer sitting near me, edged himself +forward as if he hoped for some sign from Mr. Jeffrey which would +warrant him in interfering. But Mr. Jeffrey gave no such sign. I doubt +if he even noticed this man’s proximity, though he knew him well and +had often employed him as his legal adviser in times gone by. He was +evidently exerting himself to recall the name which so persistently +eluded his memory, putting his hand to his head and showing the utmost +confusion. + +“I can not give you one,” he finally stammered. “There is a man who +could tell—if only I could remember his name.” Suddenly with a loud cry +which escaped him involuntarily, he gave a gurgling laugh and we heard +the name “_Tallman!_” leap from his lips. + +The witness had at last remembered whom he had met at the cemetery gate +at the hour, or near the hour, his wife lay dying in the lower part of +the city. + +The effect was electrical. One of the spectators—some country boor, no +doubt—so far forgot himself as to cry out loud enough for all to hear: + +“Tallman! Let us have Tallman!” + +Of course he met with an instant rebuke, but I did not wait to hear it, +or to see order restored, for a glance from the coroner had already +sent me to the door in search of this new witness. + +My destination was the Cosmos Club, for Phil Tallman and his habits and +haunts were as well known in Washington as the figure of Liberty on the +summit of the Capitol dome. When I saw him I did not wonder. Never have +I seen a more amiable looking man, or one with a more absentminded +expression. To my query as to whether he had ever met Mr. Jeffrey at or +near the entrance of Rock Creek Cemetery, he replied with an amazed +look and the quick response: + +“Of course I did. It was the very night that his wife— But what’s up? +You look excited for a detective.” + +“Come to the morgue and see. This testimony of yours will prove +invaluable to Mr. Jeffrey.” + +I shall never forget the murmur of suppressed excitement which greeted +us as I reappeared before coroner and jury accompanied by the gentleman +who had been called for in such peremptory tones a short time before. + +Mr. Jeffrey, who had attempted to rise at our entrance, but seemed to +lack the ability, gave a faint smile as Tallman’s good-natured face +appeared; and the coroner, feeling, perhaps, that some cords are liable +to break if stretched too strongly, administered the oath and made the +necessary inquiries with as little delay as was compatible with the +solemnity of the occasion. + +The result was an absolute proof that Mr. Jeffrey had been near +Soldiers’ Home as late as seven, which was barely fifteen minutes +previous to the hour Mrs. Jeffrey’s watch was stopped by her fall in +the old house on Waverley Avenue. As the distance between the two +places could not be compassed in that time, Mr. Jeffrey’s alibi could +be regarded as established. + +When we were all rising, glad of an adjournment which restored free +movement and an open interchange of speech, a sudden check in the +general rush called our attention back to Mr. Jeffrey. He was standing +facing Miss Tuttle, who was still sitting in a strangely immovable +attitude in her old place. He had just touched her on the arm, and now, +with a look of alarm, he threw up the veil which had kept her face +hidden from all beholders. + +A vision of loveliness greeted us, but that was not all. It was an +unconscious loveliness. Miss Tuttle had fainted away, sitting upright +in her chair. + + + + +XV. +WHITE BOW AND PINK + + +Mr. Jeffrey’s examination and its triumphant conclusion created a great +furor in town. Topics which had hitherto absorbed all minds were +forgotten in the discussion of the daring attempt which had been made +by the police to fix crime upon one of Washington’s most esteemed +citizens, and the check which they had rightly suffered for this +outrage. What might be expected next? Something equally bold and +reprehensible, of course, but what? It was a question which at the next +sitting completely filled the inquest room. + +To my great surprise, Mr. Jeffrey was recalled to the stand. He had +changed since the night before. He looked older, and while still +handsome, for nothing could rob him of his regularity of feature and +extreme elegance of proportion, showed little of the spirit which, in +spite of the previous day’s depression, had upheld him through its most +trying ordeal and kept his eye bright, if only from excitement. This +was fact number one, and one which I stored away in my already +well-furnished memory. + +Miss Tuttle sat in a less conspicuous position than on the previous +day, and Mr. Moore, her uncle, was not there at all. + +The testimony called for revived an old point which, seemingly, had not +been settled to the coroner’s satisfaction. + +Had Mr. Jeffrey placed the small stand holding the candelabrum on the +spot where it had been found? No. Had he carried into the house, at the +time of his acknowledged visit, the candles which had been afterward +discovered there? No. He had had time to think since his hesitating and +unsatisfactory replies of the day before, and he was now in a position +to say that while he distinctly remembered buying candles on his way to +the Moore house, he had not found them in his pocket on getting there +and had been obliged to make use of the matches he always carried on +his person in order to find his way to the upstairs room where he felt +positive he would find a candle. + +This gave the coroner an opportunity to ask: + +“And why did you expect to find a candle there?” + +The answer astonished me and, I have no doubt, many others. + +“It was the room in which my wife had dressed for the ceremony. It had +not been disturbed since that time. My wife had little ways of her own; +one was to complete her toilet by using a curling iron on a little lock +she wore over her temple. When at home she heated this curling iron in +the gas jet, but there being no gas in the Moore house, I naturally +concluded that she had made use of a candle, as the curl had been +noticeable under her veil.” + +Oh, the weariness in his tone! I could scarcely interpret it. Was he +talking by rote, or was he utterly done with life and all its +interests? No one besides myself seemed to note this strange passivity. +To the masses he was no longer a suffering man, but an individual from +whom information was to be got. The next question was a vital one. + +He had accounted for one candle in the house; could he account for the +one found in the tumbler or for the one lying crushed and battered on +the closet floor? + +He could not. + +And now we all observed a change of direction in the inquiry. Witnesses +were summoned to corroborate Mr. Jeffrey’s statements, statements which +it seemed to be the coroner’s present wish to establish. First came the +grocer who had sold Mr. Jeffrey the candles. He acknowledged, much to +Jinny’s discomfort, that an hour after Mr. Jeffrey had left the store, +he had found on the counter the package which that gentleman had +forgotten to take. Poor Jinny had not stayed long enough to hear his +story out. The grocer finished his testimony by saying that immediately +upon his discovery he had sent the candles to Mr. Jeffrey’s house. + +This the coroner caused to be emphasized to such an extent that we were +all convinced of its importance. But as yet his purpose was not evident +save to those who were more in his confidence than myself. + +The other witnesses were men from Rauchers, who had acted as waiters at +the time of the marriage. One of them testified that immediately on +Miss Moore’s arrival he had been sent for a candle and a box of +matches. The other, that he had carried up to her room a large +candelabrum from the drawing-room mantel. A pair of curling tongs taken +from the dressing table of this room was next produced, together with +other articles of toilet use which had been allowed to remain there +uncared for, though they were of solid silver and of beautiful design. + +The next witness was a member of Mr. Jeffrey’s own household. Chloe was +her name, and her good black face worked dolefully as she admitted that +the package of candles which the grocer boy had left on the kitchen +table, with the rest of the groceries on the morning of that dreadful +day when “Missus” killed herself, was not to be found when she came to +put the things away. She had looked and looked for it, but it was not +there. + +Further inquiry brought out the fact that but one other member of the +household was in the kitchen when these groceries were delivered; and +that this person gave a great start when the boy shouted out, “The +candles there were bought by Mr. Jeffrey,” and hurried over to the +table and handled the packages, although Chloe did not see her carry +any of them away. + +“And who was this person?” + +“Miss Tuttle.” + +With the utterance of this name the veil fell from the coroner’s +intentions and the purpose of this petty but prolonged inquiry stood +revealed. It was to all a fearful and impressive moment. To me it was +as painful as it was triumphant. I had not anticipated such an outcome +when I put my wits to work to prove that murder, and not suicide, was +answerable for young Mrs. Jeffrey’s death. + +When the murmur which had hailed this startling turn in the inquiry had +subsided, the coroner drew a deep breath, and, with an uneasy glance at +the jury, who, to a man, seemed to wish themselves well out of this +job, he dismissed the cook and summoned a fresh witness. + +Her name made the people stare. + +“Miss Nixon.” + +Miss Nixon! That was a name well known in Washington; almost as well +known as that of Uncle David, or even of Mr. Tallman. What could this +quaint and characteristic little body have to do with this case of +doubtful suicide? A word will explain. She was the person who, on the +day before, had made that loud exclamation when the box containing the +ribbon and the pistol had been disclosed to the jury. + +As her fussy little figure came forward, some nudged and some laughed, +possibly because her bonnet was not of this year’s style, possibly +because her manner was peculiar and as full of oddities as her attire. +But they did not laugh long, for the little lady’s look was appealing, +if not distressed. The fact that she was generally known to possess one +of the largest bank accounts in the District, made any marked show of +disrespect toward her a matter of poor judgment, if not of questionable +taste. + +The box in the coroner’s hand prepared us for what was before us. As he +opened it and disclosed again the dainty white bow which, as I have +before said, was of rather a fantastic make, the whole roomful of eager +spectators craned forward and were startled enough when he asked: + +“Did you ever see a bow like this before?” + +Her answer came in the faintest of tones. + +“Yes, I have one like it; very like it; so like it that yesterday I +could not suppress an exclamation on seeing this one.” + +“Where did you get the one you have? Who fashioned it, I mean, or tied +it for you, if that is what I ought to say?” + +“It was tied for me by—Miss Tuttle. She is a friend of mine, or was—and +a very good one; and one day while watching me struggling with a piece +of ribbon, which I wanted made into a bow, she took it from my hand and +tied a knot for which I was very much obliged to her. It was very +pretty.” + +“And like this?” + +“Almost exactly, sir.” + +“Have you that knot with you?” + +She had. + +“Will you show it to the jury?” + +Heaving a sigh which she had much better have suppressed, she opened a +little bag she carried at her side and took out a pink satin bow. It +had been tied by a deft hand; and more than one pair of eyes fell +significantly at sight of it. + +Amid a silence which was intense, two or three other witnesses were +called to prove that Miss Tuttle’s skill in bow-tying was exceptional, +and was often made use of, not only by members of her household, but, +as in Miss Nixon’s case, by outsiders; the special style shown in the +one under consideration being the favorite. + +During all this, I kept my eyes on Mr. Jeffrey. It had now become so +evident which way the coroner’s inquiries tended that I wished to be +the first to note their effect on him. It was less marked than I had +anticipated. The man seemed benumbed by accumulated torment and stared +at the witnesses filing before him as if they were part of some wild +phantasmagoria which confused, without enlightening him. When finally +several persons of both sexes were brought forward to prove that his +attentions to Miss Tuttle had once been sufficiently marked for an +announcement of their engagement to be daily looked for, he let his +head fall forward on his breast as if the creeping horror which had +seized him was too much for his brain if not for his heart. The final +blow was struck when the man whom I had myself seen in Alexandria +testified to the _contretemps_ which had occurred in Atlantic City; an +additional point being given to it by the repetition of some old +conversation raked up for the purpose, by which an effort was made to +prove that Miss Tuttle found it hard to forgive injuries even from +those nearest and dearest to her. This subject might have been +prolonged, but some of the jury objected, and the time being now ripe +for the great event of the day, the name of the lady herself was +called. + +After so significant a preamble, the mere utterance of Miss Tuttle’s +name had almost the force of an accusation; but the dignity with which +she rose calmed all minds, and subdued every expression of feeling. I +could but marvel at her self-poise and noble equanimity, and asked +myself if, in the few days which had passed since first the murmur of +something more serious than suicide had gone about, she had so schooled +herself for all emergencies that nothing could shake her +self-possession, not even the suggestion that a woman of her beauty and +distinction could be concerned in a crime. Or had she within herself +some great source of strength, which sustained her in this most +dreadful ordeal? All were on watch to see. When the veil dropped from +before her features and she stepped into the full sight of the +expectant crowd, it was not the beauty of her face, notable and +conspicuous as that was, which roused the hum of surprise that swept +from one end of the room to the other, but the calmness, almost the +elevation of her manner, a calmness and elevation so unlooked for in +the light of the strange contradictions offered by the evidence to +which we had been listening for a day and a half, that all were +affected; many inclined even to believe her innocent of any undue +connection with her sister’s death before she had stretched forth her +hand to take the oath. + +I was no exception to the rest. Though I had exerted myself from the +first to bring matters to a climax—but not to this one—I experienced +such a shock under the steady gaze of her sad but gentle eyes, that I +found myself recoiling before my own presumption with something like +secret shame till I was relieved by the thought that a perfectly +innocent woman would show more feeling at so false and cruel a +position. I felt that only one with something to conceal would turn so +calm a front upon men ready, as she knew, to fix upon her a great +crime. This conviction steadied me and made me less susceptible to her +grace and to the tone of her quiet voice and the far-away sadness of +her look. She faltered only when by chance she glanced at the shrinking +figure of Francis Jeffrey. + +Her name which she uttered without emphasis and yet in a way to arouse +attention sank into all hearts with more or less disturbance. “Alice +Cora Tuttle!” How in days gone by, and not so long gone by, either, +those three words had aroused the enthusiasm of many a gallant man and +inspired the toast at many a gallant feast! They had their charm yet, +if the heightened color observable on many a cheek there was a true +index to the quickening heart below. + +“How are you connected with the deceased Mrs. Jeffrey?” + +“I am the child of her mother by a former husband. We were +half-sisters.” + +No bitterness in this statement, only an infinite sadness. The coroner +continued to question her. He asked for an account of her childhood, +and forced her to lay bare the nature of her relations with her sister. +But little was gained by this, for their relations seemed to have been +of a sympathetic character up to the time of Veronica’s return from +school, when they changed somewhat; but how or why, Miss Tuttle was +naturally averse to saying. Indeed she almost refused to do so, and the +coroner, feeling his point gained more by this refusal than by any +admission she might have made, did not press this subject but passed on +to what interested us more: the various unexplained actions on her part +which pointed toward crime. + +His first inquiry was in reference to the conversation held between her +and Mr. Jeffrey at the time he visited her room. We had listened to his +account of it and now we wished to hear hers. But the cue which had +been given her by this very account had been invaluable to her, and her +testimony naturally coincided with his. We found ourselves not an inch +advanced. They had talked of her sister’s follies and she had advised +patience, and that was all she could say on the subject—all she would +say, as we presently saw. + +The coroner introduced a fresh topic. + +“What can you tell us about the interview you had with you sister prior +to her going out on the night of her death?” + +“Very little, except that it differed entirely from what is generally +supposed. She did not come to my room for conversation but simply to +tell me that she had an engagement. She was in an excited mood but said +nothing to alarm me. She even laughed when she left me; perhaps to put +me off my guard, perhaps because she was no longer responsible.” + +“Did she know that Mr. Jeffrey had visited you earlier in the day? Did +she make any allusion to it, I mean?” + +“None at all. She shrugged her shoulders when I asked if she was well, +and anticipated all further questions by running from the room. She was +always capricious in her ways and never more so than at that moment. +Would to God that it had been different! Would to God that she had +shown herself to be a suffering woman! Then I might have reached her +heart and this tragedy would have been averted.” + +The coroner favored the witness with a look of respect, perhaps because +his next question must necessarily be cruel. + +“Is that all you have to say concerning this important visit, the last +you held with your sister before her death?” + +“No, sir, there is something else, something which I should like to +relate to this jury. When she came into my room, she held in her hand a +white ribbon; that is, she held the two ends of a long satin ribbon +which seemed to come from her pocket. Handing those two ends to me, she +asked me to tie them about her wrist. ‘A knot under and a bow on top,’ +she said, ‘so that it can not slip off.’ As this was something I had +often been called on to do for her, I showed no hesitation in complying +with her request. Indeed, I felt none. I thought it was her fan or her +bouquet she held concealed in the folds of her dress, but it proved to +be—Gentlemen, you know what. I pray that you will not oblige me to +mention it.” + +It was such a stroke as no lawyer would have advised her to make,—I +heard afterward that she had refused the offices of a dozen lawyers who +had proffered her their services. But uttered as it was with a noble +air and a certain dignified serenity, it had a great effect upon those +about her and turned in a moment the wavering tide of favor in her +direction. + +The coroner, who doubtless was perfectly acquainted with the +explanation with which she had provided herself, but who perhaps did +not look for it to antedate his attack, bowed in quiet acknowledgment +of her request and then immediately proceeded to ignore it. + +“I should be glad to spare you,” said he, “but I do not find it +possible. You knew that Mr. Jeffrey had a pistol?” + +“I did.” + +“That it was kept in their apartment?” + +“Yes.” + +“In the upper drawer of a certain bureau?” + +“Yes.” + +“Now, Miss Tuttle, will you tell us why you went to that drawer—if you +did go to that drawer—immediately after Mrs. Jeffrey left the house?” + +She had probably felt this question coming, not only since the coroner +began to speak but ever since the evidence elicited from Loretta proved +that her visit to this drawer had been secretly observed. Yet she had +no answer ready. + +“I did not go for the pistol,” she finally declared. But she did not +say what she had gone for, and the coroner did not press her. + +Again the tide swung back. + +She seemed to feel the change but did not show it in the way naturally +looked for. Instead of growing perturbed or openly depressed she +bloomed into greater beauty and confronted with steadier eye, not us, +but the men she instinctively faced as the tide of her fortunes began +to lower. Did the coroner perceive this and recognize at last both the +measure of her attractions and the power they were likely to carry with +them? Perhaps, for his voice took an acrid note as he declared: + +“You had another errand in that room?” + +She let her head droop just a trifle. + +“Alas!” she murmured. + +“You went to the book-shelves and took out a book with a peculiar +cover, a cover which Mr. Jeffrey has already recognized as that of the +book in which he found a certain note.” + +“You have said it,” she faltered. + +“Did you take such a book out?” + +“I did.” + +“For what purpose, Miss Tuttle?” + +She had meant to answer quickly. But some consideration made her +hesitate and the words were long in coming; when she did speak, it was +to say: + +“My sister asked another favor of me after I had tied the ribbon. +Pausing in her passage to the door, she informed me in a tone quite in +keeping with her whole manner, that she had left a note for her husband +in the book they were reading together. Her reason for doing this, she +said, was the very natural one of wishing him to come upon it by +chance, but as she had placed it in the front of the book instead of in +the back where they were reading, she was afraid that he would fail to +find it. Would I be so good as to take it out for her and insert it +again somewhere near the end? She was in a hurry or she would return +and do it herself. As she and Mr. Jeffrey had parted in anger, I hailed +with joy this evidence of her desire for a reconciliation, and it was +in obedience to her request, the singularity of which did not strike me +as forcibly then as now, that I went to the shelves in her room and +took down the book.” + +“And did you find the note where she said?” + +“Yes, and put it in toward the end of the story.” + +“Nothing more? Did you read the note?” + +“It was folded,” was Miss Tuttle’s quiet answer. Certainly this woman +was a thoroughbred or else she was an adept in deception such as few of +us had ever encountered. The gentleness of her manner, the easy tone, +the quiet eyes, eyes in whose dark depths great passions were visible, +but passions that were under the control of an equally forcible will, +made her a puzzle to all men’s minds; but it was a fascinating puzzle +that awoke a species of awe in those who attempted to understand her. +To all appearances she was the unlikeliest woman possible to cherish +criminal intents, yet her answers were rather clever than convincing, +unless you allowed yourself to be swayed by the look of her beautiful +face or the music of her rich, sad voice. + +“You did not remain before these book-shelves long?” observed the +coroner. + +“You have a witness who knows more about that than I do,” she +suggested; and doubtless aware of the temerity of this reply, waited +with unmoved countenance, but with a visibly bounding breast, for what +would doubtless prove a fresh attack. + +It was a violent one and of a character she was least fitted to meet. +Taking up the box I have so often mentioned, the coroner drew away the +ribbon lying on top and disclosed the pistol. In a moment her hands +were over her ears. + +“Why do you do that?” he asked. “Did you think I was going to discharge +it?” + +She smiled pitifully as she let her hands fall again. + +“I have a dread of firearms,” she explained. “I always have had. Now +they are simply terrible to me, and this one—” + +“I understand,” said the coroner, with a slight glance in the direction +of Durbin. They had evidently planned this test together on the +strength of an idea suggested to Durbin by her former action when the +memory of this shot was recalled to her. + +“Your horror seems to lie in the direction of the noise they make,” +continued her inexorable interlocutor. “One would say you had heard +this pistol discharged.” + +Instantly a complete breaking-up of her hitherto well maintained +composure altered her whole aspect and she vehemently cried: + +“I did, I did. I was on Waverley Avenue that night, and I heard the +shot which in all probability ended my sister’s life. I walked farther +than I intended; I strolled into the street which had such bitter +memories for us and I heard—No, I was not in search of my sister. I had +not associated my sister’s going out with any intention of visiting +this house; I was merely troubled in mind and anxious and—and—” + +She had overrated her strength or her cleverness. She found herself +unable to finish the sentence, and so did not try. She had been led by +the impulse of the moment farther than she had intended, and, aghast at +her own imprudence, paused with her first perceptible loss of courage +before the yawning gulf opening before her. + +I felt myself seized by a very uncomfortable dread lest her +concealments and unfinished sentences hid a guiltier knowledge of this +crime than I was yet ready to admit. + +The coroner, who is an older man than myself, betrayed a certain +satisfaction but no dread. Never did the unction which underlies his +sharpest speeches show more plainly than when he quietly remarked: + +“And so under a similar impulse you, as well as Mr. Jeffrey, chose this +uncanny place to ramble in. To all appearance that old hearth acted +much more like a lodestone upon members of your family than you were +willing at one time to acknowledge.” + +This reference to words she had herself been heard to use seemed to +overwhelm her. Her calmness fled and she cast a fleeting look of +anguish at Mr. Jeffrey. But his face was turned from sight, and, +meeting with no help there, or anywhere, indeed, save in her own +powerful nature, she recovered as best she could the ground she had +lost and, with a trembling question of her own, attempted to put the +coroner in fault and reestablish herself. + +“You say ‘ramble through.’ Do you for a moment think that I entered +that old house?” + +“Miss Tuttle,” was the grave, almost sad reply, “did you not know that +in some earth, dropped from a flower-pot overturned at the time when a +hundred guests flew in terror from this house, there is to be seen the +mark of a footstep,—a footstep which you are at liberty to measure with +your own?” + +“Ah!” she murmured, her hands going up to her face. + +But in another moment she had dropped them and looked directly at the +coroner. + +“I walked there—I never said that I did not walk there—when I went +later to see my sister and in sight of a number of detectives passed +straight through the halls and into the library.” + +“And that this footstep,” inexorably proceeded the coroner, “is not in +a line with the main thoroughfare extending from the front to the back +of the house, but turned inwards toward the wall as if she who made it +had stopped to lean her head against the partition?” + +Miss Tuttle’s head drooped. Probably she realized at this moment, if +not before, that the coroner and jury had ample excuse for mistrusting +one who had been so unmistakably caught in a prevarication; possibly +her regret carried her far enough to wish she had not disdained all +legal advice from those who had so earnestly offered it. But though she +showed alike her shame and her disheartenment, she did not give up the +struggle. + +“If I went into the house,” she said, “it was not to enter that room. I +had too great a dread of it. If I rested my head against the wall it +was in terror of that shot. It came so suddenly and was so frightful, +so much more frightful than anything you can conceive.” + +“Then you did enter the house?” + +“I did.” + +“And it was while you were inside, instead of outside, that you heard +the shot?” + +“I must admit that, too. I was at the library door.” + +“You acknowledge that?” + +“I do.” + +“But you did not enter the library?” + +“No, not then; not till I was taken back by the officer who told me of +my sister’s death.” + +“We are glad to hear this precise statement from you. It encourages me +to ask again the nature of the freak which took you into this house. +You say that it was not from any dread on your sister’s account? What, +then, was it? No evasive answer will satisfy us, Miss Tuttle.” + +She realized this as no one else could. + +Mr. Jeffrey’s reason for his visit there could not be her reason, yet +what other had she to give? Apparently none. + +“I can not answer,” she said. + +And the deep sigh which swept through the room was but an echo of the +despair with which she saw herself brought to this point. + +“We will not oblige you to,” said the coroner with apparent +consideration. But to those who knew the law against forcing a witness +to incriminate himself, this was far from an encouraging concession. + +“However,” he now went on, with suddenly assumed severity, “you may +answer this. Was the house dark or light when you entered it? And, how +did you get in?” + +“The house was dark, and I got in through the front door, which I found +ajar.” + +“You are more courageous than most women! I fear there are few of your +sex who could be induced to enter it in broad daylight and under every +suitable protection.” + +She raised her figure proudly. + +“Miss Tuttle, you have heard Chloe say that you were in the kitchen of +Mr. Jeffrey’s house when the grocer boy delivered the candles which had +been left by your brother-in-law on the counter of the store where he +bought them. Is this true?” + +“Yes, sir, it is true.” + +“Did you see those candles?” + +“No, sir.” + +“You did not see them?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Yet you went over to the table?” + +“Yes, sir, but I did not meddle with the packages. I had really no +business with them.” + +The coroner, surveying her sadly, went quickly on as if anxious to +terminate this painful examination. + +“You have not told us what you did when you heard that pistol-shot.” + +“I ran away as soon as I could move; I ran madly from the house.” + +“Where?” + +“Home.” + +“But it was half-past ten when you got home.” + +“Was it?” + +“It was half-past ten when the man came to tell you of your sister’s +death.” + +“It may have been.” + +“Your sister is supposed to have died in a few minutes. Where were you +in the interim?” + +“God knows. I do not.” + +A wild look was creeping into her face, and her figure was swaying. But +she soon steadied it. I have never seen a more admirable presence +maintained in the face of a dreadful humiliation. + +“Perhaps I can help you,” rejoined the coroner, not unkindly. “Were you +not in the Congressional Library looking up at the lunettes and +gorgeously painted walls?” + +“I?” Her eyes opened wide in wondering doubt. “If I was, I did not know +it. I have no remembrance of it.” + +She seemed to lose sight of her present position, the cloud under which +she rested, and even the construction which might be put upon such a +forgetfulness at a time confessedly prior to her knowledge of the +purpose and effect of the shot from which she had so incontinently +fled. + +“Your condition of mind and that of Mr. Jeffrey seem to have been +strangely alike,” remarked the coroner. + +“No, no!” she protested. + +“Arguing a like source.” + +“No, no,” she cried again, this time with positive agony. Then with an +effort which awakened respect for her powers of mind, if for nothing +else, she desperately added: “I can not say what was in his heart that +night, but I know what was in mine—dread of that old house, to which I +had been drawn in spite of myself, possibly by the force of the tragedy +going on inside it, culminating in a delirium of terror, which sent me +flying in an opposite direction from my home and into places I had been +accustomed to visit when my heart was light and untroubled.” + +The coroner glanced at the jury, who unconsciously shook their heads. +He shook his, too, as he returned to the charge. + +“Another question, Miss Tuttle. When you heard a pistol-shot sounding +from the depths of that dark library, what did you think it meant?” + +She put her hands over her ears—it seemed as if she could not prevent +this instinctive expression of recoil at the mention of the +death-dealing weapon—and in very low tones replied: + +“Something dreadful; something superstitious. It was night, you +remember, and at night one has such horrible thoughts.” + +“Yet an hour or two later you declared that the hearth was no +lodestone. You forgot its horrors and your superstition upon returning +to your own house.” + +“It might be;” she murmured; “but if so, they soon returned. I had +reason for my horror, if not for my superstition, as the event showed.” + +The coroner did not attempt to controvert this. He was about to launch +a final inquiry. + +“Miss Tuttle; upon the return of yourself and Mr. Jeffrey to your home +after your final visit to the Moore house, did you have any interview +that was without witnesses?” + +“No.” + +“Did you exchange any words?” + +“I think we did exchange some words; it would be only natural.” + +“Are you willing to state what words?” + +She looked dazed and appeared to search her memory. + +“I don’t think I can,” she objected. + +“But something was said by you and some answer was made by him?” + +“I believe so.” + +“Can not you say definitely?” + +“We did speak.” + +“In English?” + +“No, in French.” + +“Can not you translate that French for us?” + +“Pardon me, sir; it was so long ago my memory fails me.” + +“Is it any better for the second and longer interview between you the +next day?” + +“No—sir.” + +“You can not give us any phrase or word that was uttered there?” + +“No.” + +“Is this your final reply on this subject?” + +“It is.” + +She never had been subjected to an interrogation like this before. It +made her proud soul quiver in revolt, notwithstanding the patience with +which she had fortified herself. With red cheeks and glistening eyes +she surveyed the man who had made her suffer so, and instantly every +other man there suffered with her; excepting possibly Durbin, whose +heart was never his strong point. But our hearts were moved, our +reasons were not convinced, as was presently shown, when, with a bow of +dismissal, the coroner released her, and she passed back to her seat. + +Simultaneously with her withdrawal the gleam of sensibility left the +faces of the jury, and the dark and brooding look which had marked +their countenances from the beginning returned, and returned to stay. + +What would their verdict be? There were present two persons who +affected to believe that it would be one of suicide occasioned by +dementia. These were Miss Tuttle and Mr. Jeffrey, who, now that the +critical period had come, straightened themselves boldly in their seats +and met the glances concentrated upon them with dignity, if not with +the assurance of complete innocence. But from the carefulness with +which they avoided each other’s eyes and the almost identical +expression mirrored upon both faces, it was visible to all that they +regarded their cause as a common one, and that the link which they +denied, as having existed between them prior to Mrs. Jeffrey’s death, +had in some way been supplied by that very tragedy; so that they now +unwittingly looked with the same eyes, breathed with the same breath, +and showed themselves responsive to the same fluctuations of hope and +fear. + +The celerity with which that jury arrived at its verdict was a shock to +us all. It had been a quiet body, offering but little assistance to the +coroner in his questioning; but when it fell to these men to act, the +precision with which they did so was astonishing. In a half-hour they +returned from the room into which they had adjourned, and the foreman +gave warning that he was prepared to render a verdict. + +Mr. Jeffrey and Miss Tuttle both clenched their hands; then Miss Tuttle +pulled down her veil. + +“We find,” said the solemn foreman, “that Veronica Moore Jeffrey, who +on the night of May eleventh was discovered lying dead on the floor of +her own unoccupied house in Waverley Avenue, came to her death by means +of a bullet, shot from a pistol connected to her wrist by a length of +white satin ribbon. + +“That the first conclusion of suicide is not fully sustained by the +facts; + +“And that attempt should be made to identify the hand that fired this +pistol.” + +It was as near an accusation of Miss Tuttle as was possible without +mentioning her name. A groan passed through the assemblage, and Mr. +Jeffrey, bounding to his feet, showed an inclination to shout aloud in +his violent indignation. But Miss Tuttle, turning toward him, lifted +her hand with a commanding gesture and held it so till he sat down +again. + +It was both a majestic and an utterly incomprehensible movement on her +part, giving to the close of these remarkable proceedings a dramatic +climax which set all hearts beating and, I am bound to say, all tongues +wagging till the room cleared. + + + + +XVI. +AN EGOTIST OF THE FIRST WATER + + +Had the control of affairs been mine at this moment I am quite positive +that I should have found it difficult to deny these two the short +interview which they appeared to crave and which would have been to +them such an undeniable comfort. But a sterner spirit than mine was in +charge, and the district attorney, into whose hands the affair had now +fallen, was inexorable. Miss Tuttle was treated with respect, with +kindness, even, but she was not allowed any communication with her +brother-in-law beyond the formal “Good afternoon” incident upon their +separation; while he, scorning to condemn his lips to any such trite +commonplace, said nothing at all, only looked a haggard inquiry which +called forth from her the most exalted look of patience and encouraging +love it has ever been my good fortune to witness. Durbin was standing +near and saw this look as plainly as I did, but it did not impose on +him, he said. But what in the nature of human woe could impose on him? +Durbin is a machine—a very reliable and useful machine, no doubt, yet +when all is said, a simple contrivance of cogs and wheels; while +I—well, I hope that I am something more than that; or why was I a +changed man toward her from the moment I saw the smile which marked +this accused woman’s good by to Francis Jeffrey. No longer believing in +her guilt, I went about my business with tumult in brain and heart, +asking in my remorse for an opportunity to show her some small courtesy +whereby to relieve the torture I felt at having helped the coroner in +the inquiries which had brought about what looked to me now like a +cruel and unwarranted result. + +That it should be given to Durbin to hold such surveillance over her as +her doubtful position demanded added greatly to my discomfort. But I +was enabled to keep my lips firmly shut over any expression of secret +jealousy or displeasure; and this was fortunate, as otherwise I might +have failed to obtain the chance of aiding her later on, in other and +deeper matters. + +Meanwhile, and before any of us had left this room, one fact had become +apparent. Mr. Jeffrey was not going to volunteer any fresh statement in +face of the distinct disapproval of his sister-in-law. As his eye fell +upon the district attorney, who had lingered near, possibly in the hope +of getting something more from this depressed and almost insensible +man, he made one remark, but it was an automatic one, calculated to +produce but little effect on the discriminating ears of this +experienced official. + +“I do not believe that my wife was murdered.” This was what he said. +“It was a wicked verdict. My wife killed herself. Wasn’t the pistol +found tied to her?” + +Either from preoccupation or a dazed condition of mind, he seemed to +forget that Miss Tuttle had owned to tying on this pistol; and that +nothing but her word went to prove that this was done before and not +after the shot had been delivered in the Moore house library. I thought +I understood him and was certain that I sympathized with his condition; +but in the ears of those less amiably disposed toward him, his +statements had lost force and the denial went for little. + +Meanwhile a fact which all had noted and commented on had recurred to +my mind and caused me to ask a brother officer who was walking out +beside me what he thought of Mr. Moore’s absence from an inquiry +presumably of such importance to all members of this family. + +The fellow laughed and said: + +“Old Dave has lost none of his peculiarities in walking into his +fortune. This is his day at the cemetery. Didn’t you know that? He will +let nothing on earth get in the way of his pilgrimage to that spot on +the twenty-third of May, much less so trivial an occurrence as an +inquest over the remains of his nearest relative.” + +I felt my gorge rise; then a thought struck me and I asked how long the +old gentleman kept up his watch. + +“From sunrise to sundown, the boys say. I never saw him there myself. +My beat lies in an opposite direction.” + +I left him and started for Rock Creek Cemetery. There were two good +hours yet before sundown and I resolved to come upon Uncle David at his +post. + +It took just one hour and a quarter to get there by the most direct +route I could take. Five minutes more to penetrate the grounds to where +a superb vehicle stood, drawn by two of the finest horses I had seen in +Washington for many a long day. As I was making my way around this +equipage I came upon a plot in a condition of upheaval preparatory to +new sodding and the planting of several choice shrubs. In the midst of +the sand thus exposed a single head-stone rose. On his knees beside +this simple monument I saw the figure of Uncle David, dressed in his +finest clothes and showing in his oddly contorted face the satisfaction +of great prosperity, battling with the dissatisfaction of knowing that +one he had so loved had not lived to share his elevation. He was +rubbing away the mold from the name which, by his own confession, was +the only one to which his memory clung in sympathy or endearment. At +his feet lay an open basket, in which I detected the remains of what +must have been a rather sumptuous cold repast. To all appearance he had +foregone none of his ancient customs; only those customs had taken on +elegance with his rise in fortune. The carriage and the horses, and +most of all, the imperturbable driver, seemed to awaken some awe in the +boys. They were still in evidence, but they hung back sheepishly and +eyed the basket of neglected food as if they hoped he would forget to +take it away. Meanwhile the clattering of chains against the harness, +the pawing of the horses and the low exclamations of the driver caused +me the queerest feelings. Advancing quite unceremoniously upon the +watcher by the grave, I remarked aloud; + +“The setting sun will soon release you, Mr. Moore. Are you going +immediately into town?” + +He paused in his rubbing, which was being done with a very tender hand, +and as if he really loved the name he was endeavoring to bring into +plainer view. Scowling a little, he turned and met me point-blank with +a look which had a good deal of inquiry in it. + +“I am not usually interrupted here,” he emphasized; “except by the +boys,” he added more mildly. “They sometimes approach too closely, but +I am used to the imps and scarcely notice them. Ah! there are some of +my old friends now! Well, it is time they knew that a change has taken +place in my fortunes. Hi, there! Hands up and catch this, and this, and +this!” he shouted. “But keep quiet about it or next year you will get +pennies again.” + +And flinging quarters right and left, he smiled in such a pompous, +self-satisfied way at the hurrah and scramble which ensued, that it was +well worth my journey there just to see this exhibition of combined +vanity and good humor. + +“Now go!” he vociferated; and the urchins, black and white, flew away, +flinging up their heels in delight and shouting: “Bully for you, Uncle +David! We’ll come again next year, not for twenty-fives but _fifties_.” + +“I will make it dollars if I only live so long,” he muttered. And +deigning now to remember the question I had put to him, he grandly +remarked: + +“I am going straight into town. Can I do anything for you?” + +“Nothing. I thought you might like to know what awaits you there. The +city is greatly stirred up. The coroner’s jury in the Jeffrey-Moore +case has just brought in a verdict to the effect that suicide has not +been proved. Naturally, this is equivalent to one of murder.” + +“Ah!” he ejaculated, slightly taken aback for one so invariably +impassive. + +“And to whom is the guilt of this crime ascribed?” he presently +ventured. + +“There was mention of no name; but the opprobrium naturally falls on +Miss Tuttle.” + +“Miss Tuttle? Ah!” + +“Since Mr. Jeffrey is proved to have been too far away at the time to +have fired that shot, while she—” + +“I am following you—” + +“Was in the very house—at the door of the library in fact—and heard the +pistol discharged, if she did not discharge it herself—which some +believe, notably the district attorney. You should have been there, Mr. +Moore.” + +He looked surprised at this suggestion. + +“I never am anywhere but here on the twenty-third of May,” he declared. + +“Miss Tuttle needed some adviser.” + +“Ah, probably.” + +“You would have been a good one.” + +“And a welcome one, eh?” + +I hardly thought he would have been a welcome one, but I did not admit +the fact. Nevertheless he seized on the advantage he evidently thought +he had gained and added, mildly enough, or rather without any display +of feeling: + +“Miss Tuttle likes me even less than Veronica did. I do not think she +would have accepted, certainly she would not have desired, my presence +in her counsels. But of one thing I wish her to be assured, her and the +world in general. Any money she may need at this—at this unhappy crisis +in her life, she will find amply supplied. She has no claims on me, but +that makes little difference where the family honor is concerned. Her +mother’s husband was my brother—the girl shall have all she needs. I +will write her so.” + +He was moving toward his carriage. + +“Fine turnout?” he interrogatively remarked. + +I assented with all the surprise,—with all the wonder even—which his +sublime egotism seemed to invite. + +“It is the best that Downey could raise in the time I allotted him. +When I really finger the money, we shall see, we shall see.” + +His foot was on the carriage-step. He looked up at the west. The sun +was almost down but not quite. “Have you any special business with me?” +he asked, lingering with what I thought a surprising display of +conscientiousness till the last ray of direct sunlight had disappeared. + +I glanced up at the coachman sitting on his box as rigid as any stone. + +“You may speak,” said he; “Cæsar neither hears nor sees anything but +his horses when he drives me.” + +The black did not wink. He was as completely at home on the box and as +quiet and composed in his service as if he had driven this man for +years. + +“He understands his duty,” finished the master, but with no outward +appearance of pride. “What have you to say to me?” + +I hesitated no longer. + +“Miss Tuttle is supposed to have secretly entered the Moore house on +the night you summoned us. She even says she did. I know that you have +sworn to having seen no one go into that house; but notwithstanding +this, haven’t you some means at your disposal for proving to the police +and to the world at large that she never fired that fatal shot? Public +opinion is so cruel. She will be ruined whether innocent or guilty, +unless it can be very plainly shown that she did not enter the library +prior to going there with the police.” + +“And how can you suppose me to be in a position to prove _that?_ Say +that I had sat in my front window all that evening, and watched with +uninterrupted assiduity the door through which so many are said to have +passed between sunset and midnight—something which I did not do, as I +have plainly stated on oath—how could you have expected me to see what +went on in the black interior of a house whose exterior is barely +discernible at night across the street?” + +“Then you can not aid her?” I asked. + +With a light bound he leaped into the carriage. As he took his seat he +politely remarked: + +“I should be glad to, since, though not a Moore, she is near enough the +family to affect its honor. But not having even seen her enter the +house I can not testify in any way in regard to her. Home, Cæsar, and +drive quickly. I do not thrive under these evening damps.” + +And leaning back, with an inexpressible air of contentment with +himself, his equipage and the prospect of an indefinite enjoyment of +the same, the last representative of the great Moore family was quietly +driven away. + + + + +XVII. +A FRESH START + + +I was far from being good company that night. I knew this without being +told. My mind was too busy. I was too full of regrets and plans, +reasonings and counter reasonings. In my eyes Miss Tuttle had suddenly +become innocent, consequently a victim. But a victim to what? To some +exaggerated sense of duty? Possibly; but to what duty? That was the +question, to answer which offhand I would, in my present excitement, +have been ready to sacrifice a month’s pay. + +For I was moved, not only by the admiration and sympathy which all men +must feel for a beautiful woman caught in such a deadly snare of +circumstantial evidence, but by the conviction that Durbin, whose +present sleek complacency was more offensive to me than the sneering +superiority of a week ago, believed her to be a guilty woman, and as +such his rightful prey. This alone would have influenced me to take the +opposite view; for we never ran along together, and in a case where any +division of opinion was possible, always found ourselves, consciously +or unconsciously, on different sides. Yet I did not really dislike +Durbin, who is a very fine fellow. I only hated his success and the +favor which rewarded it. + +I know that I have some very nasty failings and I do not shrink from +owning them. My desire is to represent myself as I am, and I must admit +that it was not entirely owing to disinterested motives that I now took +the secret stand I did in Miss Tuttle’s favor. To prove her innocent +whom once I considered the cause of, if not the guilty accessory to her +sister’s murder, now became my dream by night and my occupation by day. +Though I seemed to have no sympathizer in this effort and though the +case against her was being pushed very openly in the district +attorney’s office, yet I clung to my convictions with an almost +insensate persistence, inwardly declaring her the victim of +circumstances, and hoping against hope that some clue would offer +itself by means of which I might yet prove her so. But where was I to +seek for this clue? + +Alas, no ready answer to this very important query was forthcoming. All +possible evidence in this case seemed to have been exhausted save such +as Mr. Jeffrey and Miss Tuttle withheld. And so the monstrous +accusation stood, and before it all Washington—my humble self +included—stood in a daze of mingled doubt and compassion, hunting for +explanations which failed to appear and seeking in vain for some +guiltier party, who evermore slipped from under our hand. Had Mr. +Jeffrey’s alibi been less complete he could not have stood up against +the suspicions which now ran riot. But there was no possibility of +shifting the actual crime back to him after the testimony of so frank +and trustworthy a man as Tallman. If the stopping of Mrs. Jeffrey’s +watch fixed the moment of her death as accurately as was supposed,—and +I never heard the least doubt thrown out in this regard,—he could not +by any means of transit then known in Washington have reached Waverley +Avenue in time to fire that shot. The gates of the cemetery were closed +at sundown; sundown took place that night at one minute past seven, and +the distance into town is considerable. His alibi could not be +gainsaid. So his name failed to be publicly broached in connection with +the shooting, though his influence over Miss Tuttle could not be +forgotten, suggesting to some that she had acted as his hand in the +deed which robbed him of an undesirable wife. But this I would not +believe. I preferred to accept the statement that she had stopped short +of the library door in her suspicious visit there, and that the +ribbon-tying, which went for so much, had been done at home. That these +facts, especially the latter, called for more than common credulity, I +was quite ready to acknowledge; and had her feeling for Francis Jeffrey +shown less unselfishness, I should certainly have joined my fellows in +regarding these assertions as very lame attempts to explain what could +only be explained by a confession of guilt. + +So here was a tangle without a frayed end to pull at, unless the +impervious egotism of Uncle David afforded one, which I doubted. For +how could any man with a frightful secret in his breast show that +unmixed delight in his new equipage and suddenly acquired position, +which had so plainly beamed from that gentleman’s calm eye and assured +bearing? When he met my scrutiny in the sacred precincts where the one +love of his heart lay buried, he did so without a quiver or any sign of +inner disturbance. His tone to Cæsar as he drove off had been the tone +of a man who can afford to speak quietly because he is conscious of +being so undeniably the master; and when his foot rose to the carriage +step it was with the confidence of one who had been kept out of his +rights for most of his natural life, but who feels in his present +enjoyment of them no apprehension of a change. His whole bearing and +conversation on that day were, as I am quite ready to admit, an +exhibition of prodigious selfishness; but it was also an exhibition of +mental poise incompatible with a consciousness of having acquired his +fortune by any means which laid him open to the possibility of losing +it. Or so I judged. + +Finding myself, with every new consideration of the tantalizing +subject, deeper and deeper in the quagmire of doubt and uncertainty, I +sought enlightenment by making a memorandum of the special points which +must have influenced the jury in their verdict, as witness: + +1. The relief shown by Mr. Jeffrey at finding an apparent communication +from his wife hinting at suicide. + +2. The possibility, disclosed by the similarity between the sisters’ +handwriting, of this same communication being a forgery substituted for +the one really written by Mrs. Jeffrey. + +3. The fact that, previous to Mr. Jeffrey’s handling of the book in +which this communication was said to have been hidden, it had been seen +in Miss Tuttle’s hands. + +4. That immediately after this she had passed to the drawer where Mr. +Jeffrey’s pistol was kept. + +5. That while this pistol had not been observed in her hand, there was +as yet no evidence to prove that it had been previously taken from the +drawer, save such as was afforded by her own acknowledgment that she +had tied some unknown object, presumably the pistol, to her sister’s +wrist before that sister left the house. + +6. That if this was so, the pistol and the ribbon connecting it with +Mrs. Jeffrey’s wrist had been handled again before the former was +discharged, and by fingers which had first touched dust—of which there +was plenty in the old library. + +7. That Miss Tuttle had admitted, though not till after much +prevarication and apparent subterfuge, that she had extended her walk +on that fatal night not only as far as the Moore house, but that she +had entered it and penetrated as far as the library door at the very +moment the shot was fired within. + +8. That in acknowledging this she had emphatically denied having +associated the firing of this shot with any idea of harm to her sister; +yet was known to have gone from this house in a condition of mind so +serious that she failed to recollect the places she visited or the +streets she passed through till she found herself again in her sister’s +house face to face with an officer. + +9. That her first greeting of this officer was a shriek, betraying a +knowledge of his errand before he had given utterance to a word. + +10. That the candles found in the Moore house were similar to those +bought by Mr. Jeffrey and afterward delivered at his kitchen door. + +11. That she was the only member of the household besides the cook who +was in the kitchen at the time, and that it was immediately after her +departure from the room that the package containing the candles had +been missed. + +12. That opportunities of coming to an understanding with Mr. Jeffrey +after his wife’s death had not been lacking and it was not until after +such opportunities had occurred that any serious inquiry into this +matter had been begun by the police. To which must be added, not in way +of proof but as an important factor in the case, that her manner, never +open, was such throughout her whole public examination as to make it +evident to all that only half of what had occurred in the Jeffreys’ +house since the wedding had been given out by her or by the man for +whose release from a disappointing matrimonial entanglement she was +supposed to have worked; this, though the suspicion hanging over them +both called for the utmost candor. + +Verily, a serious list; and opposed to this I had as yet little to +offer but my own belief in her innocence and the fact, but little dwelt +on and yet not without its value, that the money which had come to Mr. +Jeffrey, and the home which had been given her, had both been forfeited +by Mrs. Jeffrey’s death. + +As I mused and mused over this impromptu synopsis, in my vain attempt +to reach some fresh clue to a proper understanding of the +inconsistencies in Miss Tuttle’s conduct by means of my theory of her +strong but mistaken devotion to Mr. Jeffrey, a light suddenly broke +upon me from an entirely unexpected quarter. It was a faint one, but +any glimmer was welcome. Remembering a remark made by Mr. Jeffrey in +his examination, that Mrs. Jeffrey had not been the same since crossing +the fatal doorstep of the Moore house, I asked myself if we had paid +enough attention to the mental condition and conduct of the bride prior +to the alarm which threw a pall of horror over her marriage; and caught +by the idea, I sought for a fuller account of the events of that day +than had hitherto been supplied by newspaper or witness. + +Hunting up my friend, the reporter, I begged him to tell me where he +had obtained the facts from which he made that leading article in the +Star which had so startled all Washington on the evening of the Jeffrey +wedding. That they had come from some eye-witness I had no doubt, but +who was the eye-witness? Himself? No. Who then? At first he declined to +tell me, but after a fuller understanding of my motives he mentioned +the name of a young lady, who, while a frequent guest at the most +fashionable functions, was not above supplying the papers with such +little items of current gossip as came under her own observation. + +How I managed to approach this lady and by what means I succeeded in +gaining her confidence are details quite unnecessary to this narrative. +Enough that I did obtain access to her and that she talked quite +frankly to me, and in so doing supplied me with a clue which ultimately +opened up to me an entirely new field of inquiry. We had been +discussing Mr. Jeffrey and Miss Tuttle, when suddenly, and with no +apparent motive beyond the natural love of gossip which was her +weakness, she launched out into remarks about the bride. The ceremony +had been late; did I know it? A half-hour or three-quarters past the +time set for it. And why? Because Miss Moore was not ready. She had +chosen to array herself in the house and had come early enough for the +purpose; but she would not accept any assistance, not even that of her +maid, and of course she kept every one waiting. “Oh, there was no more +uneasy soul in the whole party that morning than the bride!” Let other +people remark upon the high look in Cora Tuttle’s face, or gossip about +the anxious manner of the bridegroom; she, the speaker, could tell +things about the bride which would go to show that she was not all +right even before that ominous death’s-head reared itself into view at +her marriage festival. Why, the fact that she came downstairs and was +married without her bridal bouquet was enough. Had there not been so +much else to talk about, people would have talked about that. But the +big event had so effectually swallowed up the little that only herself, +and possibly two other ladies she might name, seemed to retain any +memory of the matter. + +“What ladies?” I asked. + +“Oh, it doesn’t matter what ladies. Two of the very best sort. I know +they noticed it, because I heard them talking about it. We were all +standing in the upper hall and were all crowded into a passage leading +to the room where the bride was dressing. It was before the alarm had +gone around of what had been discovered in the library, and we were all +impatient enough for the appearance of the bride, who, we had been +told, intended to wear the old point in which her great-grandmother was +married. I have a weakness for old point and I was determined to stand +where I could see her come out, even if I lost sight of the ceremony +itself. But it would have been tedious enough waiting in that close +hall if the ladies behind me had not kept up a conversation, which I, +of course, pretended not to hear. I remember it, every word, for it was +my sole amusement for half an hour. What was it? Oh, it was about that +same bouquet, which, by the way, I had the privilege of staring at all +the time they chatted. For the boy who brought it had not been admitted +into Miss Moore’s room, and, not knowing what else to do with it, was +lingering before her door, with the great streamers falling from his +hands, and the lilies making the whole place heavy with a sickening +perfume. From what I heard the ladies say, he had been standing there +an hour, and the timid knock he gave from time to time produced in me +an odd feeling which those ladies behind me seemed to share. + +“‘It’s a shame!’ I heard one of them cry. ‘Veronica Moore has no excuse +for such thoughtlessness. It is an hour now that she has been shut up +in her room alone. She won’t have even her maid in. She prefers to +dress alone, she says. Peculiar in a bride, isn’t it? But one thing is +certain: she can not put on her veil without help. She will have to +call some one in for that.’ At which the other volunteered that the +Moores were all queer, and that she didn’t envy Francis Jeffrey. ‘What! +not with fifty thousand a year to lighten her oddities?’ returned her +companion with a shrug which communicated itself to me, so closely were +we packed together. ‘I have a son who could bear with them under such +circumstances.’ Indeed she has, and all Washington knows it, but the +remark passed without comment, for they had not yet exhausted the main +event, and the person they now attacked was Miss Tuttle. ‘Why doesn’t +she come and see that that bouquet is taken in? I declare it’s not +decent. Mr. Jeffrey would not feel complimented if he knew the fate of +those magnificent lilies and roses. I presume he furnished the +bouquet.’ + +“‘Miss Tuttle has looked out of her room once,’ I heard the other +reply. ‘She is in splendid beauty today, but pale. But she never could +control Veronica.’ ‘Hush! you speak louder than you think’ This amused +me, and I do believe that in another moment I should have laughed +outright if another boy had not appeared in the hall before us, who, +shoving aside the first, rapped on the door with a spirit which called +for answer. But he was no more successful than the other boy had been; +so, being a brisk fellow, with no time for nonsense, he called out, +‘Your bouquet, Miss, and a message, which I am to give you before you +go downstairs! The gentleman is quite particular about it.’ These words +were literally shouted at the door, but in the hubbub of voices about +us I don’t believe any one heard them but ourselves and the bride. I +know that she heard them, for she opened the door a very little +way,—such a very little way that the boy had to put his lips to the +crack when he spoke, and then turn and place his ear where his lips had +been in order to catch her reply. This, for some reason, seemed a long +time in coming, and the fellow grew so impatient that he amused himself +by snatching the bouquet from the other boy and thrusting it in through +the crack, to the very great detriment of its roses and lilies. When +she took it he bawled for his answer, and when he got it, he stared and +muttered doubtfully to himself as he worked his way out again through +the crowd, which by this time was beginning to choke up all the halls +and stairways. + +“But why have I told you all this nonsense?” she asked quite suddenly. +“It isn’t of the least consequence that Veronica Moore kept a boy +waiting at her door while she dressed herself for her wedding; but it +shows that she was queer even then, and I for one believe in the theory +of suicide, and in that alone, and in the excuse she gave for it, too; +for if she had really loved Francis Jeffrey she would not have been so +slow to take in the magnificent bouquet he had provided for her.” + +But comment, even from those who had known these people well, was not +what I wanted at this moment, but facts. So, without much attention to +these words, I said: + +“You will excuse me if I suggest that you are going on too fast. The +door of the bride’s room has just been shut upon the boy who brought +her a message. When was it opened again?” + +“Not for a good half-hour; not till every one had grown nervous and +Miss Tuttle and one or two of her most intimate friends had gone more +than once to her door; not, in fact, till the hour for the ceremony had +come and gone and Mr. Jeffrey had crossed the hall twice under the +impression that she was ready for him. Then, when weariness was general +and people were asking what kept the bride and how much longer they +were to be kept waiting, her door suddenly opened and I caught a +glimpse of her face and heard her ask at last for her maid. O, I repeat +that Veronica Moore was not all right that day, and though I have heard +no one comment on the fact, it has been a mystery to me ever since why +she gave that sudden recoil when Francis Jeffrey took her hand after +the benediction. It was not timidity, nor was it fear, for she did not +know till a minute afterward what had happened in the house. Did some +sudden realization of what she had done in marrying a man whom she +herself declared she did not love come when it was too late? What do +you think?” + +Miss Freeman had forgotten herself; but the impetuosity which had led +her into asking my opinion made her forget in another moment that she +had done so. And when in my turn I propounded a question and inquired +whether she ever again saw the boy who besieged the bride’s door with a +message, she graciously replied: + +“The boy; let me see. Yes, I saw him twice; once in a back hall talking +earnestly to Mr. Jeffrey, and secondly at the carriage door just before +the bridal party rode away. It was Mrs. Jeffrey who was talking to him +then, and I wondered to see him look so pleased when everybody in and +about the house was pale as ashes.” + +“Do you know the name of that boy?” I carelessly inquired. + +“His name? O no. He is one of Raucher’s waiters; the curly-haired one. +You see him everywhere; but I don’t know his name. Do you flatter +yourself that he can tell you anything that other people don’t know? +Why, if he knew the least thing that wasn’t in everybody’s mouth, you +would have heard from him long ago. Those men are the greatest gossips +in town”—I wonder what she thought of herself,—“and so proud to be of +any importance.” This was true enough, though I did not admit it at the +time; and when the interview was closed and I went away, I have no +doubt she considered me quite the most heavy person she had ever met. +But this did not disturb me. The little facts she had stated were new +to me and, repeating my former method, I was already busy arranging +them in my mind. Witness the result: + +1. The ceremony of marriage between Francis Jeffrey and Veronica Moore +was fully three-quarters of an hour late. + +2. This was owing to the caprice of the bride, who would not have any +one in the room with her, not even her maid. + +3. The bridal bouquet did not figure in the ceremony. In the flurry of +the moment it was forgotten or purposely left behind by the bride. As +this bouquet was undoubtedly the gift of Mr. Jeffrey, the fact may be +significant. + +4. She received a message of a somewhat peremptory character before +going below. From whom? Her bridegroom? It would so appear from the +character of the message. + +5. The messenger showed great astonishment at the reply he was given to +carry back. Yet he has not been known to mention the matter. Why? When +every one talked he was silent. Through whose influence? This was +something to find out. + +6. Though at the time the benediction was pronounced every one was in a +state of alarm except the bride, it was noticed that she gave an +involuntary recoil when her bridegroom stooped for the customary kiss. +Why? Were the lines of her last farewell true then, and did she +experience at that moment a sudden realization of her lack of love? + +7. She did not go again upstairs, but very soon fled from the house +with the rest of the bridal party. + +Petty facts, all, but possibly more significant than appeared. I made +up my mind to find the boy who brought the bouquet and also the one who +carried back her message. + +But here a surprise, if not a check, awaited me. The florist’s boy had +left his place and no one could tell where he had gone. Neither could I +find the curly-haired waiter at Raucher’s. He had left also, but it was +to join the volunteers at San Antonio. + +Was there meaning in this coincidence? I resolved to know. Visiting the +former haunts of both boys, I failed to come upon any evidence of an +understanding between them, or of their having shown any special +interest in the Jeffrey tragedy. Both seemed to have been strangely +reticent in regard to it, the florist’s boy showing stupidity and the +waiter such satisfaction in his prospective soldiering that no other +topic was deemed worthy his attention. The latter had a sister and she +could not say enough of the delight her brother had shown at the +prospect of riding a horse again and of fighting in such good company. +He had had some experience as a cowboy before coming to Washington, and +from the moment war was declared had expressed his intention of joining +the recruits for Cuba as soon as he could see her so provided for that +his death would not rob her of proper support. How this had come about +she did not know. Three weeks before he had been in despair over the +faint prospect of doing what he wished; then suddenly, and without any +explanation of how the change had come about, he had rushed in upon her +with the news that he was going to enlist in a company made up of +bronco busters and rough riders from the West, that she need not worry +about herself or about him, for he had just put five hundred dollars to +her account in bank, and that as for himself he possessed a charmed +life and was immune, as she well knew, and need fear bullets no more +than the fever. By this he meant that he had had yellow fever years +before in Louisiana, and that a ball which had once been fired at him +had gone clean through his body without taking his life. + +“What was the date of the evening on which he told you he had placed +money in bank for you?” + +“April the twenty-ninth.” + +Two days after the Jeffrey-Moore wedding! + +Convinced now that his departure from town was something more than a +coincidence, I pursued my inquiries and found that he had been +received, just as she had said, into the First Volunteer Corps under +Colonel Wood. This required influence. Whose was the influence? It took +me some time to find out, but after many and various attempts, most of +which ended in failure, I succeeded in learning that the man who had +worked and obtained for him a place in this favored corps was _Francis +Jeffrey_. + + + + +XVIII. +IN THE GRASS + + +I did some tall thinking that night. I remembered that this man had +held some conversation with the Jeffreys at their carriage door +previous to their departure from the Moore house, and found myself +compelled to believe that only a matter of importance to themselves as +well as to him would have detained them at such a minute. Oh, that +Tampa were not so far off or that I had happened on this clue earlier! +But Tampa was at that moment a far prospect for me and I could only +reason from such facts as I had been able to collect in Washington. + +Fixing my mind now on Mrs. Jeffrey, I asked the cause of the many +caprices which had marked her conduct on her wedding morning. Why had +she persisted in dressing alone, and what occasioned the absorption +which led to her ignoring all appeals at her door at a time when a +woman is supposed to be more than usually gracious? But one answer +suggested itself. Her heart was not in her marriage, and that last hour +of her maidenhood had been an hour of anguish and struggle. Perhaps she +not only failed to love Francis Jeffrey, but loved some other man. This +seemed improbable, but things as strange as this have happened in our +complex society and no reckoning can be made with a woman’s fancy. If +this was so—and what other theory would better or even so well account +for her peculiar behavior both then and afterward? The hour usually +given by brides to dress and gladsome expectation was with her one of +farewell to past hopes and an unfortunate, if not passionate, +attachment. No wonder that she wished to be alone. No wonder that +interruption angered her. Perhaps it had found her on her knees. +Perhaps— Here I felt myself seized by a strong and sudden excitement. I +remembered the filings I had gathered up from the small stand by the +window, filings which had glittered and which must have been of gold. +What was the conclusion? In this last hour of her maiden life she had +sought to rid herself of some article of jewelry which she found it +undesirable to carry into her new life. What article of jewelry? In +consideration of the circumstances and the hour, I could think of but +one. A ring! the symbol of some old attachment. + +The slight abrasion at the base of her third finger, which had been +looked upon as the result of too rough and speedy a withdrawing of the +wedding-ring on the evening of her death, was much more likely to have +been occasioned by the reopening of some little wound made two weeks +before by the file. If Durbin and the rest had taken into account these +filings, they must have come to very much the same conclusion; but +either they had overlooked them in their search about the place, or, +having noted them, regarded them as a clue leading nowhere. + +But for me they led the way to a very definite inquiry. Asking to see +the rings Mrs. Jeffrey had left behind her on the night she went for +the last time to the Moore house, I looked them carefully over, and +found that none of them showed the least mark of the file. This +strengthened my theory, and I proceeded to take my next step with +increased confidence. It seemed an easy one, but proved unexpectedly +difficult. My desire was to ascertain whether she had worn previous to +her marriage any rings which had not been seen on her finger since, and +it took me one whole week to establish the fact that she had. + +But that fact once learned, the way cleared before me. Allowing my +fancy full rein, I pictured to myself her anxious figure standing alone +in that ancient and ghostly room filing off this old ring from her +dainty finger. Then I asked myself what she would be likely to do with +this ring after disengaging it from her hand? Would she keep it? +Perhaps; but if so, why could it not be found? None such had been +discovered among her effects. Or had she thrown it away, and if so, +where? The vision of her which I had just seen in my mind’s eye came +out with a clearness at this, which struck me as providential. I could +discern as plainly as if I had been a part of the scene the white-clad +form of the bride bending toward the light which came in sparsely +through the half-open shutter she had loosened for this task. This was +the shutter which had never again been fastened and whose restless +blowing to and fro had first led attention to this house and the crime +it might otherwise have concealed indefinitely. Had some glimpse of the +rank grass growing underneath this window lured her eye and led her to +cast away the ring which she had no longer any right to keep? It would +be like a woman to yield to such an impulse; and on the strength of the +possibility I decided to search this small plot for what it might very +reasonably conceal. + +But I did not wish to do this openly. I was not only afraid of +attracting Durbin’s attention by an attempt which could only awaken his +disdain, but I hesitated to arouse the suspicion of Mr. Moore, whose +interest in his newly acquired property made him very properly alert to +any trespass upon it. + +The undertaking, therefore, presented difficulties. But it was my +business to overcome these, and before long I conceived a plan by which +every blade of grass in the narrow strip running in front of this house +might be gone over without rousing anything more serious than Uncle +David’s ire. + +Calling together a posse of street urchins, I organized them into a +band, with the promise of a good supper all around if one of them +brought me the pieces of a broken ring which I had lost in the grass +plot of a house where I had been called upon to stay all night. That +they might win the supper in the shortest possible time and before the +owner of this house, who lived opposite, could interfere, I advised +them to start at the fence in a long line and, proceeding on their +knees, to search, each one, the ground before him to the width of his +own body. The fortunate one was to have the privilege of saying what +the supper should consist of. To give a plausible excuse for this +search, a ball was to be tossed up and down the street till it lighted +in the Moore house inclosure. + +It was a scheme to fire the street boy’s soul, and I was only afraid of +failure from the over-enthusiasm it aroused. But the injunctions which +I gave them to spare the shrubs and not to trample the grass any more +than was necessary were so minute and impressive that they moved away +to their task in unexpected order and with a subdued cheerfulness +highly promising of success. + +I did not accompany them. Jinny, who has such an innocent air on the +street, took my place and promenaded up and down the block, just to see +that Mr. Moore did not make too much trouble. And it was well she did +so, for though he was not at home,—I had chosen the hour of his +afternoon ride,—his new man-servant was; and he no sooner perceived +this crowd of urchins making for the opposite house than he rushed at +them, and would have scattered them far and wide in a twinkling if the +demure dimples of my little ally had not come into play and distracted +his attention so completely as to make him forget the throng of unkempt +hoodlums who seemed bound to invade his master’s property. She was +looking for Mr. Moore’s house, she told him. Did he know Mr. Moore, and +his house which was somewhere near? Not his new, great, big house, +where the horrible things took place of which she had read in the +papers, but his little old house, which she had heard was soon to be +for rent, and which she thought would be just the right size for +herself and mother. Was _that_ it? That dear little place all smothered +in vines? How lovely! and what would the rent be, did he think? and had +it a back-yard with garden-room enough for her to raise pinks and +nasturtiums? and so on, and so on, while he stared with delighted eyes, +and tried to put in a word edgewise, and the boys—well, they went +through that strip of grass in just ten minutes. My brave little Jinny +had just declared with her most roguish smile that she would run home +and tell her mother all about this sweetest of sweet little places, +when a shout rose from the other side of the street, and that +collection of fifteen or twenty boys scampered away as if mad, shouting +in joyous echo of the boy at their head: + +“It’s to be chicken, heaping plates of ice cream and sponge cake.” + +By which token she knew that the ring had been found. + + +When they brought this ring to me I would not have exchanged places +with any man on earth. As Jinny herself was curious enough to stroll +along about this time, I held it out where we both could see it and +draw our conclusions. + +It was a plain gold circlet set with a single small ruby. It was cut +through and twisted out of shape, just as I had anticipated; and as I +examined it I wondered what part it had played and was yet destined to +play in the drama of Veronica Jeffrey’s mysterious life and still more +mysterious death. That it was a factor of some importance, arguing some +early school-girl love, I could but gather from the fact that its +removal from her finger was effected in secrecy and under circumstances +of such pressing haste. How could I learn the story of that ring and +the possible connection between it and Mr. Jeffrey’s professed jealousy +of his wife and the disappointing honeymoon which had followed their +marriage? That this feeling on his part had antedated the ambassador’s +ball no one could question; but that it had started as far back as the +wedding day was a new idea to me and one which suggested many +possibilities. Could this idea be established, and, if so, how? But one +avenue of inquiry offered itself. The waiter, who had been spirited +away so curiously immediately after the wedding; might be able to give +us some information on this interesting point. He had been the medium +of the messages which had passed between her and Mr. Jeffrey just prior +to the ceremony; afterward he had been seen talking earnestly to that +gentleman and later with her. Certainly, it would add to our +understanding of the situation to know what reply she had sent to the +peremptory demand made upon her at so critical a time; an understanding +so desirable that the very prospect of it was almost enough to warrant +a journey to Tampa. Yet, say that the results were disappointing, how +much time lost and what a sum of money! I felt the need of advice in +this crisis, yet hesitated to ask it. My cursed pride and my no less +cursed jealousy of Durbin stood very much in my way at this time. + +A week had now passed since the inquest, and, while Miss Tuttle still +remained at liberty, it was a circumscribed liberty which must have +been very galling to one of her temperament and habits. She rode and +she walked, but she entered no house unattended nor was she allowed any +communication with Mr. Jeffrey. Nevertheless she saw him, or at least +gave him the opportunity of seeing her. Each day at three o’clock she +rode through K Street, and the detective who watched Mr. Jeffrey’s +house said that she never passed it without turning her face to the +second-story window, where he invariably stood. No signs passed between +them; indeed, they scarcely nodded; but her face, as she lifted it to +meet his eye, showed so marked a serenity and was so altogether +beautiful that this same detective had a desire to see if it maintained +like characteristics when she was not within reach of her +brother-in-law. Accordingly, the next day he delegated his place to +another and took his stand farther down the street. Alas! it was not +the same woman’s face he saw; but a far different and sadder one. She +wore that look of courage and brave hope only in passing Mr. Jeffrey’s +house. Was it simply an expression of her secret devotion to him or the +signal of some compact which had been entered into between them? + +Whichever it was, it touched my heart, even in his description of it. +After advising with Jinny I approached the superintendent, to whom, +without further reserve, I opened my heart. + +The next day I found myself on the train bound for Tampa, with full +authority to follow Curly Jim until I found him. + + + + +BOOK III +THE HOUSE OF DOOM + + + + +XIX. +IN TAMPA + + +When I started on this desperate search after a witness, war had been +declared, but no advance as yet ordered on Cuba. But during my journey +south the long expected event happened, and on my arrival in Tampa I +found myself in the midst of departure and everything in confusion. + +Of course, under such conditions it was difficult to find my man on the +instant. Innumerable inquiries yielded no result, and in the absence of +any one who would or could give me the desired information I wandered +from one end of the camp to the other till I finally encountered a +petty officer who gave signs of being a Rough Rider. Him I stopped, +and, with some hint of my business, asked where James Calvert could be +found. + +His answer was a stare and a gesture toward the hospital tents. + +Nothing could have astonished me more. + +“Sick?” I cried. + +“Dying,” was his answer. + +Dying! Curly Jim! Impossible. I had misled my informant as to the exact +man I wanted, or else there were two James Calverts in Tampa. Curly +Jim, the former cowboy, was not the fellow to succumb in camp before he +had ever smelt powder. + +“It is James Calvert of the First Volunteer Corps I am after,” said I. +“A sturdy fellow—” + +“No doubt, no doubt. Many sturdy fellows are down. He’s down to stay. +Typhoid, you know. Bad case. No hope from the start. Pity, but—” + +I heard no more. Dying! Curly Jim. He who was considered to be immune! +He who held the secret— + +“Let me see him,” I demanded. “It is important—a police matter—a word +from him may save a life. He is still breathing?” + +“Yes, but I do not think there is any chance of his speaking. He did +not recognize his nurse five minutes ago.” + +As bad as that! But I did not despair. I did not dare to. I had staked +everything on this interview, and I was not going to lose its promised +results from any lack of effort on my own part. + +“Let me see him,” I repeated. + +I was taken in. The few persons I saw clustered about a narrow cot in +one corner gave way and I was cut to the heart to see that they did +this not so much out of consideration for me or my errand there as from +the consciousness that their business at the bedside of this dying man +was over. He was on the point of breathing his last. I pressed forward, +and after one quick scrutiny of the closed eyes and pale face I knelt +at his side and whispered a name into his ear. It was that of Veronica +Moore. + +He started; they all saw it. On the threshold of death, some emotion—we +never knew what one—drew him back for an instant, and the pale cheek +showed a suspicion of color. Though the eyes did not open, the lips +moved, and I caught these words: + +“Kept word—told no one—she was so—” + +And that was all. He died the next instant. + +Well! I was woefully done up by this sudden extinction of all my hopes. +They had been extravagant, no doubt, but they had sustained me through +all my haps and mishaps, trials and dangers, till now, here, they ended +with the one inexorable fact-death. Was I doomed to defeat, then? Must +I go back to the major with my convictions unchanged but with no fresh +proof, no real evidence to support them? I certainly must. With the +death of this man, all means of reaching the state of Mrs. Jeffrey’s +mind immediately preceding her marriage were gone. I could never learn +now what to know would make a man of me and possibly save Cora Tuttle. + +Bending under this stroke of Providence, I passed out. A little boy was +sobbing at the tent door. I stared at him curiously, and was hurrying +on, when I felt myself caught by the hand. + +“Take me with you,” cried a choked and frightened voice in my ear. “I +have no friend here, now _he_ is gone; take me back to Washington.” + +Washington! I turned and looked at the lad who, kneeling in the hot +sand at the door of the tent, was clutching me with imploring hands. + +“Who are you?” I asked; “and how came you here? Do you belong to the +army?” + +“I helped care for his horse,” he whispered. “He found me smuggled on +board the train—for I was bound to go to the war—and he was sorry for +me and used to give me bits of his own rations, but—but now no one will +give me anything. Take me back; she won’t care. She’s dead, they say. +Besides, I wouldn’t stay here now if she was alive and breathing. I +have had enough of war since he—Oh, he was good to me—I never cared for +any one so much.” + +I looked at the boy with an odd sensation for which I have no name. + +“Whom are you talking about?” I asked. “Your mother—your sister?” + +“Oh, no;” the tone was simplicity itself. “Never had no mother. I mean +the lady at the big house; the one that was married. She gave me money +to go out of Washington, and, wanting to be a soldier, I followed Curly +Jim. I didn’t think he’d die—he looked so strong— What’s the matter, +sir? Have I said anything I shouldn’t?” + +I had him by the arm. I fear that I was shaking him. + +“The lady!” I repeated. “She who was married—who gave you money. Wasn’t +it Mrs. Jeffrey?” + +“Yes, I believe that was the name of the man she married. I didn’t know +_him;_ but I saw _her_—” + +“Where? And why did she give you money? I will take you home with me if +you tell me the truth about it.” + +He glanced back at the tent from which I had slightly drawn him and a +hungry look crept into his eyes. + +“Well, it’s no secret now,” he muttered. “He used to say I must keep my +mouth shut; but he wouldn’t say so now if he knew I could get home by +telling. He used to be sorry for me, he used. What do you want to +know?” + +“Why Mrs. Jeffrey gave you money to leave Washington.” + +The boy trembled, drew a step away, and then came back, and under those +hot Florida skies, in the turmoil of departing troops, I heard these +words: + +“Because I heard what she said to Jim.” + +I felt my heart go down, then up, up, beyond anything I had ever +experienced in my whole life. The way before me was not closed then. A +witness yet remained, though Jim was dead. The boy was oblivious of my +emotion; he was staring with great mournfulness at the tent. + +“And what was that?” said I. + +His attention, which had been wandering, came back, and it was with +some surprise he said: + +“It was not much. She told him to take the gentleman into the library. +But it was the library where men died, and he just went and died there, +too, you remember, and Jim said he wasn’t ever going to speak of it, +and so I promised not to, neither, but—but—when do you think you will +be starting, sir?” + +I did not answer him. I was feeling very queer, as men feel, I suppose, +who in some crisis or event recognize an unexpected interposition of +Providence. + +“Are you the boy who ran away from the florist’s in Washington?” I +inquired when ready to speak. “The boy who delivered Miss Moore’s +bridal bouquet?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +I let go of his hand and sat down. Surely there was a power greater +than chance governing this matter. Through what devious ways and from +what unexpected sources had I come upon this knowledge? + +“Mrs. Jeffrey, or Miss Moore, as she was then, told Jim to seat the +gentleman in the library,” I now said. “Why?” + +“I do not know. He told her the gentleman’s name and then she whispered +him that. I heard her, and that was why I got money, too. But it’s all +gone now. Oh, sir, _when_ are you going back?” + +I started to my feet. Was it in answer to this appeal or because I +realized that I had come at last upon a clue calling for immediate +action? + +“I am going now,” said I, “and you are going with me. Run! for the +train we take leaves inside of ten minutes. My business here is over.” + + + + +XX. +“THE COLONEL’S OWN” + + +Words can not express the tediousness of that return journey. The +affair which occupied all my thoughts was as yet too much enveloped in +mystery for me to contemplate it with anything but an anxious and +inquiring mind. While I clung with new and persistent hope to the +thread which had been put in my hand, I was too conscious of the maze +through which we must yet pass, before the light could be reached, to +feel that lightness of spirit which in itself might have lessened the +hours, and made bearable those days of forced inaction. To beguile the +way a little, I made a complete analysis of the facts as they appeared +to me in the light of this latest bit of evidence. The result was not +strikingly encouraging, yet I will insert it, if only in proof of my +diligence and the extreme interest I experienced in each and every +stage of this perplexing affair. It again took the form of a summary +and read as follows: + +Facts as they now appear: + +1. The peremptory demand for an interview which had been delivered to +Miss Moore during the half-hour preceding her marriage had come, not +from the bridegroom as I had supposed, but from the so-called stranger, +Mr. Pfeiffer. + +2. Her reply to this demand had been an order for that gentleman to be +seated in the library. + +3. The messenger carrying this order had been met and earnestly talked +with by Mr. Jeffrey either immediately before or immediately after the +aforementioned gentleman had been so seated. + +4. Death reached Mr. Pfeiffer before the bride did. + +5. Miss Moore remained in ignorance of this catastrophe till after her +marriage, no intimation of the same having been given her by the few +persons allowed to approach her before she descended to her nuptials; +yet she was seen to shrink unaccountably when her husband’s lips +touched hers, and when informed of the dreadful event before which she +beheld all her guests fleeing, went from the house a changed woman. + +6. For all this proof that Mr. Pfeiffer was well known to her, if not +to the rest of the bridal party, no acknowledgment of this was made by +any of them then or afterward, nor any contradiction given either by +husband or wife to the accepted theory that this seeming stranger from +the West had gone into this fatal room of the Moores’ to gratify his +own morbid curiosity. + +7. On the contrary, an extraordinary effort was immediately made by Mr. +Jeffrey to rid himself of the only witnesses who could tell the truth +concerning those fatal ten minutes; but this brought no peace to the +miserable wife, who never again saw a really happy moment. + +8. Extraordinary efforts at concealment argue extraordinary causes for +fear. Fully to understand the circumstances of Mrs. Jeffrey’s death, it +would be necessary first to know what had happened in the Moore house +when Mr. Jeffrey learned from Curly Jim that the man, whose hold upon +his bride had been such that he dared to demand an interview with her +just as she was on the point of descending to her nuptials, had been +seated, or was about to be seated, in the room where death had once +held its court and might easily be persuaded to hold court again. + +This was the limit of my conclusions. I could get no further, and +awaited my arrival in Washington with the greatest impatience. But once +there, and the responsibility of this new inquiry shifted to broader +shoulders than my own, I was greatly surprised and as deeply chagrined +to observe the whole affair lag unaccountably and to note that, in +spite of my so-called important discoveries, the prosecution continued +working up the case against Miss Tuttle in manifest intention of +presenting it to the grand jury at its fall sitting. + +Whether Durbin was to blame for this I could not say. Certainly his +look was more or less quizzical when next we met, and this nettled me +so that I at once came to the determination that whatever was in his +mind, or in the minds of the men whose counsels he undoubtedly shared, +I was going to make one more great effort on my own account; not to +solve the main mystery, which had passed out of my hands, but to reach +the hidden cause of the equally unexplained deaths which had occurred +from time to time at the library fireplace. + +For nothing could now persuade me that the two mysteries were not +indissolubly connected, or that the elucidation of the one would not +lead to the elucidation of the other. + +To be sure, it was well accepted at headquarters that all possible +attempts had been made in this direction and with nothing but failure +as a result. The floor, the hearth, the chimney, and, above all, the +old settle, had been thoroughly searched. But to no avail. The secret +had not been reached and had almost come to be looked upon as +insolvable. + +But I was not one to be affected by other men’s failures. The +encouragement afforded me by my late discoveries was such that I felt +confident that nothing could hinder my success save the necessity of +completely pulling down the house. Besides, all investigation had +hitherto started, if it had not ended, in the library. I was resolved +to begin work in quite a different spot. I had not forgotten the +sensations I had experienced in the southwest chamber. + +During my absence this house had been released from surveillance. But +the major still held the keys and I had no difficulty in obtaining +them. The next thing was to escape its owner’s vigilance. This I +managed to do through the assistance of Jinny, and when midnight came +and all lights went out in the opposite cottage I entered boldly upon +the scene. + +As before, I went first of all to the library. It was important to know +at the outset that this room was in its normal condition. But this was +not my only reason for prefacing my new efforts by a visit to this +scene of death and mysterious horror. I had another, so seemingly +puerile, that I almost hesitate to mention it and would not if the +sequel warranted its omission. + +I wished to make certain that I had exhausted every suspected, as well +as every known clue, to the information I sought. In my long journey +home and the hours of thought it had forced upon me, I had more than +once been visited by flitting visions of things seen in this old house +and afterward nearly forgotten. Among these was the book which on that +first night of hurried search had given proofs of being in some one’s +hand within a very short period. The attention I had given it at a +moment of such haste was necessarily cursory, and when later a second +opportunity was granted me of looking into it again, I had allowed a +very slight obstacle to deter me. This was a mistake I was anxious to +rectify. Anything which had been touched with purpose at or near the +time of so mysterious a tragedy,—and the position of this book on a +shelf so high that a chair was needed to reach it proved that it had +been sought and touched with purpose, held out the promise of a clue +which one on so blind a trail as myself could not afford to ignore. + +But when I had taken the book down and read again its totally +uninteresting and unsuggestive title and, by another reference to its +dim and faded leaves, found that my memory had not played me false and +that it contained nothing but stupid and wholly irrelevant statistics, +my confidence in it as a possible aid in the work I had in hand +departed just as it had on the previous occasion. I was about to put it +back on the shelf, when I bethought me of running my hand in behind the +two books between which it had stood. Ah! that was it! Another book lay +flat against the wall at the back of the shelf; and when, by the +removal of those in front I was enabled to draw this book out, I soon +saw why it had been relegated to such a remote place of concealment on +the shelves of the Moore library. + +It was a collection of obscure memoirs written by an English woman, but +an English woman who had been in America during the early part of the +century, and who had been brought more or less into contact with the +mysteries connected with the Moore house in Washington. Several +passages were marked, one particularly, by a heavy pencil-line running +the length of the margin. As the name of Moore was freely scattered +through these passages as well as through two or three faded newspaper +clippings which I discovered pasted on the inside cover, I lost no time +in setting about their perusal. + +The following extracts are from the book itself, taken in the order in +which I found them marked: + +“It was about this time that I spent a week in the Moore house; that +grand and historic structure concerning which and its occupants so many +curious rumors are afloat. I knew nothing then of its discreditable +fame; but from the first moment of my entrance into its ample and well +lighted halls I experienced a sensation which I will not call dread, +but which certainly was far from being the impulse of pure delight +which the graciousness of my hostess and the imposing character of the +place itself were calculated to produce. This emotion was but +transitory, vanishing, as was natural, in the excitement of my welcome +and the extraordinary interest I took in Callista Moore, who in those +days was a most fascinating little body. Small to the point of +appearing diminutive, and lacking all assertion in manner and bearing, +she was nevertheless such a lady that she easily dominated all who +approached her, and produced, quite against her will I am sure, an +impression of aloofness seasoned with kindness, which made her a most +surprising and entertaining study to the analytic observer. Her +position as nominal mistress of an establishment already accounted one +of the finest in Washington,—the real owner, Reuben Moore, preferring +to live abroad with his French wife,—gave to her least action an +importance which her shy, if not appealing looks, and a certain +strained expression most difficult to characterize, vainly attempted to +contradict. I could not understand her, and soon gave up the attempt; +but my admiration held firm, and by the time the evening was half over +I was her obedient slave. I think from what I know of her now that she +would have preferred to be mine. + +“I was put to sleep in a great chamber which I afterward heard called +‘The Colonel’s Own.’ It was very grand and had a great bed in it almost +royal in its size and splendor. I believe that I shrank quite +unaccountably from this imposing piece of furniture when I first looked +at it; it seemed so big and so out of proportion to my slim little +body. But admonished by the look which I surprised on Mistress +Callista’s high-bred face, I quickly recalled an expression so unsuited +to my position as guest, and, with a gush of well-simulated rapture, +began to expatiate upon the interesting characteristics of the room, +and express myself as delighted at the prospect of sleeping there. + +“Instantly the nervous look left her, and, with the quiet remark, ‘It +was my father’s room,’ she set down the candles with which both her +hands were burdened, and gave me a kiss so warm and surcharged with +feeling that it sufficed to keep me happy and comfortable for a +half-hour or more after she passed out. + +“I had thought myself a very sleepy girl, but when, after a somewhat +lengthened brooding over the dying embers in the open fireplace, I lay +down behind the curtains of the huge bed, I found myself as far from +sleep as I had ever been in my whole life. + +“And I did not recover from this condition for the entire night. For +hours I tossed from one side of the bed to the other in my efforts to +avoid the persistent eyes of a scarcely-to-be-perceived drawing facing +me from the opposite wall. It had no merit as a picture, this drawing, +but seen as it was under the rays of a gibbous moon looking in through +the half-open shutter, it exercised upon me a spell such as I can not +describe and hope never again to experience. Finally I rose and pulled +the curtains violently together across the foot of the bed. This shut +out the picture; but I found it worse to imagine it there with its +haunting eyes peering at me through the intervening folds of heavy +damask than to confront it openly; so I pushed the curtains back again, +only to rise a half-hour later and twitch them desperately together +once more. + +“I fidgeted and worried so that night that I must have looked quite +pale when my attentive hostess met me at the head of the stairs the +next morning. For her hand shook quite perceptibly as she grasped mine, +and her voice was pitched in no natural key as she inquired how I had +slept. I replied, as truth, if not courtesy, demanded, ‘Not as well as +usual,’ whereupon her eyes fell and she remarked quite hurriedly; ‘I am +so sorry; you shall have another room tonight,’ adding, in what +appeared to be an unconscious whisper: ‘There is no use; all feel it; +even the young and the gay;’ then aloud and with irrepressible anxiety: +‘You didn’t _see_ anything, dear?’ + +“‘No!’ I protested in suddenly awakened dismay; ‘only the strange eyes +of that queer drawing peering at me through the curtains of my bed. Is +it—is it a haunted room?’ + +“Her look was a shocked one, her protest quite vehement. ‘Oh, no! No +one has ever witnessed anything like a ghost there, but every one finds +it impossible to sleep in that bed or even in the room. I do not know +why, unless it is that my father spent so many weary years of incessant +wakefulness inside its walls.’ + +“‘And did he die in that bed?’ I asked. + +“She gave a startled shiver, and drew me hurriedly downstairs. As we +paused at the foot, she pressed my hand and whispered: + +“‘Yes; at night; with the full of the moon upon him.’ + +“I answered her look with one she probably understood as little as I +did hers. I had heard of this father of hers. He had been a terrible +old man and had left a terrible memory behind him. + +“The next day my room was changed according to her promise, but in the +light of the charges I have since heard uttered against that house and +the family who inhabit it, I am glad that I spent one night in what, if +it was not a haunted chamber, had certainly a very thrilling effect +upon its occupants.” + +Second passage; the italics showing where it was most heavily marked. + +“The house contained another room as interesting as the one I have +already mentioned. It went by the name of the library and its walls +were heavily lined with books; but the family never sat there, nor was +I ever fortunate enough to see it with its doors unclosed except on the +occasion of the grand reception Mistress Callista gave in my honor. I +have a fancy for big rooms and more than once urged my hostess to tell +me why this one stood neglected. But the lady was not communicative on +this topic and it was from another member of the household I learned +that its precincts had been forever clouded by the unexpected death +within them of one of her father’s friends, a noted army officer. + +“Why this should have occasioned a permanent disuse of the spot I could +not understand, and as every one who conversed on this topic invariably +gave the impression of saying less than the subject demanded, my +curiosity soon became too much for me and I attacked Miss Callista once +again in regard to it. She gave me a quick smile, for she was always +amiable, but shook her head and introduced another topic. But one night +when the wind was howling in the chimneys and the sense of loneliness +was even greater than usual in the great house, we drew together on the +rug in front of my bedroom fire, and, as the embers burned down to +ashes before us, Miss Callista became more communicative. + +“Her heart was heavy, she told me; had been heavy for years. Perhaps +some ray of comfort would reach her if she took a friend into her +confidence. God knew that she needed one, especially on nights like +this, when the wind woke echoes all over the house and it was hard to +tell which most to fear, the sounds which came from no one knew where, +or the silence which settled after. + +“She trembled as she said this, and instinctively drew nearer my side +so that our heads almost touched over the flickering flame from whose +heat and light we sought courage. She seemed to feel grateful for this +contact, and the next minute, flinging all her scruples to the wind, +she began a relation of events which more or less answered my late +unwelcome queries. + +“The death in the library, about which her most perplexing memory hung, +took place when she was a child and her father held that high +governmental position which has reflected so much credit upon the +family. Her father and the man who thus perished had been intimate +friends. They had fought together in the War of 1812 and received the +same distinguishing marks of presidential approval afterward. They were +both members of an important commission which brought them into +diplomatic relations with England. It was while serving on this +commission that the sudden break occurred which ended all intimate +relations between them, and created a change in her father that was +equally remarked at home and abroad. What occasioned this break no one +knew. Whether his great ambition had received some check through the +jealousy of this so-called friend—a supposition which did not seem +possible, as he rose rapidly after this—or on account of other causes +darkly hinted at by his contemporaries, but never breaking into open +gossip, he was never the same man afterwards. His children, who used to +rush with effusion to greet him, now shrank into corners at his step, +or slid behind half open doors, whence they peered with fearful +interest at his tall figure, pacing in moody silence the halls of his +ancestral home, or sitting with frowning brows over the embers dying +away on the great hearthstone of his famous library. + +“Their mother, who was an invalid, did not share these terrors. The +father was ever tender of her, and the only smile they ever saw on his +face came with his entrance into her darkened room. + +“Such were Callista Moore’s first memories. Those which followed were +more definite and much more startling. President Jackson, who had a +high opinion of her father’s ability, advanced him rapidly. Finally a +position was given him which raised him into national prominence. As +this had been the goal of his ambition for years, he was much gratified +by this appointment, and though his smiles came no more frequently, his +frowns lightened, and from being positively threatening, became simply +morose. + +“Why this moroseness should have sharpened into menace after an +unexpected visit from his once dear, but long estranged +companion-in-arms, his daughter, even after long years of constant +brooding upon this subject, dares not decide. If she could she might be +happier. + +“The general was a kindly man, sharp of face and of a tall thin figure, +but with an eye to draw children and make them happy with a look. But +his effect on the father was different. From the moment the two met in +the great hall below, the temper of the host betrayed how little he +welcomed this guest. He did not fail in courtesy—the Moores are always +gentlemen—but it was a hard courtesy, which cut while it flattered. The +two children, shrinking from its edge without knowing what it was that +hurt them, slunk to covert, and from behind the two pillars which mark +the entrance to the library, watched the two men as they walked up and +down the halls discussing the merits of this and that detail of the +freshly furnished mansion. These two innocent, but eager spies, whom +fear rather than curiosity held in hiding, even caught some of the +sentences which passed between the so-called friends; and though these +necessarily conveyed but little meaning to their childish minds, the +words forming them were never forgotten, as witness these phrases +confided to me by Mistress Callista twenty-five years afterward. + +“‘You have much that most men lack,’ remarked the general, as they +paused to admire some little specimen of Italian art which had been +lately received from Genoa. ‘You have money—too much money, Moore, by +an amount I might easily name—a home which some might call palatial, a +lovely, if not altogether healthy wife, two fine children, and all the +honor which a man in a commonwealth like this should ask for. _Drop +politics_.’ + +“‘Politics are my life,’ was the cold response. ‘To bid me drop them is +to bid me commit suicide.’ Then, as an afterthought to which a moment +of intervening silence added emphasis, ‘And for you to drive me from +them would be an act little short of murder.’ + +“‘Justice dealt upon a traitor is not murder,’ was the stern and +unyielding reply. ‘By one black deed of treacherous barter and sale, of +which none of your countrymen is cognizant but myself, you have +forfeited the confidence of this government. Were I, who so unhappily +surprised your secret, to allow you to continue in your present place +of trust, I myself would be a traitor to the republic for which I have +fought and for which I am ready to die. That is why I ask you to resign +before—’ + +“The two children did not catch the threat latent in that last word, +but they realized the force of it from their father’s look and were +surprised when he quietly said: + +“‘You declare yourself to be the only man on the commission who is +acquainted with the facts you are pleased to style traitorous?’ + +“The general’s lips curled. ‘Have I not said?’ he asked. + +“Something in this stern honesty seemed to affect the father. His face +turned away and it was the other’s voice which was next heard. A change +had taken place in it and it sounded almost mellow as it gave form to +these words: + +“‘Alpheus, we have been friends. You shall have two weeks in which to +think over my demand and decide. If at the end of that time you have +not returned to domestic life you may expect another visit from me +which can not fail of consequences. You know my temper when roused. Do +not force me into a position which will cause us both endless regret.’ + +“Perhaps the father answered; perhaps he did not. The children heard +nothing further, but they witnessed the gloom with which he rode away +to the White House the next day. Remembering the general’s threat, they +imagined in their childish hearts that their father had gone to give up +his post and newly acquired honors. But he returned at night without +having done so, and from that day on carried his head higher and showed +himself more and more the master, both at home and abroad. + +“But he was restless, very restless, and possibly to allay a great +mental uneasiness, he began having some changes made in the house; +changes which occupied much of his time and with which he never seemed +satisfied. Men working one day were dismissed the next and others +called in until this work and everything else was interrupted by the +return of his late unwelcome guest, who kept his appointment to a day. + +“At this point in her narrative Mistress Callista’s voice fell and the +flame which had thrown a partial light on her countenance died down +until I could but faintly discern the secretly inquiring look with +which she watched me as she went on to say + +“‘Reuben and I,’—Reuben was her brother,—‘were posted in the dark +corner under the stairs when my father met the general at the door. We +had expected to hear high words, or some explosion of bitter feeling +between them, and hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry when our +father welcomed his guest with the same elaborate bow we once saw him +make to the president in the grounds of the White House. Nor could we +understand what followed. We were summoned in to supper. Our mother was +there—a great event in those days—and toasts were drunk and our father +proposed one to the general’s health. This Reuben thought was an open +signal of peace, and turned upon me his great round eyes in surprise; +but I, who was old enough to notice that this toast was not responded +to and that the general did not even touch his lips to the glass he had +lifted in compliment to our mother, who had lifted hers, felt that +there was something terrifying rather than reassuring in this attempt +at good fellowship. + +Though unable to reason over it at the time, I have often done so +since, and my father’s attitude and look as he faced this strange guest +has dwelt so persistently in my memory that scarcely a year passes +without the scene coming up in my dreams with its accompanying emotions +of fear and perplexity. For—perhaps you know the story—that hour was +the general’s last. He died before leaving the house; died in that same +dark library concerning which you have asked so many questions. + +“‘I remember the circumstances well, how well down to each and every +detail. Our mother had gone back to her room, and the general and my +father, who did not linger over their wine—why should they, when the +general would not drink?—had withdrawn to the library at the suggestion +of the general, whose last words are yet lingering in my ears. + +“‘The time has come for our little talk,’ said he. ‘Your reception +augurs—’ + +“‘You do not look well,’ my father here broke in, in what seemed an +unnaturally loud voice. ‘Come and sit down—’ + +“‘Here the door closed. + +“‘We had hung about this door, curious children that we were, in hopes +of catching a glimpse of the queer new settle which had been put into +place that day. But we scampered away at this, and were playing in and +out of the halls when the library door again opened and my father came +out. + +“‘Where’s Samba?’ he cried. ‘Tell him to carry a glass of wine in to +the general. I do not like his looks. I am going upstairs for some +medicine.’ This he whispered in choked tones as he set foot on the +stairs. Why I remember it I do not know, for Reuben, who was standing +where he could look into the library when our father came out and saw +the settle and the general sitting at one end of it, was chattering +about it in my ear at the very moment our father was giving his orders. + +“‘Reuben is a man now, and I have asked him more than once since then +how the general looked at that critical instant. It is important to me, +very, very important, and to him, too, now that he has come to know a +man’s passions and temptations. But he will never tell me, never +relieve my mind, and I can only hope that there were real signs of +illness on the general’s brow; for then I could feel that all had been +right and that his death was the natural result of the great distress +he felt at opposing my father in the one desire of his heart. That +glimpse which Reuben had of him before he fell has always struck me +with strange pathos. A little child looking in upon a man, who, for all +his apparent health, will in another moment be in eternity—I do not +wonder he does not like to talk of it, and yet— + +“‘It was Samba who came upon the general first. Our father had not yet +descended. When he did, it was with loud cries and piteous +ejaculations. Word had gone upstairs and surprised him in the room with +my mother. I recollect wondering in all childish simplicity why he +wrung his hands so over the death of a man he so hated and feared. Nor +was it till years had passed and our mother had been laid in the grave +and the house had settled into a gloom too heavy and somber for Reuben +to endure, that I recognized in my father the signs of a settled +remorse. These I endeavored to account for by the fact that he had been +saved from what he looked upon as political death by the sudden but +opportune decease of his best friend. This caused a shock to his +feelings which had unnerved him for life. Don’t you think this the true +explanation of his invariably moody brow and the great distaste he +always showed for this same library? Though he would live in no other +house, he would not enter that room nor look at the gloomy settle from +which the general had fallen to his death. The place was virtually +tabooed, and though, as the necessity arose, it was opened from time to +time for great festivities, the shadow it had acquired never left it +and my father hated its very door until he died. Is it not natural that +his daughter should share this feeling?’ + +“It was, and I said so; but I would say no more, though she cast me +little appealing looks which acquired an eery significance from the +pressure of her small fingers on my arm and the wailing sound of the +wind which at that moment blew down in one gust, scattering the embers +and filling the house with banshee calls. I simply kissed her and +advised her to go back with me to England and forget this old house and +all its miserable memories. For that was the sum of the comfort at my +poor command. When, after another restless night, I crept down in the +early morning to peer into the dim and unused room whose story I had at +last learned, I can not say but that I half expected to behold the +meager ghost of the unfortunate general rise from the cushions of the +prodigious bench which still kept its mysterious watch over the +deserted hearthstone.” + +So much for the passages culled from the book itself. The newspaper +excerpts, to which I next turned, bore a much later date, and read as +follows: + +“A strange coincidence marks the death of Albert Moore in his brother’s +house yesterday. He was discovered lying with his head on the identical +spot where General Lloyd fell forty years before. It is said that this +sudden demise of a man hitherto regarded as a model of physical +strength and endurance was preceded by a violent altercation with his +elder brother. If this is so, the excitement incident upon such a break +in their usually pleasant relations may account for his sudden death. +Edward Moore, _who, unfortunately, was out of the room when his brother +succumbed—some say that he was in his grandfather’s room above_—was +greatly unnerved by this unexpected end to what was probably merely a +temporary quarrel, and now lies in a critical condition. + +“The relations between him and the deceased Albert have always been of +the most amicable character until they unfortunately fell in love with +the same woman.” + +Attached to this was another slip, apparently from a later paper. + +“The quarrel between the two brothers Moore, just prior to the younger +one’s death, turns out to have been of a more serious nature than was +first supposed. It has since leaked out that an actual duel was fought +at that time between these two on the floor of the old library; and +that in this duel the elder one was wounded. Some even go so far as to +affirm that the lady’s hand was to be the reward of him who drew the +first blood; it _is no longer denied that the room was in great +disorder when the servants first rushed in at the sound he made in +falling_. Everything movable had been pushed back against the wall and +an open space cleared, in the center of which could be seen one drop of +blood. What is certain is that Mr. Moore is held to the house by +something even more serious than his deep grief, and that the young +lady who was the object of this fatal dispute has left the city.” + +Pasted under this was the following short announcement: + +“Married on the twenty-first of January, at the American consulate in +Rome, Italy, Edward Moore, of Washington, D. C., United States of +America, to Antoinette Sloan, daughter of Joseph Dewitt Sloan, also of +that city.” + +With this notice my interest in the book ceased and I prepared to step +down from the chair on which I had remained standing during the reading +of the above passages. + +As I did so I spied a slip of paper lying on the floor at my feet. As +it had not been there ten minutes before there could be little doubt +that it had slipped from the book whose leaves I had been turning over +so rapidly. Hastening to recover it, I found it to be a sheet of +ordinary note paper partly inscribed with words in a neat and +distinctive handwriting. This was a great find, for the paper was fresh +and the handwriting one which could be readily identified. What I saw +written there was still more remarkable. It had the look of some of the +memoranda I had myself drawn up during the most perplexing moments of +this strange case. I transcribe it just as it read: + +“We have here two separate accounts of how death comes to those who +breathe their last on the ancestral hearthstone of the Moore house +library. + +“Certain facts are emphasized in both: + +“Each victim was alone when he fell. + +“Each death was preceded by a scene of altercation or violent +controversy between the victim and the alleged master of these +premises. + +“In each case the master of the house reaped some benefit, real or +fancied, from the other’s death.” + +A curious set of paragraphs. Some one besides myself was searching for +the very explanation I was at that moment intent upon. I should have +considered it the work of our detectives if the additional lines I now +came upon could have been written by any one but a Moore. But no one of +any other blood or associations could have indited the amazing words +which followed. The only excuse I could find for them was the +difficulty which some men feel in formulating their thoughts otherwise +than with pen and paper, they were so evidently intended for the +writer’s eye and understanding only, as witness: + +“Let me recall the words my father was uttering when my brother rushed +in upon us with that account of my misdeeds which changed all my +prospects in life. It was my twenty-first birthday and the old man had +just informed me that as the eldest son I might expect the house in +which we stood to be mine one day and with it a secret which has been +handed down from father to son ever since the Moores rose to eminence +in the person of Colonel Alpheus. Then he noted that I was now of age +and immediately went on to say: ‘This means that you must be told +certain facts, without the knowledge of which you would be no true +Moore. These facts you must hereafter relate to your son or whoever may +be fortunate enough to inherit from you. It is the legacy which goes +with this house and one which no inheritor as yet has refused either to +receive or to transmit. Listen. You have often noted the gold filigree +ball which I wear on my watch-guard. This ball is the talisman of our +house, of this house. If, in the course of your life you find yourself +in an extremity from which no issue seems possible mind the strictness +of the injunction—an extremity from which no issue seems possible (I +have never been in such a case; the gold filigree ball has never been +opened by me) you will take this trinket from its chain, press upon +this portion of it so, and use what you will find inside, in connection +with—’ Alas! it was at this point John Judson came rushing in and those +disclosures were made which lost me my father’s regard and gave to the +informer my rightful inheritance, together with the full secret of +which I only got a part. But that part must help me now to the whole. I +have seen the filigree ball many times; Veronica has it now. But its +contents have never been shown me. If I knew what they were and why the +master of this secret always left the library—” + +Here the memorandum ceased with a long line straggling from the letter +y as if the writer had been surprised at his task. + +The effect upon me of these remarkable words was to heighten my +interest and raise me into a state of renewed hope, if not of active +expectation. + +Another mind than my own had been at work along the only groove which +held out any promise of success, and this mind, having at its command +certain family traditions, had let me into a most valuable secret. +Another mind! Whose mind? That was a question easily answered. But one +man could have written these words; the man who was thrust aside in +early life in favor of his younger brother, and who now, by the sudden +death of that brother’s daughter, had come again into his inheritance. +Uncle David, and he only, was the puzzled inquirer whose +self-communings I had just read. This fact raised a new problem far me +to work upon, and I could but ask when these lines were written—before +or after Mr. Pfeiffer’s death and whether he had ever succeeded in +solving the riddle he had suggested, or whether it was still a baffling +mystery to him. I was so moved by the suggestion conveyed in his final +and half-finished sentence, that I soon lost sight of these lesser +inquiries in the more important one connected with the filigree ball. +For I had seen this filigree ball. I had even handled it. From the +description given I was very certain that it had been one of the many +trinkets I had observed lying on the dressing table when I made my +first hasty examination of the room on the evening of Mrs. Jeffrey’s +death. Why had no premonition of its importance as a connecting link +between these tragedies and their mysterious cause come to me at the +time when it was within reach of my hand? It was too late now. It had +been swept away with the other loose objects littering the place, and +my opportunity for pursuing this very promising investigation was gone +for the night. + +Yet it was with a decided feeling of triumph that I finally locked the +door of this old mansion behind me. Certainly I had taken a step +forward since my entrance there, to which I had but to add another of +equal importance to merit the attention of the superintendent himself. + + + + +XXI. +THE HEART OF THE PUZZLE. + + +The next morning I swallowed my pride and sought out Durbin. He had +superintended the removal of Mrs. Jeffrey’s effects from the southwest +chamber, and should know, if any one, where this filigree ball was now +to be found. Doubtless it had been returned with the other things to +Mr. Jeffrey, and yet, who knows? Durbin is sly and some inkling of its +value as a clue may have entered his mind. If so, it would be anywhere +but in Mr. Jeffrey’s or Miss Tuttle’s possession. + +To test my rival’s knowledge of and interest in this seemingly trivial +object, I stooped to what I can but consider a pardonable subterfuge. +Greeting him in the offhand way least likely to develop his suspicion, +I told him that I had a great idea in connection with the Jeffrey case +and that the clue to it lay in a little gold ball which Mrs. Jeffrey +sometimes wore and upon which she set great store. So far I spoke the +truth. It had been given her by some one—not Mr. Jeffrey—and I +believed, though I did not know, that it contained a miniature portrait +which it might be to our advantage to see. + +I expected his lip to curl; but for a wonder it maintained its +noncommittal aspect, though I was sure that I caught a slight, very +slight, gleam of curiosity lighting up for a moment his calm, gray eye. + +“You are on a fantastic trail,” he sneered, and that was all. + +But I had not expected more. I had merely wished to learn what place, +if any, this filigree ball held in his own suspicions, and in case he +had overlooked it, to jog his curiosity so that he would in some way +betray its whereabouts. + +That, for all its seeming inconsequence, it did hold some place in his +mind was evident enough to those who knew him; but that it was within +reach or obtainable by any ordinary means was not so plain. Indeed, I +very soon became convinced that he, for one, had no idea where it was, +or after the suggestive hint I had given him he would never have wasted +a half-hour on me. What was I to do then? Tell my story to the major +and depend on him to push the matter to its proper conclusion? “Not +yet,” whispered pride. “Durbin thinks you a fool. Wait till you can +show your whole hand before calling attention to your cards.” But it +was hard not to betray my excitement and to act the fool they +considered me when the boys twitted me about this famous golden charm +and asked what great result had followed my night in the Moore house. +But remembering that he who laughs last laughs best, and that the cause +of mirth was not yet over between Durbin and myself, I was able to +preserve an impassive exterior even when I came under the major’s eye. +I found myself amply repaid when one of the boys who had studiously +avoided chaffing me dropped the following words in my ear: + +“I don’t know what your interest is in the small gold charm you were +talking about, but you have done some good work in this case and I +don’t mind telling you what I know about it. That little gold ball has +caused the police much trouble. It is on the list of effects found in +the room where the candle was seen burning; but when all these petty +belongings of Mrs. Jeffrey’s were gathered up and carried back to her +husband, this special one was not to be found amongst them. It was lost +in transit, nor has it ever been seen since. And who do you think it +was who called attention to this loss and demanded that the article be +found? Not Mr. Jeffrey, who seems to lay little or no stress upon it, +but the old man they call Uncle David. He who, to all appearance, +possessed no interest in his niece’s personal property, was on hand the +moment these things were carried into her husband’s house, with the +express intention, it seems, of inquiring for this gold ball, which he +declared to be a family heirloom. As such it belonged to him as the +present holder of the property, and to him only. Attention being thus +called to it, it was found to be missing, and as no one but the police +seemed to be to blame for its loss the matter was hushed up and would +have been regarded as too insignificant for comment, the trinket being +intrinsically worthless, if Mr. Moore had not continued to make such a +fuss about it. This ball, he declared, was worth as much to a Moore as +all the rest of his property, which was bosh, you know; and the folly +of these assertions and the depth of the passions he displayed whenever +the subject was mentioned have made some of us question if he is the +innocent inheritor he has tried to make himself out. At all events, I +know for a certainty that the district attorney holds his name in +reserve, if the grand jury fails to bring in an indictment against Miss +Tuttle.” + +“The district attorney is wise,” I remarked, and fell athinking. + +Had this latent suspicion against Mr. Moore any solid foundation? Was +he the guilty man? The memorandum I had come across in the book which +had been lately pulled down from the library shelves showed that, +notwithstanding his testimony to the contrary, he had been in that +house close upon that fatal night, if not on the very night itself. It +also showed his extreme interest in the traditions of the family. But +did it show anything more? Had he interrupted his writing to finish his +query in blood, and had one of his motives for this crime been the +acquisition of this filigree ball? If so, why had he left it on the +table upstairs? A candle had been lit in that room—could it have been +by him in his search for this object? It would be a great relief to +believe so. What was the reason then that my mind refused so +emphatically to grasp this possibility and settle upon him as the +murderer of Mrs. Jeffrey? I can not tell. I hated the man, and I +likewise deeply distrusted him. But I could not, even after this +revelation of his duplicity, connect him in my thoughts with absolute +crime without a shock to my intuitions. Happily, my scruples were not +shared by my colleagues. They had listed him. Here I felt my shoulder +touched, and a newspaper was thrust into my hand by the man who had +just addressed me. + +“Look down the lost and found column,” said he. “The third +advertisement you will see there came from the district attorney’s +office; the next one was inserted by Mr. Moore himself.” + +I followed his pointing finer and read two descriptions of the filigree +ball. The disproportion in the rewards offered was apparent. That +promised by Uncle David was calculated to rouse any man’s cupidity and +should have resulted in the bauble’s immediate return. + +“He got ahead of the police that time,” I laughed. “When did these +advertisements appear?” + +“During the days you were absent from Washington.” + +“And how sure are you that he did not get this jewel back?” + +“Oh, we are sure. His continued anxiety and still active interest prove +this, even if our surveillance had been less perfect.” + +“And the police have been equally unsuccessful?” + +“Equally.” + +“After every effort?” + +“Every.” + +“Who was the man who collected and carried out those things from the +southwest chamber?” + +He smiled. + +“You see him,” said he. + +“It was you?” + +“Myself.” + +“And you are sure this small ball was among them?” + +“No. I only know that I have seen it somewhere, but that it wasn’t +among the articles I delivered to Mr. Jeffrey.” + +“How did you carry them?” + +“In a hand-bag which I locked myself.” + +“Before leaving the southwest chamber?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then it is still in that room?” + +“Find it,” was his laconic reply. + +Here most men would have stopped, but I have a bulldog’s tenacity when +once I lay hold. That night I went back to the Moore house and, taking +every precaution against being surprised by the sarcastic Durbin or +some of his many flatterers, I ransacked the southwest chamber on my +own behalf for what certainly I had little reason to expect to find +there. + +It seemed a hopeless cause from the first, but I acted as if no one had +hunted for this object before. Moving every article, I sought first on +the open floor and then in every possible cranny for the missing +trinket. But I failed to find it and was about to acknowledge myself +defeated when my eye fell on the long brocaded curtains which I had +drawn across the several windows to hide every gleam of light from the +street. They were almost free from folds, but I shook them well, +especially the one nearest the table, and naturally with no effect. + +“Folly,” I muttered, yet did not quite desist. For the great tassels +still hung at the sides and— Well! you may call it an impossible find +or say that if the bauble was there it should have been discovered in +the first search for it! I will not say no. I can only tell you what +happened. When I took one of those tassels in my band, I thought, as it +twirled under my touch, that I saw something gleam in its faded old +threads which did not belong there. Startled, and yet not thoroughly +realizing that I had come upon the object of my search, I picked at +this thing and found it to be a morsel of gold chain that had become +entangled in it. When I had pulled it out, it showed a small golden +ball at one end, filigreed over and astonishingly heavy for its size +and apparent delicacy. + +How it came there—whether it rolled from the table, or was swept off +inadvertently by the detective’s hand, and how it came to be caught by +this old tassel and held there in spite of the many shakings it must +have received, did not concern me at this momentous instant. The +talisman of this old family was found. I had but to discover what it +held concealed to understand what had baffled Mr. Moore and made the +mystery he had endeavored to penetrate so insolvable. Rejoicing in my +triumph, but not wasting a moment in self-congratulation, I bent over +the candle with my prize and sought for the clasp or fastening which +held its two parts together. I have a knack at clasps and curious +fastenings and was able at first touch to spring this one open. And +what did I find inside? Something so different from what I expected, +something so trivial and seemingly harmless, that it was not until I +recalled the final words of Uncle David’s memorandum that I realized +its full import and the possibilities it suggested. In itself it was +nothing but a minute magnifying glass; but when used in connection +with—what? Ah, that was just what Uncle David failed to say, possibly +to know. Yet this was now the important point, the culminating fact +which might lead to a full understanding of these many tragedies. Could +I hope to guess what presented itself to Mr. Moore as a difficult if +not insolvable problem? No; guessing would not answer. I must trust to +the inspiration of the moment which suggested with almost irresistible +conviction: + +_The picture! That inane and seemingly worthless drawing over the +fireplace in The Colonel’s Own, whose presence in so rich a room has +always been a mystery!_ + +Why this object should have suggested itself to me and with such +instant conviction, I can not readily say. Whether, from my position +near the bed, the sight of this old drawing recalled the restless +nights of all who had lain in face of its sickly smile, or whether some +recollection of that secret law of the Moores which forbade the removal +of any of their pictures from the time-worn walls, or a remembrance of +the curiosity which this picture excited in every one who looked at +it—Francis Jeffrey among the number—I no sooner asked myself what +object in this house might possibly yield counsel or suggest aid when +subjected to the influence of a magnifying glass, than the answer, +which I have already given, sprang instantly into my mind: The picture! + +Greatly excited, I sprang upon a chair, took down the drawing from the +wall and laid it face up on the bed. Then I placed the glass over one +of the large coils surrounding the insipid face, and was startled +enough, in spite of all mental preparation, to perceive the crinkly +lines which formed it, resolve themselves into script and the script +into words, some of which were perfectly legible. + +The drawing, simple as it looked, was a communication in writing to +those who used a magnifying glass to read it. I could hardly contain my +triumph, hardly find the self-control necessary to a careful study of +its undulating and often conflicting lines and to the slow picking out +of the words therein contained. + +But when I had done this, and had copied the whole of the wandering +scrawl on a page of my note book the result was of value. + +Read, and judge for yourself. + +“Coward that I am, I am willing to throw upon posterity the shadow of a +crime whose consequences I dare not incur in life. Confession I must +make. To die and leave no record of my deed is impossible. Yet how tell +my story so that only my own heirs may read and they when at the crisis +of their fate? I believe I have found the way by this drawing and the +injunction I have left to the holders of the filigree ball. + +“No man ever wished his enemy dead more than I did, and no man ever +spent more cunning on the deed. Master in my own house, I contrived a +device by which the man who held my fate in his hands fell on my +library hearth with no one near and no sign by which to associate me +with the act. Does this seem like the assertion of a madman? Go to the +old chamber familiarly called “The Colonel’s Own.” Enter its closet, +pull out its two drawers, and in the opening thus made seek for the +loophole at the back, through which, if you stoop low enough, you can +catch a glimpse of the library hearth and its great settle. With these +in view, slip your finger along the wall on your right and when it +touches an obstruction—pass it if it is a handle, for that is only used +to rewind the apparatus and must be turned from you until it can be +turned no farther; but if it is a depression you encounter, press, and +press hard on the knob concealed within it. But beware when any one you +love is seated in that corner of the settle where the cushion invites +rest, lest it be your fate to mourn and wail as it is mine to curse the +hour when I sought to clear my way by murder. For the doom of the man +of blood is upon me. The hindrance is gone from my life, but a horror +has entered it beyond the conception of any soul that has not yielded +itself to the unimaginable influences emanating from an accomplished +crime. _I can not be content with having pressed that spring once_. A +mania is upon me which, after thirty years of useless resistance and +superhuman struggle, still draws me from bed and sleep to rehearse in +ghastly fashion that deed of my early manhood. I can not resist it. To +tear out the deadly mechanism, unhinge weight and drum and rid the +house of every evidence of crime would but drive me to shriek my guilt +aloud and act in open pantomime what I now go through in fearsome +silence and secrecy. When the hour comes, as come it must, that I can +not rise and enter that fatal closet, I shall still enact the deed in +dreams, and shriek aloud in my sleep and wish myself dead and yet fear +to die lest my hell be to go through all eternity, slaying over and +over my man, in ever growing horror and repulsion. + +“Do you wish to share my fate? Try to effect through blood a release +from the difficulties menacing you.” + + + + +XXII. +A THREAD IN HAND + + +There are moments which stand out with intense force and clearness in +every man’s life. Mine was the one which followed the reading of these +lines which were meant for a warning, but which in more than one case +had manifestly served to open the way to a repetition of the very crime +they deplored. I felt myself under the same fascination. I wanted to +test the mechanism; to follow out then and there the instructions given +with such shortsighted minuteness and mark the result. But a sense of +decorum prevented. It was clearly my duty to carry so important a +discovery as this to the major and subject myself to his commands +before making the experiment suggested by the scroll I had so carefully +deciphered. Besides, it would be difficult to carry out this experiment +alone, and with no other light than that afforded by my lantern. +Another man and more lights were needed. + +Influenced by these considerations, I restored the picture to its +place, and left the building. As I did so, the first signs of dawn +became visible in the east. I had expended three hours in picking out +the meaning concealed in the wavy lines of the old picture. + +I was early at headquarters that morning, but not so early as to find +the superintendent alone. A group of men were already congregated about +him in his small office, and when, on being admitted, I saw amongst +them the district attorney, Durbin and another famous detective, I +instinctively knew what matter was under discussion. + +I was allowed to remain, possibly because I brought news in my face, +possibly because the major felt more kindly toward me than I thought. +Though Durbin, who had been speaking, had at first sight of me shut his +mouth like a trap, and even went so far as to drum an impatient protest +with his fingers on the table before which he stood, neither the major +nor the district attorney turned an unkindly face toward me, and my +amiable friend was obliged to accept my presence with what grace he +could. + +There was with them a fourth man, who stood apart. On him the general +attention had been concentrated at my entrance and to him it now +returned. He was an unpretentious person of kindly aspect. To any one +accustomed to Washington residents, he bore the unmistakable signs of +being one of the many departmental employees whose pay is inadequate to +the necessities of his family. Of his personal peculiarities I noted +two. He blinked when he talked, and stuttered painfully when excited. +Notwithstanding these defects he made a good impression, and commanded +confidence. This I soon saw was of importance, for the story he now +entered upon was one calculated to make me forget my own errand and +even to question my own convictions. + +The first intimation I received of the curious nature of his +communication was through the following questions, put to him by the +major: + +“You are sure this gentleman is identical with the one pointed out to +you last night?” + +“Very sure, sir. I can swear to it.” + +I omit all evidence of the defect in his speech above mentioned. + +“You recognize him positively?” + +“Positively. I should have picked him out with the same assurance, if I +had seen him in some other city and in a crowd of as fine-looking +gentlemen as himself. His face made a great impression on me. You see I +had ample time to study it in the few minutes we stood so close +together.” + +“So you have said. Will you be kind enough to repeat the circumstance? +I should like the man who has just come in to hear your description of +this scene. Give the action, please. It is all very interesting.” + +The stranger glanced inquisitively in my direction, and turned to obey +the superintendent. + +“I was returning to my home in Georgetown, on the evening of May the +eleventh, the day of the great tragedy. My wife was ill, and I had been +into town to see a physician and should have gone directly home; but I +was curious to see how high the flood was running—you remember it was +over the banks that night. So I wandered out on the bridge, and came +upon the gentleman about whom you have been questioning me. He was +standing all alone leaning on the rail thus.” Here the speaker drew up +a chair, and, crossing his arms over its back, bent his head down over +them. “I did not know him, but the way he eyed the water leaping and +boiling in a yellow flood beneath was not the way of a curious man like +myself, but of one who was meditating some desperate deed. He was +handsome and well dressed, but he looked a miserable wretch and was in +a state of such complete self-absorption that he did not notice me, +though I had stopped not five feet from his side. I expected to see him +throw himself over, but instead of that, he suddenly raised his head +and, gazing straight before him, not at the heavy current, but at some +vision in his own mind, broke forth in these words, spoken as I had +never heard words spoken before—” + +Here the speaker’s stuttering got the better of him and the district +attorney had time to say: + +“What were these words? Speak them slowly; we have all the time there +is.” + +Instantly the man plucked up heart and, eying us all impressively, was +able to say: + +“They were these: ‘She must die! _she must die!_’ No name, but just the +one phrase twice repeated, ‘_She must die!_’ This startled me, and +hardly knowing whether to lay hands on him, or to turn about and run, I +was moving slowly away, when he drew his arms from the rail, like this, +and, still staring into space, added, in the same hard and determined +voice, this one word more, ‘To-night!’; and, wheeling about, passed me +with one blank and wholly unconscious look and betook himself toward +the city. As he went by, his lips opened for the third time. ‘Which +means—’ he cried, between a groan and a shriek, ‘a bullet for her and—’ +I wish I had heard the rest, but he was out of my hearing before his +sentence was finished.” + +“What time was this?” + +“As near half-past five as possible. It was six when I reached home a +few minutes later.” + +“Ah, he must have gone to the cemetery after this.” + +“I am quite sure of it.” + +“Why didn’t you follow the man?” grumbled Durbin. + +“It wasn’t my business. He was a stranger and possibly mad. I didn’t +know what to do.” + +“What did you do?” + +“Went home and kept quiet; my wife was very ill that night and I had my +own cause for anxiety.” + +“You, however, read the papers next morning?” + +“No, sir, nor for many days. My wife grew constantly worse and for a +week I didn’t leave her, not knowing but that every breath would be her +last. I was dead to everything outside the sick-room and when she grew +better, which was very gradually, we had to take her away, so that I +had no opportunity of speaking of this occurrence to any one till a +week ago, when some remark, published in connection with Mrs. Jeffrey’s +death, recalled that encounter on the bridge. I told a neighbor that I +believed the man I had seen there was Mr. Jeffrey, and we looked up the +papers and ran over them till we came upon his picture. That settled +it, and I could no longer—being free from home anxieties now—hold my +tongue and the police heard—” + +“That will do, Mr. Gelston,” broke in the major. “When we want you +again, we will let you know. Durbin, see Mr. Gelston out.” + +I was left alone with the major and the district attorney. + +There was a moment’s silence, during which my own heart beat so loud +that I was afraid they would hear it. Since taking up Miss Tuttle’s +cause I had never really believed in Mr. Jeffrey’s innocence in spite +of the alibi he had brought forward, and now I expected to hear these +men utter the same conviction. The major was the first to speak. +Addressing the district attorney, he remarked: “This will strengthen +your case very materially. We have proof now that Mrs. Jeffrey’s death +was actually determined upon. If Miss Tuttle had not shot her, he +would. I wonder if it was a relief to him on reaching his door to find +that the deed was done.” + +I could not suppress my surprise. + +“Miss Tuttle!” I repeated. “Is it so unmistakably evident that Mr. +Jeffrey did not get to the Moore house in time to do the shooting +himself?” + +The major gave me a quick look. + +“I thought you considered Miss Tuttle the guilty one.” + +I felt that the time had come to show my colors. + +“I have changed my mind,” said I. “I can give you no good reason for +this; something in the woman herself, I suppose. She does not look nor +act like a criminal. While not desirous of raising myself in opposition +to the judgment of those so greatly my superior in all respects, I have +had this feeling, and I am courageous enough to avow it. And yet, if +Mr. Jeffrey could not have left the cemetery gates and reached the +Moore house in time to fulfil all the conditions of this tragedy, the +case does look black against the woman. She admits to having been there +when the pistol was fired, unless—” + +“Unless what? You have something new to tell us. That I have seen ever +since you entered the room. What is it?” + +I cast a glance at the door. Should I be able to finish my story before +Durbin returned? I thought it possible, and, though still upset by this +new evidence, which I could now see was not entirely in Miss Tuttle’s +favor, I spoke up with what spirit I might. + +“I have just come from spending another night in the Moore house. All +the efforts heretofore made to exhaust its secrets have been founded +upon a theory that has brought us nowhere. I had another in mind, and I +was anxious to test it before resting from all further attempt to solve +this riddle. And it has not failed me. By pursuing a clue apparently so +trivial that I allowed it to go neglected for weeks, I have come upon +the key to the many mysterious crimes which have defiled the library +hearthstone. And where do you think it lies? Not in the hearthstone +itself and not in the floor under the settle; not, in fact, in the +library at all, but in the picture hanging upstairs in the southwest +chamber.” + +“The picture! that faded-out sketch, fit only for the garret?” + +“Yes. To you and to most people surveying it, it is just what you say +and nothing more. But to the initiated few—pray Heaven they may have +been few—it is writing, conveying secret instructions. The whole +combination of curves which go to make up this sketch is a curious +arrangement of words inscribed with the utmost care, in the smallest of +characters. Viewed with a magnifying glass, the uncertain outlines of a +shadowy face surmounted by a mass of piled-up hair resolve themselves +into lines of writing, the words of which are quite intelligible and +full of grim and unmistakable purpose. I have read those lines; and +what is more, I have transcribed them into plain copy. Will you read +them? They contain a most extraordinary confession; a confession that +was manifestly intended as a warning, but which unfortunately has had +very different results. It may explain the death of the man from +Denver, even if it cast no light upon the other inexplicable features +of the remarkable case we are considering.” + +As I spoke I laid open on the table before me the transcription of +which I spoke. Instantly the two men bent over it. When they looked up +again, their countenances showed not excitement only but appreciation; +and in the one minute of triumph which I then enjoyed, all that had +wounded or disturbed me in the past was forgotten. + +“You are a man in a thousand,” was the major’s first enthusiastic +comment; at which I was conscious of regretting, with very pardonable +inconsistency, that Durbin had not returned in time to hear these +words. + +The major now proposed that we should go at once to the old house. “A +family secret like this does not crop up every day even in a city so +full of surprises as Washington. We will hunt for the spring under the +closet drawers and see what happens, eh? And on our way there”—here he +turned to me “I should like to hear the particulars concerning the +little clue just mentioned. By the way, Mr. Jeffrey’s interest in this +old drawing is now explained. He knew its diabolical secret.” + +This was self-evident, and my heart was heavy for Miss Tuttle, who +seemed to be so deep in her brother-in-law’s confidence. + +It grew still heavier when Durbin, joining us, added his incredulity to +the air of suspicion assumed by the others. Through all the +explanations I now entered into, I found myself inwardly repeating with +somewhat forced iteration, “I will not believe her guilty under any +circumstances. She carries the look of innocence, and innocent she must +be proved, whatever the result may be to Francis Jeffrey.” + +To such an extent had I been influenced by the lofty expression which I +had once surprised on her face. + +Had Mr. David Moore been sitting open-eyed behind his vines that +morning, he would have been much surprised to see so many of his +natural enemies intrude on his property at so early an hour. But, +happily, he had not yet risen, and we were able to enter upon our +investigations without being watched or interrupted by him. + +Our first move was to go in a body to the southwest chamber, take down +the picture, examine it with a magnifying-glass and satisfy ourselves +that the words I had picked out of its mazy lines were really to be +found there. This done and my veracity established, we next proceeded +to the closet where, according to the instructions embodied in this +picture, the secret spring was to be found by which some unknown and +devilish machinery would be released in the library below. + +To my great satisfaction the active part in this experiment was +delegated to me. Durbin continued to be a mere looker-on. Drawing out +the two large drawers from their place at the end of this closet, I set +them aside. Then I hunted for and found the small loophole which we had +been told afforded a glimpse of the library hearthstone; but seeing +nothing through it, I called for a light to be placed in the room +below. + +I heard Durbin go down, then the major, and finally, the district +attorney. Nothing could stay their curiosity now, not even the +possibility of danger, which as yet was a lurking and mysterious one. +But when a light shot up from below, and the irregular opening before +me became a loophole through which I could catch a very wide glimpse of +the library beneath, I found that it was not necessary for me to warn +them to keep away from the hearth, as they were all clustered very near +the door—a precaution not altogether uncalled for at so hazardous a +moment. + +“Are you ready?” I called down. + +“Ready!” rose in simultaneous response from below. + +“Then look out!” + +Reaching for the spring cleverly concealed in the wall at my right I +vigorously pressed it. + +The result was instantaneous. Silently, but with unerring certainty, +something small, round, and deadly, fell plumb from the library ceiling +to where the settle had formerly stood against the hearthstone. Finding +nothing there but vacancy to expend itself upon, it swung about for a +moment on what looked like a wire or a whip-cord, then slowly came to +rest within a foot or so from the floor. + +A cry from the horrified officials below was what first brought me to +myself. Withdrawing from my narrow quarters I hastened down to them and +added one more white face to the three I found congregated in the +doorway. In the diabolical ingenuity we had seen displayed, crime had +reached its acme and the cup of human depravity seemed full. When we +had regained in some measure our self-possession, we all advanced for a +closer look at the murderous object dangling before us. We found it to +be a heavy leaden weight painted on its lower end to match the bosses +of stucco-work which appeared at regular intervals in the ornamentation +of the ceiling. When drawn up into place, that is, when occupying the +hole from which it now hung suspended, the portion left to protrude +would evidently bear so small a proportion to its real bulk as to +justify any eye in believing it to be the mate, and the harmless mate, +of all the others. + +“It hangs just where the settle stood,” observed Durbin, significantly. + +“And just at the point where the cushions invite rest, as the colonel +so suggestively puts it in his strange puzzle of a confession,” added +the district attorney. + +“Replace the old seat,” ordered the major, “and let us make sure of +this.” + +Ready hands at once grasped it, and, with some effort, I own, drew it +carefully back into position. + +“You see!” quoth Durbin. + +We did. + +“Devilish!” came from the major’s lips. Then with a glance at the ball +which, pushed aside by the seat, now hung over its edge a foot or so +from the floor, he added briskly: “The ball has fallen to the full +length of the cord. If it were drawn up a little—” + +“Wait,” I eagerly interposed. “Let me see what I can do with it.” + +And I dashed back upstairs and into the closet of “The Colonel’s Own.” + +With a single peep down to see if they were still on the watch, I +seized the handle whose position I had made sure of when searching for +the spring, and began to turn; when instantly—so quick was the +response—the long cord stiffened and I saw the ball rise into sight +above the settle top. + +“Stop!” called out the major. “Let go and press the spring again.” + +I hastened to obey and, though the back of the settle hid the result +from me, I judged from the look and attitude of those below that the +old colonel’s calculations had been made with great exactness, and that +the one comfortable seat on the rude and cumbersome bench had been so +placed that this leaden weight in descending would at the chosen moment +strike the head of him who sat there, inflicting death. That the weight +should be made just heavy enough to produce a fatal concussion without +damaging the skull was proof of the extreme care with which this subtle +apparatus had been contrived. An open wound would have aroused +questions, but a mere bruise might readily pass as a result of the +victim’s violent contact with the furnishings of the hearth toward +which the shocked body would naturally topple. The fact that a modern +jury had so regarded it shows how justified he was in this expectation. + +I was expending my wonder on this and on a new discovery which, with a +very decided shock to myself I had just made in the closet, when the +command came to turn the handle again and to keep on turning it till it +would turn no farther. + +I complied, but with a trembling hand, and though I did not watch the +result, the satisfaction I heard expressed below was significant of the +celerity and precision with which the weight rose, foot by foot, to the +ceiling and finally slunk snugly and without seeming jar into its lair. + +When, a few minutes later, I rejoined those below, I found them all, +with eyes directed toward the cornice, searching for the hole through +which I had just been looking. It was next to imperceptible, so +naturally had it been made to fit in with the shadows of the scroll +work; and even after I had discovered it and pointed it out to them, I +found difficulty in making them believe that they really looked upon an +opening. But when once convinced of this, the district attorney’s +remark was significant. + +“I am glad that my name is not Moore.” + +The superintendent made no reply; his eye had caught mine, and he had +become very thoughtful. + +“One of the two candelabra belonging to the parlor mantel was found +lying on that closet floor,” he observed. “Somebody has entered there +lately, as lately as the day when Mr. Pfeiffer was seated here.” + +“Pardon me,” I impetuously cried. “Mr. Pfeiffer’s death is quite +explained.” And, drawing forward my hand, which up to this moment I had +held tight-shut behind my back, I slowly unclosed it before their +astonished eyes. + +A bit of lace lay in my palm, a delicate bit, such as is only worn by +women in full dress. + +“Where did you find that?” asked the major, with the first show of deep +emotion I have ever observed in him. + +My agitation was greater than his as I replied: + +“In the rough boarding under those drawers. Some woman’s arm and hand +has preceded mine in stealthy search after that fatal spring. A woman +who wore lace, valuable lace.” + +There was but one woman connected with this affair who rightly answered +these conditions. The bride! Veronica Moore. + + + + +XXIII. +WORDS IN THE NIGHT + + +Had I any premonition of the astounding fact thus suddenly and, I may +say, dramatically revealed to us during the weeks I had devoted to the +elucidation of the causes and circumstances of Mrs. Jeffrey’s death? I +do not think so. Nothing in her face, as I remembered it; nothing in +the feeling evinced toward her by husband or sister, had prepared me +for a disclosure of crime so revolting as to surpass all that I had +ever imagined or could imagine in a woman of such dainty personality +and unmistakable culture. Nor was the superintendent or the district +attorney less confounded by the event. Durbin only tried to look wise +and strut about, but it was of no use; he deceived nobody. Veronica +Moore’s real connection with Mr. Pfeiffer’s death,—a death which in +some inscrutable way had in so short a time led to her own,—was an +overwhelming surprise to every one of us. + +The superintendent, as was natural, recovered first. + +“This throws quite a new light upon the matter,” said he. “Now we can +understand why Mr. Jeffrey uttered that extraordinary avowal overheard +on the bridge: ‘She must die!’ She had come to him with blood on her +hands.” + +It seemed incredible, nay more, unreal. I recalled the sweet refined +face turned up to me from the bare boards of this same floor, the +accounts I had read of the vivacity of her spirits and the wild charm +of her manner till the shadow of this old house fell upon her. I +marveled, still feeling myself in the dark, still clinging to my faith +in womankind, still asking to what depths her sister had followed her +in the mazes of crime we were forced to recognize but could not +understand. + +Durbin had no such feelings and no such scruples, as was shown by the +sarcastic comment which now left his lips. + +“So!” he cried, “we have to do with three criminals instead of two. +Nice family, the Moore-Jeffreys!” + +But no one paid any attention to him. Addressing the major, the +district attorney asked when he expected to hear from Denver, adding +that it had now become of the first importance to ascertain the exact +relations existing between the persons under suspicion and the latest +victim of this deadly mechanism. + +The major’s answer was abrupt. He had been expecting a report for days. +He was expecting one yet. If it came in at any time, night or day, he +was to be immediately notified. Word might be sent him in an hour, in a +minute. + +Were his remarks a prophecy? He had hardly ceased speaking when an +officer appeared with a telegram in his hand. This the major eagerly +took and, noting that it was in cipher, read it by means of the code he +carried in his pocket. Translated, it ran thus: + +Result of open inquiry in Denver. + +Three brothers Pfeiffer; all well thought of, but plain in their ways +and eccentric. One doing business in Denver. Died June, ’97. One +perished in Klondike, October, same year; and one, by name Wallace, +died suddenly three months since in Washington. + +Nothing further gained by secret inquiry in this place. + +Result of open inquiry in Owosso. + +A man named Pfeiffer kept a store in Owosso during the time V. M. +attended school there. He was one of three brothers, home Denver, name +Wallace. Simultaneously with V. M.’s leaving school, P. broke up +business and at instigation of his brother William, who accompanied +him, went to the Klondike. No especial relation between lady and this +same P. ever noted. V. M. once heard to laugh at his awkward ways. + +Result of secret inquiry in Owosso. + +V. M. very intimate with schoolmate who has since died. Often rode +together; once gone a long time. This was just before V. M. left school +for good. Date same as that on which a marriage occurred in a town +twenty miles distant. Bride, Antoinette Moore; groom, W. Pfeiffer of +Denver; witness, young girl with red hair. Schoolmate had red hair. Had +V. M. a middle initial, and was that initial A? + +We all looked at each other; this last question was one none of us +could answer. + +“Go for Mr. Jeffrey at once,” ordered the major, “and let another one +of you bring Miss Tuttle. No word to either of what has occurred and no +hint of their possible meeting here.” + +It fell to me to fetch Miss Tuttle. I was glad of this, as it gave me a +few minutes by myself in which to compose my mind and adjust my +thoughts to the new conditions opened up by the amazing facts which had +just come to light. But beyond the fact that Mrs. Jeffrey had been +answerable for the death which had occurred in the library at the time +of her marriage—that, in the words of the district attorney, she had +come to her husband with blood on her hands, my thoughts would not go; +confusion followed the least attempt to settle the vital question of +how far Miss Tuttle and Mr. Jeffrey had been involved in the earlier +crime and what the coming interview with these two would add to our +present knowledge. In my anxiety to have this question answered I +hastened my steps and was soon at the door of Miss Tuttle’s present +dwelling place. + +I had not seen this lady since the inquest, and my heart beat high as I +sat awaiting her appearance in the dim little parlor where I had been +seated by the person who held her under secret surveillance. The scene +I had just been through, the uncertain nature of the relations held by +this beautiful woman both toward the crime just discovered and the one +long associated with her name, lent to these few moments of +anticipation an emotion which poorly prepared me for the touching sight +of the patient smile with which she presently entered. + +But I doubt if she noticed my agitation. She was too much swayed by her +own. Advancing upon me in all the unconscious pride of her great +beauty, she tremulously remarked: + +“You have a message for me. Is it from headquarters? Or has the +district attorney still more questions to ask?” + +“I have a much more trying errand than that,” I hastened to say, with +some idea of preparing her for an experience that could not fail to be +one of exceptional trial. “For reasons which will be explained to you +by those in greater authority than myself, you are wanted at the house +where—” I could not help stammering under the light of her melancholy +eyes—“where I saw you once before,” I lamely concluded. + +“The house in Waverley Avenue?” she objected wildly, with the first +signs of positive terror I had ever beheld in her. + +I nodded, dropping my eyes. What call had I to penetrate the conscience +of this woman? + +“Are they there? all there?” she presently asked again. “The police +and—and Mr. Jeffrey?” + +“Madam,” I respectfully protested, “my duty is limited to conducting +you to the place named. A carriage is waiting. May I beg that you will +prepare yourself to go at once to Waverley Avenue?” + +For answer she subjected me to a long and earnest look which I found it +impossible to evade. Then she hastened from the room, but with very +unsteady steps. Evidently the courage which had upborne her so long was +beginning to fail. Her very countenance was changed. Had she +recognized, as I meant she should, that the secret of the Moore house +was no longer a secret confined to her own breast and to that of her +unhappy brother-in-law? + +When she returned ready for her ride this change in her spirits was +less observable, and by the time we had reached the house in Waverley +Avenue she had so far regained her old courage as to move and speak +with the calmness of despair if not of mental serenity. + +The major was awaiting us at the door and bowed gravely before her +heavily veiled figure. + +“Miss Tuttle,” he asked, without any preamble, the moment she was well +inside the house, “may I inquire of you here, and before I show you +what will excuse us for subjecting you to the distress of entering +these doors, whether your sister, Mrs. Jeffrey, had any other name or +was ever known by any other name than that of Veronica?” + +“She was christened Antoinette, as well as Veronica; but the person in +whose memory the former name was given her was no honor to the family +and she very soon dropped it and was only known as Veronica. Oh, what +have I done?” she cried, awed and frightened by the silence which +followed the utterance of these simple words. + +No one answered her. For the first time in her presence, the minds of +those who faced her were with another than herself. The bride! the +unhappy bride—no maiden but a wife! nay, a wife one minute, a widow the +next, and then again a newly-wedded bride before the husband lying +below was cold! What wonder that she shrank when her new-made +bridegroom’s lips approached her own! or that their honeymoon was a +disappointment! Or that the shadow which fell upon her on that evil day +never left her till she gave herself wholly up to its influence and +returned to die on the spot made awful by her own crime. + +Before any of us were quite ready to speak, a tap at the door told us +that Durbin had arrived with Mr. Jeffrey. When they had been admitted +and the latter saw Miss Tuttle standing there, he, too, seemed to +realize that a turn had come in their affairs, and that courage rather +than endurance was the quality most demanded from him. Facing the small +group clustered in the dismal hall fraught with such unutterable +associations, he earnestly prayed: + +“Do not keep me in suspense. Why am I summoned here?” + +The reply was as grave as the occasion warranted. + +“You are summoned to learn the murderous secret of these old walls, and +who it was that last made use of it. Do you feel inclined to hear these +details from my lips, or are you ready to state that you already know +the means by which so many persons, in times past as well as in times +present, have met death here? We do not require you to answer us.” + +“I know the means,” he allowed, recognizing without doubt that the +crisis of crises had come, and that denial would be worse than useless. + +“Then it only remains for us to acquaint you with the identity of the +person who last pressed the fatal spring. But perhaps you know that, +too?” + +“I—” He paused; words were impossible to him; and in that pause his +eyes flashed helplessly in the direction of Miss Tuttle. + +But the major was quick on his feet and was already between him and +that lady. This act forced from Mr. Jeffrey’s lips the following broken +sentence: + +“I should—like—you—to—tell—me.” Great gasps came with each heavily +spoken word. + +“Perhaps this morsel of lace will do it in a gentler manner than I +could,” responded the district attorney, opening his hand, in which lay +the scrap of lace that, an hour or so before, I had plucked away from +the boarding of that fatal closet. + +Mr. Jeffrey eyed it and understood. His hands went up to his face and +he swayed to the point of falling. Miss Tuttle came quickly forward. + +“Oh!” she moaned, as her eyes fell on the little white shred. “The +providence of God has found us out. We have suffered, labored and +denied in vain.” + +“Yes,” came in dreary echo from the man none of us had understood till +now; “so great a crime could not be hid. God will have vengeance. What +are we that we should hope to avert it by any act or at any cost?” + +The major, with his eyes fixed piercingly on this miserable man, +replied with one pregnant sentence: + +“Then you forced your wife to suicide?” + +“No,” he began; but before another word could follow, Miss Tuttle, +resplendent in beauty and beaming with new life, broke in with the +fervid cry: + +“You wrong him and you wrong her by such a suggestion. It was not her +husband but her conscience that forced her to this retributive act. +What Mr. Jeffrey might have done had she proved obdurate and blind to +the enormity of her own guilt, I do not know. But that he is innocent +of so influencing her is proved by the shock he suffered at finding she +had taken her punishment into her own hands.” + +“Mr. Jeffrey will please answer the question,” insisted the major. +Whereupon the latter, with great effort, but with the first appearance +of real candor yet seen in him, said earnestly: + +“I did nothing to influence her. I was in no condition to do so. I was +benumbed—dead. When first she told me,—it was in some words muttered in +her sleep—I thought she was laboring under some fearful nightmare; but +when she persisted, and I questioned her, and found the horror true, I +was like a man turned instantly into stone, save for one intolerable +throb within. I am still so; everything passes by me like a dream. She +was so young, seemingly so innocent and light-hearted. I loved her! +Gentlemen, you have thought me guilty of my wife’s death,—this young +fairy-like creature to whom I ascribed all the virtues! and I was +willing, willing that you should think so, willing even to face the +distrust and opprobrium of the whole world,—and so was her sister, the +noble woman whom you see before you—rather than that the full horror of +her crime should be known and a name so dear be given up to execration. +We thought we could keep the secret—we felt that we _must_ keep the +secret—we took an oath—in French—in the carriage with the detectives +opposite us. _She_ kept it—God bless her! _I_ kept it. But it was all +useless—a tiny bit of lace is found hanging to a lifeless splinter, and +all our efforts, all the hopes and agony of weeks are gone for naught. +The world will soon know of her awful deed—and I—” + +He still loved her! That was apparent in every look, in every word he +uttered. We marveled in awkward silence, and were glad when the major +said: + +“The deed, as I take it, was an unpremeditated one on her part. Is that +why her honor was dearer to you than your own, and why you could risk +the reputation if not the life of the woman who you say sacrificed +herself to it?” + +“Yes, it was unpremeditated; she hardly realized her act. If you must +know her heart through all this dreadful business, we have her words to +show you—words which she spent the last miserable day of her life in +writing. The few lines which I showed the captain and which have been +published to the world was an inclosure meant for the public eye. The +real letter, telling the whole terrible truth, I kept for myself and +for the sister who already knew her sin. Oh, we did everything we +could!” And he again moaned: “But it was in vain; quite in vain.” + +There were no signs of subterfuge in him now, and we all, unless I +except Durbin, began to yield him credence. Durbin never gives credence +to anybody whose name he has once heard associated with crime. + +“And this Pfeiffer was contracted to her? A man she had secretly +married while a school-girl and who at this very critical instant had +found his way to the house.” + +“You shall read her letter. It was meant for me, for me only—but you +shall see it. I can not talk of him or of her crime. It is enough that +I have been unable to think of anything else since first those dreadful +words fell front her lips in sleep, thirty-six hours before she died.” +Then with the inconsistency of great anguish he suddenly broke forth +into the details he shrank from and cried “She muttered, lying there, +that she was no bigamist. That she had killed one husband before she +married the other. Killed him in the old house and by the method her +ancestors had taught her. And I, risen on my elbow, listened, with the +sweat oozing from my forehead, but not believing her, oh, not believing +her, any more than any one of you would believe such words uttered in a +dream by the darling of your heart. But when, with a long-drawn sigh, +she murmured, ‘Murderer!’ and raised her fists—tiny fists, hands which +I had kissed a thousand times—and shook them in the air, an awful +terror seized me, and I sought to grasp them and hold them down, but +was hindered by some nameless inner recoil under which I could not +speak, nor gasp, nor move. Of course, it was some dream-horror she was +laboring under, a nightmare of unimaginable acts and thoughts, but it +was one to hold me back; and when she lay quiet again and her face +resumed its old sweetness in the moonlight, I found myself staring at +her almost as if it were true—what she had said—that word—that awful +word which no woman could use with regard to herself, even in dreams, +unless—Something, an echo from the discordant chord in our two weeks’ +married life, rose like the confirmation of a doubt in my shocked and +rebellious breast. From that hour till dawn nothing in that slowly +brightening room seemed real, not her face lying buried in its youthful +locks upon the pillow, not the objects well-known and well-prized by +which we were surrounded—not myself—most of all, not myself, unless the +icy dew oozing from the roots of my lifted hair was real, unless that +shape, fearsome, vague, but persistent, which hovered in the shadows +above us, drawing a line of eternal separation between me and my wife, +was a thing which could be caught and strangled and— Oh! I rave! I +chatter like a madman; but I did not rave that night. Nor did I rave +when, in the bright, broad sunlight, her eye slowly unclosed and she +started to see me bending so near her, but not with my usual kiss or +glad good morning. I could not question her then; I dared not. The +smile which slowly rose to her lips was too piteous—it showed +confidence. I waited till after breakfast. Then, while she was seated +where she could not see my face, I whispered the question: ‘Do you know +that you have had a horrible dream?’ She shrieked and turned. _I saw +her face and knew that what she had uttered in her sleep was true._’ + +“I have no remembrance of what I said to her. She tried to tell me how +she had been tempted and how she had not realized her own act, till the +moment I bent down to kiss her lips as her husband. But I did not stop +to listen—I could not. I flew immediately to Miss Tuttle with the +violent demand as to whether she knew that her sister was already a +wife when she married me, and when she cried out ‘No!’ and showed great +dismay, I broke forth with the dreadful tale and cowered in unmanly +anguish at her feet, and went mad and lost myself for a little while. +Then I went back to my wretched wife and asked her how the awful deed +had been done. She told me, and again I did not believe her and began +to look upon it all as some wild dream or the distempered fancies of a +disordered brain. This thought calmed me and I spoke gently to her and +even tried to take her hand. But she herself was raving now, and clung +about my knees, murmuring words of such anguish and contrition that my +worst fears returned and, only stopping to take the key of the Moore +house from my bureau, I left the house and wandered madly—I know not +where. + +“I did not go back that day. I could not face her again till I knew how +much of her confession was fancy and how much was fact. I roamed the +streets, carrying that key from one end of the city to the other, and +at night I used it to open the house which she had declared contained +so dreadful a secret. + +“I had bought candles on my way there but, forgetting to take them from +the store, I had no light with which to penetrate the horrible place +that even the moon refused to illumine. I realized this when once in, +but would not go back. All I have told about using matches to light me +to the southwest chamber is true, also my coming upon the old +candelabrum there, with a candle in one of its sockets. This candle I +lit, my sole reason for seeking this room being my desire to examine +the antique sketch for the words which she had said could be found +there. + +“I had failed to bring a magnifying-glass with me, but my eyes are +phenomenally sharp. Knowing where to look, I was able to pick out +enough words here and there in the lines composing the hair, to feel +quite sure that my wife had neither deceived me nor been deceived as to +certain directions being embodied there in writing. Shaken in my last +lingering hope, but not yet quite convinced that these words pointed to +outrageous crime, I flew next to the closet and drew out the fatal +drawer. + +“You have been there and know what the place is, but no one but myself +can ever realize what it was for me, still loving, still clinging to a +wild inconsequent belief in my wife, to grope in that mouth of hell for +the spring she had chattered about in her sleep, to find it, press it, +and then to hear, down in the dark of the fearsome recess, the sound of +something deadly strike against what I took to be the cushions of the +old settle standing at the edge of the library hearthstone. + +“I think I must have fainted. For when I found myself possessed of +sufficient consciousness to withdraw from that hole of death, the +candle in the candelabrum was shorter by an inch than when I first +thrust my head into the gap made by the removed drawers. In putting +back the drawers I hit the candelabrum with my foot, upsetting it and +throwing out the burning candle. As the flames began to lick the +worm-eaten boarding of the floor a momentary impulse seized me to rush +away and leave the whole place to burn. But I did not. With a sudden +frenzy, I stamped out the flame, and then finding myself in darkness, +groped my way downstairs and out. If I entered the library I do not +remember it. Some lapses must be pardoned a man involved as I was.” + +“But the fact which you dismiss so lightly is an important one,” +insisted the major. “We must know positively whether you entered this +room or not.” + +“I have no recollection of doing so” + +“Then you can not tell us whether the little table was standing there, +with the candelabrum upon it or—” + +“I can tell you nothing about it.” + +The major, after a long look at this suffering man, turned toward Miss +Tuttle. + +“You must have loved your sister very much,” he sententiously remarked. + +She flushed and for the first time her eyes fell from their +resting-place on Mr. Jeffrey’s face. + +“I loved her reputation,” was her quiet answer, “and—” The rest died in +her throat. + +But we all—such of us, I mean, who were possessed of the least +sensibility or insight, knew how that sentence sounded as finished in +her heart “and I loved _him_ who asked this sacrifice of me.” + +Yet was her conduct not quite clear. + +“And to save that reputation you tied the pistol to her wrist?” +insinuated the major. + +“No,” was her vehement reply. “I never knew what I was tying to her. My +testimony in that regard was absolutely true. She held the pistol +concealed in the folds of her dress. I did not dream—I could not—that +she was contemplating any such end to the atrocious crime—to which she +had confessed. Her manner was too light, too airy and too frivolous—a +manner adopted, as I now see, to forestall all questions and hold back +all expressions of feeling on my part. ‘Tie these hanging ends of +ribbon to my wrist,’ were her words. ‘Tie them tight; a knot under and +a bow on top. I am going out— There, don’t say anything— What you want +to talk about will keep till tomorrow. For one night more I am going to +make merry—to—to enjoy myself.’ She was laughing. I thought her +horribly callous and trembled with such an unspeakable repulsion that I +had difficulty in making the knot. To speak at all would have been +impossible. Neither did I dare to look in her face. I was touching the +hand and _she_ kept on laughing—such a hollow laugh covering up such an +awful resolve! When she turned to give me that last injunction about +the note, this resolve glared still in her eyes.” + +“And you never suspected?” + +“Not for an instant. I did not do justice either to her misery or to +her conscience. I fear that I have never done her justice in anyway. I +thought her light, pleasure-loving. I did not know that it was assumed +to hide a terrible secret.” + +“Then you had no knowledge of the contract she had entered into while a +school-girl?” + +“Not in the least. Another woman, and not myself, had been her +confidante; a woman who has since died. No intimation of her first +unfortunate marriage had ever reached me till Mr. Jeffrey rushed in +upon me that Tuesday morning with her dreadful confession on his lips.” + +The district attorney, who did not seem quite satisfied on a certain +point passed over by the major, now took the opportunity of saying: + +“You assure us that you had no idea that this once lighthearted sister +of yours meditated suicide when she left you?” + +“And I repeat it, sir.” + +“Then why did you immediately go to Mr. Jeffrey’s drawer, where you +could have no business, unless it was to see if she had taken his +pistol with her?” + +Miss Tuttle’s head fell and a soft flush broke through the pallor of +her cheek. + +“Because I was thinking of _him_. Because I was terrified for _him_. He +had left the house the morning before in a half-maddened condition and +had not come back to sleep or eat since. I did not know what a man so +outraged in every sacred feeling of love and honor might be tempted to +do. I thought of suicide. I remembered the old house and how he had +said, ‘I don’t believe her. I don’t believe she ever did so +cold-blooded an act, or that any such dreadful machinery is in that +house. I never shall believe it till I have seen and handled it myself. +It is a nightmare, Cora. We are insane.’ I thought of this, sirs, and +when I went into her room, to change the place of the little note in +the book, I went to his bureau drawer, not to look for the pistol—I did +not think of that then,—but to see if the keys of the Moore house were +still there. I knew that they were kept in this drawer, for I had been +present in the room when they were brought in after the wedding. I had +also been short-sighted enough to conclude that if they were gone it +was he who had taken them. They were gone, and that was why I flew +immediately from the house to the old place in Waverley Avenue. I was +concerned for Mr. Jeffrey! I feared to find him there, demented or +dead.” + +“But you had no key.” + +“No. Mr. Jeffrey had taken one of them and my sister the other. But the +lack of a key or even of a light—for the missing candles were not taken +by me[1]—could not keep me at home after I was once convinced that he +had gone to this dreadful house. If I could not get in I could at least +hammer at the door or rouse the neighbors. Something must be done. I +did not think what; I merely flew.” + + [1] We afterwards found that these candles were never delivered at the + house at all; that they had been placed in the wrong basket and left + in a neighboring kitchen. + + +“Did you know that the house had two keys?” + +“Not then.” + +“But your sister did?” + +“Probably.” + +“And finding the only key, as you supposed, gone, you flew to the Moore +house?” + +“Immediately.” + +“And now what else?” + +“I found the door unlocked.” + +“That was done by Mrs. Jeffrey?” + +“Yes, but I did not think of her then.” + +“And you went in?” + +“Yes; it was all dark, but I felt my way till I came to the gilded +pillars.” + +“Why did you go there?” + +“Because I felt—I knew—if he were anywhere in that house he would be +_there!_” + +“And why did you stop?” + +Her voice rose above its usual quiet pitch in shrill protest: + +“You know! you know! I heard a pistol-shot from within, then a fall. I +don’t remember anything else. They say I went wandering about town. +Perhaps I did; it is all a blank to me—everything is a blank till the +policeman said that my sister was dead and I learned for the first time +that the shot I had heard in the Moore house was not the signal of his +death, but hers. Had I been myself when at that library door,” she +added, after a moment of silence, “I would have rushed in at the sound +of that shot and have received my sister’s dying breath.” + +“Cora!” The cry was from Mr. Jeffrey, and seemed to be quite +involuntary. “In the weeks during which we have been kept from speaking +together I have turned all these events over in my mind till I longed +for any respite, even that of the grave. But in all my thinking I never +attributed this motive to your visit here. Will you forgive me?” + +There was a new tone in his voice, a tone which no woman could hear +without emotion. + +“You had other things to think of,” she said, and her lips trembled. +Never have I seen on the human face a more beautiful expression than I +saw on hers at that moment; nor do I think Mr. Jeffrey had either, for +as he marked it his own regard softened almost to tenderness. + +The major had no time for sentimentalities. Turning to Mr. Jeffrey, he +said: + +“One more question before we send for the letter which you say will +give us full insight into your wife’s crime. Do you remember what +occurred on the bridge at Georgetown just before you came into town +that night?” + +He shook his head. + +“Did you meet any one there?” + +“I do not know.” + +“Can you remember your state of mind?” + +“I was facing the future.” + +“And what did you see in the future?” + +“Death. Death for her and death for me! A crime was on her soul and she +must die, and if she, then myself. I knew no other course. I could not +summon the police, point out my bride of a fortnight and, with the +declaration that she had been betrayed into killing a man, coldly +deliver her up to justice. Neither could I live at her side knowing the +guilty secret which parted us; or live anywhere in the world under this +same consciousness. Therefore, I meant to kill myself before another +sun rose. But she was more deeply stricken with a sense of her own +guilt than I realized. When I returned home for the pistol which was to +end our common misery I found that she had taken her punishment into +her own hands. This strangely affected me, but when I found that, in +doing this, she had remembered that I should have to face the world +after she was gone, and so left a few lines for me to show in +explanation of her act, my revolt against her received a check which +the reading of her letter only increased. But the lines she thus wrote +and left were not true lines. All her heart was mine, and if it was a +wicked heart she has atoned—” + +He paused, quite overcome. Others amongst us were overcome, too, but +only for a moment. The following remark from the district attorney soon +recalled us to the practical aspects of the case. + +“You have accounted for many facts not hitherto understood. But there +is still a very important one which neither yourself nor Miss Tuttle +has yet made plain. There was a candle on the scene of crime; it was +out when this officer arrived here. There was also one found burning in +the upstairs room, aside from the one you professedly used in your tour +of inspection there. Whence came those candles? And did your wife blow +out the one in the library herself, previous to the shooting, or was it +blown out afterward and by other lips?” + +“These are questions which, as I have already said, I have no means of +answering,” repeated Mr. Jeffrey. “The courage which brought her here +may have led her to supply herself with light; and, hard as it is to +conceive, she may even have found nerve to blow out the light before +she lifted the pistol to her breast:” + +The district attorney and the major looked unconvinced, and the latter, +turning toward Miss Tuttle, asked if she had any remark to make on the +subject. + +But she could only repeat Mr. Jeffrey’s statement. + +“These are questions _I_ can not answer either. I have said that I +stopped at the library door, which means that I saw nothing of what +passed within.” + +Here the major asked where Mrs. Jeffrey’s letter was to be found. It +was Mr. Jeffrey who replied: + +“Search in my room for a book with an outside cover of paper still on +it. You will probably find it on my table. The inner cover is red. +Bring that book here. Our secret is hidden in it.” + +Durbin disappeared on this errand. I followed him as far as the door, +but I did not think it necessary to state that I had seen this book +lying on the table when I paid my second visit to Mr. Jeffrey’s room in +company with the coroner. The thought that my hand had been within +reach of this man’s secret so many weeks before was sufficiently +humiliating without being shared. + + + + +XXIV. +TANTALIZING TACTICS + + +I made my way to the front door, but returned almost immediately. +Drawing the major aside, I whispered a request, which led to a certain +small article being passed over to me, after which I sauntered out on +the stoop just in time to encounter the spruce but irate figure of Mr. +Moore, who had crossed from the opposite side. + +“Ah!” said I. “Good morning!” and made him my most deferential bow. + +He glared and Rudge glared from his place on the farther curb. +Evidently the police were not in favor with the occupants of the +cottage that morning. + +“When is this to cease?” he curtly demanded. “When are these +early-morning trespasses upon an honest citizen’s property coming to an +end? I wake with a light heart, expecting that my house, which is +certainly as much mine as is any man’s in Washington, would be handed +over this very day for my habitation, when what do I see—one police +officer leaving the front door and another sunning himself in the +vestibule. How many more of you are within I do not presume to ask. +Some half-dozen, no doubt, and not one of you smart enough to wind up +this matter and have done with it.” + +“Ah! I don’t know about that,” I drawled, and looked very wise. + +His curiosity was aroused. + +“Anything new?” he snapped. + +“Possibly,” I returned, in a way to exasperate a saint. + +He stepped on to the porch beside me. I was too abstracted to notice; I +was engaged in eying Rudge. + +“Do you know,” said I, after an instant of what I meant should be one +of uncomfortable suspense on his part, “that I have a greater respect +than ever for that animal of yours since learning the very good reason +he has for refusing to cross the street?” + +“Ha! what’s that?” he asked, with a quick look behind him at the +watchful brute straining toward him with nose over the gutter. + +“He sees farther than we can. His eyes penetrate walls and partitions,” +I remarked. Then, carelessly and with the calm drawing forth of a +folded bit of paper which I held out toward him, I added: “By the way, +here is something of yours.” + +His hand rose instinctively to take it; then dropped. + +“I don’t know what you mean,” he remarked. “You have nothing of mine.” + +“No? Then John Judson Moore had another brother.” And I thrust the +paper back into my pocket. + +He followed it with his eye. It was the memorandum I had found in the +old book of memoirs plucked from the library shelf within, and he +recognized it for his and saw that I did also. But he failed to show +the white feather. + +“You are good at ransacking,” he observed; “pity that it can not be +done to more purpose.” + +I smiled and made a fresh start. With my hand thrust again into my +pocket, I remarked, without even so much as a glance at him: + +“I fear that you do some injustice to the police. We are not such bad +fellows; neither do we waste as much time as you seem to think.” And +drawing out my hand, with the little filigree ball in it, I whirled the +latter innocently round and round on my finger. As it flashed under his +eye, I cast him a penetrating look. + +He tried to carry the moment off successfully; I will give him so much +credit. But it was asking too much of his curiosity, and there was no +mistaking the eager glitter which lighted his glance as he saw within +his reach this article which a moment before he had probably regarded +as lost forever. + +“For instance,” I went on, watching him furtively, though quite sure +from his very first look that he knew no more now of the secret of this +little ball than he knew when he jotted down the memorandum I had just +pocketed before his eyes, “a little thing—such a little thing as this,” +I repeated, giving the bauble another twist—“may lead to discoveries +such as no common search would yield in years. I do not say that it +has; but such a thing is possible, you know: who better?” + +My nonchalance was too much for him. He surveyed me with covert +dislike, and dryly observed “Your opportunities have exceeded mine, +even with my own effects. That petty trinket which you have presumed to +flaunt in my face—and of whose value I am the worst judge in the world +since I have never had it in my hand—descended to me with the rest of +Mrs. Jeffrey’s property. Your conduct, therefore, strikes me in the +light of an impertinence, especially as no one could be supposed to +have more interest than myself in what has been for many years +recognized as a family talisman.” + +“Ah,” I remarked. “You own to the memorandum then. It was made on the +spot, but without the benefit of the talisman.” + +“I own to nothing,” he snapped. Then, realizing that denial in this +regard was fatal, he added more genially: “What do you mean by +memorandum? If you mean that recapitulation of old-time mysteries and +their accompanying features with which I once whiled away an idle hour, +I own to it, of course. Why shouldn’t I? It is only a proof of my +curiosity in regard to this old mystery which every member of my family +must feel. That curiosity has not been appeased. If it would not be +indiscreet on your part, may I now ask if you have found out what that +little golden ball of mine which you sport so freely before my eyes is +to be used in connection with?” + +“Read the papers,” I said; “read tomorrow’s papers, Mr. Moore; or, +better still, tonight’s. Perhaps they will inform you.” + +He was as angry as I had expected him to be, but as this ire proved +conclusively that his strongest emotion had been curiosity rather than +fear, I felt assured of my ground, and turned to reenter the house. Mr. +Moore did not accompany me. + +The major was standing in the hall. The others had evidently retreated +to the parlor. + +“The man opposite knows what he knows,” said I; “but this does not +include the facts concerning the picture in the southwest chamber or +the devilish mechanism.” + +“You are sure?” + +“As positive as one of my inexperience can be. But, Major, I am equally +positive that he knows more than he should of Mrs. Jeffrey’s death. I +am even ready to state that in my belief he was in the house when it +occurred.” + +“Has he acknowledged this?” + +“Not at all.” + +“Then what are your reasons for this belief?” + +“They are many” + +“Will you state them?” + +“Gladly, if you will pardon the presumption. Some of my conclusions can +not be new to you. The truth is that I have possibly seen more of this +old man than my duty warranted, and I feel quite ready to declare that +he knows more of what has taken place in this house than he is ready to +avow. I am sure that he has often visited it in secret and knows about +a certain broken window as well as we do. I am also sure that he was +here on the night of Mrs. Jeffrey’s suicide. He was too little +surprised when I informed him of what had happened not to have had some +secret inkling of it beforehand, even if we had not the testimony of +the lighted candle and the book he so hurriedly replaced. Besides, he +is not the man to drag himself out at night for so simple a cause as +the one with which he endeavored to impose upon us. He knew what we +should find in this house.” + +“Very good. If Mr. Jeffrey’s present explanations are true, these +deductions of yours are probably correct. But Mr. Moore’s denial has +been positive. I fear that it will turn out a mere question of +veracity.” + +“Not necessarily,” I returned. “I think I see a way of forcing this man +to acknowledge that he was in or about this house on that fatal night.” + +“You do?” + +“Yes, sir; I do not want to boast, and I should be glad if you did not +oblige me to confide to you the means by which I hope to bring this +out. Only give me leave to insert an advertisement in both evening and +morning papers and in two days I will report failure or success.” + +The major eyed me with an interest that made my heart thrill. Then he +quickly said: “You have earned the privilege; I will give you two +days.” + +At this moment Durbin reappeared. As I heard his knock and turned to +open the door for him, I cast the major an entreating if not eloquent +look. + +He smiled and waved his hand with friendly assurance. The state of +feeling between Durbin and myself was evidently well known to him. + +My enemy entered with a jaunty air, which changed ever so slightly when +he saw me in close conference with the superintendent. + +He had the book in his pocket. Taking it out, he handed it to the +major, with this remark: + +“You won’t find anything there; the gent’s been fooling you.” + +The major opened the book, shook it, looked under the cover, found +nothing, and crossed hastily to the drawing-room. We as hastily +followed him. The district attorney was talking with Miss Tuttle; Mr. +Jeffrey was nervously pacing the floor. The latter stopped as we all +entered and his eyes flashed to the book. + +“Let me take it,” said he. + +“It is absolutely empty,” remarked the major. “The letter has been +abstracted, probably without your knowledge.” + +“I do not think so,” was Mr. Jeffrey’s unexpected retort. “Do you +suppose that I would intrust a secret, for the preservation of which I +was ready to risk life and honor, to the open pages of a book? When I +found myself threatened with all sorts of visits from the police and +realized that at any moment my effects might be ransacked, I sought a +hiding place for this letter, which no man without superhuman insight +could discover. Look!” + +And, pulling off the outside wrapper, he inserted the point of his +penknife under the edge of the paper lining the inside cover and ripped +it off with a jerk. + +“I pasted this here myself,” he cried, and showed us where between this +paper and the boards, in a place thinned out to hold it, there lay a +number of folded sheets, which, with a deep sigh, he handed over to the +major’s inspection. As he did so he remarked: + +“I had rather have died any natural death than have had my miserable +wife’s secret known. But since the crime has come to light, this story +of her sin and her repentance may serve in some slight degree to +mitigate public opinion. She was sorely tempted and she succumbed; the +crime of her ancestors was in her blood.” + +He again walked off. The major unfolded the sheets. + + + + +XXV. +WHO WILL TELL THE MAN INSIDE THERE + + +Later I saw this letter. It was like no other that has ever come under +my eye. Written at intervals, as her hand had power or her misery found +words, it bore on its face all the evidences of that restless, +suffering spirit which for thirty-six hours drove her in frenzy about +her room, and caused Loretta to say, in her effort to describe her +mistress’ face as it appeared to her at the end of this awful time: “It +was as if a blight had passed over it. Once gay and animated beyond the +power of any one to describe, it had become a ghost’s face, with the +glare of some awful resolve upon it.” I give this letter just as it was +written-disjointed paragraphs, broken sentences, unfinished words and +all. The breaks show where she laid down her pen, possibly for that +wild pacing of the floor which left such unmistakable signs behind it. +It opens abruptly: + +“I killed him. I am all that I said I was, and you can never again give +me a thought save in the way of cursing and to bewail the day I came +into your life. But you can not hate me more than I hate myself, my +wicked self, who, seeing an obstacle in the way to happiness, stamped +it out of existence, and so forfeited all right to happiness forever. + +“It was so easy! Had it been a hard thing to do; had it been necessary +to lay hand on knife or lift a pistol, I might have realized the act +and paused. But just a little spring which a child’s hand could +manage—Who, feeling for it, could help pressing it, if only to see— + +“I was always a reckless girl, mad for pleasure and without any thought +of consequences. When school bored me, I took all my books out of my +desk, called upon my mates to do the same, and, stacking them up into a +sort of rostrum in a field where we played, first delivered an oration +from them in which reverence for my teachers had small part, then tore +them into pieces and burned them in full sight of my admiring +school-fellows. I was dismissed, but not with disgrace. Teachers and +scholars bewailed my departure, not because they liked me, or because +of any good they had found in me, but because my money had thrown +luster on them and on the whole establishment. + +“This was when I was twelve, and it was on account of this reckless +escapade that I was sent west and kept so long from home and all my +flatterers. My guardian meant well by this, but in saving me from one +pitfall he plunged me into another. I grew up without Cora and also +without any idea of the requirements of my position or what I might +anticipate from the world when the time came for me to enter it. I knew +that I had money; so did those about me; but I had little or no idea of +the amount, nor what that money would do for me when I returned to +Washington. So, in an evil day, and when I was just eighteen, I fell in +love, or thought I did, with a man—(Oh, Francis, imagine it, now that I +have seen you!)—of sufficient attraction to satisfy one whose prospects +were limited to a contracted existence in some small town, but no more +fitted to content me after seeing Washington life than if he had been a +common farm hand or the most ordinary of clerks in a country store. But +I was young, ignorant and self-willed, and thought because my cheek +burned under his look that he was the man of men, and suited to be my +husband. That is, if I thought at all, which is not likely; for I was +in a feverish whirl, and just followed the impulse of the moment, which +was to be with him whenever I could without attracting the teacher’s +attention. And this, alas! was only too often, for he was the brother +of one of our storekeepers, a visitor in Owosso, and often in the store +where we girls went. Why the teachers did not notice how often we +needed things there, I do not know. But they did not, and matters went +on and— + +“I can not write of those days, and you do not want to hear about them. +They seem impossible to me now, and almost as if it had all happened to +some one else, so completely have I forgotten the man except as the +source and cause of an immeasurable horror. Yet he was not bad himself; +only ordinary and humdrum. Indeed, I believe he was very good in ways, +or so his brother once assured me. We would not have been married in +the way we were if he had not wanted to go to the Klondike for the +purpose of making money and making it quickly, so that his means might +match mine. + +“I do not know which of us two was most to blame for that marriage. He +urged it because he was going so far away and wanted to be sure of me. +I accepted it because it seemed to be romantic and because it pleased +me to have my own way in spite of my hard old guardian and the +teachers, who were always prying about, and the girls, who went silly +over him—for he was really handsome in his way—and who thought, (at +least many of them did,) that he cared for them when he cared only for +me. + +“I have hated black eyes for a year. He had black eyes. + +“I forgot Cora, or, rather, I did not let any remembrance of her hinder +me. She was a very shadowy person to me in those days. I had not seen +her since we were both children, and as for her letters—they were +almost a bore to me; she lived such a different life from mine and +wrote of so many things I had no interest in. On my knees I ask her +pardon now. I never understood her. I never understood myself. I was +light as thistledown and blown by every breeze. There came a gust one +day which blew me into the mouth of hell. I am hovering there yet and +am sinking, Francis, sinking—Save me! I love you—I—I— + +“It was all planned by him—I have no head for such things. Sadie helped +him—Sadie was my friend—but Sadie had not much to say about it, for he +seemed to know just how to arrange it all so that no one at the +seminary should know or even suspect what had occurred till we got +ready to tell them. He did not even take his brother into his +confidence, for Wallace kept store and gossiped very much with his +customers. Besides, he was very busy just then selling out, for he was +going to the Klondike with William, and he had too much on his mind to +be bothered, or so William said. All this I must tell you or you will +never understand the temptation which assailed me when, having returned +to Washington, I awoke to my own position and the kind of men whom I +could now hope to meet. I was the wife—oh, the folly of it—but this was +known to so few, and those were so far removed, and one even—my friend +Sadie—being dead— Why not ignore the miserable secret ceremony and +cheat myself into believing myself free, and enjoy this world of +pleasure and fashion as Cora was enjoying it and—trust. Trust what? Why +the Klondike! That swallower-up of men. Why shouldn’t it swallow one +more— Oh, I know that it sounds hateful. But I was desperate; I had +seen _you_. + +“I had one letter from him after he reached Alaska, but that was before +I left Owosso. I never got another. And I never wrote to him. He told +me not to do so until he could send me word how and where to write; but +when these directions came my heart had changed and my only wish was to +forget his existence. And I did forget it—almost. I rode and danced +with you and went hither and yon, lavishing money and time and heart on +the frivolities which came in my way, calling myself Veronica and +striving by these means to crush out every remembrance of the days when +I was known as Antoinette and Antoinette only. For the Klondike was far +and its weather bitter, and men were dying there every day, and no +letters came (I used to thank God for this), and I need not think—not +yet—whither I was tending. One thing only made me recall my real +position. That was when your eyes turned on mine—your true eyes, so +bright with confidence and pride. I wanted to meet them full, and when +I could not, I suddenly knew why, and suffered. + +“Do you remember the night when we stood together on the balcony at the +Ocean View House and you laid your hand on my arm and wondered why I +persisted in looking at the moon instead of into your expectant face? +It was because the music then being played within recalled another +night and the pressure of another hand on my arm—a hand whose touch I +hoped never to feel again, but which at that moment was so much more +palpable than yours that I came near screaming aloud and telling you in +one rush of maddened emotion my whole abominable secret. + +“I did not accept your attentions nor agree to marry you, without a +struggle. You know that. You can tell, as no one else can, how I held +back and asked for time and still for time, thus grieving you and +tearing my own breast till a day came—you remember the day when you +found me laughing like a mad woman in a circle of astonished friends? +You drew me aside and said words which I hardly waited for you to +finish, for at last I was free to love you, free to love and free to +say so. The morning paper had brought news. A telegraphic despatch from +Seattle told how a man had struggled into Nome, frozen, bleeding and +without accouterments or companion. It was with difficulty he had kept +his feet and turned in at the first tent he came to. Indeed, he had +only time to speak his name before he fell dead. This name was what +made this despatch important to me. It was William Pfeiffer. For me +there was but one William Pfeiffer in the Klondike—my husband—and he +was dead! That was why you found me laughing. But not in mirth. I am +not so bad as that; but because I could breathe again without feeling a +clutch about my throat. I did not know till then how nearly I had been +stifled. + +“We were not long in marrying after that. I was terrified at delay, not +because I feared any contradiction of the report which had given this +glorious release, but because I dreaded lest some hint of my early +folly should reach you and dim the pride with which you regarded me. I +wanted to feel myself yours so closely and so dearly that you would not +mind if any one told you that I had once cared, or thought I had cared, +for another. The week of our marriage came; I was mad with gaiety and +ecstatic with hope. Nothing had occurred to mar my prospects. No letter +from Denver—no memento from the Klondike, no word even from Wallace, +who had gone north with his brother. Soon I should be called wife +again, but by lips I loved, and to whose language my heart thrilled. +The past, always vague, would soon be no more than a forgotten dream—an +episode quite closed. I could afford from this moment on to view life +like other girls and rejoice in my youth and the love which every day +was becoming more and more to me. + +“But God had His eye upon me, and in the midst of my happiness and the +hurry of our final preparations His bolt fell. It struck me while I was +at the—don’t laugh; rather shudder—at the dressmaker’s shop in +Fourteenth Street. I was leaning over a table, chattering like a magpie +over the way I wanted a gown trimmed, when my eye fell on a scrap of +newspaper in which something had come rolled to madame. It was torn at +the edge, but on the bit lying under my eyes I saw my husband’s name, +William Pfeiffer, and that the paper was a Denver one. There was but +one William Pfeiffer in Denver—and he was my husband. And I +read—feeling nothing. Then I read again, and the world, my world, went +from under my feet; for the man who had fallen dead in the camp at Nome +was Wallace, William’s brother, and not William himself. William had +been left behind on the road by his more energetic brother, who had +pushed on for succor through the worst storm and under the worst +conditions possible even in that God-forsaken region. With the lost one +in mind, the one word that Wallace uttered in sight of rescue, was +William. A hope was expressed of finding the latter alive and a party +had started out—Did I read more? I do not think so. Perhaps there was +no more to read; here was where the paper was torn across. But it was +no matter. I had seen enough. It was Wallace who had fallen dead, and +while William might have perished also, and doubtless had, I had no +certainty of it. And my wedding day was set for Thursday. + +“Why didn’t I tell Cora; why didn’t I tell you? Pride held my tongue; +besides, I had had time to think before I saw either of you, and to +reason a bit and to feel sure that if Wallace had been spent enough to +fall dead on reaching the camp, William could never have survived on +the open road. For Wallace was the stronger of the two and the most +hardy every way. Free I certainly was. Some later paper would assure me +of this. I would hunt them up and see—but I never did. I do not think I +dared. I was afraid I should see some account of his rescue. I was +afraid of being made certain of what was now but a possibility, and so +I did nothing. But for three nights I did not sleep. + +“The caprice which had led me to choose the old Moore house to be +married in led me to plan dressing there on my wedding morning. It was +early when we started, Cora and I, for Waverley Avenue, but not too +early for the approaches to that dreadful house to be crowded with +people, eager to see the daring bride. Why I should have shrunk so from +that crowd I can not say. I trembled at sight of their faces and at the +sound of their voices, and if by chance a head was thrust forward +farther than the rest I cowered back instinctively and nearly screamed. +Did I dread to recognize a too familiar face? The paper I had seen bore +a date six months back. A man could arrive here from Alaska in that +time. Or was my conscience aroused at last and clamoring to be heard +when it was too late? On the corner of N Street the carriage suddenly +stopped. A man had crossed in front of it. I caught one glimpse of this +man and instantly the terrors of a lifetime were concentrated into one +instant of agonizing fear. It was William Pfeiffer. I knew the look; I +knew the gait. He was gone in a moment and the carriage rolled on. But +I knew my doom as well that minute as I did an hour later. My husband +was alive and he was here. He had escaped the perils of the Klondike +and wandered east to reclaim his recreant wife. There had been time for +him to do this since the rescue party left home in search of him; time +for him to recover, time for him to reach home, time for him to reach +the east. He had heard of my wedding; it was in all the papers, and I +should find him at the house when I got there, and you would know and +Cora would know, and the wedding would stop and my name be made a +by-word the world over. Instead of the joy awaiting me a moment since, +I should have to go away with him into some wilderness or distant place +of exile where my maiden name would never be heard, and all the +memories of this year of stolen delights be effaced. Oh, it was +horrible! And all in a minute! And Cora sat there, pale, calm and +beautiful as an angel, beaming on me with tender eyes whose expression +I have never understood! Hell in my heart,—and she, in happy ignorance +of this, brooding over my joy and smiling to herself while the soft +tears rose! + +“You were waiting at the curb when I arrived, and I remember how my +heart stood still when you laid your hand on the carriage door and +confronted me with that light on your face I had never seen disturbed +since we first pledged ourselves to marry. Would he see it, too, and +come forward from the secret place where he held himself hidden? Was I +destined to behold a struggle in the streets, an unseemly contest of +words in sight of the door I had expected to enter so joyously? In +terror of such an event, I seized the hand which seemed my one refuge +in this hour of mortal trouble, and hastened into the house which, for +all its doleful history, had never received within its doors a heart +more burdened or rebellious. As this thought rushed over me, I came +near crying out, ‘The house of doom! The house of doom!’ I had thought +to brave its terrors and its crimes and it has avenged itself. But +instead of that, I pressed your hand with mine and smiled. O God! if +you could have seen what lay beneath that smile! For, with my entrance +beneath those fatal doors a thought had come. I remembered my heritage. +I remembered how I had been told by my father when I was a very little +girl,—I presume when he first felt the hand of death upon him,—that if +ever I was in great trouble,—very great trouble, he had said, where no +deliverance seemed possible—I was to open a little golden ball which he +showed me and take out what I should find inside and hold it close up +before a picture which had hung from time immemorial in the southwest +corner of this old house. He could not tell me what I should +encounter—there this I remember his saying—but something that would +assist me, something which had passed with good effect from father down +to child for many generations. Only, if I would be blessed in my +undertakings, I must not open the golden ball nor endeavor to find out +its mystery unless my trouble threatened death or some great disaster. +Such a trouble had indeed come to me, and—startling coincidence—I was +at this moment in the very house where this picture hung, and—more +startling fact yet—the golden ball needed to interpret its meaning was +round my neck—for with such jealousy was this family trinket always +guarded by its owner. Why then not test their combined effect? I +certainly needed help from some quarter. Never would William allow me +to be married to another while he lived. He would yet appear and I +should need thus great assistance (great enough to be transmitted from +father to son) as none of the Moores had needed it yet; though what it +was I did not know and did not even try to guess. + +“Yet when I got to the room I did not drag out the filigree ball at +once nor even take more than one fearful side-long look at the picture. +In drawing off my glove I had seen his ring—the ring you had once asked +about. It was such a cheap affair; the only one he could get in that +obscure little town where we were married. I lied when you asked me if +it was a family jewel; lied but did not take it off, perhaps because it +clung so tightly, as if in remembrance of the vows it symbolized. But +now the very sight of it gave me a fright. With his ring on my finger I +could not defy him and swear his claim to be false the dream of a man +maddened by his experiences in the Klondike. It must come off. Then, +perhaps, I should feel myself a free woman. But it would not come off. +I struggled with it and tugged in vain; then I bethought me of using a +nail file to sever it. This I did, grinding and grinding at it till the +ring finally broke, and I could wrench it off and cast it away out of +sight and, as I hoped, out of my memory also. I breathed easier when +rid of this token, yet choked with terror whenever a step approached +the door. I was clad in my bridal dress, but not in my bridal veil or +ornaments, and naturally Cora, and then my maid, came to assist me. But +I would not let them in. I was set upon testing the secret of the +filigree ball and so preparing myself for what my conscience told me +lay between me and the ceremony arranged for high noon. + +“I did not guess that the studying out of that picture would take so +long. The contents of the ball turned out to be a small +magnifying-glass, and the picture a maze of written words. I did not +decipher it all; I did not decipher the half. I did not need to. A +spirit of divination was given me in that awful hour which enabled me +to grasp its full meaning from the few sentences I did pick out. And +that meaning! It was horrible, inconceivable. Murder was taught; but +murder from a distance, and by an act too simple to awake revulsion. +Were the wraiths of my two ancestors who had played with the spring +hidden in the depths of this old closet, drawn up in mockery beside me +during the hour when I stood spellbound in the middle of the floor, +thinking of what I had just read, and listening—listening for something +less loud than the sound of carriages now beginning to roll up in front +or the stray notes of the band tuning up below?—less loud, but meaning +what? A step into the empty closet yawning so near—an effort with a +drawer—a—a— Do not ask me to recall it. I did not shudder when the +moment came and I stood there. Then I was cold as marble. But I shudder +now in thinking of it till soul and body seem separating, and the +horror which envelopes me gives me such a foretaste of hell that I +wonder I can contemplate the deed which, if it releases me from this +earthly anguish, will only plunge me into a possibly worse hereafter. +Yet I shall surely take my life before you see me again, and in that +old house. If it is despair I feel, then despair will take me there. If +it is repentance, then repentance will suffice to drive me to the one +expiation possible to me—to perish where I caused an innocent man to +perish, and so relieve you of a wife who was never worthy of you and +whom it would be your duty to denounce if she let another sun rise upon +her guilt. + +“I did not stand there long between the wraiths of my murderous +ancestors. A message was shouted through the door—the message for which +my ears had been strained in dreadful anticipation for the last two +hours. A man named Pfeiffer wanted to see me before I went down to be +married. _A man named Pfeiffer!_ + +“I looked closely at the boy who delivered this message. He showed no +excitement, nor any feeling greater than impatience at being kept +waiting a minute or so at the door. Then I glanced beyond him, at the +people chatting in the hall. No alarm there; nothing but a very natural +surprise that the bride should keep so big a crowd waiting. I felt that +this fixed the event. He who had sent me this quiet message was true to +himself and to our old compact. He had not published below what would +have set the house in an uproar in a moment. He had left his secret to +be breathed into my ear alone. I could recall the moment he passed me +his word, and his firm look as he said, with his hand lifted to Heaven +‘You have been good to me and given me your precious self while I was +poor and a nobody. In return, I swear to keep our marriage a secret +till great success shows me to be worthy of you or till you with your +own lips express forgiveness of my failure and grant me leave to speak. +Nothing but death or your permission shall ever unseal my lips.’ When I +heard that he was dead I feared lest he might have spoken, but now that +I had seen him alive, I knew that in no other breast, save his, my own +and that of the unknown minister in an almost unknown town, dwelt any +knowledge of the fact which stood between me and the marriage which all +these people had come here to see. My confidence in his rectitude +determined me. Without conscious emotion, without fear even,—the ending +of suspense had ended all that,—I told the boy to seat the gentleman in +the library. Then— + +“I am haunted now, I am haunted always, by one vision, horrible but +persistent. It will not leave me; it rises between us now; it has stood +between us ever since I left that house with the seal of your affection +on my lips. Last night it terrified me into unconscious speech. I +dreamed that I saw again, and plainly, what I caught but a shadowy +glimpse of in that murderous hour: a man’s form seated at the end of +the old settle, with his head leaning back, in silent contemplation. +His face was turned the other way—I thanked God for that—no, I did not +thank God; I never thought of God in that moment of my blind feeling +about for a chink and a spring in the wall. I thought only of your +impatience, and the people waiting, and the pleasure of days to come +when, free from this intolerable bond, I could keep my place at your +side and bear your name unreproved and taste to the full the awe and +delight of a passion such as few women ever feel, because few women +were ever loved by a man like you. Had my thoughts been elsewhere, my +fingers might have forgotten to fumble along that wall, and I had been +simply wretched today,—and innocent. Innocent! O, where in God’s +universe can I be made innocent again and fit to look in your face and +to love—heart-breaking thought—even to love you again? + +“To turn and turn a miserable crank after those moments of frenzied +action and silence—that was the hard part—that was what tried my nerve +and first robbed me of calmness. But I dared not leave that fearful +thing dangling there; I had to wind. The machinery squeaked, and its +noise seemed to fill the house, but no one came nor did the door below +open. Sometimes I have wished that it had. I should not then have been +lured on and you would not have become involved in my ruin. + +“I have heard many say that I looked radiant when I came down to be +married. The radiance was in their thoughts. Or if my face did shine, +and if I moved as if treading on air, it was because I had triumphed +over all difficulties and could pass down to the altar without fear of +that interrupting voice crying out: ‘I forbid! She is mine! The wife of +William Pfeiffer can not wed another!’ No such words could be dreaded +now. The lips which might have spoken them were dumb. I forgot that +fleshless lips gibber loudest, and that a lifetime, long or short, lay +before me, in which to hear them mumble and squeak their denunciation +and threats. Oh, but I have been wretched! At ball and dinner and dance +those lips have been ever at my ear, but most when we have sat alone +together; most then; Oh, most then! + +“He is avenged; but you! Who will avenge you, and where will you ever +find happiness? + +“To blot myself from your memory I would go down deeper into the vale +of suffering than ever I have gone yet. But no, no! do not quite forget +me. Remember me as you saw me one night—the night you took the flower +out of my hair and kissed it, saying that Washington held many +beautiful women, but that none of them save myself had ever had the +power to move your inmost heart-strings. Ah, low was your voice and +eloquent your eyes that hour, and I forgot,—for a moment I +forgot—everything but this pure love; and the heartbeat it called up +and the hope, never to be realized—that I should live to hear you +repeat the same sweet words in our old age, in just such a tone and +with just such a look. I was innocent at that moment, innocent and +good. I am willing that you should remember me as I was that night. + +“When I think of him lying cold and dead in the grave I myself dug for +him, my heart is like stone, but when I think of _you_— + +“I am afraid to die; but I am more afraid of failing in courage. I +shall have the pistol tied to me; this will make it seem inevitable to +use it. Oh! that the next twenty-four hours could be blotted out of +time! Such horror can not be. I was born for joy and gaiety; yet no +dismal depth of misery and fear has been spared me! But all on account +of my own act. I do not accuse God; I do not accuse man; I only accuse +myself, and my thoughtless grasping after pleasure. + +“I want Cora to read this as well as you. She must know me dead as she +never knew me living. But I can not tell her that I have left a +confession behind me. She must come upon it unexpectedly, just as I +mean you to do. Only thus can it reach either of you with any power. If +I could but think of some excuse for sending her to the book where I +propose to hide it! that would give her a chance of reading it before +you do, and this would be best. She may know how to prepare or comfort +you—I hope so. Cora is a noble woman, but the secret which kept my +thoughts in such a whirl has held us apart. + +“You did what I asked. You found a place for Rancher’s waiter in the +volunteer corps. Surprised as you were at the interest I expressed in +him, you honored my first request and said nothing. Would you have +shown the same anxious eagerness if you had known why I whispered those +few words to him from the carriage door? Why I could neither rest nor +sleep till he and the other boy were safely out of town? + +“I must leave a line for you to show to people if they should wonder +why I killed myself so soon after my seemingly happy marriage. You will +find it in the same book with this letter. Some one will tell you to +look in the book—I can not write any more. + +“I can not help writing. It is all that connects me now with life and +with you. But I have nothing more to say except, forgive—forgive— + +“Do you think that God looks at his wretched ones differently from what +men do? That He will have tenderness for one so sorry—that He will even +find place— But my mother is there! my father! Oh, that makes it +fearful to go—to meet— But it was my father who led me into this—only +he did not know— There! I will think only of God. + +“Good by—good by—good—” + +That was all. It ended, as it began, without name and without date,—the +final heart-throbs of a soul, awakened to its own act when it was quite +too late. A piteous memorial which daunted each one of us as we read +it, and when finished, drew us all together in the hall out of the +sight and hearing of the two persons most intimately concerned in it. + +Possibly because all had one thought—a thrilling one, which the major +was the first to give utterance to. + +“The man she killed was buried under the name of Wallace. How’s that, +if he was her husband, William?” + +An officer we had not before noted was standing near the front door. He +came forward at this and placed a second telegram in the +superintendent’s hand. It was from the same source as the one +previously received and appeared to settle this very question. + +“I have just learned that the man married was not the one who kept +store in Owosso, but his brother William, who afterward died in +Klondike. It is Wallace whose death you are investigating.” + +“What snarl is here?” asked the major. + +“I think I understand,” I ventured to put in. “Her husband was the one +left on the road by the brother who staggered into camp for aid. He was +a weak man—the weaker of the two she said—and probably died, while +Wallace, after seemingly collapsing, recovered. This last she did not +know, having failed to read the whole of the newspaper slip which told +about it, and so when she saw some one with the Pfeiffer air and figure +and was told later that a Mr. Pfeiffer was waiting to see her, she took +it for granted that it was her husband, believing positively that +Wallace was dead. The latter, moreover, may have changed to look more +like his brother in the time that had elapsed.” + +“A possible explanation which adds greatly to the tragic aspects of the +situation. She was probably a widow when she touched the fatal spring. +Who will tell the man inside there? It will be his crowning blow.” + + + + +XXVI. +RUDGE + + +I never saw any good reason for my changing the opinion just expressed. +Indeed, as time went on and a further investigation was made into the +life and character of these two brothers, I came to think that not only +had the unhappy Veronica mistaken the person of Wallace Pfeiffer for +that of her husband William, but also the nature of the message he sent +her and the motives which actuated it; that the interview he so +peremptorily demanded before she descended to her nuptials would, had +she but understood it properly, have yielded her an immeasurable +satisfaction instead of rousing in her alarmed breast the criminal +instincts of her race; that it was meant to do this; that he, knowing +William’s secret—a secret which the latter naturally would confide to +him at a moment so critical as that which witnessed their parting in +the desolate Klondike pass—had come, not to reproach her with her new +nuptials, but to relieve her mind in case she cherished the least doubt +of her full right to marry again, by assurances of her husband’s death +and of her own complete freedom. To this he may have intended to add +some final messages of love and confidence from the man she had been so +ready to forget; but nothing worse. Wallace Pfeiffer was incapable of +anything worse, and if she had only resigned herself to her seeming +fate and consented to see this man— + +But to return to fact and leave speculation to the now doubly wretched +Jeffrey. + +On the evening of the day which saw our first recognition of this crime +as the work of Veronica Moore, the following notice appeared in the +Star and all the other local journals: + +“Any person who positively remembers passing through Waverley Avenue +between N and M Streets on the evening of May the eleventh at or near +the hour of a quarter past seven will confer a favor on the detective +force of the District by communicating the same to F. at the police +headquarters in C street.” + +I was “F.,” and I was soon deep in business. But I was readily able to +identify those who came from curiosity, and as the persons who had +really fulfilled the conditions expressed in my advertisement were few, +an evening and morning’s work sufficed to sift the whole matter down to +the one man who could tell me just what I wanted to know. With this man +I went to the major, and as a result we all met later in the day at Mr. +Moore’s door. + +This gentleman looked startled enough when he saw the number and +character of his visitors; but his grand air did not forsake him and +his welcome was both dignified and cordial. But I did not like the way +his eye rested on me. + +But the slight venom visible in it at that moment was nothing to what +he afterwards displayed when at a slight growl from Rudge, who stood in +an attitude of offense in the doorway beyond, I drew the attention of +all to the dog by saying sharply: + +“There is our witness, sirs. There is the dog who will not cross the +street even when his master calls him, but crouches on the edge of the +curb and waits with eager eyes but immovable body, till that master +comes back. Isn’t that so, Mr. Moore? Have I not heard you utter more +than one complaint in this regard?” + +“I can not deny it,” was the stiff reply, “but what—” + +I did not wait for him to finish. + +“Mr. Correan,” I asked, “is this the animal you gassed between the +hours of seven and eight on the evening of May the eleventh, crouching +in front of this house with his nose to the curbstone?” + +“It is; I noted him particularly; he seemed to be watching the opposite +house.” + +Instantly I turned upon Mr. Moore. + +“Is Rudge the dog to do that,” I asked, “if his master were not there? +Twice have I myself seen him in the self-same place and with the +self-same air of expectant attention, and both times you had crossed to +the house which you acknowledge he will approach no nearer than the +curb on this side of the street.” + +“You have me,” was the short reply with which Mr. Moore gave up the +struggle. “Rudge, go back to your place. When you are wanted in the +court-room I will let you know.” + +The smile with which he said this was sarcastic enough, but it was +sarcasm directed mainly against himself. We were not surprised when, +after some sharp persuasion on the part of the major, he launched into +the following recital of his secret relation to what he called the last +tragedy ever likely to occur in the Moore family. + +“I never thought it wrong to be curious about the old place; I never +thought it wrong to be curious about its mysteries. I only considered +it wrong, or at all events ill judged, to annoy Veronica, in regard to +them, or to trouble her in any way about the means by which I might +effect an entrance into its walls. So I took the one that offered and +said nothing. + +“I have visited the old house many times during my sojourn in this +little cottage. The last time was, as one of your number has so ably +discovered on the most memorable night in its history; the one in which +Mrs. Jeffrey’s remarkable death occurred there. The interest roused in +me by the unexpected recurrence of the old fatality attending the +library hearthstone reached its culmination when I perceived one night +the glint of a candle burning in the southwest chamber. I did not know +who was responsible for this light, but I strongly suspected it to be +Mr. Jeffrey; for who else would dare to light a candle in this disused +house without first seeing that all the shutters were fast? I did not +dislike Mr. Jeffrey or question his right to do this. Nevertheless I +was very angry. Though allied to a Moore he was not one himself and the +difference in our privileges affected me strongly. Consequently I +watched till he came out and upon positively recognizing his figure +vowed in my wrath and jealous indignation to visit the old house myself +on the following night and make one final attempt to learn the secret +which would again make me the equal of this man, if not his superior. + +“It was early when I went; indeed it was not quite dark, but knowing +the gloom of those old halls and the almost impenetrable nature of the +darkness that settles over the library the moment the twilight set in, +I put in my pocket two or three candles, _the_ candles, sirs, about +which you have made such a coil. My errand was twofold. I wanted first +to see what Mr. Jeffrey had been up to the night before, and next, to +spend an hour over a certain book of old memoirs which in recalling the +past might explain the present. You remember a door leading into the +library from the rear room. It was by this door I entered, bringing +with me from the kitchen the chair you afterwards found there. + +I knew where the volume of memoirs I speak of was to be found—you do, +too, I see—for it was my hand which had placed it in its present +concealment. Quite determined to reread such portions of it, as I had +long before marked as pertinent to the very attempt I had in mind, I +brought in the candelabrum from the parlor and drew out a table to hold +it. But I waited a few moments before taking down the book itself. I +wanted first to learn what Mr. Jeffrey had been doing upstairs the +night before. So leaving the light burning in the library, I proceeded +to the southwest chamber, holding an unlit candle in my hand, the light +feebly diffused through the halls from some upper windows being +sufficient for me to see my way. But in the chamber itself all was +dark. + +“The wind had not yet risen and the shutter which a half-hour later +moved so restlessly on its creaking hinges, hugged the window so +tightly that I imagined Mr. Jeffrey had fastened it the night before. +Looking for some receptacle in which to set the candle I now lit, I +failed to find anything but an empty tumbler, so I made use of that. +Then I glanced about me, but seeing nothing worth my attention—Mrs. +Jeffrey’s wedding fixings did not interest me, and everything else +about the room looking natural except the overturned chair, which +struck me as immaterial. I hurried downstairs again, leaving the candle +burning behind me in case I should wish to return aloft after I had +refreshed my mind with what had been written about this old room. + +“Not a sound disturbed the house as I seated myself to my reading in +front of the library shelves. I was as much alone under that desolate +roof as mortal could be with men anywhere within reach of him. I +enjoyed the solitude and was making a very pretty theory for myself on +a scrap of paper I tore from another old book when a noise suddenly +rose in front, which, slight as it was, was quite unmistakable to ears +trained in listening. Some one was unlocking the front door. + +“Naturally I thought it to be Mr. Jeffrey returning for a second visit +to his wife’s house, and knowing what I might expect if he surprised me +on the premises, I restored the book hastily to its place and as +hastily blew out the candle. Then, with every intention of flight, I +backed toward the door by which I had entered. But some impulse +stronger than that of escape made me stop just before I reached it. I +could see nothing; the place was dark as Tophet; but I could listen. +The person—Mr. Jeffrey, or some other—was coming my way and in perfect +darkness. I could hear the faltering steps—the fingers dragging along +the walls; then a rustle as of skirts, proving the intruder to be a +woman—a fact which greatly surprised me—then a long drawn sigh or gasp. + +“The last determined me. The situation was too intense for me to leave +without first learning who the woman was who in terror and shrinking +dared to drag her half resisting feet through these empty halls and +into a place cursed with such unwholesome memories. I did not think of +Veronica. No one looks for a butterfly in the depths of a dungeon. But +I did think of Miss Tuttle—that woman of resolute will. Without +attempting to imaging the reason for her presence, I stood my ground +and harkened till the heavy mahogany door at the other end of the room +began to swing in by jerks under the faint and tremulous push of a +terrified hand. Then there came silence—a long silence—followed by a +moan so agonized that I realized that whatever was the cause of this +panting woman’s presence here, it was due to no mere errand of +curiosity. This whetted my purpose. Anything done in this house was in +a way done to me; so I remained quiet and watched. But the sounds which +now and then came from the remote corner upon which my attention was +concentrated were very eloquent. + +“I heard sighs and bitter groans, with now and then a murmured prayer, +broken by a low wailing, in which I caught the name of Francis. And +still, possibly on account of the utterance of this name, I thought the +woman near me to be Miss Tuttle, and even went so far as to imagine the +cause of her suffering if not the nature of her retribution. Words +succeeded cries and I caught phrases expressive of fear and some sort +of agonized hesitation. Once these broken ejaculations were interrupted +by a dull sound. Something had dropped to the bare floor. We shall +never know what it was, but I have no doubt that it was the pistol, and +that the marks of dust to be found on the connecting ribbon were made +by her own fingers in taking it again in her hand. (You will remember +that these same fingers had but a few minutes previous groped their way +along the walls.) For her voice soon took a different tone, and such +unintelligible phrases as these could be heard issuing from her partly +paralyzed lips: + +“‘I must!—I can never meet his eye again alive. He would despise— Brave +enough to—to—another’s blood—coward—when—own. Oh, God! forgive!’ Then +another silence during which I almost made up my mind to interfere, +then a loud report and a flash so startling and unexpected that I +recoiled, during which the room leaped into sudden view—she +too—Veronica—with baby face drawn and set like a woman’s—then darkness +again and a heavy fall which shook the floor, if not my hard old heart. +The flash and that fall enlightened me. I had just witnessed the +suicide of the last Moore saving myself; a suicide for which I was +totally unprepared and one which I do not yet understand. + +“I did not go over to her. She was as dead when she fell as she ever +would be. In the flash which lit everything, I had seen where her +pistol was pointed. Why disturb her then? Nor did I return upstairs. I +had small interest now in anything but my own escape from a situation +more or less compromising. + +“Do you blame me for this? I was her heir and I was where I had no +legal right to be. Do you think that I was called upon to publish my +shame and tell how I lingered there while my own niece shot herself +before my eyes? That shot made me a millionaire. This certainly was +excitement enough for one day—besides, I did not leave her there +neglected. I notified you later—after I had got my breath and had found +some excuse. That wasn’t enough? Ah, I see that _you_ are all models of +courage and magnanimity. You would have laid yourselves open to every +reproach rather than let a little necessary perjury pass your lips. But +I am no model. I am simply an old man who has been too hardly dealt +with for seventy long years to possess every virtue. I made a mistake—I +see it now—trusted a dog when I shouldn’t—but if Rudge had not seen +ghosts—well, what now?” + +We had, one and all, with an involuntary impulse, turned our backs upon +him. + +“What are you doing?” he hotly demanded. + +“Only what all Washington will do tomorrow, and afterwards the whole +world,” gravely returned the major. Then, as an ejaculation escaped the +astonished millionaire, he impressively added: “A perjury which allows +an innocent man and woman to remain under the suspicion of murder for +five weeks is one which not only the law has a right to punish, but +which all society will condemn. Henceforth you will find yourself under +a ban, Mr. Moore.”[1] + +My story ends here. The matter never came before the grand jury. +Suicide had been proved, and there the affair rested. Of myself it is +enough to add that I sometimes call in Durbin to help me in a big case. + + [1] Time amply verified this prophecy. Mr. Moore is living in great + style in the Moore house, and drives horses which are conspicuous even + in Washington. But no one accepts his invitations, and he is as much + of a recluse in his present mansion as he ever was in the humble + cottage in which his days of penury were spent. + + + + +XXVII. +“YOU HAVE COME! YOU HAVE SOUGHT ME!” + + +These are some words from a letter written a few months after the +foregoing by one Mrs. Edward Truscott to a friend in New York: + + +“Edinburgh, May 7th, 1900. + +“Dear Louisa:—You have always accused me of seeing more and hearing +more than any other person of your acquaintance. Perhaps I am fortunate +in that respect. Certainly I have been favored today with an adventure +of some interest which I make haste to relate to you. + +“Being anxious to take home with me some sketches of the exquisite +ornamentation in the Rosslyn chapel about which I wrote you so +enthusiastically the other day, I took advantage of Edward’s absence +this morning to visit the place again and this time alone. The sky was +clear and the air balmy, and as I approached the spot from the near-by +station I was not surprised to see another woman straying quietly about +the exterior of the chapel gazing at walls which, interesting as they +are, are but a rough shell hiding the incomparable beauties within. I +noticed this lady; I could not help it. She was one to attract any eye. +Seldom have I seen such grace, such beauty, and both infused by such +melancholy. Her sadness added wonderfully to her charm, and I found it +hard enough to pass her with the single glance allowable to a stranger, +especially as she gave evidence of being one of my own countrywomen: + +“However, I saw no alternative, and once within the charmed edifice, +forgot everything in the congenial task I had set for myself. For some +reason the chapel was deserted at this moment by all but me. As the +special scroll-work I wanted was in a crypt down a short flight of +steps at the right of the altar, I was completely hidden from view to +any one entering above and was enjoying both my seclusion and the +opportunity it gave me of carrying out my purpose unwatched when I +heard a light step above and realized that the exquisite beauty which +had so awakened my admiration had at last found its perfect setting. +Such a face amid such exquisite surroundings was a rare sight, and +interested as I always am in artistic effects I was about to pocket +pencil and pad and make my way up to where she moved among the carved +pillars when I heard a soft sigh above and caught the rustle of her +dress as she sat down upon a bench at the head of the steps near which +I stood. Somehow that sigh deterred me. I hesitated to break in upon a +melancholy so invincible that even the sight of all this loveliness +could not charm it away, and in that moment of hesitation something +occurred above which fixed me to my place in irrepressible curiosity. + +“Another step had entered the open door of the chapel—a man’s +step—eager and with a purpose in it eloquent of something deeper than a +mere tourist’s interest in this loveliest of interiors. The cry which +escaped her lips, the tone in which he breathed her name in his hurried +advance, convinced me that this was a meeting of two lovers after a +long heart-break and that I should mar the supreme moment of their +lives by intruding into it the unwelcome presence of a stranger. So I +lingered where I was and thus heard what passed between them at this +moment of all moments ire their lives. + +“It was she who spoke first. + +“‘Francis, you have come! You have sought me!’ + +“To which he replied in choked accents which yet could not conceal the +inexpressible elation of his heart: + +“‘Yes I have come, I have sought you. Why did you fly? Did you not see +that my whole soul was turning to you as it never turned even to—to her +in the best days of our unshaken love; and that I could never rest till +I found you and told you how the eyes which have once been blind enjoy +a passion of seeing unknown to others—a passion which makes the object +seem so dear—so dear—’ + +“He paused, perhaps to look at her, perhaps to recover his own +self-possession, and I caught the echo of a sigh of such utter content +and triumph from her lips that I was surprised when in another moment +she exclaimed in a tone so thrilling that I am sure no common +circumstances had separated this pair: + +“‘Have we a right to happiness while she— Oh, Francis, I can not! She +loved you. It was her love for you which drove her—’ + +“‘Cora!’ came with a sort of loving authority, ‘we have buried our +erring one and passionately as I loved her, she is no more mine, but +God’s. Let her woeful spirit rest. You who suffered, supported—who +sacrificed all that woman holds dear to save what, in the nature of +things, could not be saved—have more than right to happiness if it is +in my power to give it to you; I, who have failed in so much, but never +in anything more than in not seeing where true worth and real beauty +lay. Cora, there is but one hand which can lift the shadow from my +life. That hand I am holding now—do not draw it away—it is my anchor, +my hope. I dare not confront life without the promise it holds out. I +should be a wreck—’ + +“His emotion stopped him and there was silence; then I heard him utter +solemnly, as befitted the place: ‘Thank God!’ and I knew that she had +turned her wonderful eyes upon him or nestled her hand in his clasp as +only a loving woman may. + +“The next moment I heard them draw away and leave the place. + +“Do you wonder that I long to know who they are and what their story is +and whom they meant by ‘the erring one?’” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FILIGREE BALL *** + +***** This file should be named 2371-0.txt or 2371-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/2371/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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