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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Leavenworth case, by Anna Katharine 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 Leavenworth case
+       A lawyer’s story
+
+Author: Anna Katharine Green
+
+Release Date: May 1, 2003 [eBook #4047]
+
+Last Updated: July 31, 2022
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Produced by David Moynihan, and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK The Leavenworth case ***
+
+
+
+
+                       THE LEAVENWORTH CASE
+
+                         A LAWYER’S STORY
+
+
+                      By Anna Katharine Green
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: “I did not go, but stood watching the firelight
+flicker on her black dress”]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  BOOK I.
+
+  THE PROBLEM
+
+                                                 PAGE
+
+         I. “A GREAT CASE”                          1
+
+        II. THE CORONER’S INQUEST                  11
+
+       III. FACTS AND DEDUCTIONS                   17
+
+        IV. A CLUE                                 36
+
+         V. EXPERT TESTIMONY                       43
+
+        VI. SIDE-LIGHTS                            51
+
+       VII. MARY LEAVENWORTH                       57
+
+      VIII. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE                65
+
+        IX. A DISCOVERY                            80
+
+         X. MR. GRYCE RECEIVES NEW IMPETUS         90
+
+        XI. THE SUMMONS                           101
+
+       XII. ELEANORE                              108
+
+      XIII. THE PROBLEM                           115
+
+
+  BOOK II.
+
+  HENRY CLAVERING
+
+       XIV. MR. GRYCE AT HOME                     123
+
+        XV. WAYS OPENING                          136
+
+       XVI. THE WILL OF A MILLIONAIRE             146
+
+      XVII. THE BEGINNING OF GREAT SURPRISES      151
+
+     XVIII. ON THE STAIRS                         162
+
+       XIX. IN MY OFFICE                          170
+
+        XX. “TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN!”          177
+
+       XXI. A PREJUDICE                           183
+
+      XXII. PATCH-WORK                            191
+
+     XXIII. THE STORY OF A CHARMING WOMAN         210
+
+      XXIV. A REPORT FOLLOWED BY SMOKE            220
+
+       XXV. TIMOTHY COOK                          230
+
+      XXVI. MR. GRYCE EXPLAINS HIMSELF            239
+
+
+  BOOK III.
+
+  HANNAH
+
+     XXVII. AMY BELDEN                            251
+
+    XXVIII. A WEIRD EXPERIENCE                    258
+
+      XXIX. THE MISSING WITNESS                   272
+
+       XXX. BURNED PAPER                          278
+
+      XXXI. Q                                     285
+
+     XXXII. MRS. BELDEN’S NARRATIVE               296
+
+    XXXIII. UNEXPECTED TESTIMONY                  325
+
+
+  BOOK IV.
+
+  THE PROBLEM SOLVED
+
+     XXXIV. MR. GRYCE RESUMES CONTROL             332
+
+      XXXV. FINE WORK                             351
+
+     XXXVI. GATHERED THREADS                      364
+
+    XXXVII. CULMINATION                           373
+
+   XXXVIII. A FULL CONFESSION                     384
+
+     XXXIX. THE OUTCOME OF A GREAT CRIME          405
+
+
+
+
+Illustrations
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+  “I did not go, but stood watching the firelight flicker
+  on her black dress”                                     Frontispiece
+
+  “What was my astonishment to come upon Miss Eleanore Leavenworth
+  standing at the side of her uncle’s bed, with his pistol in her
+  hand”                                                             48
+
+  “Pausing only long enough on the threshold to compose myself
+  for the interview, I lifted my hand to knock”                     50
+
+  “Her whole appearance was so startling, so extraordinary, that
+  I held my breath in surprise”                                     52
+
+  “She . . . was fumbling with the waist of her dress in a way
+  to convince me she had something concealed there which she was
+  anxious to dispose of” 88
+
+  “He pushed me upwards. ‘Go back!’ he whispered, . . . ‘Go
+  back!’”                                                          164
+
+  “I could not prevent a feeling of sickly apprehension from
+  seizing me as I turned towards the silent figure stretched
+  so near”                                                         276
+
+  “I crawled up on to the ledge of the slanting roof last night
+   . . . and . . . saw her moving round the room”                  280
+
+  “At the sight of his face, the man in our arms quivered,
+  shrieked, and gave one bound that would have overturned Mr.
+  Clavering, . . . had not Mr. Gryce interposed”                   374
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I. THE PROBLEM
+
+
+
+
+I. “A GREAT CASE”
+
+      “A deed of dreadful note.”
+
+                                Macbeth.
+
+
+I had been a junior partner in the firm of Veeley, Carr & Raymond,
+attorneys and counsellors at law, for about a year, when one
+morning, in the temporary absence of both Mr. Veeley and Mr. Carr,
+there came into our office a young man whose whole appearance was
+so indicative of haste and agitation that I involuntarily rose at
+his approach and impetuously inquired:
+
+“What is the matter? You have no bad news to tell, I hope.”
+
+“I have come to see Mr. Veeley; is he in?”
+
+“No,” I replied; “he was unexpectedly called away this morning to
+Washington; cannot be home before to-morrow; but if you will make
+your business known to me----”
+
+“To you, sir?” he repeated, turning a very cold but steady eye on
+mine; then, seeming to be satisfied with his scrutiny, continued,
+“There is no reason why I shouldn’t; my business is no secret. I
+came to inform him that Mr. Leavenworth is dead.”
+
+“Mr. Leavenworth!” I exclaimed, falling back a step. Mr.
+Leavenworth was an old client of our firm, to say nothing of his
+being the particular friend of Mr. Veeley.
+
+“Yes, murdered; shot through the head by some unknown person while
+sitting at his library table.”
+
+“Shot! murdered!” I could scarcely believe my ears.
+
+“How? when?” I gasped.
+
+“Last night. At least, so we suppose. He was not found till this
+morning. I am Mr. Leavenworth’s private secretary,” he explained,
+“and live in the family. It was a dreadful shock,” he went on,
+“especially to the ladies.”
+
+“Dreadful!” I repeated. “Mr. Veeley will be overwhelmed by it.”
+
+“They are all alone,” he continued in a low business-like way
+I afterwards found to be inseparable from the man; “the Misses
+Leavenworth, I mean--Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces; and as an inquest
+is to be held there to-day it is deemed proper for them to have
+some one present capable of advising them. As Mr. Veeley was their
+uncle’s best friend, they naturally sent me for him; but he being
+absent I am at a loss what to do or where to go.”
+
+“I am a stranger to the ladies,” was my hesitating reply, “but if
+I can be of any assistance to them, my respect for their uncle is
+such----”
+
+The expression of the secretary’s eye stopped me. Without seeming
+to wander from my face, its pupil had suddenly dilated till it
+appeared to embrace my whole person with its scope.
+
+“I don’t know,” he finally remarked, a slight frown, testifying to
+the fact that he was not altogether pleased with the turn affairs
+were taking. “Perhaps it would be best. The ladies must not be left
+alone----”
+
+“Say no more; I will go.” And, sitting down, I despatched a hurried
+message to Mr. Veeley, after which, and the few other preparations
+necessary, I accompanied the secretary to the street.
+
+“Now,” said I, “tell me all you know of this frightful affair.”
+
+“All I know? A few words will do that. I left him last night
+sitting as usual at his library table, and found him this morning,
+seated in the same place, almost in the same position, but with a
+bullet-hole in his head as large as the end of my little finger.”
+
+“Dead?”
+
+“Stone-dead.”
+
+“Horrible!” I exclaimed. Then, after a moment, “Could it have been
+a suicide?”
+
+“No. The pistol with which the deed was committed is not to be
+found.”
+
+“But if it was a murder, there must have been some motive. Mr.
+Leavenworth was too benevolent a man to have enemies, and if
+robbery was intended----”
+
+“There was no robbery. There is nothing missing,” he again
+interrupted. “The whole affair is a mystery.”
+
+“A mystery?”
+
+“An utter mystery.”
+
+Turning, I looked at my informant curiously. The inmate of a house
+in which a mysterious murder had occurred was rather an interesting
+object. But the good-featured and yet totally unimpressive
+countenance of the man beside me offered but little basis for
+even the wildest imagination to work upon, and, glancing almost
+immediately away, I asked:
+
+“Are the ladies very much overcome?”
+
+He took at least a half-dozen steps before replying.
+
+“It would be unnatural if they were not.” And whether it was
+the expression of his face at the time, or the nature of the
+reply itself, I felt that in speaking of these ladies to
+this uninteresting, self-possessed secretary of the late Mr.
+Leavenworth, I was somehow treading upon dangerous ground. As I
+had heard they were very accomplished women, I was not altogether
+pleased at this discovery. It was, therefore, with a certain
+consciousness of relief I saw a Fifth Avenue stage approach.
+
+“We will defer our conversation,” said I. “Here’s the stage.”
+
+But, once seated within it, we soon discovered that all intercourse
+upon such a subject was impossible. Employing the time, therefore,
+in running over in my mind what I knew of Mr. Leavenworth, I found
+that my knowledge was limited to the bare fact of his being a
+retired merchant of great wealth and fine social position who, in
+default of possessing children of his own, had taken into his home
+two nieces, one of whom had already been declared his heiress. To
+be sure, I had heard Mr. Veeley speak of his eccentricities, giving
+as an instance this very fact of his making a will in favor of
+one niece to the utter exclusion of the other; but of his habits
+of life and connection with the world at large, I knew little or
+nothing.
+
+There was a great crowd in front of the house when we arrived
+there, and I had barely time to observe that it was a corner
+dwelling of unusual depth when I was seized by the throng and
+carried quite to the foot of the broad stone steps. Extricating
+myself, though with some difficulty, owing to the importunities of
+a bootblack and butcher-boy, who seemed to think that by clinging
+to my arms they might succeed in smuggling themselves into the
+house, I mounted the steps and, finding the secretary, by some
+unaccountable good fortune, close to my side, hurriedly rang the
+bell. Immediately the door opened, and a face I recognized as that
+of one of our city detectives appeared in the gap.
+
+“Mr. Gryce!” I exclaimed.
+
+“The same,” he replied. “Come in, Mr. Raymond.” And drawing us
+quietly into the house, he shut the door with a grim smile on the
+disappointed crowd without. “I trust you are not surprised to see
+me here,” said he, holding out his hand, with a side glance at my
+companion.
+
+“No,” I returned. Then, with a vague idea that I ought to
+introduce the young man at my side, continued: “This is Mr.
+----, Mr. ----,--excuse me, but I do not know your name,” I said
+inquiringly to my companion. “The private secretary of the late Mr.
+Leavenworth,” I hastened to add.
+
+“Oh,” he returned, “the secretary! The coroner has been asking for
+you, sir.”
+
+“The coroner is here, then?”
+
+“Yes; the jury have just gone up-stairs to view the body; would you
+like to follow them?”
+
+“No, it is not necessary. I have merely come in the hope of being
+of some assistance to the young ladies. Mr. Veeley is away.”
+
+“And you thought the opportunity too good to be lost,” he went on;
+“just so. Still, now that you are here, and as the case promises to
+be a marked one, I should think that, as a rising young lawyer, you
+would wish to make yourself acquainted with it in all its details.
+But follow your own judgment.”
+
+I made an effort and overcame my repugnance. “I will go,” said I.
+
+“Very well, then, follow me.”
+
+But just as I set foot on the stairs I heard the jury descending,
+so, drawing back with Mr. Gryce into a recess between the reception
+room and the parlor, I had time to remark:
+
+“The young man says it could not have been the work of a burglar.”
+
+“Indeed!” fixing his eye on a door-knob near by.
+
+“That nothing has been found missing--”
+
+“And that the fastenings to the house were all found secure this
+morning; just so.”
+
+“He did not tell me that. In that case”--and I shuddered--“the
+murderer must have been in the house all night.”
+
+Mr. Gryce smiled darkly at the door-knob.
+
+“It has a dreadful look!” I exclaimed.
+
+Mr. Gryce immediately frowned at the door-knob.
+
+And here let me say that Mr. Gryce, the detective, was not the
+thin, wiry individual with the piercing eye you are doubtless
+expecting to see. On the contrary, Mr. Gryce was a portly,
+comfortable personage with an eye that never pierced, that did not
+even rest on _you_. If it rested anywhere, it was always on some
+insignificant object in the vicinity, some vase, inkstand, book,
+or button. These things he would seem to take into his confidence,
+make the repositories of his conclusions; but as for you--you might
+as well be the steeple on Trinity Church, for all connection you
+ever appeared to have with him or his thoughts. At present, then,
+Mr. Gryce was, as I have already suggested, on intimate terms with
+the door-knob.
+
+“A dreadful look,” I repeated.
+
+His eye shifted to the button on my sleeve.
+
+“Come,” he said, “the coast is clear at last.”
+
+Leading the way, he mounted the stairs, but stopped on the upper
+landing. “Mr. Raymond,” said he, “I am not in the habit of
+talking much about the secrets of my profession, but in this case
+everything depends upon getting the right clue at the start. We
+have no common villainy to deal with here; genius has been at work.
+Now sometimes an absolutely uninitiated mind will intuitively catch
+at something which the most highly trained intellect will miss.
+If such a thing should occur, remember that I am your man. Don’t
+go round talking, but come to me. For this is going to be a great
+case, mind you, a great case. Now, come on.”
+
+“But the ladies?”
+
+“They are in the rooms above; in grief, of course, but tolerably
+composed for all that, I hear.” And advancing to a door, he pushed
+it open and beckoned me in.
+
+All was dark for a moment, but presently, my eyes becoming
+accustomed to the place, I saw that we were in the library.
+
+“It was here he was found,” said he; “in this room and upon this
+very spot.” And advancing, he laid his hand on the end of a large
+baize-covered table that, together with its attendant chairs,
+occupied the centre of the room. “You see for yourself that it is
+directly opposite this door,” and, crossing the floor, he paused
+in front of the threshold of a narrow passageway, opening into a
+room beyond.[A] “As the murdered man was discovered sitting in
+this chair, and consequently with his back towards the passageway,
+the assassin must have advanced through the doorway to deliver his
+shot, pausing, let us say, about here.” And Mr. Gryce planted his
+feet firmly upon a certain spot in the carpet, about a foot from
+the threshold before mentioned.
+
+“But--” I hastened to interpose.
+
+“There is no room for ‘but,’” he cried. “We have studied the
+situation.” And without deigning to dilate upon the subject, he
+turned immediately about and, stepping swiftly before me, led the
+way into the passage named. “Wine closet, clothes closet, washing
+apparatus, towel-rack,” he explained, waving his hand from side
+to side as we hurried through, finishing with “Mr. Leavenworth’s
+private apartment,” as that room of comfortable aspect opened upon
+us.
+
+Mr. Leavenworth’s private apartment! It was here then that _it_
+ought to be, the horrible, blood-curdling _it_ that yesterday was
+a living, breathing man. Advancing to the bed that was hung with
+heavy curtains, I raised my hand to put them back, when Mr. Gryce,
+drawing them from my clasp, disclosed lying upon the pillow a cold,
+calm face looking so natural I involuntarily started.
+
+“His death was too sudden to distort the features,” he remarked,
+turning the head to one side in a way to make visible a ghastly
+wound in the back of the cranium. “Such a hole as that sends a man
+out of the world without much notice. The surgeon will convince
+you it could never have been inflicted by himself. It is a case of
+deliberate murder.”
+
+Horrified, I drew hastily back, when my glance fell upon a door
+situated directly opposite me in the side of the wall towards the
+hall. It appeared to be the only outlet from the room, with the
+exception of the passage through which we had entered, and I could
+not help wondering if it was through this door the assassin had
+entered on his roundabout course to the library. But Mr. Gryce,
+seemingly observant of my glance, though his own was fixed upon the
+chandelier, made haste to remark, as if in reply to the inquiry in
+my face:
+
+“Found locked on the inside; may have come that way and may not; we
+don’t pretend to say.”
+
+Observing now that the bed was undisturbed in its arrangement, I
+remarked, “He had not retired, then?”
+
+“No; the tragedy must be ten hours old. Time for the murderer to
+have studied the situation and provided for all contingencies.”
+
+“The murderer? Whom do you suspect?” I whispered.
+
+He looked impassively at the ring on my finger.
+
+“Every one and nobody. It is not for me to suspect, but to detect.”
+And dropping the curtain into its former position he led me from
+the room.
+
+The coroner’s inquest being now in session, I felt a strong desire
+to be present, so, requesting Mr. Gryce to inform the ladies
+that Mr. Veeley was absent from town, and that I had come as his
+substitute, to render them any assistance they might require on so
+melancholy an occasion, I proceeded to the large parlor below, and
+took my seat among the various persons there assembled.
+
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] For those who are interested in the details of this affair, the
+following diagram is given:
+
+[Illustration: 1. Library table. 2. Chair. 3. Passageway. 4. Bed.
+5. Shaving stand.]
+
+
+
+
+II. THE CORONER’S INQUEST
+
+      “The baby figure of the giant mass
+      Of things to come.”
+
+                                    Troilus and Cressida.
+
+
+For a few minutes I sat dazed by the sudden flood of light greeting
+me from the many open windows; then, as the strongly contrasting
+features of the scene before me began to impress themselves upon my
+consciousness, I found myself experiencing something of the same
+sensation of double personality which years before had followed an
+enforced use of ether. As at that time, I appeared to be living
+two lives at once: in two distinct places, with two separate sets
+of incidents going on; so now I seemed to be divided between two
+irreconcilable trains of thought; the gorgeous house, its elaborate
+furnishing, the little glimpses of yesterday’s life, as seen in the
+open piano, with its sheet of music held in place by a lady’s fan,
+occupying my attention fully as much as the aspect of the throng of
+incongruous and impatient people huddled about me.
+
+Perhaps one reason of this lay in the extraordinary splendor of
+the room I was in; the glow of satin, glitter of bronze, and
+glimmer of marble meeting the eye at every turn. But I am rather
+inclined to think it was mainly due to the force and eloquence of a
+certain picture which confronted me from the opposite wall. A sweet
+picture--sweet enough and poetic enough to have been conceived
+by the most idealistic of artists: simple, too--the vision of a
+young flaxen-haired, blue-eyed coquette, dressed in the costume of
+the First Empire, standing in a wood-path, looking back over her
+shoulder at some one following--yet with such a dash of something
+not altogether saint-like in the corners of her meek eyes and
+baby-like lips, that it impressed me with the individuality of
+life. Had it not been for the open dress, with its waist almost
+beneath the armpits, the hair cut short on the forehead, and the
+perfection of the neck and shoulders, I should have taken it
+for a literal portrait of one of the ladies of the house. As it
+was, I could not rid myself of the idea that one, if not both,
+of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces looked down upon me from the eyes of
+this entrancing blonde with the beckoning glance and forbidding
+hand. So vividly did this fancy impress me that I half shuddered
+as I looked, wondering if this sweet creature did not know what
+had occurred in this house since the happy yesterday; and if so,
+how she could stand there smiling so invitingly,--when suddenly
+I became aware that I had been watching the little crowd of men
+about me with as complete an absorption as if nothing else in the
+room had attracted my attention; that the face of the coroner,
+sternly intelligent and attentive, was as distinctly imprinted
+upon my mind as that of this lovely picture, or the clearer-cut
+and more noble features of the sculptured Psyche, shining in
+mellow beauty from the crimson-hung window at his right; yes, even
+that the various countenances of the jurymen clustered before me,
+commonplace and insignificant as most of them were; the trembling
+forms of the excited servants crowded into a far corner; and the
+still more disagreeable aspect of the pale-faced, seedy reporter,
+seated at a small table and writing with a ghoul-like avidity that
+made my flesh creep, were each and all as fixed an element in the
+remarkable scene before me as the splendor of the surroundings
+which made their presence such a nightmare of discord and unreality.
+
+I have spoken of the coroner. As fortune would have it, he was
+no stranger to me. I had not only seen him before, but had held
+frequent conversation with him; in fact, knew him. His name was
+Hammond, and he was universally regarded as a man of more than
+ordinary acuteness, fully capable of conducting an important
+examination, with the necessary skill and address. Interested as
+I was, or rather was likely to be, in this particular inquiry, I
+could not but congratulate myself upon our good fortune in having
+so intelligent a coroner.
+
+As for his jurymen, they were, as I have intimated, very much like
+all other bodies of a similar character. Picked up at random from
+the streets, but from such streets as the Fifth and Sixth Avenues,
+they presented much the same appearance of average intelligence and
+refinement as might be seen in the chance occupants of one of our
+city stages. Indeed, I marked but one amongst them all who seemed
+to take any interest in the inquiry as an inquiry; all the rest
+appearing to be actuated in the fulfilment of their duty by the
+commoner instincts of pity and indignation.
+
+Dr. Maynard, the well-known surgeon of Thirty-sixth Street, was
+the first witness called. His testimony concerned the nature of
+the wound found in the murdered man’s head. As some of the facts
+presented by him are likely to prove of importance to us in our
+narrative, I will proceed to give a synopsis of what he said.
+
+Prefacing his remarks with some account of himself, and the
+manner in which he had been summoned to the house by one of the
+servants, he went on to state that, upon his arrival, he found
+the deceased lying on a bed in the second-story front room, with
+the blood clotted about a pistol-wound in the back of the head;
+having evidently been carried there from the adjoining apartment
+some hours after death. It was the only wound discovered on the
+body, and having probed it, he had found and extracted the bullet
+which he now handed to the jury. It was lying in the brain, having
+entered at the base of the skull, passed obliquely upward, and
+at once struck the _medulla oblongata_, causing instant death.
+The fact of the ball having entered the brain in this peculiar
+manner he deemed worthy of note, since it would produce not only
+instantaneous death, but an utterly motionless one. Further, from
+the position of the bullet-hole and the direction taken by the
+bullet, it was manifestly impossible that the shot should have been
+fired by the man himself, even if the condition of the hair about
+the wound did not completely demonstrate the fact that the shot was
+fired from a point some three or four feet distant. Still further,
+considering the angle at which the bullet had entered the skull,
+it was evident that the deceased must not only have been seated
+at the time, a fact about which there could be no dispute, but he
+must also have been engaged in some occupation which drew his head
+forward. For, in order that a ball should enter the head of a man
+sitting erect at the angle seen here, of 45 degrees, it would be
+necessary, not only for the pistol to be held very low down, but in
+a peculiar position; while if the head had been bent forward, as in
+the act of writing, a man holding a pistol naturally with the elbow
+bent, might very easily fire a ball into the brain at the angle
+observed.
+
+Upon being questioned in regard to the bodily health of Mr.
+Leavenworth, he replied that the deceased appeared to have been
+in good condition at the time of his death, but that, not being
+his attendant physician, he could not speak conclusively upon
+the subject without further examination; and, to the remark of
+a juryman, observed that he had not seen pistol or weapon lying
+upon the floor, or, indeed, anywhere else in either of the
+above-mentioned rooms.
+
+I might as well add here what he afterwards stated, that from the
+position of the table, the chair, and the door behind it, the
+murderer, in order to satisfy all the conditions imposed by the
+situation, must have stood upon, or just within, the threshold of
+the passageway leading into the room beyond. Also, that as the ball
+was small, and from a rifled barrel, and thus especially liable
+to deflections while passing through bones and integuments, it
+seemed to him evident that the victim had made no effort to raise
+or turn his head when advanced upon by his destroyer; the fearful
+conclusion being that the footstep was an accustomed one, and the
+presence of its possessor in the room either known or expected.
+
+The physician’s testimony being ended, the coroner picked up the
+bullet which had been laid on the table before him, and for a
+moment rolled it contemplatively between his fingers; then, drawing
+a pencil from his pocket, hastily scrawled a line or two on a
+piece of paper and, calling an officer to his side, delivered some
+command in a low tone. The officer, taking up the slip, looked at
+it for an instant knowingly, then catching up his hat left the
+room. Another moment, and the front door closed on him, and a wild
+halloo from the crowd of urchins without told of his appearance in
+the street. Sitting where I did, I had a full view of the corner.
+Looking out, I saw the officer stop there, hail a cab, hastily
+enter it, and disappear in the direction of Broadway.
+
+
+
+
+III. FACTS AND DEDUCTIONS
+
+      “Confusion now hath made his master-piece;
+      Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
+      The Lord’s anointed temple, and stolen thence
+      The life of the building.”
+
+                                                  Macbeth.
+
+
+Turning my attention back into the room where I was, I found the
+coroner consulting a memorandum through a very impressive pair of
+gold eye-glasses.
+
+“Is the butler here?” he asked.
+
+Immediately there was a stir among the group of servants in the
+corner, and an intelligent-looking, though somewhat pompous,
+Irishman stepped out from their midst and confronted the jury.
+“Ah,” thought I to myself, as my glance encountered his precise
+whiskers, steady eye, and respectfully attentive, though by no
+means humble, expression, “here is a model servant, who is likely
+to prove a model witness.” And I was not mistaken; Thomas, the
+butler, was in all respects one in a thousand--and he knew it.
+
+The coroner, upon whom, as upon all others in the room, he seemed
+to have made the like favorable impression, proceeded without
+hesitation to interrogate him.
+
+“Your name, I am told, is Thomas Dougherty?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Well, Thomas, how long have you been employed in your present
+situation?”
+
+“It must be a matter of two years now, sir.”
+
+“You are the person who first discovered the body of Mr.
+Leavenworth?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I and Mr. Harwell.”
+
+“And who is Mr. Harwell?”
+
+“Mr. Harwell is Mr. Leavenworth’s private secretary, sir; the one
+who did his writing.”
+
+“Very good. Now at what time of the day or night did you make this
+discovery?”
+
+“It was early, sir; early this morning, about eight.”
+
+“And where?”
+
+“In the library, sir, off Mr. Leavenworth’s bedroom. We had forced
+our way in, feeling anxious about his not coming to breakfast.”
+
+“You forced your way in; the door was locked, then?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“On the inside?”
+
+“That I cannot tell; there was no key in the door.”
+
+“Where was Mr. Leavenworth lying when you first found him?”
+
+“He was not lying, sir. He was seated at the large table in the
+centre of his room, his back to the bedroom door, leaning forward,
+his head on his hands.”
+
+“How was he dressed?”
+
+“In his dinner suit, sir, just as he came from the table last
+night.”
+
+“Were there any evidences in the room that a struggle had taken
+place?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Any pistol on the floor or table?”
+
+“No, sir?”
+
+“Any reason to suppose that robbery had been attempted?”
+
+“No, sir. Mr. Leavenworth’s watch and purse were both in his
+pockets.”
+
+Being asked to mention who were in the house at the time of the
+discovery, he replied, “The young ladies, Miss Mary Leavenworth
+and Miss Eleanore, Mr. Harwell, Kate the cook, Molly the up-stairs
+girl, and myself.”
+
+“The usual members of the household?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Now tell me whose duty it is to close up the house at night.”
+
+“Mine, sir.”
+
+“Did you secure it as usual, last night?”
+
+“I did, sir.”
+
+“Who unfastened it this morning?”
+
+“I, sir.”
+
+“How did you find it?”
+
+“Just as I left it.”
+
+“What, not a window open nor a door unlocked?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+By this time you could have heard a pin drop. The certainty that
+the murderer, whoever he was, had not left the house, at least
+till after it was opened in the morning, seemed to weigh upon all
+minds. Forewarned as I had been of the fact, I could not but feel
+a certain degree of emotion at having it thus brought before me;
+and, moving so as to bring the butler’s face within view, searched
+it for some secret token that he had spoken thus emphatically in
+order to cover up some failure of duty on his own part. But it was
+unmoved in its candor, and sustained the concentrated gaze of all
+in the room like a rock.
+
+Being now asked when he had last seen Mr. Leavenworth alive, he
+replied, “At dinner last night.”
+
+“He was, however, seen later by some of you?”
+
+“Yes, sir; Mr. Harwell says he saw him as late as half-past ten in
+the evening.”
+
+“What room do you occupy in this house?”
+
+“A little one on the basement floor.”
+
+“And where do the other members of the household sleep?”
+
+“Mostly on the third floor, sir; the ladies in the large back
+rooms, and Mr. Harwell in the little one in front. The girls sleep
+above.”
+
+“There was no one on the same floor with Mr. Leavenworth?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“At what hour did you go to bed?”
+
+“Well, I should say about eleven.”
+
+“Did you hear any noise in the house either before or after that
+time, that you remember?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“So that the discovery you made this morning was a surprise to you?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+Requested now to give a more detailed account of that discovery,
+he went on to say it was not till Mr. Leavenworth failed to come
+to his breakfast at the call of the bell that any suspicion arose
+in the house that all was not right. Even then they waited some
+little time before doing anything, but as minute after minute went
+by and he did not come, Miss Eleanore grew anxious, and finally
+left the room saying she would go and see what was the matter, but
+soon returned looking very much frightened, saying she had knocked
+at her uncle’s door, and had even called to him, but could get no
+answer. At which Mr. Harwell and himself had gone up and together
+tried both doors, and, finding them locked, burst open that of the
+library, when they came upon Mr. Leavenworth, as he had already
+said, sitting at the table, dead.
+
+“And the ladies?”
+
+“Oh, they followed us up and came into the room and Miss Eleanore
+fainted away.”
+
+“And the other one,--Miss Mary, I believe they call her?”
+
+“I don’t remember anything about her; I was so busy fetching water
+to restore Miss Eleanore, I didn’t notice.”
+
+“Well, how long was it before Mr. Leavenworth was carried into the
+next room?”
+
+“Almost immediate, as soon as Miss Eleanore recovered, and that was
+as soon as ever the water touched her lips.”
+
+“Who proposed that the body should be carried from the spot?”
+
+“She, sir. As soon as ever she stood up she went over to it and
+looked at it and shuddered, and then calling Mr. Harwell and me,
+bade us carry him in and lay him on the bed and go for the doctor,
+which we did.”
+
+“Wait a moment; did she go with you when you went into the other
+room?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“What did she do?”
+
+“She stayed by the library table.”
+
+“What doing?”
+
+“I couldn’t see; her back was to me.”
+
+“How long did she stay there?”
+
+“She was gone when we came back.”
+
+“Gone from the table?”
+
+“Gone from the room.”
+
+“Humph! when did you see her again?”
+
+“In a minute. She came in at the library door as we went out.”
+
+“Anything in her hand?”
+
+“Not as I see.”
+
+“Did you miss anything from the table?”
+
+“I never thought to look, sir. The table was nothing to me. I was
+only thinking of going for the doctor, though I knew it was of no
+use.”
+
+“Whom did you leave in the room when you went out?”
+
+“The cook, sir, and Molly, sir, and Miss Eleanore.”
+
+“Not Miss Mary?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Very well. Have the jury any questions to put to this man?”
+
+A movement at once took place in that profound body.
+
+“I should like to ask a few,” exclaimed a weazen-faced, excitable
+little man whom I had before noticed shifting in his seat in a
+restless manner strongly suggestive of an intense but hitherto
+repressed desire to interrupt the proceedings.
+
+“Very well, sir,” returned Thomas.
+
+But the juryman stopping to draw a deep breath, a large and
+decidedly pompous man who sat at his right hand seized the
+opportunity to inquire in a round, listen-to-me sort of voice:
+
+“You say you have been in the family for two years. Was it what you
+might call a united family?”
+
+“United?”
+
+“Affectionate, you know,--on good terms with each other.” And the
+juryman lifted the very long and heavy watch-chain that hung across
+his vest as if that as well as himself had a right to a suitable
+and well-considered reply.
+
+The butler, impressed perhaps by his manner, glanced uneasily
+around. “Yes, sir, so far as I know.”
+
+“The young ladies were attached to their uncle?”
+
+“O yes, sir.”
+
+“And to each other?”
+
+“Well, yes, I suppose so; it’s not for me to say.”
+
+“You suppose so. Have you any reason to think otherwise?” And he
+doubled the watch-chain about his fingers as if he would double its
+attention as well as his own.
+
+Thomas hesitated a moment. But just as his interlocutor was about
+to repeat his question, he drew himself up into a rather stiff and
+formal attitude and replied:
+
+“Well, sir, no.”
+
+The juryman, for all his self-assertion, seemed to respect the
+reticence of a servant who declined to give his opinion in regard
+to such a matter, and drawing complacently back, signified with a
+wave of his hand that he had no more to say.
+
+Immediately the excitable little man, before mentioned, slipped
+forward to the edge of his chair and asked, this time without
+hesitation: “At what time did you unfasten the house this morning?”
+
+“About six, sir.”
+
+“Now, could any one leave the house after that time without your
+knowledge?”
+
+Thomas glanced a trifle uneasily at his fellow-servants, but
+answered up promptly and as if without reserve:
+
+“I don’t think it would be possible for anybody to leave this
+house after six in the morning without either myself or the cook’s
+knowing of it. Folks don’t jump from second-story windows in broad
+daylight, and as to leaving by the doors, the front door closes
+with such a slam all the house can hear it from top to bottom, and
+as for the back-door, no one that goes out of that can get clear of
+the yard without going by the kitchen window, and no one can go by
+our kitchen window without the cook’s a-seeing of them, that I can
+just swear to.” And he cast a half-quizzing, half-malicious look at
+the round, red-faced individual in question, strongly suggestive
+of late and unforgotten bickerings over the kitchen coffee-urn and
+castor.
+
+This reply, which was of a nature calculated to deepen the
+forebodings which had already settled upon the minds of those
+present, produced a visible effect. The house found locked, and no
+one seen to leave it! Evidently, then, we had not far to look for
+the assassin.
+
+Shifting on his chair with increased fervor, if I may so speak,
+the juryman glanced sharply around. But perceiving the renewed
+interest in the faces about him, declined to weaken the effect of
+the last admission, by any further questions. Settling, therefore,
+comfortably back, he left the field open for any other juror who
+might choose to press the inquiry. But no one seeming to be ready
+to do this, Thomas in his turn evinced impatience, and at last,
+looking respectfully around, inquired:
+
+“Would any other gentleman like to ask me anything?”
+
+No one replying, he threw a hurried glance of relief towards the
+servants at his side, then, while each one marvelled at the sudden
+change that had taken place in his countenance, withdrew with an
+eager alacrity and evident satisfaction for which I could not at
+the moment account.
+
+But the next witness proving to be none other than my acquaintance
+of the morning, Mr. Harwell, I soon forgot both Thomas and the
+doubts his last movement had awakened, in the interest which
+the examination of so important a person as the secretary and
+right-hand man of Mr. Leavenworth was likely to create.
+
+Advancing with the calm and determined air of one who realized
+that life and death itself might hang upon his words, Mr. Harwell
+took his stand before the jury with a degree of dignity not only
+highly prepossessing in itself, but to me, who had not been over
+and above pleased with him in our first interview, admirable and
+surprising. Lacking, as I have said, any distinctive quality of
+face or form agreeable or otherwise--being what you might call in
+appearance a negative sort of person, his pale, regular features,
+dark, well-smoothed hair and simple whiskers, all belonging to a
+recognized type and very commonplace--there was still visible, on
+this occasion at least, a certain self-possession in his carriage,
+which went far towards making up for the want of impressiveness in
+his countenance and expression. Not that even this was in any way
+remarkable. Indeed, there was nothing remarkable about the man, any
+more than there is about a thousand others you meet every day on
+Broadway, unless you except the look of concentration and solemnity
+which pervaded his whole person; a solemnity which at this time
+would not have been noticeable, perhaps, if it had not appeared to
+be the habitual expression of one who in his short life had seen
+more of sorrow than joy, less of pleasure than care and anxiety.
+
+The coroner, to whom his appearance one way or the other seemed to
+be a matter of no moment, addressed him immediately and without
+reserve:
+
+“Your name?”
+
+“James Trueman Harwell.”
+
+“Your business?”
+
+“I have occupied the position of private secretary and amanuensis
+to Mr. Leavenworth for the past eight months.”
+
+“You are the person who last saw Mr. Leavenworth alive, are you
+not?”
+
+The young man raised his head with a haughty gesture which
+well-nigh transfigured it.
+
+“Certainly not, as I am not the man who killed him.”
+
+This answer, which seemed to introduce something akin to levity or
+badinage into an examination the seriousness of which we were all
+beginning to realize, produced an immediate revulsion of feeling
+toward the man who, in face of facts revealed and to be revealed,
+could so lightly make use of it. A hum of disapproval swept through
+the room, and in that one remark, James Harwell lost all that he
+had previously won by the self-possession of his bearing and the
+unflinching regard of his eye. He seemed himself to realize this,
+for he lifted his head still higher, though his general aspect
+remained unchanged.
+
+“I mean,” the coroner exclaimed, evidently nettled that the young
+man had been able to draw such a conclusion from his words, “that
+you were the last one to see him previous to his assassination by
+some unknown individual?”
+
+The secretary folded his arms, whether to hide a certain tremble
+which had seized him, or by that simple action to gain time for a
+moment’s further thought, I could not then determine. “Sir,” he
+replied at length, “I cannot answer yes or no to that question.
+In all probability I was the last to see him in good health and
+spirits, but in a house as large as this I cannot be sure of even
+so simple a fact as that.” Then, observing the unsatisfied look on
+the faces around, added slowly, “It is my business to see him late.”
+
+“Your business? Oh, as his secretary, I suppose?”
+
+He gravely nodded.
+
+“Mr. Harwell,” the coroner went on, “the office of private
+secretary in this country is not a common one. Will you explain to
+us what your duties were in that capacity; in short, what use Mr.
+Leavenworth had for such an assistant and how he employed you?”
+
+“Certainly. Mr. Leavenworth was, as you perhaps know, a man
+of great wealth. Connected with various societies, clubs,
+institutions, etc., besides being known far and near as a giving
+man, he was accustomed every day of his life to receive numerous
+letters, begging and otherwise, which it was my business to open
+and answer, his private correspondence always bearing a mark upon
+it which distinguished it from the rest. But this was not all I
+was expected to do. Having in his early life been engaged in the
+tea-trade, he had made more than one voyage to China, and was
+consequently much interested in the question of international
+communication between that country and our own. Thinking that in
+his various visits there, he had learned much which, if known to
+the American people, would conduce to our better understanding
+of the nation, its peculiarities, and the best manner of dealing
+with it, he has been engaged for some time in writing a book on
+the subject, which same it has been my business for the last eight
+months to assist him in preparing, by writing at his dictation
+three hours out of the twenty-four, the last hour being commonly
+taken from the evening, say from half-past nine to half-past
+ten, Mr. Leavenworth being a very methodical man and accustomed
+to regulate his own life and that of those about him with almost
+mathematical precision.”
+
+“You say you were accustomed to write at his dictation evenings?
+Did you do this as usual last evening?”
+
+“I did, sir.”
+
+“What can you tell us of his manner and appearance at the time?
+Were they in any way unusual?”
+
+A frown crossed the secretary’s brow.
+
+“As he probably had no premonition of his doom, why should there
+have been any change in his manner?”
+
+This giving the coroner an opportunity to revenge himself for his
+discomfiture of a moment before, he said somewhat severely:
+
+“It is the business of a witness to answer questions, not to put
+them.”
+
+The secretary flushed and the account stood even.
+
+“Very well, then, sir; if Mr. Leavenworth felt any forebodings of
+his end, he did not reveal them to me. On the contrary, he seemed
+to be more absorbed in his work than usual. One of the last words
+he said to me was, ‘In a month we will have this book in press,
+eh, Trueman?’ I remember this particularly, as he was filling his
+wineglass at the time. He always drank one glass of wine before
+retiring, it being my duty to bring the decanter of sherry from
+the closet the last thing before leaving him. I was standing with
+my hand on the knob of the hall-door, but advanced as he said this
+and replied, ‘I hope so, indeed, Mr. Leavenworth.’ ‘Then join me
+in drinking a glass of sherry,’ said he, motioning me to procure
+another glass from the closet. I did so, and he poured me out the
+wine with his own hand. I am not especially fond of sherry, but
+the occasion was a pleasant one and I drained my glass. I remember
+being slightly ashamed of doing so, for Mr. Leavenworth set his
+down half full. It was half full when we found him this morning.”
+
+Do what he would, and being a reserved man he appeared anxious
+to control his emotion, the horror of his first shock seemed to
+overwhelm him here. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he
+wiped his forehead. “Gentlemen, that is the last action of Mr.
+Leavenworth I ever saw. As he set the glass down on the table, I
+said good-night to him and left the room.”
+
+The coroner, with a characteristic imperviousness to all
+expressions of emotion, leaned back and surveyed the young man with
+a scrutinizing glance. “And where did you go then?” he asked.
+
+“To my own room.”
+
+“Did you meet anybody on the way?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Hear any thing or see anything unusual?”
+
+The secretary’s voice fell a trifle. “No, sir.”
+
+“Mr. Harwell, think again. Are you ready to swear that you neither
+met anybody, heard anybody, nor saw anything which lingers yet in
+your memory as unusual?”
+
+His face grew quite distressed. Twice he opened his lips to speak,
+and as often closed them without doing so. At last, with an effort,
+he replied:
+
+“I saw one thing, a little thing, too slight to mention, but it was
+unusual, and I could not help thinking of it when you spoke.”
+
+“What was it?”
+
+“Only a door half open.”
+
+“Whose door?”
+
+“Miss Eleanore Leavenworth’s.” His voice was almost a whisper now.
+
+“Where were you when you observed this fact?”
+
+“I cannot say exactly. Probably at my own door, as I did not stop
+on the way. If this frightful occurrence had not taken place I
+should never have thought of it again.”
+
+“When you went into your room did you close your door?”
+
+“I did, sir.”
+
+“How soon did you retire?”
+
+“Immediately.”
+
+“Did you hear nothing before you fell asleep?”
+
+Again that indefinable hesitation.
+
+“Barely nothing.”
+
+“Not a footstep in the hall?”
+
+“I might have heard a footstep.”
+
+“Did you?”
+
+“I cannot swear I did.”
+
+“Do you think you did?”
+
+“Yes, I think I did. To tell the whole: I remember hearing, just as
+I was falling into a doze, a rustle and a footstep in the hall; but
+it made no impression upon me, and I dropped asleep.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Some time later I woke, woke suddenly, as if something had
+startled me, but what, a noise or move, I cannot say. I remember
+rising up in my bed and looking around, but hearing nothing
+further, soon yielded to the drowsiness which possessed me and fell
+into a deep sleep. I did not wake again till morning.”
+
+Here requested to relate how and when he became acquainted with
+the fact of the murder, he substantiated, in all particulars, the
+account of the matter already given by the butler; which subject
+being exhausted, the coroner went on to ask if he had noted the
+condition of the library table after the body had been removed.
+
+“Somewhat; yes, sir.”
+
+“What was on it?”
+
+“The usual properties, sir, books, paper, a pen with the ink dried
+on it, besides the decanter and the wineglass from which he drank
+the night before.”
+
+“Nothing more?”
+
+“I remember nothing more.”
+
+“In regard to that decanter and glass,” broke in the juryman of
+the watch and chain, “did you not say that the latter was found in
+the same condition in which you saw it at the time you left Mr.
+Leavenworth sitting in his library?”
+
+“Yes, sir, very much.”
+
+“Yet he was in the habit of drinking a full glass?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“An interruption must then have ensued very close upon your
+departure, Mr. Harwell.”
+
+A cold bluish pallor suddenly broke out upon the young man’s face.
+He started, and for a moment looked as if struck by some horrible
+thought. “That does not follow, sir,” he articulated with some
+difficulty. “Mr. Leavenworth might--” but suddenly stopped, as if
+too much distressed to proceed.
+
+“Go on, Mr. Harwell, let us hear what you have to say.”
+
+“There is nothing,” he returned faintly, as if battling with some
+strong emotion.
+
+As he had not been answering a question, only volunteering an
+explanation, the coroner let it pass; but I saw more than one pair
+of eyes roll suspiciously from side to side, as if many there felt
+that some sort of clue had been offered them in this man’s emotion.
+The coroner, ignoring in his easy way both the emotion and the
+universal excitement it had produced, now proceeded to ask: “Do you
+know whether the key to the library was in its place when you left
+the room last night?”
+
+“No, sir; I did not notice.”
+
+“The presumption is, it was?”
+
+“I suppose so.”
+
+“At all events, the door was locked in the morning, and the key
+gone?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Then whoever committed this murder locked the door on passing out,
+and took away the key?”
+
+“It would seem so.”
+
+The coroner turning, faced the jury with an earnest look.
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “there seems to be a mystery in regard to
+this key which must be looked into.”
+
+Immediately a universal murmur swept through the room, testifying
+to the acquiescence of all present. The little juryman hastily
+rising proposed that an instant search should be made for it; but
+the coroner, turning upon him with what I should denominate as a
+quelling look, decided that the inquest should proceed in the usual
+manner, till the verbal testimony was all in.
+
+“Then allow me to ask a question,” again volunteered the
+irrepressible. “Mr. Harwell, we are told that upon the breaking
+in of the library door this morning, Mr. Leavenworth’s two nieces
+followed you into the room.”
+
+“One of them, sir, Miss Eleanore.”
+
+“Is Miss Eleanore the one who is said to be Mr. Leavenworth’s sole
+heiress?” the coroner here interposed.
+
+“No, sir, that is Miss Mary.”
+
+“That she gave orders,” pursued the juryman, “for the removal of
+the body into the further room?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And that you obeyed her by helping to carry it in?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Now, in thus passing through the rooms, did you observe anything
+to lead you to form a suspicion of the murderer?”
+
+The secretary shook his head. “I have no suspicion,” he
+emphatically said.
+
+Somehow, I did not believe him. Whether it was the tone of his
+voice, the clutch of his hand on his sleeve--and the hand will
+often reveal more than the countenance--I felt that this man was
+not to be relied upon in making this assertion.
+
+“I should like to ask Mr. Harwell a question,” said a juryman
+who had not yet spoken. “We have had a detailed account of what
+looks like the discovery of a murdered man. Now, murder is never
+committed without some motive. Does the secretary know whether Mr.
+Leavenworth had any secret enemy?”
+
+“I do not.”
+
+“Every one in the house seemed to be on good terms with him?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” with a little quaver of dissent in the assertion,
+however.
+
+“Not a shadow lay between him and any other member of his
+household, so far as you know?”
+
+“I am not ready to say that,” he returned, quite distressed. “A
+shadow is a very slight thing. There might have been a shadow----”
+
+“Between him and whom?”
+
+A long hesitation. “One of his nieces, sir.”
+
+“Which one?”
+
+Again that defiant lift of the head. “Miss Eleanore.”
+
+“How long has this shadow been observable?”
+
+“I cannot say.”
+
+“You do not know the cause?”
+
+“I do not.”
+
+“Nor the extent of the feeling?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“You open Mr. Leavenworth’s letters?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“Has there been anything in his correspondence of late calculated
+to throw any light upon this deed?”
+
+It actually seemed as if he never would answer. Was he simply
+pondering over his reply, or was the man turned to stone?
+
+“Mr. Harwell, did you hear the juryman?” inquired the coroner.
+
+“Yes, sir; I was thinking.”
+
+“Very well, now answer.”
+
+“Sir,” he replied, turning and looking the juryman full in the
+face, and in that way revealing his unguarded left hand to my gaze,
+“I have opened Mr. Leavenworth’s letters as usual for the last two
+weeks, and I can think of nothing in them bearing in the least upon
+this tragedy.”
+
+The man lied; I knew it instantly. The clenched hand pausing
+irresolute, then making up its mind to go through with the lie
+firmly, was enough for me.
+
+“Mr. Harwell, this is undoubtedly true according to your judgment,”
+said the coroner; “but Mr. Leavenworth’s correspondence will have
+to be searched for all that.”
+
+“Of course,” he replied carelessly; “that is only right.”
+
+This remark ended Mr. Harwell’s examination for the time. As he sat
+down I made note of four things.
+
+That Mr. Harwell himself, for some reason not given, was conscious
+of a suspicion which he was anxious to suppress even from his own
+mind.
+
+That a woman was in some way connected with it, a rustle as well as
+a footstep having been heard by him on the stairs.
+
+That a letter had arrived at the house, which if found would be
+likely to throw some light upon this subject.
+
+That Eleanore Leavenworth’s name came with difficulty from his
+lips; this evidently unimpressible man, manifesting more or less
+emotion whenever he was called upon to utter it.
+
+
+
+
+IV. A CLUE.
+
+      “Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.”
+
+                                                  Hamlet.
+
+
+The cook of the establishment being now called, that portly,
+ruddy-faced individual stepped forward with alacrity, displaying
+upon her good-humored countenance such an expression of mingled
+eagerness and anxiety that more than one person present found it
+difficult to restrain a smile at her appearance. Observing this and
+taking it as a compliment, being a woman as well as a cook, she
+immediately dropped a curtsey, and opening her lips was about to
+speak, when the coroner, rising impatiently in his seat, took the
+word from her mouth by saying sternly:
+
+“Your name?”
+
+“Katherine Malone, sir.”
+
+“Well, Katherine, how long have you been in Mr. Leavenworth’s
+service?”
+
+“Shure, it is a good twelvemonth now, sir, since I came, on Mrs.
+Wilson’s ricommindation, to that very front door, and----”
+
+“Never mind the front door, but tell us why you left this Mrs.
+Wilson?”
+
+“Shure, and it was she as left me, being as she went sailing to the
+ould country the same day when on her recommendation I came to this
+very front door--”
+
+“Well, well; no matter about that. You have been in Mr.
+Leavenworth’s family a year?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And liked it? found him a good master?”
+
+“Och, sir, niver have I found a better, worse luck to the villain
+as killed him. He was that free and ginerous, sir, that many’s
+the time I killed him. He was that free and ginerous, sir, that
+many’s the time I have said to Hannah--” She stopped, with a sudden
+comical gasp of terror, looking at her fellow-servants like one who
+had incautiously made a slip. The coroner, observing this, inquired
+hastily:
+
+“Hannah? Who is Hannah?”
+
+The cook, drawing her roly-poly figure up into some sort of shape
+in her efforts to appear unconcerned, exclaimed boldly: “She? Oh,
+only the ladies’ maid, sir.”
+
+“But I don’t see any one here answering to that description. You
+didn’t speak of any one by the name of Hannah, as belonging to the
+house,” said he, turning to Thomas.
+
+“No, sir,” the latter replied, with a bow and a sidelong look at
+the red-cheeked girl at his side. “You asked me who were in the
+house at the time the murder was discovered, and I told you.”
+
+“Oh,” cried the coroner, satirically; “used to police courts, I
+see.” Then, turning back to the cook, who had all this while been
+rolling her eyes in a vague fright about the room, inquired, “And
+where is this Hannah?”
+
+“Shure, sir, she’s gone.”
+
+“How long since?”
+
+The cook caught her breath hysterically. “Since last night.”
+
+“What time last night?”
+
+“Troth, sir, and I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it.”
+
+“Was she dismissed?”
+
+“Not as I knows on; her clothes is here.”
+
+“Oh, her clothes are here. At what hour did you miss her?”
+
+“I didn’t miss her. She was here last night, and she isn’t here
+this morning, and so I says she’s gone.”
+
+“Humph!” cried the coroner, casting a slow glance down the room,
+while every one present looked as if a door had suddenly opened in
+a closed wall.
+
+“Where did this girl sleep?”
+
+The cook, who had been fumbling uneasily with her apron, looked up.
+
+“Shure, we all sleeps at the top of the house, sir.”
+
+“In one room?”
+
+Slowly. “Yes, sir.”
+
+“Did she come up to the room last night?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“At what hour?”
+
+“Shure, it was ten when we all came up. I heard the clock
+a-striking.”
+
+“Did you observe anything unusual in her appearance?”
+
+“She had a toothache, sir.”
+
+“Oh, a toothache; what, then? Tell me all she did.”
+
+But at this the cook broke into tears and wails.
+
+“Shure, she didn’t do nothing, sir. It wasn’t her, sir, as did
+anything; don’t you believe it. Hannah is a good girl, and honest,
+sir, as ever you see. I am ready to swear on the Book as how she
+never put her hand to the lock of his door. What should she for?
+She only went down to Miss Eleanore for some toothache-drops, her
+face was paining her that awful; and oh, sir----”
+
+“There, there,” interrupted the coroner, “I am not accusing Hannah
+of anything. I only asked you what she did after she reached your
+room. She went down-stairs, you say. How long after you went up?”
+
+“Troth, sir, I couldn’t tell; but Molly says----”
+
+“Never mind what Molly says. _You_ didn’t see her go down?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Nor see her come back?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Nor see her this morning?”
+
+“No, sir; how could I when she’s gone?”
+
+“But you did see, last night, that she seemed to be suffering with
+toothache?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Very well; now tell me how and when you first became acquainted
+with the fact of Mr. Leavenworth’s death.”
+
+But her replies to this question, while over-garrulous, contained
+but little information; and seeing this, the coroner was on the
+point of dismissing her, when the little juror, remembering an
+admission she had made, of having seen Miss Eleanore Leavenworth
+coming out of the library door a few minutes after Mr.
+Leavenworth’s body had been carried into the next room, asked if
+her mistress had anything in her hand at the time.
+
+“I don’t know, sir. Faith!” she suddenly exclaimed, “I believe she
+did have a piece of paper. I recollect, now, seeing her put it in
+her pocket.”
+
+The next witness was Molly, the up-stairs girl.
+
+Molly O’Flanagan, as she called herself, was a rosy-cheeked,
+black-haired, pert girl of about eighteen, who under ordinary
+circumstances would have found herself able to answer, with a due
+degree of smartness, any question which might have been addressed
+to her. But fright will sometimes cower the stoutest heart, and
+Molly, standing before the coroner at this juncture, presented
+anything but a reckless appearance, her naturally rosy cheeks
+blanching at the first word addressed to her, and her head falling
+forward on her breast in a confusion too genuine to be dissembled
+and too transparent to be misunderstood.
+
+As her testimony related mostly to Hannah, and what she knew of
+her, and her remarkable disappearance, I shall confine myself to a
+mere synopsis of it.
+
+As far as she, Molly, knew, Hannah was what she had given herself
+out to be, an uneducated girl of Irish extraction, who had come
+from the country to act as lady’s-maid and seamstress to the two
+Misses Leavenworth. She had been in the family for some time;
+before Molly herself, in fact; and though by nature remarkably
+reticent, refusing to tell anything about herself or her past life,
+she had managed to become a great favorite with all in the house.
+But she was of a melancholy nature and fond of brooding, often
+getting up nights to sit and think in the dark: “as if she was a
+lady!” exclaimed Molly.
+
+This habit being a singular one for a girl in her station, an
+attempt was made to win from the witness further particulars in
+regard to it. But Molly, with a toss of her head, confined herself
+to the one statement. She used to get up nights and sit in the
+window, and that was all she knew about it.
+
+Drawn away from this topic, during the consideration of which, a
+little of the sharpness of Molly’s disposition had asserted itself,
+she went on to state, in connection with the events of the past
+night, that Hannah had been ill for two days or more with a swelled
+face; that it grew so bad after they had gone up-stairs, the night
+before, that she got out of bed, and dressing herself--Molly was
+closely questioned here, but insisted upon the fact that Hannah
+had fully dressed herself, even to arranging her collar and
+ribbon--lighted a candle, and made known her intention of going
+down to Miss Eleanore for aid.
+
+“Why Miss Eleanore?” a juryman here asked.
+
+“Oh, she is the one who always gives out medicines and such like to
+the servants.”
+
+Urged to proceed, she went on to state that she had already told
+all she knew about it. Hannah did not come back, nor was she to be
+found in the house at breakfast time.
+
+“You say she took a candle with her,” said the coroner. “Was it in
+a candlestick?”
+
+“No, sir; loose like.”
+
+“Why did she take a candle? Does not Mr. Leavenworth burn gas in
+his halls?”
+
+“Yes, sir; but we put the gas out as we go up, and Hannah is afraid
+of the dark.”
+
+“If she took a candle, it must be lying somewhere about the house.
+Now, has anybody seen a stray candle?”
+
+“Not as I knows on, sir.”
+
+“Is _this_ it?” exclaimed a voice over my shoulder.
+
+It was Mr. Gryce, and he was holding up into view a half-burned
+paraffine candle.
+
+“Yes, sir; lor’, where did you find it?”
+
+“In the grass of the carriage yard, half-way from the kitchen door
+to the street,” he quietly returned.
+
+Sensation. A clue, then, at last! Something had been found which
+seemed to connect this mysterious murder with the outside world.
+Instantly the back-door assumed the chief position of interest.
+The candle found lying in the yard seemed to prove, not only that
+Hannah had left the house shortly after descending from her room,
+but had left it by the back-door, which we now remembered was only
+a few steps from the iron gate opening into the side street. But
+Thomas, being recalled, repeated his assertion that not only the
+back-door, but all the lower windows of the house, had been found
+by him securely locked and bolted at six o’clock that morning.
+Inevitable conclusion--some one had locked and bolted them after
+the girl. Who? Alas, that had now become the very serious and
+momentous question.
+
+
+
+
+V. EXPERT TESTIMONY
+
+      “And often-times, to win us to our harm,
+      The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
+      Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
+      In deepest consequence.”
+
+                                              Macbeth.
+
+
+In the midst of the universal gloom thus awakened there came a
+sharp ring at the bell. Instantly all eyes turned toward the parlor
+door, just as it slowly opened, and the officer who had been
+sent off so mysteriously by the coroner an hour before entered,
+in company with a young man, whose sleek appearance, intelligent
+eye, and general air of trustworthiness, seemed to proclaim him to
+be, what in fact he was, the confidential clerk of a responsible
+mercantile house.
+
+Advancing without apparent embarrassment, though each and every eye
+in the room was fixed upon him with lively curiosity, he made a
+slight bow to the coroner.
+
+“You have sent for a man from Bohn & Co.,” he said.
+
+Strong and immediate excitement. Bohn & Co. was the well-known
+pistol and ammunition store of ---- Broadway.
+
+“Yes, sir,” returned the coroner. “We have here a bullet, which we
+must ask you to examine, You are fully acquainted with all matters
+connected with your business?”
+
+The young man, merely elevating an expressive eyebrow, took the
+bullet carelessly in his hand.
+
+“Can you tell us from what make of pistol that was delivered?”
+
+The young man rolled it slowly round between his thumb and
+forefinger, and then laid it down. “It is a No. 32 ball, usually
+sold with the small pistol made by Smith & Wesson.”
+
+“A small pistol!” exclaimed the butler, jumping up from his seat.
+“Master used to keep a little pistol in his stand drawer. I have
+often seen it. We all knew about it.”
+
+Great and irrepressible excitement, especially among the servants.
+“That’s so!” I heard a heavy voice exclaim. “I saw it once
+myself--master was cleaning it.” It was the cook who spoke.
+
+“In his stand drawer?” the coroner inquired.
+
+“Yes, sir; at the head of his bed.”
+
+An officer was sent to examine the stand drawer. In a few moments
+he returned, bringing a small pistol which he laid down on the
+coroner’s table, saying, “Here it is.”
+
+Immediately, every one sprang to his feet, but the coroner, handing
+it over to the clerk from Bonn’s, inquired if that was the make
+before mentioned. Without hesitation he replied, “Yes, Smith &
+Wesson; you can see for yourself,” and he proceeded to examine it.
+
+“Where did you find this pistol?” asked the coroner of the officer.
+
+“In the top drawer of a shaving table standing near the head of Mr.
+Leavenworth’s bed. It was lying in a velvet case together with a
+box of cartridges, one of which I bring as a sample,” and he laid
+it down beside the bullet.
+
+“Was the drawer locked?”
+
+“Yes, sir; but the key was not taken out.”
+
+Interest had now reached its climax. A universal cry swept through
+the room, “Is it loaded?”
+
+The coroner, frowning on the assembly, with a look of great
+dignity, remarked:
+
+“I was about to ask that question myself, but first I must request
+order.”
+
+An immediate calm followed. Every one was too much interested to
+interpose any obstacle in the way of gratifying his curiosity.
+
+“Now, sir!” exclaimed the coroner.
+
+The clerk from Bonn’s, taking out the cylinder, held it up. “There
+are seven chambers here, and they are all loaded.”
+
+A murmur of disappointment followed this assertion.
+
+“But,” he quietly added after a momentary examination of the face
+of the cylinder, “they have not all been loaded long. A bullet has
+been recently shot from one of these chambers.”
+
+“How do you know?” cried one of the jury.
+
+“How do I know? Sir,” said he, turning to the coroner, “will you be
+kind enough to examine the condition of this pistol?” and he handed
+it over to that gentleman. “Look first at the barrel; it is clean
+and bright, and shows no evidence of a bullet having passed out
+of it very lately; that is because it has been cleaned. But now,
+observe the face of the cylinder: what do you see there?”
+
+“I see a faint line of smut near one of the chambers.”
+
+“Just so; show it to the gentlemen.”
+
+It was immediately handed down.
+
+“That faint line of smut, on the edge of one of the chambers, is
+the telltale, sirs. A bullet passing out always leaves smut behind.
+The man who fired this, remembering the fact, cleaned the barrel,
+but forgot the cylinder.” And stepping aside he folded his arms.
+
+“Jerusalem!” spoke out a rough, hearty voice, “isn’t that
+wonderful!” This exclamation came from a countryman who had stepped
+in from the street, and now stood agape in the doorway.
+
+It was a rude but not altogether unwelcome interruption. A smile
+passed round the room, and both men and women breathed more easily.
+Order being at last restored, the officer was requested to describe
+the position of the stand, and its distance from the library table.
+
+“The library table is in one room, and the stand in another. To
+reach the former from the latter, one would be obliged to cross Mr.
+Leavenworth’s bedroom in a diagonal direction, pass through the
+passageway separating that one apartment from the other, and----”
+
+“Wait a moment; how does this table stand in regard to the door
+which leads from the bedroom into the hall?”
+
+“One might enter that door, pass directly round the foot of the bed
+to the stand, procure the pistol, and cross half-way over to the
+passageway, without being seen by any one sitting or standing in
+the library beyond.”
+
+“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed the horrified cook, throwing her apron
+over her head as if to shut out some dreadful vision. “Hannah niver
+would have the pluck for that; niver, niver!” But Mr. Gryce, laying
+a heavy hand on the woman, forced her back into her seat, reproving
+and calming her at the same time, with a dexterity marvellous to
+behold. “I beg your pardons,” she cried deprecatingly to those
+around; “but it niver was Hannah, niver!”
+
+The clerk from Bohn’s here being dismissed, those assembled took
+the opportunity of making some change in their position, after
+which, the name of Mr. Harwell was again called. That person rose
+with manifest reluctance. Evidently the preceding testimony had
+either upset some theory of his, or indubitably strengthened some
+unwelcome suspicion.
+
+“Mr. Harwell,” the coroner began, “we are told of the existence
+of a pistol belonging to Mr. Leavenworth, and upon searching, we
+discover it in his room. Did you know of his possessing such an
+instrument?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Was it a fact generally known in the house?”
+
+“So it would seem.”
+
+“How was that? Was he in the habit of leaving it around where any
+one could see it?”
+
+“I cannot say; I can only acquaint you with the manner in which I
+myself became aware of its existence.”
+
+“Very well, do so.”
+
+“We were once talking about firearms. I have some taste that way,
+and have always been anxious to possess a pocket-pistol. Saying
+something of the kind to him one day, he rose from his seat and,
+fetching me this, showed it to me.”
+
+“How long ago was this?”
+
+“Some few months since.”
+
+“He has owned this pistol, then, for some time?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Is that the only occasion upon which you have ever seen it?”
+
+“No, sir,”--the secretary blushed--“I have seen it once since.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“About three weeks ago.”
+
+“Under what circumstances?”
+
+The secretary dropped his head, a certain drawn look making itself
+suddenly visible on his countenance.
+
+“Will you not excuse me, gentlemen?” he asked, after a moment’s
+hesitation.
+
+“It is impossible,” returned the coroner.
+
+His face grew even more pallid and deprecatory. “I am obliged to
+introduce the name of a lady,” he hesitatingly declared.
+
+“We are very sorry,” remarked the coroner.
+
+The young man turned fiercely upon him, and I could not help
+wondering that I had ever thought him commonplace. “Of Miss
+Eleanore Leavenworth!” he cried.
+
+At that name, so uttered, every one started but Mr. Gryce; he
+was engaged in holding a close and confidential confab with his
+finger-tips, and did not appear to notice.
+
+“Surely it is contrary to the rules of decorum and the respect
+we all feel for the lady herself to introduce her name into this
+discussion,” continued Mr. Harwell. But the coroner still insisting
+upon an answer, he refolded his arms (a movement indicative of
+resolution with him), and began in a low, forced tone to say:
+
+[Illustration: “What was my astonishment to come upon Miss Eleanore
+Leavenworth standing at the side of her uncle’s bed, with his
+pistol in her hand”]
+
+“It is only this, gentlemen. One afternoon, about three weeks
+since, I had occasion to go to the library at an unusual hour.
+Crossing over to the mantel-piece for the purpose of procuring a
+penknife which I had carelessly left there in the morning, I heard
+a noise in the adjoining room. Knowing that Mr. Leavenworth was
+out, and supposing the ladies to be out also, I took the liberty of
+ascertaining who the intruder was; when what was my astonishment
+to come upon Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, standing at the side of
+her uncle’s bed, with his pistol in her hand. Confused at my
+indiscretion, I attempted to escape without being observed; but in
+vain, for just as I was crossing the threshold, she turned and,
+calling me by name, requested me to explain the pistol to her.
+Gentlemen, in order to do so, I was obliged to take it in my hand;
+and that, sirs, is the only other occasion upon which I ever saw
+or handled the pistol of Mr. Leavenworth.” Drooping his head, he
+waited in indescribable agitation for the next question.
+
+“She asked you to explain the pistol to her; what do you mean by
+that?”
+
+“I mean,” he faintly continued, catching his breath in a vain
+effort to appear calm, “how to load, aim, and fire it.”
+
+A flash of awakened feeling shot across the faces of all present.
+Even the coroner showed sudden signs of emotion, and sat staring
+at the bowed form and pale countenance of the man before him, with
+a peculiar look of surprised compassion, which could not fail of
+producing its effect, not only upon the young man himself, but upon
+all who saw him.
+
+“Mr. Harwell,” he at length inquired, “have you anything to add to
+the statement you have just made?”
+
+The secretary sadly shook his head.
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” I here whispered, clutching that person by the arm and
+dragging him down to my side; “assure me, I entreat you--” but he
+would not let me finish.
+
+“The coroner is about to ask for the young ladies,” he quickly
+interposed. “If you desire to fulfil your duty towards them, be
+ready, that’s all.”
+
+Fulfil my duty! The simple words recalled me to myself. What had
+I been thinking of; was I mad? With nothing more terrible in mind
+than a tender picture of the lovely cousins bowed in anguish over
+the remains of one who had been as dear as a father to them, I
+slowly rose, and upon demand being made for Miss Mary and Miss
+Eleanore Leavenworth, advanced and said that, as a friend of the
+family--a petty lie, which I hope will not be laid up against me--I
+begged the privilege of going for the ladies and escorting them
+down.
+
+Instantly a dozen eyes flashed upon me, and I experienced the
+embarrassment of one who, by some unexpected word or action, has
+drawn upon himself the concentrated attention of a whole room.
+
+But the permission sought being almost immediately accorded, I
+was speedily enabled to withdraw from my rather trying position,
+finding myself, almost before I knew it, in the hall, my face
+aflame, my heart beating with excitement, and these words of Mr.
+Gryce ringing in my ears: “Third floor, rear room, first door at
+the head of the stairs. You will find the young ladies expecting
+you.”
+
+
+
+
+VI. SIDE-LIGHTS
+
+      “Oh! she has beauty might ensnare
+      A conqueror’s soul, and make him leave his crown
+      At random, to be scuffled for by slaves.”
+
+                                                  OTWAY.
+
+
+Third floor, rear room, first door at the head of the stairs! What
+was I about to encounter there?
+
+Mounting the lower flight, and shuddering by the library wall,
+which to my troubled fancy seemed written all over with horrible
+suggestions, I took my way slowly up-stairs, revolving in my mind
+many things, among which an admonition uttered long ago by my
+mother occupied a prominent place.
+
+“My son, remember that a woman with a secret may be a fascinating
+study, but she can never be a safe, nor even satisfactory,
+companion.”
+
+A wise saw, no doubt, but totally inapplicable to the present
+situation; yet it continued to haunt me till the sight of the door
+to which I had been directed put every other thought to flight save
+that I was about to meet the stricken nieces of a brutally murdered
+man.
+
+[Illustration: “Pausing only long enough on the threshold to
+compose myself for the interview, I lifted my hand to knock”]
+
+Pausing only long enough on the threshold to compose myself for the
+interview, I lifted my hand to knock, when a rich, clear voice rose
+from within, and I heard distinctly uttered these astounding words:
+“I do not accuse your hand, though I know of none other which would
+or could have done this deed; but your heart, your head, your will,
+these I do and must accuse, in my secret mind at least; and it is
+well that you should know it!”
+
+Struck with horror, I staggered back, my hands to my ears, when a
+touch fell on my arm, and turning, I saw Mr. Gryce standing close
+beside me, with his finger on his lip, and the last flickering
+shadow of a flying emotion fading from his steady, almost
+compassionate countenance.
+
+“Come, come,” he exclaimed; “I see you don’t begin to know what
+kind of a world you are living in. Rouse yourself; remember they
+are waiting down below.”
+
+“But who is it? Who was it that spoke?”
+
+“That we shall soon see.” And without waiting to meet, much less
+answer, my appealing look, he struck his hand against the door, and
+flung it wide open.
+
+Instantly a flush of lovely color burst upon us. Blue curtains,
+blue carpets, blue walls. It was like a glimpse of heavenly azure
+in a spot where only darkness and gloom were to be expected.
+Fascinated by the sight, I stepped impetuously forward, but
+instantly paused again, overcome and impressed by the exquisite
+picture I saw before me.
+
+[Illustration: “Her whole appearance was so startling, so
+extraordinary, that I held my breath in surprise”]
+
+Seated in an easy chair of embroidered satin, but rousing from her
+half-recumbent position, like one who was in the act of launching a
+powerful invective, I beheld a glorious woman. Fair, frail, proud,
+delicate; looking like a lily in the thick creamy-tinted wrapper
+that alternately clung to and swayed from her finely moulded
+figure; with her forehead, crowned with the palest of pale tresses,
+lifted and flashing with power; one quivering hand clasping the
+arm of her chair, the other outstretched and pointing toward some
+distant object in the room,--her whole appearance was so startling,
+so extraordinary, that I held my breath in surprise, actually for
+the moment doubting if it were a living woman I beheld, or some
+famous pythoness conjured up from ancient story, to express in one
+tremendous gesture the supreme indignation of outraged womanhood.
+
+“Miss Mary Leavenworth,” whispered that ever present voice over my
+shoulder.
+
+Ah! Mary Leavenworth! What a relief came with this name. This
+beautiful creature, then, was not the Eleanore who could load,
+aim, and fire a pistol. Turning my head, I followed the guiding of
+that uplifted hand, now frozen into its place by a new emotion:
+the emotion of being interrupted in the midst of a direful and
+pregnant revelation, and saw--but, no, here description fails me!
+Eleanore Leavenworth must be painted by other hands than mine. I
+could sit half the day and dilate upon the subtle grace, the pale
+magnificence, the perfection of form and feature which make Mary
+Leavenworth the wonder of all who behold her; but Eleanore--I could
+as soon paint the beatings of my own heart. Beguiling, terrible,
+grand, pathetic, that face of faces flashed upon my gaze, and
+instantly the moonlight loveliness of her cousin faded from my
+memory, and I saw only Eleanore--only Eleanore from that moment on
+forever.
+
+When my glance first fell upon her, she was standing by the side
+of a small table, with her face turned toward her cousin, and her
+two hands resting, the one upon her breast, the other on the table,
+in an attitude of antagonism. But before the sudden pang which
+shot through me at the sight of her beauty had subsided, her head
+had turned, her gaze had encountered mine; all the horror of the
+situation had burst upon her, and, instead of a haughty woman,
+drawn up to receive and trample upon the insinuations of another, I
+beheld, alas! a trembling, panting human creature, conscious that a
+sword hung above her head, and without a word to say why it should
+not fall and slay her.
+
+It was a pitiable change; a heart-rending revelation! I turned
+from it as from a confession. But just then, her cousin, who had
+apparently regained her self-possession at the first betrayal of
+emotion on the part of the other, stepped forward and, holding out
+her hand, inquired:
+
+“Is not this Mr. Raymond? How kind of you, sir. And you?” turning
+to Mr. Gryce; “you have come to tell us we are wanted below, is it
+not so?”
+
+It was the voice I had heard through the door, but modulated to a
+sweet, winning, almost caressing tone.
+
+Glancing hastily at Mr. Gryce, I looked to see how he was affected
+by it. Evidently much, for the bow with which he greeted her words
+was lower than ordinary, and the smile with which he met her
+earnest look both deprecatory and reassuring. His glance did not
+embrace her cousin, though her eyes were fixed upon his face with
+an inquiry in their depths more agonizing than the utterance of
+any cry would have been. Knowing Mr. Gryce as I did, I felt that
+nothing could promise worse, or be more significant, than this
+transparent disregard of one who seemed to fill the room with her
+terror. And, struck with pity, I forgot that Mary Leavenworth had
+spoken, forgot her very presence in fact, and, turning hastily
+away, took one step toward her cousin, when Mr. Gryce’s hand
+falling on my arm stopped me.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth speaks,” said he.
+
+Recalled to myself, I turned my back upon what had so interested
+me even while it repelled, and forcing myself to make some sort of
+reply to the fair creature before me, offered my arm and led her
+toward the door.
+
+Immediately the pale, proud countenance of Mary Leavenworth
+softened almost to the point of smiling;--and here let me say,
+there never was a woman who could smile and not smile like Mary
+Leavenworth. Looking in my face, with a frank and sweet appeal in
+her eyes, she murmured:
+
+“You are very good. I do feel the need of support; the occasion is
+so horrible, and my cousin there,”--here a little gleam of alarm
+nickered into her eyes--“is so very strange to-day.”
+
+“Humph!” thought I to myself; “where is the grand indignant
+pythoness, with the unspeakable wrath and menace in her
+countenance, whom I saw when I first entered the room?” Could it
+be that she was trying to beguile us from our conjectures, by
+making light of her former expressions? Or was it possible she
+deceived herself so far as to believe us unimpressed by the weighty
+accusation overheard by us at a moment so critical?
+
+But Eleanore Leavenworth, leaning on the arm of the detective,
+soon absorbed all my attention. She had regained by this time her
+self-possession, also, but not so entirely as her cousin. Her step
+faltered as she endeavored to walk, and the hand which rested on
+his arm trembled like a leaf. “Would to God I had never entered
+this house,” said I to myself. And yet, before the exclamation was
+half uttered, I became conscious of a secret rebellion against
+the thought; an emotion, shall I say, of thankfulness that it had
+been myself rather than another who had been allowed to break in
+upon their privacy, overhear that significant remark, and, shall
+I acknowledge it, follow Mr. Gryce and the trembling, swaying
+figure of Eleanore Leavenworth down-stairs. Not that I felt the
+least relenting in my soul towards guilt. Crime had never looked
+so black; revenge, selfishness, hatred, cupidity, never seemed
+more loathsome; and yet--but why enter into the consideration of
+my feelings at that time. They cannot be of interest; besides, who
+can fathom the depths of his own soul, or untangle for others the
+secret cords of revulsion and attraction which are, and ever have
+been, a mystery and wonder to himself? Enough that, supporting upon
+my arm the half-fainting form of one woman, but with my attention,
+and interest devoted to another, I descended the stairs of the
+Leavenworth mansion, and re-entered the dreaded presence of those
+inquisitors of the law who had been so impatiently awaiting us.
+
+As I once more crossed that threshold, and faced the eager
+countenances of those I had left so short a time before, I felt as
+if ages had elapsed in the interval; so much can be experienced by
+the human soul in the short space of a few over-weighted moments.
+
+
+
+
+VII. MARY LEAVENWORTH
+
+      “For this relief much thanks.”
+
+                                Hamlet.
+
+
+Have you ever observed the effect of the sunlight bursting suddenly
+upon the earth from behind a mass of heavily surcharged clouds?
+If so, you can have some idea of the sensation produced in that
+room by the entrance of these two beautiful ladies. Possessed of
+a loveliness which would have been conspicuous in all places and
+under all circumstances, Mary, at least, if not her less striking,
+though by no means less interesting cousin, could never have
+entered any assemblage without drawing to herself the wondering
+attention of all present. But, heralded as here, by the most
+fearful of tragedies, what could you expect from a collection of
+men such as I have already described, but overmastering wonder and
+incredulous admiration? Nothing, perhaps, and yet at the first
+murmuring sound of amazement and satisfaction, I felt my soul
+recoil in disgust.
+
+Making haste to seat my now trembling companion in the most
+retired spot I could find, I looked around for her cousin. But
+Eleanore Leavenworth, weak as she had appeared in the interview
+above, showed at this moment neither hesitation nor embarrassment.
+Advancing upon the arm of the detective, whose suddenly assumed
+air of persuasion in the presence of the jury was anything but
+reassuring, she stood for an instant gazing calmly upon the
+scene before her. Then bowing to the coroner with a grace and
+condescension which seemed at once to place him on the footing of
+a politely endured intruder in this home of elegance, she took
+the seat which her own servants hastened to procure for her,
+with an ease and dignity that rather recalled the triumphs of
+the drawing-room than the self-consciousness of a scene such as
+that in which we found ourselves. Palpable acting, though this
+was, it was not without its effect. Instantly the murmurs ceased,
+the obtrusive glances fell, and something like a forced respect
+made itself visible upon the countenances of all present. Even
+I, impressed as I had been by her very different demeanor in the
+room above, experienced a sensation of relief; and was more than
+startled when, upon turning to the lady at my side, I beheld her
+eyes riveted upon her cousin with an inquiry in their depths that
+was anything but encouraging. Fearful of the effect this look
+might have upon those about us, I hastily seized her hand which,
+clenched and unconscious, hung over the edge of her chair, and was
+about to beseech her to have care, when her name, called in a slow,
+impressive way by the coroner, roused her from her abstraction.
+Hurriedly withdrawing her gaze from her cousin, she lifted her face
+to the jury, and I saw a gleam pass over it which brought back my
+early fancy of the pythoness. But it passed, and it was with an
+expression of great modesty she settled herself to respond to the
+demand of the coroner and answer the first few opening inquiries.
+
+But what can express the anxiety of that moment to me? Gentle as
+she now appeared, she was capable of great wrath, as I knew. Was
+she going to reiterate her suspicions here? Did she hate as well as
+mistrust her cousin? Would she dare assert in this presence, and
+before the world, what she found it so easy to utter in the privacy
+of her own room and the hearing of the one person concerned? Did
+she wish to? Her own countenance gave me no clue to her intentions,
+and, in my anxiety, I turned once more to look at Eleanore. But
+she, in a dread and apprehension I could easily understand, had
+recoiled at the first intimation that her cousin was to speak, and
+now sat with her face covered from sight, by hands blanched to an
+almost deathly whiteness.
+
+The testimony of Mary Leavenworth was short. After some few
+questions, mostly referring to her position in the house and her
+connection with its deceased master, she was asked to relate what
+she knew of the murder itself, and of its discovery by her cousin
+and the servants.
+
+Lifting up a brow that seemed never to have known till now the
+shadow of care or trouble, and a voice that, whilst low and
+womanly, rang like a bell through the room, she replied:
+
+“You ask me, gentlemen, a question which I cannot answer of my
+own personal knowledge. I know nothing of this murder, nor of its
+discovery, save what has come to me through the lips of others.”
+
+My heart gave a bound of relief, and I saw Eleanore Leavenworth’s
+hands drop from her brow like stone, while a flickering gleam as of
+hope fled over her face, and then died away like sunlight leaving
+marble.
+
+“For, strange as it may seem to you,” Mary earnestly continued,
+the shadow of a past horror revisiting her countenance, “I did
+not enter the room where my uncle lay. I did not even think of
+doing so; my only impulse was to fly from what was so horrible and
+heartrending. But Eleanore went in, and she can tell you----”
+
+“We will question Miss Eleanore Leavenworth later,” interrupted the
+coroner, but very gently for him. Evidently the grace and elegance
+of this beautiful woman were making their impression. “What we want
+to know is what _you_ saw. You say you cannot tell us of anything
+that passed in the room at the time of the discovery?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Only what occurred in the hall?”
+
+“Nothing occurred in the hall,” she innocently remarked.
+
+“Did not the servants pass in from the hall, and your cousin come
+out there after her revival from her fainting fit?”
+
+Mary Leavenworth’s violet eyes opened wonderingly.
+
+“Yes, sir; but that was nothing.”
+
+“You remember, however, her coming into the hall?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“With a paper in her hand?”
+
+“Paper?” and she wheeled suddenly and looked at her cousin. “Did
+you have a paper, Eleanore?”
+
+The moment was intense. Eleanore Leavenworth, who at the first
+mention of the word paper had started perceptibly, rose to her feet
+at this naive appeal, and opening her lips, seemed about to speak,
+when the coroner, with a strict sense of what was regular, lifted
+his hand with decision, and said:
+
+“You need not ask your cousin, Miss; but let us hear what you have
+to say yourself.”
+
+Immediately, Eleanore Leavenworth sank back, a pink spot breaking
+out on either cheek; while a slight murmur testified to the
+disappointment of those in the room, who were more anxious to have
+their curiosity gratified than the forms of law adhered to.
+
+Satisfied with having done his duty, and disposed to be easy with
+so charming a witness, the coroner repeated his question. “Tell us,
+if you please, if you saw any such thing in her hand?”
+
+“I? Oh, no, no; I saw nothing.”
+
+Being now questioned in relation to the events of the previous
+night, she had no new light to throw upon the subject. She
+acknowledged her uncle to have been a little reserved at dinner,
+but no more so than at previous times when annoyed by some business
+anxiety.
+
+Asked if she had seen her uncle again that evening, she said no,
+that she had been detained in her room. That the sight of him,
+sitting in his seat at the head of the table, was the very last
+remembrance she had of him.
+
+There was something so touching, so forlorn, and yet so
+unobtrusive, in this simple recollection of hers, that a look of
+sympathy passed slowly around the room.
+
+I even detected Mr. Gryce softening towards the inkstand. But
+Eleanore Leavenworth sat unmoved.
+
+“Was your uncle on ill terms with any one?” was now asked. “Had he
+valuable papers or secret sums of money in his possession?”
+
+To all these inquiries she returned an equal negative.
+
+“Has your uncle met any stranger lately, or received any important
+letter during the last few weeks, which might seem in any way to
+throw light upon this mystery?”
+
+There was the slightest perceptible hesitation in her voice, as
+she replied: “No, not to my knowledge; I don’t know of any such.”
+But here, stealing a side glance at Eleanore, she evidently saw
+something that reassured her, for she hastened to add:
+
+“I believe I may go further than that, and meet your question with
+a positive no. My uncle was in the habit of confiding in me, and I
+should have known if anything of importance to him had occurred.”
+
+Questioned in regard to Hannah, she gave that person the best of
+characters; knew of nothing which could have led either to her
+strange disappearance, or to her connection with crime. Could not
+say whether she kept any company, or had any visitors; only knew
+that no one with any such pretensions came to the house. Finally,
+when asked when she had last seen the pistol which Mr. Leavenworth
+always kept in his stand drawer, she returned, not since the day
+he bought it; Eleanore, and not herself, having the charge of her
+uncle’s apartments.
+
+It was the only thing she had said which, even to a mind freighted
+like mine, would seem to point to any private doubt or secret
+suspicion; and this, uttered in the careless manner in which it
+was, would have passed without comment if Eleanore herself had not
+directed at that moment a very much aroused and inquiring look upon
+the speaker.
+
+But it was time for the inquisitive juror to make himself heard
+again. Edging to the brink of the chair, he drew in his breath,
+with a vague awe of Mary’s beauty, almost ludicrous to see, and
+asked if she had properly considered what she had just said.
+
+“I hope, sir, I consider all I am called upon to say at such a time
+as this,” was her earnest reply.
+
+The little juror drew back, and I looked to see her examination
+terminate, when suddenly his ponderous colleague of the
+watch-chain, catching the young lady’s eye, inquired:
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, did your uncle ever make a will?”
+
+Instantly every man in the room was in arms, and even she could
+not prevent the slow blush of injured pride from springing to her
+cheek. But her answer was given firmly, and without any show of
+resentment.
+
+“Yes, sir,” she returned simply.
+
+“More than one?”
+
+“I never heard of but one.”
+
+“Are you acquainted with the contents of that will?”
+
+“I am. He made no secret of his intentions to any one.”
+
+The juryman lifted his eye-glass and looked at her. Her grace was
+little to him, or her beauty or her elegance. “Perhaps, then, you
+can tell me who is the one most likely to be benefited by his
+death?”
+
+The brutality of this question was too marked to pass unchallenged.
+Not a man in that room, myself included, but frowned with sudden
+disapprobation. But Mary Leavenworth, drawing herself up, looked
+her interlocutor calmly in the face, and restrained herself to say:
+
+“I know who would be the greatest losers by it. The children he
+took to his bosom in their helplessness and sorrow; the young
+girls he enshrined with the halo of his love and protection, when
+love and protection were what their immaturity most demanded; the
+women who looked to him for guidance when childhood and youth were
+passed--these, sir, these are the ones to whom his death is a loss,
+in comparison to which all others which may hereafter befall them
+must ever seem trivial and unimportant.”
+
+It was a noble reply to the basest of insinuations, and the juryman
+drew back rebuked; but here another of them, one who had not spoken
+before, but whose appearance was not only superior to the rest, but
+also almost imposing in its gravity, leaned from his seat and in a
+solemn voice said:
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, the human mind cannot help forming impressions.
+Now have you, with or without reason, felt at any time conscious of
+a suspicion pointing towards any one person as the murderer of your
+uncle?”
+
+It was a frightful moment. To me and to one other, I am sure it was
+not only frightful, but agonizing. Would her courage fail? would
+her determination to shield her cousin remain firm in the face of
+duty and at the call of probity? I dared not hope it.
+
+But Mary Leavenworth, rising to her feet, looked judge and jury
+calmly in the face, and, without raising her voice, giving it an
+indescribably clear and sharp intonation, replied:
+
+“No; I have neither suspicion nor reason for any. The assassin
+of my uncle is not only entirely unknown to, but completely
+unsuspected by, me.”
+
+It was like the removal of a stifling pressure. Amid a universal
+outgoing of the breath, Mary Leavenworth stood aside and Eleanore
+was called in her place.
+
+
+
+
+VIII. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
+
+  “O dark, dark, dark!”
+
+
+And now that the interest was at its height, that the veil which
+shrouded this horrible tragedy seemed about to be lifted, if not
+entirely withdrawn, I felt a desire to fly the scene, to leave the
+spot, to know no more. Not that I was conscious of any particular
+fear of this woman betraying herself. The cold steadiness of her
+now fixed and impassive countenance was sufficient warranty in
+itself against the possibility of any such catastrophe. But if,
+indeed, the suspicions of her cousin were the offspring, not only
+of hatred, but of knowledge; if that face of beauty was in truth
+only a mask, and Eleanore Leavenworth was what the words of her
+cousin, and her own after behavior would seem to imply, how could I
+bear to sit there and see the frightful serpent of deceit and sin
+evolve itself from the bosom of this white rose! And yet, such is
+the fascination of uncertainty that, although I saw something of my
+own feelings reflected in the countenances of many about me, not
+a man in all that assemblage showed any disposition to depart, I
+least of all.
+
+The coroner, upon whom the blonde loveliness of Mary had impressed
+itself to Eleanor’s apparent detriment, was the only one in the
+room who showed himself unaffected at this moment. Turning toward
+the witness with a look which, while respectful, had a touch of
+austerity in it, he began:
+
+“You have been an intimate of Mr. Leavenworth’s family from
+childhood, they tell me, Miss Leavenworth?”
+
+“From my tenth year,” was her quiet reply.
+
+It was the first time I had heard her voice, and it surprised me;
+it was so like, and yet so unlike, that of her cousin. Similar in
+tone, it lacked its expressiveness, if I may so speak; sounding
+without vibration on the ear, and ceasing without an echo.
+
+“Since that time you have been treated like a daughter, they tell
+me?”
+
+“Yes, sir, like a daughter, indeed; he was more than a father to
+both of us.”
+
+“You and Miss Mary Leavenworth are cousins, I believe. When did she
+enter the family?”
+
+“At the same time I did. Our respective parents were victims of the
+same disaster. If it had not been for our uncle, we should have
+been thrown, children as we were, upon the world. But he”--here she
+paused, her firm lips breaking into a half tremble--“but he, in the
+goodness of his heart, adopted us into his family, and gave us what
+we had both lost, a father and a home.”
+
+“You say he was a father to you as well as to your cousin--that
+he adopted you. Do you mean by that, that he not only surrounded
+you with present luxury, but gave you to understand that the
+same should be secured to you after his death; in short, that he
+intended to leave any portion of his property to you?”
+
+“No, sir; I was given to understand, from the first, that his
+property would be bequeathed by will to my cousin.”
+
+“Your cousin was no more nearly related to him than yourself, Miss
+Leavenworth; did he never give you any reason for this evident
+partiality?”
+
+“None but his pleasure, sir.”
+
+Her answers up to this point had been so straightforward and
+satisfactory that a gradual confidence seemed to be taking the
+place of the rather uneasy doubts which had from the first circled
+about this woman’s name and person. But at this admission, uttered
+as it was in a calm, unimpassioned voice, not only the jury, but
+myself, who had so much truer reason for distrusting her, felt that
+actual suspicion in her case must be very much shaken before the
+utter lack of motive which this reply so clearly betokened.
+
+Meanwhile the coroner continued: “If your uncle was as kind to you
+as you say, you must have become very much attached to him?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” her mouth taking a sudden determined curve.
+
+“His death, then, must have been a great shock to you?”
+
+“Very, very great.”
+
+“Enough of itself to make you faint away, as they tell me you did,
+at the first glimpse you had of his body?”
+
+“Enough, quite.”
+
+“And yet you seemed to be prepared for it?”
+
+“Prepared?”
+
+“The servants say you were much agitated at finding your uncle did
+not make his appearance at the breakfast table.”
+
+“The servants!” her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her
+mouth; she could hardly speak.
+
+“That when you returned from his room you were very pale.”
+
+Was she beginning to realize that there was some doubt, if not
+actual suspicion, in the mind of the man who could assail her with
+questions like these? I had not seen her so agitated since that one
+memorable instant up in her room. But her mistrust, if she felt
+any, did not long betray itself. Calming herself by a great effort,
+she replied, with a quiet gesture--
+
+“That is not so strange. My uncle was a very methodical man;
+the least change in his habits would be likely to awaken our
+apprehensions.”
+
+“You were alarmed, then?”
+
+“To a certain extent I was.”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, who is in the habit of overseeing the regulation
+of your uncle’s private apartments?”
+
+“I am, sir.”
+
+“You are doubtless, then, acquainted with a certain stand in his
+room containing a drawer?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“How long is it since you had occasion to go to this drawer?”
+
+“Yesterday,” visibly trembling at the admission.
+
+“At what time?”
+
+“Near noon, I should judge.”
+
+“Was the pistol he was accustomed to keep there in its place at the
+time?”
+
+“I presume so; I did not observe.”
+
+“Did you turn the key upon closing the drawer?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Take it out?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, that pistol, as you have perhaps observed, lies
+on the table before you. Will you look at it?” And lifting it up
+into view, he held it towards her.
+
+If he had meant to startle her by the sudden action, he amply
+succeeded. At the first sight of the murderous weapon she shrank
+back, and a horrified, but quickly suppressed shriek, burst from
+her lips. “Oh, no, no!” she moaned, flinging out her hands before
+her.
+
+“I must insist upon your looking at it, Miss Leavenworth,” pursued
+the coroner. “When it was found just now, all the chambers were
+loaded.”
+
+Instantly the agonized look left her countenance. “Oh, then--” She
+did not finish, but put out her hand for the weapon.
+
+But the coroner, looking at her steadily, continued: “It has been
+lately fired off, for all that. The hand that cleaned the barrel
+forgot the cartridge-chamber, Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+She did not shriek again, but a hopeless, helpless look slowly
+settled over her face, and she seemed about to sink; but like a
+flash the reaction came, and lifting her head with a steady, grand
+action I have never seen equalled, she exclaimed, “Very well, what
+then?”
+
+The coroner laid the pistol down; men and women glanced at each
+other; every one seemed to hesitate to proceed. I heard a tremulous
+sigh at my side, and, turning, beheld Mary Leavenworth staring at
+her cousin with a startled flush on her cheek, as if she began to
+recognize that the public, as well as herself, detected something
+in this woman, calling for explanation.
+
+At last the coroner summoned up courage to continue.
+
+“You ask me, Miss Leavenworth, upon the evidence given, what then?
+Your question obliges me to say that no burglar, no hired assassin,
+would have used this pistol for a murderous purpose, and then taken
+the pains, not only to clean it, but to reload it, and lock it up
+again in the drawer from which he had taken it.”
+
+She did not reply to this; but I saw Mr. Gryce make a note of it
+with that peculiar emphatic nod of his.
+
+“Nor,” he went on, even more gravely, “would it be possible for any
+one who was not accustomed to pass in and out of Mr. Leavenworth’s
+room at all hours, to enter his door so late at night, procure
+this pistol from its place of concealment, traverse his apartment,
+and advance as closely upon him as the facts show to have been
+necessary, without causing him at least to turn his head to one
+side; which, in consideration of the doctor’s testimony, we cannot
+believe he did.”
+
+It was a frightful suggestion, and we looked to see Eleanore
+Leavenworth recoil. But that expression of outraged feeling was
+left for her cousin to exhibit. Starting indignantly from her
+seat, Mary cast one hurried glance around her, and opened her lips
+to speak; but Eleanore, slightly turning, motioned her to have
+patience, and replied in a cold and calculating voice: “You are
+not sure, sir, that this _was_ done. If my uncle, for some purpose
+of his own, had fired the pistol off yesterday, let us say--which
+is surely possible, if not probable--the like results would be
+observed, and the same conclusions drawn.”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” the coroner went on, “the ball has been
+extracted from your uncle’s head!”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“It corresponds with those in the cartridges found in his stand
+drawer, and is of the number used with this pistol.”
+
+Her head fell forward on her hands; her eyes sought the floor; her
+whole attitude expressed disheartenment. Seeing it, the coroner
+grew still more grave.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said he, “I have now some questions to put you
+concerning last night. Where did you spend the evening?”
+
+“Alone, in my own room.”
+
+“You, however, saw your uncle or your cousin during the course of
+it?”
+
+“No, sir; I saw no one after leaving the dinner table--except
+Thomas,” she added, after a moment’s pause.
+
+“And how came you to see him?”
+
+“He came to bring me the card of a gentleman who called.”
+
+“May I ask the name of the gentleman?”
+
+“The name on the card was Mr. Le Roy Robbins.”
+
+The matter seemed trivial; but the sudden start given by the lady
+at my side made me remember it.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, when seated in your room, are you in the habit
+of leaving your door open?”
+
+A startled look at this, quickly suppressed. “Not in the habit; no,
+sir.”
+
+“Why did you leave it open last night?”
+
+“I was feeling warm.”
+
+“No other reason?”
+
+“I can give no other.”
+
+“When did you close it?”
+
+“Upon retiring.”
+
+“Was that before or after the servants went up?”
+
+“After.”
+
+“Did you hear Mr. Harwell when he left the library and ascended to
+his room?”
+
+“I did, sir.”
+
+“How much longer did you leave your door open after that?”
+
+“I--I--a few minutes--a--I cannot say,” she added, hurriedly.
+
+“Cannot say? Why? Do you forget?”
+
+“I forget just how long after Mr. Harwell came up I closed it.”
+
+“Was it more than ten minutes?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“More than twenty?”
+
+“Perhaps.” How pale her face was, and how she trembled!
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, according to evidence, your uncle came to his
+death not very long after Mr. Harwell left him. If your door was
+open, you ought to have heard if any one went to his room, or any
+pistol shot was fired. Now, did you hear anything?”
+
+“I heard no confusion; no, sir.”
+
+“Did you hear anything?”
+
+“Nor any pistol shot.”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, excuse my persistence, but did you hear
+anything?”
+
+“I heard a door close.”
+
+“What door?”
+
+“The library door.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“I do not know.” She clasped her hands hysterically. “I cannot say.
+Why do you ask me so many questions?”
+
+I leaped to my feet; she was swaying, almost fainting. But before
+I could reach her, she had drawn herself up again, and resumed
+her former demeanor. “Excuse me,” said she; “I am not myself
+this morning. I beg your pardon,” and she turned steadily to the
+coroner. “What was it you asked?”
+
+“I asked,” and his voice grew thin and high,--evidently her manner
+was beginning to tell against her,--“when it was you heard the
+library door shut?”
+
+“I cannot fix the precise time, but it was after Mr. Harwell came
+up, and before I closed my own.”
+
+“And you heard no pistol shot?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+The coroner cast a quick look at the jury, who almost to a man
+glanced aside as he did so.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, we are told that Hannah, one of the servants,
+started for your room late last night after some medicine. Did she
+come there?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“When did you first learn of her remarkable disappearance from this
+house during the night?”
+
+“This morning before breakfast. Molly met me in the hall, and asked
+how Hannah was. I thought the inquiry a strange one, and naturally
+questioned her. A moment’s talk made the conclusion plain that the
+girl was gone.”
+
+“What did you think when you became assured of this fact?”
+
+“I did not know what to think.”
+
+“No suspicion of foul play crossed your mind?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“You did not connect the fact with that of your uncle’s murder?”
+
+“I did not know of this murder then.”
+
+“And afterwards?”
+
+“Oh, some thought of the possibility of her knowing something about
+it may have crossed my mind; I cannot say.”
+
+“Can you tell us anything of this girl’s past history?”
+
+“I can tell you no more in regard to it than my cousin has done.”
+
+“Do you not know what made her sad at night?”
+
+Her cheek flushed angrily; was it at his tone, or at the question
+itself? “No, sir! she never confided her secrets to my keeping.”
+
+“Then you cannot tell us where she would be likely to go upon
+leaving this house?”
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, we are obliged to put another question to you.
+We are told it was by your order your uncle’s body was removed from
+where it was found, into the next room.”
+
+She bowed her head.
+
+“Didn’t you know it to be improper for you or any one else to
+disturb the body of a person found dead, except in the presence and
+under the authority of the proper officer?”
+
+“I did not consult my knowledge, sir, in regard to the subject:
+only my feelings.”
+
+“Then I suppose it was your feelings which prompted you to
+remain standing by the table at which he was murdered, instead
+of following the body in and seeing it properly deposited? Or
+perhaps,” he went on, with relentless sarcasm, “you were too much
+interested, just then, in the piece of paper you took away, to
+think much of the proprieties of the occasion?”
+
+“Paper?” lifting her head with determination. “Who says I took a
+piece of paper from the table?”
+
+“One witness has sworn to seeing you bend over the table upon which
+several papers lay strewn; another, to meeting you a few minutes
+later in the hall just as you were putting a piece of paper into
+your pocket. The inference follows, Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+This was a home thrust, and we looked to see some show of
+agitation, but her haughty lip never quivered.
+
+“You have drawn the inference, and you must prove the fact.”
+
+The answer was stateliness itself, and we were not surprised to see
+the coroner look a trifle baffled; but, recovering himself, he said:
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, I must ask you again, whether you did or did not
+take anything from that table?”
+
+She folded her arms. “I decline answering the question,” she
+quietly said.
+
+“Pardon me,” he rejoined: “it is necessary that you should.”
+
+Her lip took a still more determined curve. “When any suspicious
+paper is found in my possession, it will be time enough then for me
+to explain how I came by it.”
+
+This defiance seemed to quite stagger the coroner.
+
+“Do you realize to what this refusal is liable to subject you?”
+
+She dropped her head. “I am afraid that I do; yes, sir.”
+
+Mr. Gryce lifted his hand, and softly twirled the tassel of the
+window curtain.
+
+“And you still persist?”
+
+She absolutely disdained to reply.
+
+The coroner did not press it further.
+
+It had now become evident to all, that Eleanore Leavenworth not
+only stood on her defence, but was perfectly aware of her position,
+and prepared to maintain it. Even her cousin, who until now had
+preserved some sort of composure, began to show signs of strong and
+uncontrollable agitation, as if she found it one thing to utter an
+accusation herself, and quite another to see it mirrored in the
+countenances of the men about her.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” the coroner continued, changing the line
+of attack, “you have always had free access to your uncle’s
+apartments, have you not?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Might even have entered his room late at night, crossed it and
+stood at his side, without disturbing him sufficiently to cause him
+to turn his head?”
+
+“Yes,” her hands pressing themselves painfully together.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, the key to the library door is missing.”
+
+She made no answer.
+
+“It has been testified to, that previous to the actual discovery
+of the murder, you visited the door of the library alone. Will you
+tell us if the key was then in the lock?”
+
+“It was not.”
+
+“Are you certain?”
+
+“I am.”
+
+“Now, was there anything peculiar about this key, either in size or
+shape?”
+
+She strove to repress the sudden terror which this question
+produced, glanced carelessly around at the group of servants
+stationed at her back, and trembled. “It was a little different
+from the others,” she finally acknowledged.
+
+“In what respect?”
+
+“The handle was broken.”
+
+“Ah, gentlemen, the handle was broken!” emphasized the coroner,
+looking towards the jury.
+
+Mr. Gryce seemed to take this information to himself, for he gave
+another of his quick nods.
+
+“You would, then, recognize this key, Miss Leavenworth, if you
+should see it?”
+
+She cast a startled look at him, as if she expected to behold it
+in his hand; but, seeming to gather courage at not finding it
+produced, replied quite easily:
+
+“I think I should, sir.”
+
+The coroner seemed satisfied, and was about to dismiss the witness
+when Mr. Gryce quietly advanced and touched him on the arm. “One
+moment,” said that gentleman, and stooping, he whispered a few
+words in the coroner’s ear; then, recovering himself, stood with
+his right hand in his breast pocket and his eye upon the chandelier.
+
+I scarcely dared to breathe. Had he repeated to the coroner the
+words he had inadvertently overheard in the hall above? But a
+glance at the latter’s face satisfied me that nothing of such
+importance had transpired. He looked not only tired, but a trifle
+annoyed.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said he, turning again in her direction;
+“you have declared that you did not visit your uncle’s room last
+evening. Do you repeat the assertion?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+He glanced at Mr. Gryce, who immediately drew from his breast a
+handkerchief curiously soiled. “It is strange, then, that your
+handkerchief should have been found this morning in that room.”
+
+The girl uttered a cry. Then, while Mary’s face hardened into a
+sort of strong despair, Eleanore tightened her lips and coldly
+replied, “I do not see as it is so very strange. I was in that room
+early this morning.”
+
+“And you dropped it then?”
+
+A distressed blush crossed her face; she did not reply.
+
+“Soiled in this way?” he went on.
+
+“I know nothing about the soil. What is it? let me see.”
+
+“In a moment. What we now wish, is to know how it came to be in
+your uncle’s apartment.”
+
+“There are many ways. I might have left it there days ago. I have
+told you I was in the habit of visiting his room. But first, let me
+see if it is my handkerchief.” And she held out her hand.
+
+“I presume so, as I am told it has your initials embroidered in the
+corner,” he remarked, as Mr. Gryce passed it to her.
+
+But she with horrified voice interrupted him. “These dirty spots!
+What are they? They look like--”
+
+“--what they are,” said the coroner. “If you have ever cleaned a
+pistol, you must know what they are, Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+She let the handkerchief fall convulsively from her hand, and stood
+staring at it, lying before her on the floor. “I know nothing about
+it, gentlemen,” she said. “It is my handkerchief, but--” for some
+cause she did not finish her sentence, but again repeated, “Indeed,
+gentlemen, I know nothing about it!”
+
+This closed her testimony.
+
+Kate, the cook, was now recalled, and asked to tell when she last
+washed the handkerchief?
+
+“This, sir; this handkerchief? Oh, some time this week, sir,”
+throwing a deprecatory glance at her mistress.
+
+“What day?”
+
+“Well, I wish I could forget, Miss Eleanore, but I can’t. It is the
+only one like it in the house. I washed it day before yesterday.”
+
+“When did you iron it?”
+
+“Yesterday morning,” half choking over the words.
+
+“And when did you take it to her room?”
+
+The cook threw her apron over her head. “Yesterday afternoon, with
+the rest of the clothes, just before dinner. Indade, I could not
+help it, Miss Eleanore!” she whispered; “it was the truth.”
+
+Eleanore Leavenworth frowned. This somewhat contradictory
+evidence had very sensibly affected her; and when, a moment
+later, the coroner, having dismissed the witness, turned towards
+her, and inquired if she had anything further to say in the
+way of explanation or otherwise, she threw her hands up almost
+spasmodically, slowly shook her head and, without word or warning,
+fainted quietly away in her chair.
+
+A commotion, of course, followed, during which I noticed that Mary
+did not hasten to her cousin, but left it for Molly and Kate to do
+what they could toward her resuscitation. In a few moments this was
+in so far accomplished that they were enabled to lead her from the
+room. As they did so, I observed a tall man rise and follow her out.
+
+A momentary silence ensued, soon broken, however, by an impatient
+stir as our little juryman rose and proposed that the jury should
+now adjourn for the day. This seeming to fall in with the coroner’s
+views, he announced that the inquest would stand adjourned till
+three o’clock the next day, when he trusted all the jurors would be
+present.
+
+A general rush followed, that in a few minutes emptied the room of
+all but Miss Leavenworth, Mr. Gryce, and myself.
+
+
+
+
+IX. A DISCOVERY
+
+      “His rolling Eies did never rest in place,
+      But walkte each where for feare of hid mischance,
+      Holding a lattis still before his Pace,
+      Through which he still did peep as forward he did pace.”
+
+                                                      Faerie Queene.
+
+
+Miss Leavenworth, who appeared to have lingered from a vague terror
+of everything and everybody in the house not under her immediate
+observation, shrank from my side the moment she found herself
+left comparatively alone, and, retiring to a distant corner,
+gave herself up to grief. Turning my attention, therefore, in
+the direction of Mr. Gryce, I found that person busily engaged
+in counting his own fingers with a troubled expression upon his
+countenance, which may or may not have been the result of that
+arduous employment. But, at my approach, satisfied perhaps that
+he possessed no more than the requisite number, he dropped his
+hands and greeted me with a faint smile which was, considering all
+things, too suggestive to be pleasant.
+
+“Well,” said I, taking my stand before him, “I cannot blame you.
+You had a right to do as you thought best; but how had you the
+heart? Was she not sufficiently compromised without your bringing
+out that wretched handkerchief, which she may or may not have
+dropped in that room, but whose presence there, soiled though it
+was with pistol grease, is certainly no proof that she herself was
+connected with this murder?”
+
+“Mr. Raymond,” he returned, “I have been detailed as police officer
+and detective to look after this case, and I propose to do it.”
+
+“Of course,” I hastened to reply. “I am the last man to wish you to
+shirk your duty; but you cannot have the temerity to declare that
+this young and tender creature can by any possibility be considered
+as at all likely to be implicated in a crime so monstrous and
+unnatural. The mere assertion of another woman’s suspicions on the
+subject ought not----”
+
+But here Mr. Gryce interrupted me. “You talk when your attention
+should be directed to more important matters. That other woman,
+as you are pleased to designate the fairest ornament of New York
+society, sits over there in tears; go and comfort her.”
+
+Looking at him in amazement, I hesitated to comply; but, seeing he
+was in earnest, crossed to Mary Leavenworth and sat down by her
+side. She was weeping, but in a slow, unconscious way, as if grief
+had been mastered by fear. The fear was too undisguised and the
+grief too natural for me to doubt the genuineness of either.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “any attempt at consolation on the part
+of a stranger must seem at a time like this the most bitter of
+mockeries; but do try and consider that circumstantial evidence is
+not always absolute proof.”
+
+Starting with surprise, she turned her eyes upon me with a slow,
+comprehensive gaze wonderful to see in orbs so tender and womanly.
+
+“No,” she repeated; “circumstantial evidence is not absolute proof,
+but Eleanore does not know this. She is so intense; she cannot
+see but one thing at a time. She has been running her head into a
+noose, and oh,--” Pausing, she clutched my arm with a passionate
+grasp: “Do you think there is any danger? Will they--” She could
+not go on.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I protested, with a warning look toward the
+detective, “what do you mean?”
+
+Like a flash, her glance followed mine, an instant change taking
+place in her bearing.
+
+“Your cousin may be intense,” I went on, as if nothing had
+occurred; “but I do not know to what you refer when you say she has
+been running her head into a noose.”
+
+“I mean this,” she firmly returned: “that, wittingly or
+unwittingly, she has so parried and met the questions which have
+been put to her in this room that any one listening to her would
+give her the credit of knowing more than she ought to of this
+horrible affair. She acts”--Mary whispered, but not so low but
+that every word could be distinctly heard in all quarters of the
+room--“as if she were anxious to conceal something. But she is not;
+I am sure she is not. Eleanore and I are not good friends; but all
+the world can never make me believe she has any more knowledge
+of this murder than I have. Won’t somebody tell her, then--won’t
+you--that her manner is a mistake; that it is calculated to arouse
+suspicion; that it has already done so? And oh, don’t forget to
+add”--her voice sinking to a decided whisper now--“what you have
+just repeated to me: that circumstantial evidence is not always
+absolute proof.”
+
+I surveyed her with great astonishment. What an actress this woman
+was!
+
+“You request me to tell her this,” said I. “Wouldn’t it be better
+for you to speak to her yourself?”
+
+“Eleanore and I hold little or no confidential communication,” she
+replied.
+
+I could easily believe this, and yet I was puzzled. Indeed, there
+was something incomprehensible in her whole manner. Not knowing
+what else to say, I remarked, “That is unfortunate. She ought to be
+told that the straightforward course is the best by all means.”
+
+Mary Leavenworth only wept. “Oh, why has this awful trouble come to
+me, who have always been so happy before!”
+
+“Perhaps for the very reason that you have always been so happy.”
+
+“It was not enough for dear uncle to die in this horrible manner;
+but she, my own cousin, had to----”
+
+I touched her arm, and the action seemed to recall her to herself.
+Stopping short, she bit her lip.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I whispered, “you should hope for the best.
+Besides, I honestly believe you to be disturbing yourself
+unnecessarily. If nothing fresh transpires, a mere prevarication or
+so of your cousin’s will not suffice to injure her.”
+
+I said this to see if she had any reason to doubt the future. I was
+amply rewarded.
+
+“Anything fresh? How could there be anything fresh, when she is
+perfectly innocent?”
+
+Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike her. Wheeling round in her
+seat till her lovely, perfumed wrapper brushed my knee, she asked:
+“Why didn’t they ask me more questions? I could have told them
+Eleanore never left her room last night.”
+
+“You could?” What was I to think of this woman?
+
+“Yes; my room is nearer the head of the stairs than hers; if she
+had passed my door, I should have heard her, don’t you see?”
+
+Ah, that was all.
+
+“That does not follow,” I answered sadly. “Can you give no other
+reason?”
+
+“I would say whatever was necessary,” she whispered.
+
+I started back. Yes, this woman would lie now to save her cousin;
+had lied during the inquest. But then I felt grateful, and now I
+was simply horrified.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “nothing can justify one in violating
+the dictates of his own conscience, not even the safety of one we
+do not altogether love.”
+
+“No?” she returned; and her lip took a tremulous curve, the lovely
+bosom heaved, and she softly looked away.
+
+If Eleanore’s beauty had made less of an impression on my fancy,
+or her frightful situation awakened less anxiety in my breast, I
+should have been a lost man from that moment.
+
+“I did not mean to do anything very wrong,” Miss Leavenworth
+continued. “Do not think too badly of me.”
+
+“No, no,” said I; and there is not a man living who would not have
+said the same in my place.
+
+What more might have passed between us on this subject I cannot
+say, for just then the door opened and a man entered whom I
+recognized as the one who had followed Eleanore Leavenworth out, a
+short time before.
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” said he, pausing just inside the door; “a word if you
+please.”
+
+The detective nodded, but did not hasten towards him; instead of
+that, he walked deliberately away to the other end of the room,
+where he lifted the lid of an inkstand he saw there, muttered
+some unintelligible words into it, and speedily shut it again.
+Immediately the uncanny fancy seized me that if I should leap to
+that inkstand, open it and peer in, I should surprise and capture
+the bit of confidence he had intrusted to it. But I restrained my
+foolish impulse, and contented myself with noting the subdued look
+of respect with which the gaunt subordinate watched the approach of
+his superior.
+
+“Well?” inquired the latter as he reached him: “what now?”
+
+The man shrugged his shoulders, and drew his principal through the
+open door. Once in the hall their voices sank to a whisper, and as
+their backs only were visible, I turned to look at my companion.
+She was pale but composed.
+
+“Has he come from Eleanore?”
+
+“I do not know; I fear so. Miss Leavenworth,” I proceeded, “can it
+be possible that your cousin has anything in her possession she
+desires to conceal?”
+
+“Then you think she is trying to conceal something?”
+
+“I do not say so. But there was considerable talk about a paper----”
+
+“They will never find any paper or anything else suspicious in
+Eleanore’s possession,” Mary interrupted. “In the first place,
+there was no paper of importance enough”--I saw Mr. Gryce’s form
+suddenly stiffen--“for any one to attempt its abstraction and
+concealment.”
+
+“Can you be sure of that? May not your cousin be acquainted with
+something----”
+
+“There was nothing to be acquainted with, Mr. Raymond. We lived
+the most methodical and domestic of lives. I cannot understand,
+for my part, why so much should be made out of this. My uncle
+undoubtedly came to his death by the hand of some intended burglar.
+That nothing was stolen from the house is no proof that a burglar
+never entered it. As for the doors and windows being locked, will
+you take the word of an Irish servant as infallible upon such
+an important point? I cannot. I believe the assassin to be one
+of a gang who make their living by breaking into houses, and if
+you cannot honestly agree with me, do try and consider such an
+explanation as possible; if not for the sake of the family credit,
+why then”--and she turned her face with all its fair beauty upon
+mine, eyes, cheeks, mouth all so exquisite and winsome--“why then,
+for mine.”
+
+Instantly Mr. Gryce turned towards us. “Mr. Raymond, will you be
+kind enough to step this way?”
+
+Glad to escape from my present position, I hastily obeyed.
+
+“What has happened?” I asked.
+
+“We propose to take you into our confidence,” was the easy
+response. “Mr. Raymond, Mr. Fobbs.”
+
+I bowed to the man I saw before me, and stood uneasily waiting.
+Anxious as I was to know what we really had to fear, I still
+intuitively shrank from any communication with one whom I looked
+upon as a spy.
+
+“A matter of some importance,” resumed the detective. “It is not
+necessary for me to remind you that it is in confidence, is it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I thought not. Mr. Fobbs you may proceed.”
+
+Instantly the whole appearance of the man Fobbs changed. Assuming
+an expression of lofty importance, he laid his large hand outspread
+upon his heart and commenced.
+
+“Detailed by Mr. Gryce to watch the movements of Miss Eleanore
+Leavenworth, I left this room upon her departure from it, and
+followed her and the two servants who conducted her up-stairs to
+her own apartment. Once there---”
+
+Mr. Gryce interrupted him. “Once there? where?”
+
+“Her own room, sir.”
+
+“Where situated?”
+
+“At the head of the stairs.”
+
+“That is not her room. Go on.”
+
+“Not her room? Then it _was_ the fire she was after!” he cried,
+clapping himself on the knee.
+
+“The fire?”
+
+“Excuse me; I am ahead of my story. She did not appear to notice
+me much, though I was right behind her. It was not until she
+had reached the door of this room--which was not her room!” he
+interpolated dramatically, “and turned to dismiss her servants,
+that she seemed conscious of having been followed. Eying me then
+with an air of great dignity, quickly eclipsed, however, by an
+expression of patient endurance, she walked in, leaving the door
+open behind her in a courteous way I cannot sufficiently commend.”
+
+I could not help frowning. Honest as the man appeared, this was
+evidently anything but a sore subject with him. Observing me frown,
+he softened his manner.
+
+“Not seeing any other way of keeping her under my eye, except by
+entering the room, I followed her in, and took a seat in a remote
+corner. She flashed one look at me as I did so, and commenced
+pacing the floor in a restless kind of way I’m not altogether
+unused to. At last she stopped abruptly, right in the middle
+of the room. ‘Get me a glass of water!’ she gasped; ‘I’m faint
+again--quick! on the stand in the corner.’ Now in order to get
+that glass of water it was necessary for me to pass behind a
+dressing mirror that reached almost to the ceiling; and I naturally
+hesitated. But she turned and looked at me, and--Well, gentlemen,
+I think either of you would have hastened to do what she asked;
+or at least”--with a doubtful look at Mr. Gryce--“have given your
+two ears for the privilege, even if you didn’t succumb to the
+temptation.”
+
+“Well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, impatiently.
+
+[Illustration: “She . . . was fumbling with the waist of her dress
+in a way to convince me she had something concealed there which she
+was anxious to dispose of”]
+
+“I am going on,” said he. “I stepped out of sight, then, for a
+moment; but it seemed long enough for her purpose; for when I
+emerged, glass in hand, she was kneeling at the grate full five
+feet from the spot where she had been standing, and was fumbling
+with the waist of her dress in a way to convince me she had
+something concealed there which she was anxious to dispose of. I
+eyed her pretty closely as I handed her the glass of water, but she
+was gazing into the grate, and didn’t appear to notice. Drinking
+barely a drop, she gave it back, and in another moment was holding
+out her hands over the fire. ‘Oh, I am so cold!’ she cried, ‘so
+cold.’ And I verily believe she was. At any rate, she shivered most
+naturally. But there were a few dying embers in the grate, and
+when I saw her thrust her hand again into the folds of her dress I
+became distrustful of her intentions and, drawing a step nearer,
+looked over her shoulder, when I distinctly saw her drop something
+into the grate that clinked as it fell. Suspecting what it was, I
+was about to interfere, when she sprang to her feet, seized the
+scuttle of coal that was upon the hearth, and with one move emptied
+the whole upon the dying embers. ‘I want a fire,’ she cried, ‘a
+fire!’ ‘That is hardly the way to make one,’ I returned, carefully
+taking the coal out with my hands, piece by piece, and putting it
+back into the scuttle, till--”
+
+“Till what?” I asked, seeing him and Mr. Gryce exchange a hurried
+look.
+
+“Till I found this!” opening his large hand, and showing me _a
+broken-handled key_.
+
+
+
+
+X. MR. GRYCE RECEIVES NEW IMPETUS
+
+      “There’s nothing ill
+      Can dwell in such a temple.”
+
+                                Tempest.
+
+
+This astounding discovery made a most unhappy impression upon me.
+It was true, then. Eleanore the beautiful, the lovesome, was--I did
+not, could not finish the sentence, even in the silence of my own
+mind.
+
+“You look surprised,” said Mr. Gryce, glancing curiously towards
+the key. “Now, I ain’t. A woman does not thrill, blush, equivocate,
+and faint for nothing; especially such a woman as Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+“A woman who could do such a deed would be the last to thrill,
+equivocate, and faint,” I retorted. “Give me the key; let me see
+it.”
+
+He complacently put it in my hand. “It is the one we want. No
+getting out of that.”
+
+I returned it. “If she declares herself innocent, I will believe
+her.”
+
+He stared with great amazement. “You have strong faith in the
+women,” he laughed. “I hope they will never disappoint you.”
+
+I had no reply for this, and a short silence ensued, first broken
+by Mr. Gryce. “There is but one thing left to do,” said he. “Fobbs,
+you will have to request Miss Leavenworth to come down. Do not
+alarm her; only see that she comes. To the reception room,” he
+added, as the man drew off.
+
+No sooner were we left alone than I made a move to return to Mary,
+but he stopped me.
+
+“Come and see it out,” he whispered. “She will be down in a moment;
+see it out; you had best.”
+
+Glancing back, I hesitated; but the prospect of beholding Eleanore
+again drew me, in spite of myself. Telling him to wait, I returned
+to Mary’s side to make my excuses.
+
+“What is the matter--what has occurred?” she breathlessly asked.
+
+“Nothing as yet to disturb you much. Do not be alarmed.” But my
+face betrayed me.
+
+“There is something!” said she.
+
+“Your cousin is coming down.”
+
+“Down here?” and she shrank visibly.
+
+“No, to the reception room.”
+
+“I do not understand. It is all dreadful; and no one tells me
+anything.”
+
+“I pray God there may be nothing to tell. Judging from your present
+faith in your cousin, there will not be. Take comfort, then, and
+be assured I will inform you if anything occurs which you ought to
+know.”
+
+Giving her a look of encouragement, I left her crushed against the
+crimson pillows of the sofa on which she sat, and rejoined Mr.
+Gryce. We had scarcely entered the reception room when Eleanore
+Leavenworth came in.
+
+More languid than she was an hour before, but haughty still, she
+slowly advanced, and, meeting my eye, gently bent her head.
+
+“I have been summoned here,” said she, directing herself
+exclusively to Mr. Gryce, “by an individual whom I take to be in
+your employ. If so, may I request you to make your wishes known at
+once, as I am quite exhausted, and am in great need of rest.”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” returned Mr. Gryce, rubbing his hands together
+and staring in quite a fatherly manner at the door-knob, “I am very
+sorry to trouble you, but the fact is I wish to ask you----”
+
+But here she stopped him. “Anything in regard to the key which that
+man has doubtless told you he saw me drop into the ashes?”
+
+“Yes, Miss.”
+
+“Then I must refuse to answer any questions concerning it. I have
+nothing to say on the subject, unless it is this:”--giving him a
+look full of suffering, but full of a certain sort of courage,
+too--“that he was right if he told you I had the key in hiding
+about my person, and that I attempted to conceal it in the ashes of
+the grate.”
+
+“Still, Miss----”
+
+But she had already withdrawn to the door. “I pray you to excuse
+me,” said she. “No argument you could advance would make any
+difference in my determination; therefore it would be but a waste
+of energy on your part to attempt any.” And, with a flitting glance
+in my direction, not without its appeal, she quietly left the room.
+
+For a moment Mr. Gryce stood gazing after her with a look of great
+interest, then, bowing with almost exaggerated homage, he hastily
+followed her out.
+
+I had scarcely recovered from the surprise occasioned by this
+unexpected movement when a quick step was heard in the hall, and
+Mary, flushed and anxious, appeared at my side.
+
+“What is it?” she inquired. “What has Eleanore been saying?”
+
+“Alas!” I answered, “she has not said anything. That is the
+trouble, Miss Leavenworth. Your cousin preserves a reticence upon
+certain points very painful to witness. She ought to understand
+that if she persists in doing this, that----”
+
+“That what?” There was no mistaking the deep anxiety prompting this
+question.
+
+“That she cannot avoid the trouble that will ensue.”
+
+For a moment she stood gazing at me, with great horror-stricken,
+incredulous eyes; then sinking back into a chair, flung her hands
+over her face with the cry:
+
+“Oh, why were we ever born! Why were we allowed to live! Why did we
+not perish with those who gave us birth!”
+
+In the face of anguish like this, I could not keep still.
+
+“Dear Miss Leavenworth,” I essayed, “there is no cause for such
+despair as this. The future looks dark, but not impenetrable. Your
+cousin will listen to reason, and in explaining----”
+
+But she, deaf to my words, had again risen to her feet, and stood
+before me in an attitude almost appalling.
+
+“Some women in my position would go mad! mad! mad!”
+
+I surveyed her with growing wonder. I thought I knew what she
+meant. She was conscious of having given the cue which had led to
+this suspicion of her cousin, and that in this way the trouble
+which hung over their heads was of her own making. I endeavored to
+soothe her, but my efforts were all unavailing. Absorbed in her own
+anguish, she paid but little attention to me. Satisfied at last
+that I could do nothing more for her, I turned to go. The movement
+seemed to arouse her.
+
+“I am sorry to leave,” said I, “without having afforded you any
+comfort. Believe me; I am very anxious to assist you. Is there no
+one I can send to your side; no woman friend or relative? It is sad
+to leave you alone in this house at such a time.”
+
+“And do you expect me to remain here? Why, I should die! Here
+to-night?” and the long shudders shook her very frame.
+
+“It is not at all necessary for you to do so, Miss Leavenworth,”
+broke in a bland voice over our shoulders.
+
+I turned with a start. Mr. Gryce was not only at our back, but
+had evidently been there for some moments. Seated near the door,
+one hand in his pocket, the other caressing the arm of his chair,
+he met our gaze with a sidelong smile that seemed at once to beg
+pardon for the intrusion, and to assure us it was made with no
+unworthy motive. “Everything will be properly looked after, Miss;
+you can leave with perfect safety.”
+
+I expected to see her resent this interference; but instead of
+that, she manifested a certain satisfaction in beholding him there.
+
+Drawing me to one side, she whispered, “You think this Mr. Gryce
+very clever, do you not?”
+
+“Well,” I cautiously replied, “he ought to be to hold the position
+he does. The authorities evidently repose great confidence in him.”
+
+Stepping from my side as suddenly as she had approached it, she
+crossed the room and stood before Mr. Gryce.
+
+“Sir,” said she, gazing at him with a glance of entreaty: “I hear
+you have great talents; that you can ferret out the real criminal
+from a score of doubtful characters, and that nothing can escape
+the penetration of your eye. If this is so, have pity on two orphan
+girls, suddenly bereft of their guardian and protector, and use
+your acknowledged skill in finding out who has committed this
+crime. It would be folly in me to endeavor to hide from you that
+my cousin in her testimony has given cause for suspicion; but I
+here declare her to be as innocent of wrong as I am; and I am only
+endeavoring to turn the eye of justice from the guiltless to the
+guilty when I entreat you to look elsewhere for the culprit who
+committed this deed.” Pausing, she held her two hands out before
+him. “It must have been some common burglar or desperado; can you
+not bring him, then, to justice?”
+
+Her attitude was so touching, her whole appearance so earnest and
+appealing, that I saw Mr. Gryce’s countenance brim with suppressed
+emotion, though his eye never left the coffee-urn upon which it had
+fixed itself at her first approach.
+
+“You must find out--you can!” she went on. “Hannah--the girl who
+is gone--must know all about it. Search for her, ransack the city,
+do anything; my property is at your disposal. I will offer a large
+reward for the detection of the burglar who did this deed!”
+
+Mr. Gryce slowly rose. “Miss Leavenworth,” he began, and stopped;
+the man was actually agitated. “Miss Leavenworth, I did not need
+your very touching appeal to incite me to my utmost duty in
+this case. Personal and professional pride were in themselves
+sufficient. But, since you have honored me with this expression
+of your wishes, I will not conceal from you that I shall feel a
+certain increased interest in the affair from this hour. What
+mortal man can do, I will do, and if in one month from this day I
+do not come to you for my reward, Ebenezer Gryce is not the man I
+have always taken him to be.”
+
+“And Eleanore?”
+
+“We will mention no names,” said he, gently waving his hand to and
+fro.
+
+A few minutes later, I left the house with Miss Leavenworth, she
+having expressed a wish to have me accompany her to the home
+of her friend, Mrs. Gilbert, with whom she had decided to take
+refuge. As we rolled down the street in the carriage Mr. Gryce had
+been kind enough to provide for us, I noticed my companion cast a
+look of regret behind her, as if she could not help feeling some
+compunctions at this desertion of her cousin.
+
+But this expression was soon changed for the alert look of one who
+dreads to see a certain face start up from some unknown quarter.
+Glancing up and down the street, peering furtively into doorways as
+we passed, starting and trembling if a sudden figure appeared on
+the curbstone, she did not seem to breathe with perfect ease till
+we had left the avenue behind us and entered upon Thirty-seventh
+Street. Then, all at once her natural color returned and, leaning
+gently toward me, she asked if I had a pencil and piece of paper I
+could give her. I fortunately possessed both. Handing them to her,
+I watched her with some little curiosity while she wrote two or
+three lines, wondering she could choose such a time and place for
+the purpose.
+
+“A little note I wish to send,” she explained, glancing at the
+almost illegible scrawl with an expression of doubt. “Couldn’t you
+stop the carriage a moment while I direct it?”
+
+I did so, and in another instant the leaf which I had torn from my
+note-book was folded, directed, and sealed with a stamp which she
+had taken from her own pocketbook.
+
+“That is a crazy-looking epistle,” she muttered, as she laid it,
+direction downwards, in her lap.
+
+“Why not wait, then, till you arrive at your destination, where you
+can seal it properly, and direct it at your leisure?”
+
+“Because I am in haste. I wish to mail it now. Look, there is a box
+on the corner; please ask the driver to stop once more.”
+
+“Shall I not post it for you?” I asked, holding out my hand.
+
+But she shook her head, and, without waiting for my assistance,
+opened the door on her own side of the carriage and leaped to the
+ground. Even then she paused to glance up and down the street,
+before venturing to drop her hastily written letter into the box.
+But when it had left her hand, she looked brighter and more hopeful
+than I had yet seen her. And when, a few moments later, she turned
+to bid me good-by in front of her friend’s house, it was with
+almost a cheerful air she put out her hand and entreated me to call
+on her the next day, and inform her how the inquest progressed.
+
+I shall not attempt to disguise from you the fact that I spent all
+that long evening in going over the testimony given at the inquest,
+endeavoring to reconcile what I had heard with any other theory
+than that of Eleanore’s guilt. Taking a piece of paper, I jotted
+down the leading causes of suspicion as follows:
+
+1. Her late disagreement with her uncle, and evident estrangement
+from him, as testified to by Mr. Harwell.
+
+2. The mysterious disappearance of one of the servants of the house.
+
+3. The forcible accusation made by her cousin,--overheard, however,
+only by Mr. Gryce and myself.
+
+4. Her equivocation in regard to the handkerchief found stained
+with pistol smut on the scene of the tragedy.
+
+5. Her refusal to speak in regard to the paper which she was
+supposed to have taken from Mr. Leavenworth’s table immediately
+upon the removal of the body.
+
+6. The finding of the library key in her possession.
+
+“A dark record,” I involuntarily decided, as I looked it over; but
+even in doing so began jotting down on the other side of the sheet
+the following explanatory notes:
+
+1. Disagreements and even estrangements between relatives are
+common. Cases where such disagreements and estrangements have led
+to crime, rare.
+
+2. The disappearance of Hannah points no more certainly in one
+direction than another.
+
+3. If Mary’s private accusation of her cousin was forcible and
+convincing, her public declaration that she neither knew nor
+suspected who might be the author of this crime, was equally so.
+To be sure, the former possessed the advantage of being uttered
+spontaneously; but it was likewise true that it was spoken under
+momentary excitement, without foresight of the consequences, and
+possibly without due consideration of the facts.
+
+4, 5. An innocent man or woman, under the influence of terror, will
+often equivocate in regard to matters that seem to criminate them.
+
+But the key! What could I say to that? Nothing. With that key in
+her possession, and unexplained, Eleanore Leavenworth stood in
+an attitude of suspicion which even I felt forced to recognize.
+Brought to this point, I thrust the paper into my pocket, and took
+up the evening _Express_. Instantly my eye fell upon these words:
+
+    SHOCKING MURDER
+
+    MR. LEAVENWORTH, THE WELL-KNOWN MILLIONAIRE, FOUND DEAD IN HIS
+    ROOM
+
+    NO CLUE TO THE PERPETRATOR OF THE DEED
+
+    THE AWFUL CRIME COMMITTED WITH A PISTOL--EXTRAORDINARY FEATURES
+    OF THE AFFAIR
+
+Ah! here at least was one comfort; her name was not yet mentioned
+as that of a suspected party. But what might not the morrow bring?
+I thought of Mr. Gryce’s expressive look as he handed me that key,
+and shuddered.
+
+“She must be innocent; she cannot be otherwise,” I reiterated to
+myself, and then pausing, asked what warranty I had of this? Only
+her beautiful face; only, only her beautiful face. Abashed, I
+dropped the newspaper, and went down-stairs just as a telegraph
+boy arrived with a message from Mr. Veeley. It was signed by the
+proprietor of the hotel at which Mr. Veeley was then stopping and
+ran thus:
+
+    “WASHINGTON, D. C.
+
+    “Mr. Everett Raymond--
+
+    “Mr. Veeley is lying at my house ill. Have not shown him
+    telegram, fearing results. Will do so as soon as advisable.
+
+    “Thomas Loworthy.”
+
+I went in musing. Why this sudden sensation of relief on my part?
+Could it be that I had unconsciously been guilty of cherishing a
+latent dread of my senior’s return? Why, who else could know so
+well the secret springs which governed this family? Who else could
+so effectually put me upon the right track? Was it possible that
+I, Everett Raymond, hesitated to know the truth in any case? No,
+that should never be said; and, sitting down again, I drew out
+the memoranda I had made and, looking them carefully over, wrote
+against No. 6 the word _suspicious_ in good round characters.
+There! no one could say, after that, I had allowed myself to be
+blinded by a bewitching face from seeing what, in a woman with
+no claims to comeliness, would be considered at once an almost
+indubitable evidence of guilt.
+
+And yet, after it was all done, I found myself repeating aloud as
+I gazed at it: “If she declares herself innocent, I will believe
+her.” So completely are we the creatures of our own predilections.
+
+
+
+XI. THE SUMMONS
+
+      “The pink of courtesy.”
+
+                            Romeo and Juliet.
+
+
+The morning papers contained a more detailed account of the murder
+than those of the evening before; but, to my great relief, in none
+of them was Eleanore’s name mentioned in the connection I most
+dreaded.
+
+The final paragraph in the _Times_ ran thus: “The detectives are
+upon the track of the missing girl, Hannah.” And in the _Herald_ I
+read the following notice:
+
+    “_A Liberal Reward_ will be given by the relatives of Horatio
+    Leavenworth, Esq., deceased, for any news of the whereabouts
+    of one Hannah Chester, disappeared from the house ---- Fifth
+    Avenue since the evening of March 4. Said girl was of Irish
+    extraction; in age about twenty-five, and may be known by the
+    following characteristics. Form tall and slender; hair dark
+    brown with a tinge of red; complexion fresh; features delicate
+    and well made; hands small, but with the fingers much pricked
+    by the use of the needle; feet large, and of a coarser type
+    than the hands. She had on when last seen a checked gingham
+    dress, brown and white, and was supposed to have wrapped
+    herself in a red and green blanket shawl, very old. Beside the
+    above distinctive marks, she had upon her right hand wrist the
+    scar of a large burn; also a pit or two of smallpox upon the
+    left temple.”
+
+This paragraph turned my thoughts in a new direction. Oddly enough,
+I had expended very little thought upon this girl; and yet how
+apparent it was that she was the one person upon whose testimony,
+if given, the whole case in reality hinged, I could not agree with
+those who considered her as personally implicated in the murder.
+An accomplice, conscious of what was before her, would have hid in
+her pockets whatever money she possessed. But the roll of bills
+found in Hannah’s trunk proved her _to_ have left too hurriedly
+for this precaution. On the other hand, if this girl had come
+unexpectedly upon the assassin at his work, how could she have been
+hustled from the house without creating a disturbance loud enough
+to have been heard by the ladies, one of whom had her door open? An
+innocent girl’s first impulse upon such an occasion would have been
+to scream; and yet no scream was heard; she simply disappeared.
+What were we to think then? That the person seen by her was one
+both known and trusted? I would not consider such a possibility;
+so laying down the paper, I endeavored to put away all further
+consideration of the affair till I had acquired more facts upon
+which to base the theory. But who can control his thoughts when
+over-excited upon any one theme? All the morning I found myself
+turning the case over in my mind, arriving ever at one of two
+conclusions. Hannah Chester must be found, or Eleanore Leavenworth
+must explain when and by what means the key of the library door
+came into her possession.
+
+At two o’clock I started from my office to attend the inquest;
+but, being delayed on the way, missed arriving at the house until
+after the delivery of the verdict. This was a disappointment to
+me, especially as by these means I lost the opportunity of seeing
+Eleanore Leavenworth, she having retired to her room immediately
+upon the dismissal of the jury. But Mr. Harwell was visible, and
+from him I heard what the verdict had been.
+
+“Death by means of a pistol shot from the hand of some person
+unknown.”
+
+The result of the inquest was a great relief to me. I had
+feared worse. Nor could I help seeing that, for all his studied
+self-command, the pale-faced secretary shared in my satisfaction.
+
+What was less of a relief to me was the fact, soon communicated,
+that Mr. Gryce and his subordinates had left the premises
+immediately upon the delivery of the verdict. Mr. Gryce was not the
+man to forsake an affair like this while anything of importance
+connected with it remained unexplained. Could it be he meditated
+any decisive action? Somewhat alarmed, I was about to hurry from
+the house for the purpose of learning what his intentions were,
+when a sudden movement in the front lower window of the house on
+the opposite side of the way arrested my attention, and, looking
+closer, I detected the face of Mr. Fobbs peering out from behind
+the curtain. The sight assured me I was not wrong in my estimate of
+Mr. Gryce; and, struck with pity for the desolate girl left to meet
+the exigencies of a fate to which this watch upon her movements was
+but the evident precursor, I stepped back and sent her a note, in
+which, as Mr. Veeley’s representative, I proffered my services in
+case of any sudden emergency, saying I was always to be found in my
+rooms between the hours of six and eight. This done, I proceeded
+to the house in Thirty-seventh Street where I had left Miss Mary
+Leavenworth the day before.
+
+Ushered into the long and narrow drawing-room which of late years
+has been so fashionable in our uptown houses, I found myself almost
+immediately in the presence of Miss Leavenworth.
+
+“Oh,” she cried, with an eloquent gesture of welcome, “I had begun
+to think I was forsaken!” and advancing impulsively, she held out
+her hand. “What is the news from home?”
+
+“A verdict of murder, Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+Her eyes did not lose their question.
+
+“Perpetrated by party or parties unknown.”
+
+A look of relief broke softly across her features.
+
+“And they are all gone?” she exclaimed.
+
+“I found no one in the house who did not belong there.”
+
+“Oh! then we can breathe easily again.”
+
+I glanced hastily up and down the room.
+
+“There is no one here,” said she.
+
+And still I hesitated. At length, in an awkward way enough, I
+turned towards her and said:
+
+“I do not wish either to offend or alarm you, but I must say that I
+consider it your duty to return to your own home to-night.”
+
+“Why?” she stammered. “Is there any particular reason for my doing
+so? Have you not perceived the impossibility of my remaining in the
+same house with Eleanore?”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, I cannot recognize any so-called impossibility
+of this nature. Eleanore is your cousin; has been brought up to
+regard you as a sister; it is not worthy of you to desert her at
+the time of her necessity. You will see this as I do, if you will
+allow yourself a moment’s dispassionate thought.”
+
+“Dispassionate thought is hardly possible under the circumstances,”
+she returned, with a smile of bitter irony.
+
+But before I could reply to this, she softened, and asked if I was
+very anxious to have her return; and when I replied, “More than I
+can say,” she trembled and looked for a moment as if she were half
+inclined to yield; but suddenly broke into tears, crying it was
+impossible, and that I was cruel to ask it.
+
+I drew back, baffled and sore. “Pardon me,” said I, “I have indeed
+transgressed the bounds allotted to me. I will not do so again; you
+have doubtless many friends; let some of them advise you.”
+
+She turned upon me all fire. “The friends you speak of are
+flatterers. You alone have the courage to command me to do what is
+right.”
+
+“Excuse me, I do not command; I only entreat.”
+
+She made no reply, but began pacing the room, her eyes fixed, her
+hands working convulsively. “You little know what you ask,” said
+she. “I feel as though the very atmosphere of that house would
+destroy me; but--why cannot Eleanore come here?” she impulsively
+inquired. “I know Mrs. Gilbert will be quite willing, and I could
+keep my room, and we need not meet.”
+
+“You forget that there is another call at home, besides the one I
+have already mentioned. To-morrow afternoon your uncle is to be
+buried.”
+
+“O yes; poor, poor uncle!”
+
+“You are the head of the household,” I now ventured, “and the
+proper one to attend to the final offices towards one who has done
+so much for you.”
+
+There was something strange in the look which she gave me. “It is
+true,” she assented. Then, with a grand turn of her body, and a
+quick air of determination: “I am desirous of being worthy of your
+good opinion. I will go back to my cousin, Mr. Raymond.”
+
+I felt my spirits rise a little; I took her by the hand. “May that
+cousin have no need of the comfort which I am now sure you will be
+ready to give her.”
+
+Her hand dropped from mine. “I mean to do my duty,” was her cold
+response.
+
+As I descended the stoop, I met a certain thin and fashionably
+dressed young man, who gave me a very sharp look as he passed. As
+he wore his clothes a little too conspicuously for the perfect
+gentleman, and as I had some remembrance of having seen him at
+the inquest, I set him down for a man in Mr. Gryce’s employ, and
+hasted on towards the avenue; when what was my surprise to find on
+the corner another person, who, while pretending to be on the look
+out for a car, cast upon me, as I approached, a furtive glance of
+intense inquiry. As this latter was, without question, a gentleman,
+I felt some annoyance, and, walking quietly up to him, asked if he
+found my countenance familiar, that he scrutinized it so closely.
+
+“I find it a very agreeable one,” was his unexpected reply, as he
+turned from me and walked down the avenue.
+
+Nettled, and in no small degree mortified, at the disadvantage
+in which his courtesy had placed me, I stood watching him as he
+disappeared, asking myself who and what he was. For he was not
+only a gentleman, but a marked one; possessing features of unusual
+symmetry as well as a form of peculiar elegance. Not so very
+young--he might well be forty--there were yet evident on his face
+the impress of youth’s strongest emotions, not a curve of his chin
+nor a glance of his eye betraying in any way the slightest leaning
+towards _ennui_, though face and figure were of that type which
+seems most to invite and cherish it.
+
+“He can have no connection with the police force,” thought I; “nor
+is it by any means certain that he knows me, or is interested in my
+affairs; but I shall not soon forget him, for all that.”
+
+The summons from Eleanore Leavenworth came about eight o’clock in
+the evening. It was brought by Thomas, and read as follows:
+
+“Come, Oh, come! I--” there breaking off in a tremble, as if the
+pen had fallen from a nerveless hand.
+
+It did not take me long to find my way to her home.
+
+
+
+XII. ELEANORE.
+
+      “Constant you are--
+      . . . And for secrecy
+      No lady closer.”
+
+                      Henry IV.
+
+      “No, ’tis slander,
+      Whose edge is sharper than the sword whose tongue
+      Outvenoms all the worms of Nile.”
+
+                                          Cymbeline.
+
+
+The door was opened by Molly. “You will find Miss Eleanore in the
+drawing-room, sir,” she said, ushering me in.
+
+Fearing I knew not what, I hurried to the room thus indicated,
+feeling as never before the sumptuousness of the magnificent
+hall with its antique flooring, carved woods, and bronze
+ornamentations:--the mockery of _things_ for the first time
+forcing itself upon me. Laying my hand on the drawing-room door,
+I listened. All was silent. Slowly pulling it open, I lifted the
+heavy satin curtains hanging before me to the floor, and looked
+within. What a picture met my eyes!
+
+Sitting in the light of a solitary gas jet, whose faint glimmering
+just served to make visible the glancing satin and stainless marble
+of the gorgeous apartment, I beheld Eleanore Leavenworth. Pale as
+the sculptured image of the Psyche that towered above her from the
+mellow dusk of the bow-window near which she sat, beautiful as
+it, and almost as immobile, she crouched with rigid hands frozen
+in forgotten entreaty before her, apparently insensible to sound,
+movement, or touch; a silent figure of despair in presence of an
+implacable fate.
+
+Impressed by the scene, I stood with my hand upon the curtain,
+hesitating if to advance or retreat, when suddenly a sharp tremble
+shook her impassive frame, the rigid hands unlocked, the stony
+eyes softened, and, springing to her feet, she uttered a cry of
+satisfaction, and advanced towards me.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth!” I exclaimed, starting at the sound of my own
+voice.
+
+She paused, and pressed her hands to her face, as if the world
+and all she had forgotten had rushed back upon her at this simple
+utterance of her name.
+
+“What is it?” I asked.
+
+Her hands fell heavily. “Do you not know? They--they are beginning
+to say that I--” she paused, and clutched her throat. “Read!” she
+gasped, pointing to a newspaper lying on the floor at her feet.
+
+I stooped and lifted what showed itself at first glance to be the
+_Evening Telegram_. It needed but a single look to inform me to
+what she referred. There, in startling characters, I beheld:
+
+    THE LEAVENWORTH MURDER
+
+    LATEST DEVELOPMENTS IN THE MYSTERIOUS CASE
+
+    A MEMBER OF THE MURDERED MAN’S OWN FAMILY STRONGLY SUSPECTED
+    OF THE CRIME
+
+    THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN NEW YORK UNDER A CLOUD
+
+    PAST HISTORY OF MISS ELEANORE LEAVENWORTH
+
+I was prepared for it; had schooled myself for this very thing, you
+might say; and yet I could not help recoiling. Dropping the paper
+from my hand, I stood before her, longing and yet dreading to look
+into her face.
+
+“What does it mean?” she panted; “what, what does it mean? Is the
+world mad?” and her eyes, fixed and glassy, stared into mine as if
+she found it impossible to grasp the sense of this outrage.
+
+I shook my head. I could not reply.
+
+“To accuse _me_,” she murmured; “me, me!” striking her breast with
+her clenched hand, “who loved the very ground he trod upon; who
+would have cast my own body between him and the deadly bullet if
+I had only known his danger. Oh!” she cried, “it is not a slander
+they utter, but a dagger which they thrust into my heart!”
+
+Overcome by her misery, but determined not to show my compassion
+until more thoroughly convinced of her complete innocence, I
+replied, after a pause:
+
+“This seems to strike you with great surprise, Miss Leavenworth;
+were you not then able to foresee what must follow your determined
+reticence upon certain points? Did you know so little of human
+nature as to imagine that, situated as you are, you could keep
+silence in regard to any matter connected with this crime, without
+arousing the antagonism of the crowd, to say nothing of the
+suspicions of the police?”
+
+“But--but----”
+
+I hurriedly waved my hand. “When you defied the coroner to find
+any suspicious paper in your possession; when”--I forced myself to
+speak--“you refused to tell Mr. Gryce how you came in possession of
+the key--”
+
+She drew hastily back, a heavy pall seeming to fall over her with
+my words.
+
+“Don’t,” she whispered, looking in terror about her. “Don’t!
+Sometimes I think the walls have ears, and that the very shadows
+listen.”
+
+“Ah,” I returned; “then you hope to keep from the world what is
+known to the detectives?”
+
+She did not answer.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I went on, “I am afraid you do not comprehend
+your position. Try to look at the case for a moment in the light of
+an unprejudiced person; try to see for yourself the necessity of
+explaining----”
+
+“But I cannot explain,” she murmured huskily.
+
+“Cannot!”
+
+I do not know whether it was the tone of my voice or the word
+itself, but that simple expression seemed to affect her like a blow.
+
+“Oh!” she cried, shrinking back: “you do not, cannot doubt me, too?
+I thought that you--” and stopped. “I did not dream that I--” and
+stopped again. Suddenly her whole form quivered. “Oh, I see! You
+have mistrusted me from the first; the appearances against me have
+been too strong”; and she sank inert, lost in the depths of her
+shame and humiliation. “Ah, but now I am forsaken!” she murmured.
+
+The appeal went to my heart. Starting forward, I exclaimed: “Miss
+Leavenworth, I am but a man; I cannot see you so distressed. Say
+that you are innocent, and I will believe you, without regard to
+appearances.”
+
+Springing erect, she towered upon me. “Can any one look in my
+face and accuse me of guilt?” Then, as I sadly shook my head, she
+hurriedly gasped: “You want further proof!” and, quivering with an
+extraordinary emotion, she sprang to the door.
+
+“Come, then,” she cried, “come!” her eyes flashing full of resolve
+upon me.
+
+Aroused, appalled, moved in spite of myself, I crossed the room to
+where she stood; but she was already in the hall. Hastening after
+her, filled with a fear I dared not express, I stood at the foot
+of the stairs; she was half-way to the top. Following her into the
+hall above, I saw her form standing erect and noble at the door of
+her uncle’s bedroom.
+
+“Come!” she again cried, but this time in a calm and reverential
+tone; and flinging the door open before her, she passed in.
+
+Subduing the wonder which I felt, I slowly followed her. There was
+no light in the room of death, but the flame of the gas-burner, at
+the far end of the hall, shone weirdly in, and by its glimmering I
+beheld her kneeling at the shrouded bed, her head bowed above that
+of the murdered man, her hand upon his breast.
+
+“You have said that if I declared my innocence you would believe
+me,” she exclaimed, lifting her head as I entered. “See here,” and
+laying her cheek against the pallid brow of her dead benefactor,
+she kissed the clay-cold lips softly, wildly, agonizedly, then,
+leaping to her feet, cried, in a subdued but thrilling tone: “Could
+I do that if I were guilty? Would not the breath freeze on my lips,
+the blood congeal in my veins, and my heart faint at this contact?
+Son of a father loved and reverenced, can you believe me to be a
+woman stained with crime when I can do this?” and kneeling again
+she cast her arms over and about that inanimate form, looking in
+my face at the same time with an expression no mortal touch could
+paint, nor tongue describe.
+
+“In olden times,” she went on, “they used to say that a dead body
+would bleed if its murderer came in contact with it. What then
+would happen here if I, his daughter, his cherished child, loaded
+with benefits, enriched with his jewels, warm with his kisses,
+should be the thing they accuse me of? Would not the body of the
+outraged dead burst its very shroud and repel me?”
+
+I could not answer; in the presence of some scenes the tongue
+forgets its functions.
+
+“Oh!” she went on, “if there is a God in heaven who loves justice
+and hates a crime, let Him hear me now. If I, by thought or action,
+with or without intention, have been the means of bringing this
+dear head to this pass; if so much as the shadow of guilt, let
+alone the substance, lies upon my heart and across these feeble
+woman’s hands, may His wrath speak in righteous retribution to
+the world, and here, upon the breast of the dead, let this guilty
+forehead fall, never to rise again!”
+
+An awed silence followed this invocation; then a long, long sigh of
+utter relief rose tremulously from my breast, and all the feelings
+hitherto suppressed in my heart burst their bonds, and leaning
+towards her I took her hand in mine.
+
+“You do not, cannot believe me tainted by crime now?” she
+whispered, the smile which does not stir the lips, but rather
+emanates from the countenance, like the flowering of an inner
+peace, breaking softly out on cheek and brow.
+
+“Crime!” The word broke uncontrollably from my lips; “crime!”
+
+“No,” she said calmly, “the man does not live who could accuse me
+of crime, _here_.”
+
+For reply, I took her hand, which lay in mine, and placed it on the
+breast of the dead.
+
+Softly, slowly, gratefully, she bowed her head.
+
+“Now let the struggle come!” she whispered. “There is one who will
+believe in me, however dark appearances may be.”
+
+
+
+XIII. THE PROBLEM
+
+      “But who would force the soul, tilts with a straw
+      Against a champion cased in adamant.”
+
+                                                  Wordsworth.
+
+
+When we re-entered the parlor below, the first sight that met our
+eyes was Mary, standing wrapped in her long cloak in the centre of
+the room. She had arrived during our absence, and now awaited us
+with lifted head and countenance fixed in its proudest expression.
+Looking in her face, I realized what the embarrassment of this
+meeting must be to these women, and would have retreated, but
+something in the attitude of Mary Leavenworth seemed to forbid my
+doing so. At the same time, determined that the opportunity should
+not pass without some sort of reconcilement between them, I stepped
+forward, and, bowing to Mary, said:
+
+“Your cousin has just succeeded in convincing me of her entire
+innocence, Miss Leavenworth. I am now ready to join Mr. Gryce,
+heart and soul, in finding out the true culprit.”
+
+“I should have thought one look into Eleanore Leavenworth’s face
+would have been enough to satisfy you that she is incapable of
+crime,” was her unexpected answer; and, lifting her head with a
+proud gesture, Mary Leavenworth fixed her eyes steadfastly on mine.
+
+I felt the blood flash to my brow, but before I could speak, her
+voice rose again still more coldly than before.
+
+“It is hard for a delicate girl, unused to aught but the most
+flattering expressions of regard, to be obliged to assure the
+world of her innocence in respect to the committal of a great
+crime. Eleanore has my sympathy.” And sweeping her cloak from her
+shoulders with a quick gesture, she turned her gaze for the first
+time upon her cousin.
+
+Instantly Eleanore advanced, as if to meet it; and I could not but
+feel that, for some reason, this moment possessed an importance
+for them which I was scarcely competent to measure. But if I found
+myself unable to realize its significance, I at least responded to
+its intensity. And indeed it was an occasion to remember. To behold
+two such women, either of whom might be considered the model of her
+time, face to face and drawn up in evident antagonism, was a sight
+to move the dullest sensibilities. But there was something more in
+this scene than that. It was the shock of all the most passionate
+emotions of the human soul; the meeting of waters of whose depth
+and force I could only guess by the effect. Eleanore was the first
+to recover. Drawing back with the cold haughtiness which, alas, I
+had almost forgotten in the display of later and softer emotions,
+she exclaimed:
+
+“There is something better than sympathy, and that is justice”; and
+turned, as if to go. “I will confer with you in the reception room,
+Mr. Raymond.”
+
+But Mary, springing forward, caught her back with one powerful
+hand. “No,” she cried, “you shall confer with _me_! I have
+something to say to you, Eleanore Leavenworth.” And, taking her
+stand in the centre of the room, she waited.
+
+I glanced at Eleanore, saw this was no place for me, and hastily
+withdrew. For ten long minutes I paced the floor of the reception
+room, a prey to a thousand doubts and conjectures. What was the
+secret of this home? What had given rise to the deadly mistrust
+continually manifested between these cousins, fitted by nature
+for the completest companionship and the most cordial friendship?
+It was not a thing of to-day or yesterday. No sudden flame could
+awake such concentrated heat of emotion as that of which I had just
+been the unwilling witness. One must go farther back than this
+murder to find the root of a mistrust so great that the struggle it
+caused made itself felt even where I stood, though nothing but the
+faintest murmur came to my ears through the closed doors.
+
+Presently the drawing-room curtain was raised, and Mary’s voice was
+heard in distinct articulation.
+
+“The same roof can never shelter us both after this. To-morrow, you
+or I find another home.” And, blushing and panting, she stepped
+into the hall and advanced to where I stood. But at the first
+sight of my face, a change came over her; all her pride seemed to
+dissolve, and, flinging out her hands, as if to ward off scrutiny,
+she fled from my side, and rushed weeping up-stairs.
+
+I was yet laboring under the oppression caused by this painful
+termination of the strange scene when the parlor curtain was again
+lifted, and Eleanore entered the room where I was. Pale but calm,
+showing no evidences of the struggle she had just been through,
+unless by a little extra weariness about the eyes, she sat down
+by my side, and, meeting my gaze with one unfathomable in its
+courage, said after a pause: “Tell me where I stand; let me know
+the worst at once; I fear that I have not indeed comprehended my
+own position.”
+
+Rejoiced to hear this acknowledgment from her lips, I hastened to
+comply. I began by placing before her the whole case as it appeared
+to an unprejudiced person; enlarged upon the causes of suspicion,
+and pointed out in what regard some things looked dark against her,
+which perhaps to her own mind were easily explainable and of small
+account; tried to make her see the importance of her decision, and
+finally wound up with an appeal. Would she not confide in me?
+
+“But I thought you were satisfied?” she tremblingly remarked.
+
+“And so I am; but I want the world to be so, too.”
+
+“Ah; now you ask too much! The finger of suspicion never forgets
+the way it has once pointed,” she sadly answered. “My name is
+tainted forever.”
+
+“And you will submit to this, when a word--”
+
+“I am thinking that any word of mine now would make very little
+difference,” she murmured.
+
+I looked away, the vision of Mr. Fobbs, in hiding behind the
+curtains of the opposite house, recurring painfully to my mind.
+
+“If the affair looks as bad as you say it does,” she pursued,
+“it is scarcely probable that Mr. Gryce will care much for any
+interpretation of mine in regard to the matter.”
+
+“Mr. Gryce would be glad to know where you procured that key, if
+only to assist him in turning his inquiries in the right direction.”
+
+She did not reply, and my spirits sank in renewed depression.
+
+“It is worth your while to satisfy him,” I pursued; “and though it
+may compromise some one you desire to shield----”
+
+She rose impetuously. “I shall never divulge to any one how I came
+in possession of that key.” And sitting again, she locked her hands
+in fixed resolve before her.
+
+I rose in my turn and paced the floor, the fang of an unreasoning
+jealousy striking deep into my heart.
+
+“Mr. Raymond, if the worst should come, and all who love me should
+plead on bended knees for me to tell, I will never do it.”
+
+“Then,” said I, determined not to disclose my secret thought,
+but equally resolved to find out if possible her motive for this
+silence, “you desire to defeat the cause of justice.”
+
+She neither spoke nor moved.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I now said, “this determined shielding of
+another at the expense of your own good name is no doubt generous
+of you; but your friends and the lovers of truth and justice cannot
+accept such a sacrifice.”
+
+She started haughtily. “Sir!” she said.
+
+“If you will not assist us,” I went on calmly, but determinedly,
+“we must do without your aid. After the scene I have just witnessed
+above; after the triumphant conviction which you have forced upon
+me, not only of your innocence, but your horror of the crime and
+its consequences, I should feel myself less than a man if I did not
+sacrifice even your own good opinion, in urging your cause, and
+clearing your character from this foul aspersion.”
+
+Again that heavy silence.
+
+“What do you propose to do?” she asked, at last.
+
+Crossing the room, I stood before her. “I propose to relieve you
+utterly and forever from suspicion, by finding out and revealing to
+the world the true culprit.”
+
+I expected to see her recoil, so positive had I become by this time
+as to who that culprit was. But instead of that, she merely folded
+her hands still more tightly and exclaimed:
+
+“I doubt if you will be able to do that, Mr. Raymond.”
+
+“Doubt if I will be able to put my finger upon the guilty man, or
+doubt if I will be able to bring him to justice?”
+
+“I doubt,” she said with strong effort, “if any one ever knows who
+is the guilty person in this case.”
+
+“There is one who knows,” I said with a desire to test her.
+
+“One?”
+
+“The girl Hannah is acquainted with the mystery of that night’s
+evil doings, Miss Leavenworth. Find Hannah, and we find one who can
+point out to us the assassin of your uncle.”
+
+“That is mere supposition,” she said; but I saw the blow had told.
+
+“Your cousin has offered a large reward for the girl, and the whole
+country is on the lookout. Within a week we shall see her in our
+midst.”
+
+A change took place in her expression and bearing.
+
+“The girl cannot help me,” she said.
+
+Baffled by her manner, I drew back. “Is there anything or anybody
+that can?”
+
+She slowly looked away.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I continued with renewed earnestness, “you have
+no brother to plead with you, you have no mother to guide you; let
+me then entreat, in default of nearer and dearer friends, that you
+will rely sufficiently upon me to tell me one thing.”
+
+“What is it?” she asked.
+
+“Whether you took the paper imputed to you from the library table?”
+
+She did not instantly respond, but sat looking earnestly before her
+with an intentness which seemed to argue that she was weighing the
+question as well as her reply. Finally, turning toward me, she said:
+
+“In answering you, I speak in confidence. Mr. Raymond, I did.”
+
+Crushing back the sigh of despair that arose to my lips, I went on.
+
+“I will not inquire what the paper was,”--she waved her hand
+deprecatingly,--“but this much more you will tell me. Is that paper
+still in existence?”
+
+She looked me steadily in the face.
+
+“It is not.”
+
+I could with difficulty forbear showing my disappointment. “Miss
+Leavenworth,” I now said, “it may seem cruel for me to press you at
+this time; nothing less than my strong realization of the peril in
+which you stand would induce me to run the risk of incurring your
+displeasure by asking what under other circumstances would seem
+puerile and insulting questions. You have told me one thing which I
+strongly desired to know; will you also inform me what it was you
+heard that night while sitting in your room, between the time of
+Mr. Harwell’s going up-stairs and the closing of the library door,
+of which you made mention at the inquest?”
+
+I had pushed my inquiries too far, and I saw it immediately.
+
+“Mr. Raymond,” she returned, “influenced by my desire not to appear
+utterly ungrateful to you, I have been led to reply in confidence
+to one of your urgent appeals; but I can go no further. Do not ask
+me to.”
+
+Stricken to the heart by her look of reproach, I answered with some
+sadness that her wishes should be respected. “Not but what I intend
+to make every effort in my power to discover the true author of
+this crime. That is a sacred duty which I feel myself called upon
+to perform; but I will ask you no more questions, nor distress
+you with further appeals. What is done shall be done without your
+assistance, and with no other hope than that in the event of my
+success you will acknowledge my motives to have been pure and my
+action disinterested.”
+
+“I am ready to acknowledge that now,” she began, but paused and
+looked with almost agonized entreaty in my face. “Mr. Raymond,
+cannot you leave things as they are? Won’t you? I don’t ask for
+assistance, nor do I want it; I would rather----”
+
+But I would not listen. “Guilt has no right to profit by the
+generosity of the guiltless. The hand that struck this blow shall
+not be accountable for the loss of a noble woman’s honor and
+happiness as well.
+
+“I shall do what I can, Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+As I walked down the avenue that night, feeling like an adventurous
+traveller that in a moment of desperation has set his foot upon a
+plank stretching in narrow perspective over a chasm of immeasurable
+depth, this problem evolved itself from the shadows before me: How,
+with no other clue than the persuasion that Eleanore Leavenworth
+was engaged in shielding another at the expense of her own good
+name, I was to combat the prejudices of Mr. Gryce, find out the
+real assassin of Mr. Leavenworth, and free an innocent woman from
+the suspicion that had, not without some show of reason, fallen
+upon her?
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II. HENRY CLAVERING
+
+
+
+
+XIV. MR. GRYCE AT HOME
+
+      “Nay, but hear me.”
+
+                        Measure for Measure.
+
+
+That the guilty person for whom Eleanore Leavenworth stood ready
+to sacrifice herself was one for whom she had formerly cherished
+affection, I could no longer doubt; love, or the strong sense of
+duty growing out of love, being alone sufficient to account for
+such determined action. Obnoxious as it was to all my prejudices,
+one name alone, that of the commonplace secretary, with his
+sudden heats and changeful manners, his odd ways and studied
+self-possession, would recur to my mind whenever I asked myself who
+this person could be.
+
+Not that, without the light which had been thrown upon the affair
+by Eleanore’s strange behavior, I should have selected this man as
+one in any way open to suspicion; the peculiarity of his manner at
+the inquest not being marked enough to counteract the improbability
+of one in his relations to the deceased finding sufficient motive
+for a crime so manifestly without favorable results to himself.
+But if love had entered as a factor into the affair, what might
+not be expected? James Harwell, simple amanuensis to a retired
+tea-merchant, was one man; James Harwell, swayed by passion for
+a woman beautiful as Eleanore Leavenworth, was another; and in
+placing him upon the list of those parties open to suspicion I felt
+I was only doing what was warranted by a proper consideration of
+probabilities.
+
+But, between casual suspicion and actual proof, what a gulf! To
+believe James Harwell capable of guilt, and to find evidence enough
+to accuse him of it, were two very different things. I felt myself
+instinctively shrink from the task, before I had fully made up my
+mind to attempt it; some relenting thought of his unhappy position,
+if innocent, forcing itself upon me, and making my very distrust of
+him seem personally ungenerous if not absolutely unjust. If I had
+liked the man better, I should not have been so ready to look upon
+him with doubt.
+
+But Eleanore must be saved at all hazards. Once delivered up to the
+blight of suspicion, who could tell what the result might be; the
+arrest of her person perhaps,--a thing which, once accomplished,
+would cast a shadow over her young life that it would take more
+than time to dispel. The accusation of an impecunious secretary
+would be less horrible than this. I determined to make an early
+call upon Mr. Gryce.
+
+Meanwhile the contrasted pictures of Eleanore standing with her
+hand upon the breast of the dead, her face upraised and mirroring
+a glory, I could not recall without emotion; and Mary, fleeing a
+short half-hour later indignantly from her presence, haunted me
+and kept me awake long after midnight. It was like a double vision
+of light and darkness that, while contrasting, neither assimilated
+nor harmonized. I could not flee from it. Do what I would, the
+two pictures followed me, filling my soul with alternate hope and
+distrust, till I knew not whether to place my hand with Eleanore
+on the breast of the dead, and swear implicit faith in her truth
+and purity, or to turn my face like Mary, and fly from what I could
+neither comprehend nor reconcile.
+
+Expectant of difficulty, I started next morning upon my search
+for Mr. Gryce, with strong determination not to allow myself to
+become flurried by disappointment nor discouraged by premature
+failure. My business was to save Eleanore Leavenworth; and to do
+that, it was necessary for me to preserve, not only my equanimity,
+but my self-possession. The worst fear I anticipated was that
+matters would reach a crisis before I could acquire the right,
+or obtain the opportunity, to interfere. However, the fact of
+Mr. Leavenworth’s funeral being announced for that day gave me
+some comfort in that direction; my knowledge of Mr. Gryce being
+sufficient, as I thought, to warrant me in believing he would wait
+till after that ceremony before proceeding to extreme measures.
+
+I do not know that I had any very definite ideas of what a
+detective’s home should be; but when I stood before the neat
+three-story brick house to which I had been directed, I could not
+but acknowledge there was something in the aspect of its half-open
+shutters, over closely drawn curtains of spotless purity, highly
+suggestive of the character of its inmate.
+
+A pale-looking youth, with vivid locks of red hair hanging straight
+down over either ear, answered my rather nervous ring. To my
+inquiry as to whether Mr. Gryce was in, he gave a kind of snort
+which might have meant no, but which I took to mean yes.
+
+“My name is Raymond, and I wish to see him.”
+
+He gave me one glance that took in every detail of my person and
+apparel, and pointed to a door at the head of the stairs. Not
+waiting for further directions, I hastened up, knocked at the
+door he had designated, and went in. The broad back of Mr. Gryce,
+stooping above a desk that might have come over in the _Mayflower_,
+confronted me.
+
+“Well!” he exclaimed; “this is an honor.” And rising, he opened
+with a squeak and shut with a bang the door of an enormous stove
+that occupied the centre of the room. “Rather chilly day, eh?”
+
+“Yes,” I returned, eyeing him closely to see if he was in a
+communicative mood. “But I have had but little time to consider the
+state of the weather. My anxiety in regard to this murder----”
+
+“To be sure,” he interrupted, fixing his eyes upon the poker,
+though not with any hostile intention, I am sure. “A puzzling piece
+of business enough. But perhaps it is an open book to you. I see
+you have something to communicate.”
+
+“I have, though I doubt if it is of the nature you expect. Mr.
+Gryce, since I saw you last, my convictions upon a certain point
+have been strengthened into an absolute belief. The object of your
+suspicions is an innocent woman.”
+
+If I had expected him to betray any surprise at this, I was
+destined to be disappointed. “That is a very pleasing belief,” he
+observed. “I honor you for entertaining it, Mr. Raymond.”
+
+I suppressed a movement of anger. “So thoroughly is it mine,” I
+went on, in the determination to arouse him in some way, “that I
+have come here to-day to ask you in the name of justice and common
+humanity to suspend action in that direction till we can convince
+ourselves there is no truer scent to go upon.”
+
+But there was no more show of curiosity than before. “Indeed!” he
+cried; “that is a singular request to come from a man like you.”
+
+I was not to be discomposed, “Mr. Gryce,” I went on, “a woman’s
+name, once tarnished, remains so forever. Eleanore Leavenworth
+has too many noble traits to be thoughtlessly dealt with in so
+momentous a crisis. If you will give me your attention, I promise
+you shall not regret it.”
+
+He smiled, and allowed his eyes to roam from the poker to the arm
+of my chair. “Very well,” he remarked; “I hear you; say on.”
+
+I drew my notes from my pocketbook, and laid them on the table.
+
+“What! memoranda?” he exclaimed. “Unsafe, very; never put your
+plans on paper.”
+
+Taking no heed of the interruption, I went on.
+
+“Mr. Gryce, I have had fuller opportunities than yourself for
+studying this woman. I have seen her in a position which no guilty
+person could occupy, and I am assured, beyond all doubt, that not
+only her hands, but her heart, are pure from this crime. She may
+have some knowledge of its secrets; that I do not presume to deny.
+The key seen in her possession would refute me if I did. But what
+if she has? You can never wish to see so lovely a being brought to
+shame for withholding information which she evidently considers
+it her duty to keep back, when by a little patient finesse we may
+succeed in our purposes without it.”
+
+“But,” interposed the detective, “say this is so; how are we to
+arrive at the knowledge we want without following out the only clue
+which has yet been given us?”
+
+“You will never reach it by following out any clue given you by
+Eleanore Leavenworth.”
+
+His eyebrows lifted expressively, but he said nothing.
+
+“Miss Eleanore Leavenworth has been used by some one acquainted
+with her firmness, generosity, and perhaps love. Let us discover
+who possesses sufficient power over her to control her to this
+extent, and we find the man we seek.”
+
+“Humph!” came from Mr. Gryce’s compressed lips, and no more.
+
+Determined that he should speak, I waited.
+
+“You have, then, some one in your mind”; he remarked at last,
+almost flippantly.
+
+“I mention no names,” I returned. “All I want is further time.”
+
+“You are, then, intending to make a personal business of this
+matter?”
+
+“I am.”
+
+He gave a long, low whistle. “May I ask,” he inquired at length,
+“whether you expect to work entirely by yourself; or whether, if a
+suitable coadjutor were provided, you would disdain his assistance
+and slight his advice?”
+
+“I desire nothing more than to have you for my colleague.”
+
+The smile upon his face deepened ironically. “You must feel very
+sure of yourself!” said he.
+
+“I am very sure of Miss Leavenworth.”
+
+The reply seemed to please him. “Let us hear what you propose
+doing.”
+
+I did not immediately answer. The truth was, I had formed no plans.
+
+“It seems to me,” he continued, “that you have undertaken a rather
+difficult task for an amateur. Better leave it to me, Mr. Raymond;
+better leave it to me.”
+
+“I am sure,” I returned, “that nothing would please me better----”
+
+“Not,” he interrupted, “but that a word from you now and then would
+be welcome. I am not an egotist. I am open to suggestions: as, for
+instance, now, if you could conveniently inform me of all you have
+yourself seen and heard in regard to this matter, I should be most
+happy to listen.”
+
+Relieved to find him so amenable, I asked myself what I really had
+to tell; not so much that he would consider vital. However, it
+would not do to hesitate now.
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” said I, “I have but few facts to add to those already
+known to you. Indeed, I am more moved by convictions than facts.
+That Eleanore Leavenworth never committed this crime, I am assured.
+That, on the other hand, the real perpetrator is known to her, I
+am equally certain; and that for some reason she considers it a
+sacred duty to shield the assassin, even at the risk of her own
+safety, follows as a matter of course from the facts. Now, with
+such data, it cannot be a very difficult task for you or me to work
+out satisfactorily, to our own minds at least, who this person can
+be. A little more knowledge of the family--”
+
+“You know nothing of its secret history, then?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Do not even know whether either of these girls is engaged to be
+married?”
+
+“I do not,” I returned, wincing at this direct expression of my own
+thoughts.
+
+He remained a moment silent. “Mr. Raymond,” he cried at last, “have
+you any idea of the disadvantages under which a detective labors?
+For instance, now, you imagine I can insinuate myself into all
+sorts of society, perhaps; but you are mistaken. Strange as it may
+appear, I have never by any possibility of means succeeded with one
+class of persons at all. I cannot pass myself off for a gentleman.
+Tailors and barbers are no good; I am always found out.”
+
+He looked so dejected I could scarcely forbear smiling,
+notwithstanding my secret care and anxiety.
+
+“I have even employed a French valet, who understood dancing
+and whiskers; but it was all of no avail. The first gentleman I
+approached stared at me,--real gentleman, I mean, none of your
+American dandies,--and I had no stare to return; I had forgotten
+that emergency in my confabs with Pierre Catnille Marie Make-face.”
+
+Amused, but a little discomposed by this sudden turn in the
+conversation, I looked at Mr. Gryce inquiringly.
+
+“Now you, I dare say, have no trouble? Was born one, perhaps. Can
+even ask a lady to dance without blushing, eh?”
+
+“Well,--” I commenced.
+
+“Just so,” he replied; “now, I can’t. I can enter a house, bow to
+the mistress of it, let her be as elegant as she will, so long as I
+have a writ of arrest in my hand, or some such professional matter
+upon my mind; but when it comes to visiting in kid gloves, raising
+a glass of champagne in response to a toast--and such like, I am
+absolutely good for nothing.” And he plunged his two hands into his
+hair, and looked dolefully at the head of the cane I carried in my
+hand. “But it is much the same with the whole of us. When we are in
+want of a gentleman to work for us, we have to go outside of our
+profession.”
+
+I began to see what he was driving at; but held my peace, vaguely
+conscious I was likely to prove a necessity to him, after all.
+
+“Mr. Raymond,” he now said, almost abruptly; “do you know a
+gentleman by the name of Clavering residing at present at the
+Hoffman House?”
+
+“Not that I am aware of.”
+
+“He is very polished in his manners; would you mind making his
+acquaintance?”
+
+I followed Mr. Gryce’s example, and stared at the chimney-piece.
+“I cannot answer till I understand matters a little better,” I
+returned at length.
+
+“There is not much to understand. Mr. Henry Clavering, a gentleman
+and a man of the world, resides at the Hoffman House. He is a
+stranger in town, without being strange; drives, walks, smokes, but
+never visits; looks at the ladies, but is never seen to bow to one.
+In short, a person whom it is desirable to know; but whom, being a
+proud man, with something of the old-world prejudice against Yankee
+freedom and forwardness, I could no more approach in the way of
+acquaintance than I could the Emperor of Austria.”
+
+“And you wish----”
+
+“He would make a very agreeable companion for a rising young lawyer
+of good family and undoubted respectability. I have no doubt, if
+you undertook to cultivate him, you would find him well worth the
+trouble.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Might even desire to take him into familiar relations; to confide
+in him, and----”
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” I hastily interrupted; “I can never consent to plot
+for any man’s friendship for the sake of betraying him to the
+police.”
+
+“It is essential to your plans to make the acquaintance of Mr.
+Clavering,” he dryly replied.
+
+“Oh!” I returned, a light breaking in upon me; “he has some
+connection with this case, then?”
+
+Mr. Gryce smoothed his coat-sleeve thoughtfully. “I don’t know as
+it will be necessary for you to betray him. You wouldn’t object to
+being introduced to him?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Nor, if you found him pleasant, to converse with him?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Not even if, in the course of conversation, you should come across
+something that might serve as a clue in your efforts to save
+Eleanore Leavenworth?”
+
+The no I uttered this time was less assured; the part of a spy was
+the very last one I desired to play in the coming drama.
+
+“Well, then,” he went on, ignoring the doubtful tone in which my
+assent had been given, “I advise you to immediately take up your
+quarters at the Hoffman House.”
+
+“I doubt if that would do,” I said. “If I am not mistaken, I have
+already seen this gentleman, and spoken to him.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“Describe him first.”
+
+“Well, he is tall, finely formed, of very upright carriage, with a
+handsome dark face, brown hair streaked with gray, a piercing eye,
+and a smooth address. A very imposing personage, I assure you.”
+
+“I have reason to think I have seen him,” I returned; and in a few
+words told him when and where.
+
+“Humph!” said he at the conclusion; “he is evidently as much
+interested in you as we are in him.
+
+“How’s that? I think I see,” he added, after a moment’s thought.
+“Pity you spoke to him; may have created an unfavorable impression;
+and everything depends upon your meeting without any distrust.”
+
+He rose and paced the floor.
+
+“Well, we must move slowly, that is all. Give him a chance to
+see you in other and better lights. Drop into the Hoffman House
+reading-room. Talk with the best men you meet while there; but not
+too much, or too indiscriminately. Mr. Clavering is fastidious,
+and will not feel honored by the attentions of one who is
+hail-fellow-well-met with everybody. Show yourself for what you
+are, and leave all advances to him; he’ll make them.”
+
+“Supposing we are under a mistake, and the man I met on the corner
+of Thirty-seventh Street was not Mr. Clavering?”
+
+“I should be greatly surprised, that’s all.”
+
+Not knowing what further objection to make, I remained silent.
+
+“And this head of mine would have to put on its thinking-cap,” he
+pursued jovially.
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” I now said, anxious to show that all this talk about
+an unknown party had not served to put my own plans from my mind,
+“there is one person of whom we have not spoken.”
+
+“No?” he exclaimed softly, wheeling around until his broad back
+confronted me. “And who may that be?”
+
+“Why, who but Mr.--” I could get no further. What right had I to
+mention any man’s name in this connection, without possessing
+sufficient evidence against him to make such mention justifiable?
+“I beg your pardon,” said I; “but I think I will hold to my first
+impulse, and speak no names.”
+
+“Harwell?” he ejaculated easily.
+
+The quick blush rising to my face gave an involuntary assent.
+
+“I see no reason why we shouldn’t speak of him,” he went on; “that
+is, if there is anything to be gained by it.”
+
+“His testimony at the inquest was honest, you think?”
+
+“It has not been disproved.”
+
+“He is a peculiar man.”
+
+“And so am I.”
+
+I felt myself slightly nonplussed; and, conscious of appearing at a
+disadvantage, lifted my hat from the table and prepared to take my
+leave; but, suddenly thinking of Hannah, turned and asked if there
+was any news of her.
+
+He seemed to debate with himself, hesitating so long that I began
+to doubt if this man intended to confide in me, after all, when
+suddenly he brought his two hands down before him and exclaimed
+vehemently:
+
+“The evil one himself is in this business! If the earth had opened
+and swallowed up this girl, she couldn’t have more effectually
+disappeared.”
+
+I experienced a sinking of the heart. Eleanore had said: “Hannah
+can do nothing for me.” Could it be that the girl was indeed gone,
+and forever?
+
+“I have innumerable agents at work, to say nothing of the general
+public; and yet not so much as a whisper has come to me in regard
+to her whereabouts or situation. I am only afraid we shall find her
+floating in the river some fine morning, without a confession in
+her pocket.”
+
+“Everything hangs upon that girl’s testimony,” I remarked.
+
+He gave a short grunt. “What does Miss Leavenworth say about it?”
+
+“That the girl cannot help her.”
+
+I thought he looked a trifle surprised at this, but he covered it
+with a nod and an exclamation. “She must be found for all that,”
+said he, “and shall, if I have to send out Q.”
+
+“Q?”
+
+“An agent of mine who is a living interrogation point; so we call
+him _Q_, which is short for query.” Then, as I turned again to go:
+“When the contents of the will are made known, come to me.”
+
+The will! I had forgotten the will.
+
+
+
+
+XV. WAYS OPENING
+
+      “It is not and it cannot come to good.”
+
+                                        Hamlet.
+
+
+I attended the funeral of Mr. Leavenworth, but did not see the
+ladies before or after the ceremony. I, however, had a few moments’
+conversation with Mr. Harwell; which, without eliciting anything
+new, provided me with food for abundant conjecture. For he had
+asked, almost at first greeting, if I had seen the _Telegram_ of
+the night before; and when I responded in the affirmative, turned
+such a look of mingled distress and appeal upon me, I was tempted
+to ask how such a frightful insinuation against a young lady of
+reputation and breeding could ever have got into the papers. It was
+his reply that struck me.
+
+“That the guilty party might be driven by remorse to own himself
+the true culprit.”
+
+A curious remark to come from a person who had no knowledge or
+suspicion of the criminal and his character; and I would have
+pushed the conversation further, but the secretary, who was a man
+of few words, drew off at this, and could be induced to say no
+more. Evidently it was my business to cultivate Mr. Clavering, or
+any one else who could throw any light upon the secret history of
+these girls.
+
+That evening I received notice that Mr. Veeley had arrived home,
+but was in no condition to consult with me upon so painful a
+subject as the murder of Mr. Leavenworth. Also a line from
+Eleanore, giving me her address, but requesting me at the same time
+not to call unless I had something of importance to communicate, as
+she was too ill to receive visitors. The little note affected me.
+Ill, alone, and in a strange home,--’twas pitiful!
+
+The next day, pursuant to the wishes of Mr. Gryce, in I stepped
+into the Hoffman House, and took a seat in the reading room. I
+had been there but a few moments when a gentleman entered whom I
+immediately recognized as the same I had spoken to on the corner
+of Thirty-seventh Street and Sixth Avenue. He must have remembered
+me also, for he seemed to be slightly embarrassed at seeing me;
+but, recovering himself, took up a paper and soon became to all
+appearance lost in its contents, though I could feel his handsome
+black eye upon me, studying my features, figure, apparel, and
+movements with a degree of interest which equally astonished and
+disconcerted me. I felt that it would be injudicious on my part to
+return his scrutiny, anxious as I was to meet his eye and learn
+what emotion had so fired his curiosity in regard to a perfect
+stranger; so I rose, and, crossing to an old friend of mine who sat
+at a table opposite, commenced a desultory conversation, in the
+course of which I took occasion to ask if he knew who the handsome
+stranger was. Dick Furbish was a society man, and knew everybody.
+
+“His name is Clavering, and he comes from London. I don’t know
+anything more about him, though he is to be seen everywhere except
+in private houses. He has not been received into society yet;
+waiting for letters of introduction, perhaps.”
+
+“A gentleman?”
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“One you speak to?”
+
+“Oh, yes; I talk to him, but the conversation is very one-sided.”
+
+I could not help smiling at the grimace with which Dick accompanied
+this remark. “Which same goes to prove,” he went on, “that he is
+the real thing.”
+
+Laughing outright this time, I left him, and in a few minutes
+sauntered from the room.
+
+As I mingled again with the crowd on Broadway, I found myself
+wondering immensely over this slight experience. That this unknown
+gentleman from London, who went everywhere except into private
+houses, could be in any way connected with the affair I had so
+at heart, seemed not only improbable but absurd; and for the
+first time I felt tempted to doubt the sagacity of Mr. Gryce in
+recommending him to my attention.
+
+The next day I repeated the experiment, but with no greater success
+than before. Mr. Clavering came into the room, but, seeing me,
+did not remain. I began to realize it was no easy matter to make
+his acquaintance. To atone for my disappointment, I called on
+Mary Leavenworth in the evening. She received me with almost a
+sister-like familiarity.
+
+“Ah,” she cried, after introducing me to an elderly lady at her
+side,--some connection of the family, I believe, who had come to
+remain with her for a while,--“you are here to tell me Hannah is
+found; is it not so?”
+
+I shook my head, sorry to disappoint her. “No,” said I; “not yet.”
+
+“But Mr. Gryce was here to-day, and he told me he hoped she would
+be heard from within twenty-four hours.”
+
+“Mr. Gryce here!”
+
+“Yes; came to report how matters were progressing,--not that they
+seemed to have advanced very far.”
+
+“You could hardly have expected that yet. You must not be so easily
+discouraged.”
+
+“But I cannot help it; every day, every hour that passes in this
+uncertainty, is like a mountain weight here”; and she laid one
+trembling hand upon her bosom. “I would have the whole world at
+work. I would leave no stone unturned; I----”
+
+“What would you do?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know,” she cried, her whole manner suddenly changing;
+“nothing, perhaps.” Then, before I could reply to this: “Have you
+seen Eleanore to-day?”
+
+I answered in the negative.
+
+She did not seem satisfied, but waited till her friend left the
+room before saying more. Then, with an earnest look, inquired if I
+knew whether Eleanore was well.
+
+“I fear she is not,” I returned.
+
+“It is a great trial to me, Eleanore being away. Not,” she resumed,
+noting, perhaps, my incredulous look, “that I would have you think
+I wish to disclaim my share in bringing about the present unhappy
+state of things. I am willing to acknowledge I was the first to
+propose a separation. But it is none the easier to bear on that
+account.”
+
+“It is not as hard for you as for her,” said I.
+
+“Not as hard? Why? because she is left comparatively poor, while
+I am rich--is that what you would say? Ah,” she went on, without
+waiting for my answer, “would I could persuade Eleanore to share my
+riches with me! Willingly would I bestow upon her the half I have
+received; but I fear she could never be induced to accept so much
+as a dollar from me.”
+
+“Under the circumstances it would be better for her not to.”
+
+“Just what I thought; yet it would ease me of a great weight if
+she would. This fortune, suddenly thrown into my lap, sits like an
+incubus upon me, Mr. Raymond. When the will was read to-day which
+makes me possessor of so much wealth, I could not but feel that a
+heavy, blinding pall had settled upon me, spotted with blood and
+woven of horrors. Ah, how different from the feelings with which
+I have been accustomed to anticipate this day! For, Mr. Raymond,”
+she went on, with a hurried gasp, “dreadful as it seems now, I have
+been reared to look forward to this hour with pride, if not with
+actual longing. Money has been made so much of in my small world.
+Not that I wish in this evil time of retribution to lay blame upon
+any one; least of all upon my uncle; but from the day, twelve years
+ago, when for the first time he took us in his arms, and looking
+down upon our childish faces, exclaimed: ‘The light-haired one
+pleases me best; she shall be my heiress,’ I have been petted,
+cajoled, and spoiled; called little princess, and uncle’s darling,
+till it is only strange I retain in this prejudiced breast any of
+the impulses of generous womanhood; yes, though I was aware from
+the first that whim alone had raised this distinction between
+myself and cousin; a distinction which superior beauty, worth, or
+accomplishments could never have drawn; Eleanore being more than
+my equal in all these things.” Pausing, she choked back the sudden
+sob that rose in her throat, with an effort at self-control which
+was at once touching and admirable. Then, while my eyes stole to
+her face, murmured in a low, appealing voice: “If I have faults,
+you see there is some slight excuse for them; arrogance, vanity,
+and selfishness being considered in the gay young heiress as no
+more than so many assertions of a laudable dignity. Ah! ah,” she
+bitterly exclaimed “money alone has been the ruin of us all!”
+Then, with a falling of her voice: “And now it has come to me with
+its heritage of evil, and I--I would give it all for--But this
+is weakness! I have no right to afflict you with my griefs. Pray
+forget all I have said, Mr. Raymond, or regard my complaints as
+the utterances of an unhappy girl loaded down with sorrows and
+oppressed by the weight of many perplexities and terrors.”
+
+“But I do not wish to forget,” I replied. “You have spoken some
+good words, manifested much noble emotion. Your possessions cannot
+but prove a blessing to you if you enter upon them with such
+feelings as these.”
+
+But, with a quick gesture, she ejaculated: “Impossible! they cannot
+prove a blessing.” Then, as if startled at her own words, bit her
+lip and hastily added: “Very great wealth is never a blessing.
+
+“And now,” said she, with a total change of manner, “I wish to
+address you on a subject which may strike you as ill-timed, but
+which, nevertheless, I must mention, if the purpose I have at heart
+is ever to be accomplished. My uncle, as you know, was engaged at
+the time of his death in writing a book on Chinese customs and
+prejudices. It was a work which he was anxious to see published,
+and naturally I desire to carry out his wishes; but, in order to do
+so, I find it necessary not only to interest myself in the matter
+now,--Mr. Harwell’s services being required, and it being my wish
+to dismiss that gentleman as soon as possible--but to find some
+one competent to supervise its completion. Now I have heard,--I
+have been told,--that you were the one of all others to do this;
+and though it is difficult if not improper for me to ask so great
+a favor of one who but a week ago was a perfect stranger to me, it
+would afford me the keenest pleasure if you would consent to look
+over this manuscript and tell me what remains to be done.”
+
+The timidity with which these words were uttered proved her to be
+in earnest, and I could not but wonder at the strange coincidence
+of this request with my secret wishes; it having been a question
+with me for some time how I was to gain free access to this house
+without in any way compromising either its inmates or myself. I did
+not know then that Mr. Gryce had been the one to recommend me to
+her favor in this respect. But, whatever satisfaction I may have
+experienced, I felt myself in duty bound to plead my incompetence
+for a task so entirely out of the line of my profession, and to
+suggest the employment of some one better acquainted with such
+matters than myself. But she would not listen to me.
+
+“Mr. Harwell has notes and memoranda in plenty,” she exclaimed,
+“and can give you all the information necessary. You will have no
+difficulty; indeed, you will not.”
+
+“But cannot Mr. Harwell himself do all that is requisite? He seems
+to be a clever and diligent young man.”
+
+But she shook her head. “He thinks he can; but I know uncle never
+trusted him with the composition of a single sentence.”
+
+“But perhaps he will not be pleased,--Mr. Harwell, I mean--with the
+intrusion of a stranger into his work.”
+
+She opened her eyes with astonishment. “That makes no difference,”
+she cried. “Mr. Harwell is in my pay, and has nothing to say about
+it. But he will not object. I have already consulted him, and he
+expresses himself as satisfied with the arrangement.”
+
+“Very well,” said I; “then I will promise to consider the subject.
+I can at any rate look over the manuscript and give you my opinion
+of its condition.”
+
+“Oh, thank you,” said she, with the prettiest gesture of
+satisfaction. “How kind you are, and what can I ever do to repay
+you? But would you like to see Mr. Harwell himself?” and she moved
+towards the door; but suddenly paused, whispering, with a short
+shudder of remembrance: “He is in the library; do you mind?”
+
+Crushing down the sick qualm that arose at the mention of that
+spot, I replied in the negative.
+
+“The papers are all there, and he says he can work better in his
+old place than anywhere else; but if you wish, I can call him down.”
+
+But I would not listen to this, and myself led the way to the foot
+of the stairs.
+
+“I have sometimes thought I would lock up that room,” she hurriedly
+observed; “but something restrains me. I can no more do so than I
+can leave this house; a power beyond myself forces me to confront
+all its horrors. And yet I suffer continually from terror.
+Sometimes, in the darkness of the night--But I will not distress
+you. I have already said too much; come,” and with a sudden lift of
+the head she mounted the stairs.
+
+Mr. Harwell was seated, when we entered that fatal room, in the one
+chair of all others I expected to see unoccupied; and as I beheld
+his meagre figure bending where such a little while before his eyes
+had encountered the outstretched form of his murdered employer, I
+could not but marvel over the unimaginativeness of the man who, in
+the face of such memories, could not only appropriate that very
+spot for his own use, but pursue his avocations there with so much
+calmness and evident precision. But in another moment I discovered
+that the disposition of the light in the room made that one seat
+the only desirable one for his purpose; and instantly my wonder
+changed to admiration at this quiet surrender of personal feeling
+to the requirements of the occasion.
+
+He looked up mechanically as we came in, but did not rise, his
+countenance wearing the absorbed expression which bespeaks the
+preoccupied mind.
+
+“He is utterly oblivious,” Mary whispered; “that is a way of his. I
+doubt if he knows who or what it is that has disturbed him.” And,
+advancing into the room, she passed across his line of vision,
+as if to call attention to herself, and said: “I have brought
+Mr. Raymond up-stairs to see you, Mr. Harwell. He has been so
+kind as to accede to my wishes in regard to the completion of the
+manuscript now before you.”
+
+Slowly Mr. Harwell rose, wiped his pen, and put it away;
+manifesting, however, a reluctance in doing so that proved this
+interference to be in reality anything but agreeable to him.
+Observing this, I did not wait for him to speak, but took up the
+pile of manuscript, arranged in one mass on the table, saying:
+
+“This seems to be very clearly written; if you will excuse me,
+I will glance over it and thus learn something of its general
+character.”
+
+He bowed, uttered a word or so of acquiescence, then, as Mary left
+the room, awkwardly reseated himself, and took up his pen.
+
+Instantly the manuscript and all connected with it vanished from my
+thoughts; and Eleanore, her situation, and the mystery surrounding
+this family, returned upon me with renewed force. Looking the
+secretary steadily in the face, I remarked:
+
+“I am very glad of this opportunity of seeing you a moment alone,
+Mr. Harwell, if only for the purpose of saying----”
+
+“Anything in regard to the murder?”
+
+“Yes,” I began.
+
+“Then you must pardon me,” he respectfully but firmly replied. “It
+is a disagreeable subject which I cannot bear to think of, much
+less discuss.”
+
+Disconcerted and, what was more, convinced of the impossibility of
+obtaining any information from this man, I abandoned the attempt;
+and, taking up the manuscript once more, endeavored to master in
+some small degree the nature of its contents. Succeeding beyond
+my hopes, I opened a short conversation with him in regard to it,
+and finally, coming to the conclusion I could accomplish what Miss
+Leavenworth desired, left him and descended again to the reception
+room.
+
+When, an hour or so later, I withdrew from the house, it was with
+the feeling that one obstacle had been removed from my path. If
+I failed in what I had undertaken, it would not be from lack of
+opportunity of studying the inmates of this dwelling.
+
+
+
+
+XVI. THE WILL OF A MILLIONAIRE
+
+      “Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
+      Which we ascribe to Heaven.”
+
+                              All’s Well that Ends Well.
+
+
+The next morning’s _Tribune_ contained a synopsis of Mr.
+Leavenworth’s will. Its provisions were a surprise to me; for,
+while the bulk of his immense estate was, according to the general
+understanding, bequeathed to his niece, Mary, it appeared by a
+codicil, attached to his will some five years before, that Eleanore
+was not entirely forgotten, she having been made the recipient of
+a legacy which, if not large, was at least sufficient to support
+her in comfort. After listening to the various comments of my
+associates on the subject, I proceeded to the house of Mr. Gryce,
+in obedience to his request to call upon him as soon as possible
+after the publication of the will.
+
+“Good-morning,” he remarked as I entered, but whether addressing
+me or the frowning top of the desk before which he was sitting it
+would be difficult to say. “Won’t you sit?” nodding with a curious
+back movement of his head towards a chair in his rear.
+
+I drew up the chair to his side. “I am curious to know,” I
+remarked, “what you have to say about this will, and its probable
+effect upon the matters we have in hand.”
+
+“What is your own idea in regard to it?”
+
+“Well, I think upon the whole it will make but little difference
+in public opinion. Those who thought Eleanore guilty before will
+feel that they possess now greater cause than ever to doubt her
+innocence; while those who have hitherto hesitated to suspect her
+will not consider that the comparatively small amount bequeathed
+her would constitute an adequate motive for so great a crime.”
+
+“You have heard men talk; what seems to be the general opinion
+among those you converse with?”
+
+“That the motive of the tragedy will be found in the partiality
+shown in so singular a will, though how, they do not profess to
+know.”
+
+Mr. Gryce suddenly became interested in one of the small drawers
+before him.
+
+“And all this has not set you thinking?” said he.
+
+“Thinking,” returned I. “I don’t know what you mean. I am sure I
+have done nothing but think for the last three days. I----”
+
+“Of course--of course,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to say anything
+disagreeable. And so you have seen Mr. Clavering?”
+
+“Just seen him; no more.”
+
+“And are you going to assist Mr. Harwell in finishing Mr.
+Leavenworth’s book?”
+
+“How did you learn that?”
+
+He only smiled.
+
+“Yes,” said I; “Miss Leavenworth has requested me to do her that
+little favor.”
+
+“She is a queenly creature!” he exclaimed in a burst of enthusiasm.
+Then, with an instant return to his business-like tone: “You are
+going to have opportunities, Mr. Raymond. Now there are two things
+I want you to find out; first, what is the connection between these
+ladies and Mr. Clavering----”
+
+“There is a connection, then?”
+
+“Undoubtedly. And secondly, what is the cause of the unfriendly
+feeling which evidently exists between the cousins.”
+
+I drew back and pondered the position offered me. A spy in a fair
+woman’s house! How could I reconcile it with my natural instincts
+as a gentleman?
+
+“Cannot you find some one better adapted to learn these secrets
+for you?” I asked at length. “The part of a spy is anything but
+agreeable to my feelings, I assure you.”
+
+Mr. Gryce’s brows fell.
+
+“I will assist Mr. Harwell in his efforts to arrange Mr.
+Leavenworth’s manuscript for the press,” I said; “I will give
+Mr. Clavering an opportunity to form my acquaintance; and I will
+listen, if Miss Leavenworth chooses to make me her confidant in
+any way. But any hearkening at doors, surprises, unworthy feints
+or ungentlemanly subterfuges, I herewith disclaim as outside of
+my province; my task being to find out what I can in an open way,
+and yours to search into the nooks and corners of this wretched
+business.”
+
+“In other words, you are to play the hound, and I the mole; just
+so, I know what belongs to a gentleman.”
+
+“And now,” said I, “what news of Hannah?”
+
+He shook both hands high in the air. “None.”
+
+I cannot say I was greatly surprised, that evening, when, upon
+descending from an hour’s labor with Mr. Harwell, I encountered
+Miss Leavenworth standing at the foot of the stairs. There had been
+something in her bearing, the night before, which prepared me for
+another interview this evening, though her manner of commencing
+it was a surprise. “Mr. Raymond,” said she, with an air of marked
+embarrassment, “I want to ask you a question. I believe you to
+be a good man, and I know you will answer me conscientiously. As
+a brother would,” she added, lifting her eyes for a moment to
+my face. “I know it will sound strange; but remember, I have no
+adviser but you, and I must ask some one. Mr. Raymond, do you think
+a person could do something that was very wrong, and yet grow to be
+thoroughly good afterwards?”
+
+“Certainly,” I replied; “if he were truly sorry for his fault.”
+
+“But say it was more than a fault; say it was an actual harm; would
+not the memory of that one evil hour cast a lasting shadow over
+one’s life?”
+
+“That depends upon the nature of the harm and its effect upon
+others. If one had irreparably injured a fellow-being, it would
+be hard for a person of sensitive nature to live a happy life
+afterwards; though the fact of not living a happy life ought to be
+no reason why one should not live a good life.”
+
+“But to live a good life would it be necessary to reveal the evil
+you had done? Cannot one go on and do right without confessing to
+the world a past wrong?”
+
+“Yes, unless by its confession he can in some way make reparation.”
+
+My answer seemed to trouble her. Drawing back, she stood for one
+moment in a thoughtful attitude before me, her beauty shining with
+almost a statuesque splendor in the glow of the porcelain-shaded
+lamp at her side. Nor, though she presently roused herself, leading
+the way into the drawing-room with a gesture that was allurement
+itself, did she recur to this topic again; but rather seemed to
+strive, in the conversation that followed, to make me forget what
+had already passed between us. That she did not succeed, was owing
+to my intense and unfailing interest in her cousin.
+
+As I descended the stoop, I saw Thomas, the butler, leaning
+over the area gate. Immediately I was seized with an impulse to
+interrogate him in regard to a matter which had more or less
+interested me ever since the inquest; and that was, who was the Mr.
+Robbins who had called upon Eleanore the night of the murder? But
+Thomas was decidedly uncommunicative. He remembered such a person
+called, but could not describe his looks any further than to say
+that he was not a small man.
+
+I did not press the matter.
+
+
+
+
+XVII. THE BEGINNING OF GREAT SURPRISES
+
+      “Vous regardez une etoile pour deux motifs, parce qu’elle est
+      lumineuse et parce qu’elle est impenetrable. Vous avez aupres
+      de vous un plus doux rayonnement et un pas grand mystere, la femme.”
+
+                                                    Les Miserables.
+
+
+And now followed days in which I seemed to make little or no
+progress. Mr. Clavering, disturbed perhaps by my presence, forsook
+his usual haunts, thus depriving me of all opportunity of making
+his acquaintance in any natural manner, while the evenings spent
+at Miss Leavenworth’s were productive of little else than constant
+suspense and uneasiness.
+
+The manuscript required less revision than I supposed. But, in the
+course of making such few changes as were necessary, I had ample
+opportunity of studying the character of Mr. Harwell. I found him
+to be neither more nor less than an excellent amanuensis. Stiff,
+unbending, and sombre, but true to his duty and reliable in its
+performance, I learned to respect him, and even to like him; and
+this, too, though I saw the liking was not reciprocated, whatever
+the respect may have been. He never spoke of Eleanore Leavenworth
+or, indeed, mentioned the family or its trouble in any way; till I
+began to feel that all this reticence had a cause deeper than the
+nature of the man, and that if he did speak, it would be to some
+purpose. This suspicion, of course, kept me restlessly eager in his
+presence. I could not forbear giving him sly glances now and then,
+to see how he acted when he believed himself unobserved; but he was
+ever the same, a passive, diligent, unexcitable worker.
+
+This continual beating against a stone wall, for thus I regarded
+it, became at last almost unendurable. Clavering shy, and the
+secretary unapproachable--how was I to gain anything? The short
+interviews I had with Mary did not help matters. Haughty,
+constrained, feverish, pettish, grateful, appealing, everything
+at once, and never twice the same, I learned to dread, even while
+I coveted, an interview. She appeared to be passing through some
+crisis which occasioned her the keenest suffering. I have seen
+her, when she thought herself alone, throw up her hands with the
+gesture which we use to ward off a coming evil or shut out some
+hideous vision. I have likewise beheld her standing with her proud
+head abased, her nervous hands drooping, her whole form sinking and
+inert, as if the pressure of a weight she could neither upbear nor
+cast aside had robbed her even of the show of resistance. But this
+was only once. Ordinarily she was at least stately in her trouble.
+Even when the softest appeal came into her eyes she stood erect,
+and retained her expression of conscious power. Even the night she
+met me in the hall, with feverish cheeks and lips trembling with
+eagerness, only to turn and fly again without giving utterance to
+what she had to say, she comported herself with a fiery dignity
+that was well nigh imposing.
+
+That all this meant something, I was sure; and so I kept my
+patience alive with the hope that some day she would make a
+revelation. Those quivering lips would not always remain closed;
+the secret involving Eleanore’s honor and happiness would be
+divulged by this restless being, if by no one else. Nor was the
+memory of that extraordinary, if not cruel, accusation I had heard
+her make enough to destroy this hope--for hope it had grown to
+be--so that I found myself insensibly shortening my time with Mr.
+Harwell in the library, and extending my _tete-a-tete_ visits with
+Mary in the reception room, till the imperturbable secretary was
+forced to complain that he was often left for hours without work.
+
+But, as I say, days passed, and a second Monday evening came round
+without seeing me any further advanced upon the problem I had set
+myself to solve than when I first started upon it two weeks before.
+The subject of the murder had not even been broached; nor was
+Hannah spoken of, though I observed the papers were not allowed to
+languish an instant upon the stoop; mistress and servants betraying
+equal interest in their contents. All this was strange to me. It
+was as if you saw a group of human beings eating, drinking, and
+sleeping upon the sides of a volcano hot with a late eruption and
+trembling with the birth of a new one. I longed to break this
+silence as we shiver glass: by shouting the name of Eleanore
+through those gilded rooms and satin-draped vestibules. But this
+Monday evening I was in a calmer mood. I was determined to expect
+nothing from my visits to Mary Leavenworth’s house; and entered
+it upon the eve in question with an equanimity such as I had not
+experienced since the first day I passed under its unhappy portals.
+
+But when, upon nearing the reception room, I saw Mary pacing the
+floor with the air of one who is restlessly awaiting something or
+somebody, I took a sudden resolution, and, advancing towards her,
+said: “Do I see you alone, Miss Leavenworth?”
+
+She paused in her hurried action, blushed and bowed, but, contrary
+to her usual custom, did not bid me enter.
+
+“Will it be too great an intrusion on my part, if I venture to come
+in?” I asked.
+
+Her glance flashed uneasily to the clock, and she seemed about
+to excuse herself, but suddenly yielded, and, drawing up a chair
+before the fire, motioned me towards it. Though she endeavored to
+appear calm, I vaguely felt I had chanced upon her in one of her
+most agitated moods, and that I had only to broach the subject I
+had in mind to behold her haughtiness disappear before me like
+melting snow. I also felt that I had but few moments in which to do
+it. I accordingly plunged immediately into the subject.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “in obtruding upon you to-night, I have
+a purpose other than that of giving myself a pleasure. I have come
+to make an appeal.”
+
+Instantly I saw that in some way I had started wrong. “An appeal to
+make to me?” she asked, breathing coldness from every feature of
+her face.
+
+“Yes,” I went on, with passionate recklessness. “Balked in every
+other endeavor to learn the truth, I have come to you, whom I
+believe to be noble at the core, for that help which seems likely
+to fail us in every other direction: for the word which, if it does
+not absolutely save your cousin, will at least put us upon the
+track of what will.”
+
+“I do not understand what you mean,” she protested, slightly
+shrinking.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I pursued, “it is needless for me to tell
+you in what position your cousin stands. You, who remember both
+the form and drift of the questions put to her at the inquest,
+comprehend it all without any explanation from me. But what you may
+not know is this, that unless she is speedily relieved from the
+suspicion which, justly or not, has attached itself to her name,
+the consequences which such suspicion entails must fall upon her,
+and----”
+
+“Good God!” she cried; “you do not mean she will be----”
+
+“Subject to arrest? Yes.”
+
+It was a blow. Shame, horror, and anguish were in every line of her
+white face. “And all because of that key!” she murmured.
+
+“Key? How did you know anything about a key?”
+
+“Why,” she cried, flushing painfully; “I cannot say; didn’t you
+tell me?”
+
+“No,” I returned.
+
+“The papers, then?”
+
+“The papers have never mentioned it.”
+
+She grew more and more agitated. “I thought every one knew. No,
+I did not, either,” she avowed, in a sudden burst of shame and
+penitence. “I knew it was a secret; but--oh, Mr. Raymond, it was
+Eleanore herself who told me.”
+
+“Eleanore?”
+
+“Yes, that last evening she was here; we were together in the
+drawing-room.”
+
+“What did she tell?”
+
+“That the key to the library had been seen in her possession.”
+
+I could scarcely conceal my incredulity. Eleanore, conscious of the
+suspicion with which her cousin regarded her, inform that cousin
+of a fact calculated to add weight to that suspicion? I could not
+believe this.
+
+“But you knew it?” Mary went on. “I have revealed nothing I ought
+to have kept secret?”
+
+“No,” said I; “and, Miss Leavenworth, it is this thing which makes
+your cousin’s position absolutely dangerous. It is a fact that,
+left unexplained, must ever link her name with infamy; a bit of
+circumstantial evidence no sophistry can smother, and no denial
+obliterate. Only her hitherto spotless reputation, and the efforts
+of one who, notwithstanding appearances, believes in her innocence,
+keeps her so long from the clutch of the officers of justice. That
+key, and the silence preserved by her in regard to it, is sinking
+her slowly into a pit from which the utmost endeavors of her best
+friends will soon be inadequate to extricate her.”
+
+“And you tell me this----”
+
+“That you may have pity on the poor girl, who will not have pity
+on herself, and by the explanation of a few circumstances, which
+cannot be mysteries to you, assist in bringing her from under the
+dreadful shadow that threatens to overwhelm her.”
+
+“And would you insinuate, sir,” she cried, turning upon me with
+a look of great anger, “that I know any more than you do of this
+matter? that I possess any knowledge which I have not already
+made public concerning the dreadful tragedy which has transformed
+our home into a desert, our existence into a lasting horror? Has
+the blight of suspicion fallen upon me, too; and have you come to
+accuse me in my own house----”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” I entreated; “calm yourself. I accuse you of
+nothing. I only desire you to enlighten me as to your cousin’s
+probable motive for this criminating silence. You cannot be
+ignorant of it. You are her cousin, almost her sister, have been
+at all events her daily companion for years, and must know for
+whom or for what she seals her lips, and conceals facts which, if
+known, would direct suspicion to the real criminal--that is, if you
+really believe what you have hitherto stated, that your cousin is
+an innocent woman.”
+
+She not making any answer to this, I rose and confronted her. “Miss
+Leavenworth, do you believe your cousin guiltless of this crime, or
+not?”
+
+“Guiltless? Eleanore? Oh! my God; if all the world were only as
+innocent as she!”
+
+“Then,” said I, “you must likewise believe that if she refrains
+from speaking in regard to matters which to ordinary observers
+ought to be explained, she does it only from motives of kindness
+towards one less guiltless than herself.”
+
+“What? No, no; I do not say that. What made you think of any such
+explanation?”
+
+“The action itself. With one of Eleanore’s character, such conduct
+as hers admits of no other construction. Either she is mad, or she
+is shielding another at the expense of herself.”
+
+Mary’s lip, which had trembled, slowly steadied itself. “And
+whom have you settled upon, as the person for whom Eleanore thus
+sacrifices herself?”
+
+“Ah,” said I, “there is where I seek assistance from you. With your
+knowledge of her history----”
+
+But Mary Leavenworth, sinking haughtily back into her chair,
+stopped me with a quiet gesture. “I beg your pardon,” said she;
+“but you make a mistake. I know little or nothing of Eleanore’s
+personal feelings. The mystery must be solved by some one besides
+me.”
+
+I changed my tactics.
+
+“When Eleanore confessed to you that the missing key had been seen
+in her possession, did she likewise inform you where she obtained
+it, and for what reason she was hiding it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Merely told you the fact, without any explanation?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Was not that a strange piece of gratuitous information for her to
+give one who, but a few hours before, had accused her to the face
+of committing a deadly crime?”
+
+“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice suddenly sinking.
+
+“You will not deny that you were once, not only ready to believe
+her guilty, but that you actually charged her with having
+perpetrated this crime.”
+
+“Explain yourself!” she cried.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, do you not remember what you said in that room
+up-stairs, when you were alone with your cousin on the morning
+of the inquest, just before Mr. Gryce and myself entered your
+presence?”
+
+Her eyes did not fall, but they filled with sudden terror.
+
+“You heard?” she whispered.
+
+“I could not help it. I was just outside the door, and----”
+
+“What did you hear?”
+
+I told her.
+
+“And Mr. Gryce?”
+
+“He was at my side.”
+
+It seemed as if her eyes would devour my face. “Yet nothing was
+said when you came in?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You, however, have never forgotten it?”
+
+“How could we, Miss Leavenworth?”
+
+Her head fell forward in her hands, and for one wild moment she
+seemed lost in despair. Then she roused, and desperately exclaimed:
+
+“And that is why you come here to-night. With that sentence
+written upon your heart, you invade my presence, torture me with
+questions----”
+
+“Pardon me,” I broke in; “are my questions such as you, with
+reasonable regard for the honor of one with whom you are accustomed
+to associate, should hesitate to answer? Do I derogate from my
+manhood in asking you how and why you came to make an accusation of
+so grave a nature, at a time when all the circumstances of the case
+were freshly before you, only to insist fully as strongly upon your
+cousin’s innocence when you found there was even more cause for
+your imputation than you had supposed?”
+
+She did not seem to hear me. “Oh, my cruel fate!” she murmured.
+“Oh, my cruel fate!”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, rising, and taking my stand before her;
+“although there is a temporary estrangement between you and your
+cousin, you cannot wish to seem her enemy. Speak, then; let me at
+least know the name of him for whom she thus immolates herself. A
+hint from you----”
+
+But rising, with a strange look, to her feet, she interrupted me
+with a stern remark: “If you do not know, I cannot inform you; do
+not ask me, Mr. Raymond.” And she glanced at the clock for the
+second time.
+
+I took another turn.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth, you once asked me if a person who had committed
+a wrong ought necessarily to confess it; and I replied no, unless
+by the confession reparation could be made. Do you remember?”
+
+Her lips moved, but no words issued from them.
+
+“I begin to think,” I solemnly proceeded, following the lead of her
+emotion, “that confession is the only way out of this difficulty:
+that only by the words you can utter Eleanore can be saved from the
+doom that awaits her. Will you not then show yourself a true woman
+by responding to my earnest entreaties?”
+
+I seemed to have touched the right chord; for she trembled, and a
+look of wistfulness filled her eyes. “Oh, if I could!” she murmured.
+
+“And why can you not? You will never be happy till you do. Eleanore
+persists in silence; but that is no reason why you should emulate
+her example. You only make her position more doubtful by it.”
+
+“I know it; but I cannot help myself. Fate has too strong a hold
+upon me; I cannot break away.”
+
+“That is not true. Any one can escape from bonds imaginary as
+yours.”
+
+“No, no,” she protested; “you do not understand.”
+
+“I understand this: that the path of rectitude is a straight one,
+and that he who steps into devious byways is going astray.”
+
+A flicker of light, pathetic beyond description, flashed for a
+moment across her face; her throat rose as with one wild sob; her
+lips opened; she seemed yielding, when--A sharp ring at the front
+door-bell!
+
+“Oh,” she cried, sharply turning, “tell him I cannot see him; tell
+him----”
+
+“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, taking her by both hands, “never mind
+the door; never mind anything but this. I have asked you a question
+which involves the mystery of this whole affair; answer me, then,
+for your soul’s sake; tell me, what the unhappy circumstances were
+which could induce you--”
+
+But she tore her hands from mine. “The door!” she cried; “it will
+open, and--”
+
+Stepping into the hall, I met Thomas coming up the basement stairs.
+“Go back,” said I; “I will call you when you are wanted.”
+
+With a bow he disappeared.
+
+“You expect me to answer,” she exclaimed, when I re-entered, “now,
+in a moment? I cannot.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Impossible!” fastening her gaze upon the front door.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth!”
+
+She shuddered.
+
+“I fear the time will never come, if you do not speak now.”
+
+“Impossible,” she reiterated.
+
+Another twang at the bell.
+
+“You hear!” said she.
+
+I went into the hall and called Thomas. “You may open the door
+now,” said I, and moved to return to her side.
+
+But, with a gesture of command, she pointed up-stairs. “Leave me!”
+and her glance passed on to Thomas, who stopped where he was.
+
+“I will see you again before I go,” said I, and hastened up-stairs.
+
+Thomas opened the door. “Is Miss Leavenworth in?” I heard a rich,
+tremulous voice inquire.
+
+“Yes, sir,” came in the butler’s most respectful and measured
+accents, and, leaning over the banisters I beheld, to my amazement,
+the form of Mr. Clavering enter the front hall and move towards the
+reception room.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII. ON THE STAIRS
+
+      “You cannot _say_ I did it.”
+
+                                Macbeth.
+
+
+Excited, tremulous, filled with wonder at this unlooked-for
+event, I paused for a moment to collect my scattered senses,
+when the sound of a low, monotonous voice breaking upon my ear
+from the direction of the library, I approached and found Mr.
+Harwell reading aloud from his late employer’s manuscript. It
+would be difficult for me to describe the effect which this
+simple discovery made upon me at this time. There, in that room
+of late death, withdrawn from the turmoil of the world, a hermit
+in his skeleton-lined cell, this man employed himself in reading
+and rereading, with passive interest, the words of the dead,
+while above and below, human beings agonized in doubt and shame.
+Listening, I heard these words:
+
+“By these means their native rulers will not only lose their
+jealous terror of our institutions, but acquire an actual curiosity
+in regard to them.”
+
+Opening the door I went in.
+
+“Ah! you are late, sir,” was the greeting with which he rose and
+brought forward a chair.
+
+My reply was probably inaudible, for he added, as he passed to his
+own seat:
+
+“I am afraid you are not well.”
+
+I roused myself.
+
+“I am not ill.” And, pulling the papers towards me, I began looking
+them over. But the words danced before my eyes, and I was obliged
+to give up all attempt at work for that night.
+
+“I fear I am unable to assist you this evening, Mr. Harwell. The
+fact is, I find it difficult to give proper attention to this
+business while the man who by a dastardly assassination has made it
+necessary goes unpunished.”
+
+The secretary in his turn pushed the papers aside, as if moved by a
+sudden distaste of them, but gave me no answer.
+
+“You told me, when you first came to me with news of this fearful
+tragedy, that it was a mystery; but it is one which must be solved,
+Mr. Harwell; it is wearing out the lives of too many whom we love
+and respect.”
+
+The secretary gave me a look. “Miss Eleanore?” he murmured.
+
+“And Miss Mary,” I went on; “myself, you, and many others.”
+
+“You have manifested much interest in the matter from the
+beginning,”--he said, methodically dipping his pen into the ink.
+
+I stared at him in amazement.
+
+“And you,” said I; “do you take no interest in that which involves
+not only the safety, but the happiness and honor, of the family in
+which you have dwelt so long?”
+
+He looked at me with increased coldness. “I have no wish to discuss
+this subject. I believe I have before prayed you to spare me its
+introduction.” And he arose.
+
+“But I cannot consider your wishes in this regard,” I persisted.
+“If you know any facts, connected with this affair, which have not
+yet been made public, it is manifestly your duty to state them. The
+position which Miss Eleanore occupies at this time is one which
+should arouse the sense of justice in every true breast; and if
+you----”
+
+“If I knew anything which would serve to release her from her
+unhappy position, Mr. Raymond, I should have spoken long ago.”
+
+I bit my lip, weary of these continual bafflings, and rose also.
+
+“If you have nothing more to say,” he went on, “and feel utterly
+disinclined to work, why, I should be glad to excuse myself, as I
+have an engagement out.”
+
+“Do not let me keep you,” I said, bitterly. “I can take care of
+myself.”
+
+He turned upon me with a short stare, as if this display of feeling
+was well nigh incomprehensible to him; and then, with a quiet,
+almost compassionate bow left the room. I heard him go up-stairs,
+felt the jar when his room door closed, and sat down to enjoy my
+solitude. But solitude in that room was unbearable. By the time
+Mr. Harwell again descended, I felt I could remain no longer, and,
+stepping into the hall, told him that if he had no objection I
+would accompany him for a short stroll.
+
+He bowed a stiff assent, and hastened before me down the stairs.
+By the time I had closed the library door, he was half-way to the
+foot, and I was just remarking to myself upon the unpliability
+of his figure and the awkwardness of his carriage, as seen from
+my present standpoint, when suddenly I saw him stop, clutch the
+banister at his side, and hang there with a startled, deathly
+expression upon his half-turned countenance, which fixed me for an
+instant where I was in breathless astonishment, and then caused me
+to rush down to his side, catch him by the arm, and cry:
+
+“What is it? what is the matter?”
+
+[Illustration: “He pushed me upwards. ‘Go back!’ he
+whispered, . . . ‘Go back!’”]
+
+But, thrusting out his hand, he pushed me upwards. “Go back!” he
+whispered, in a voice shaking with intensest emotion, “go back.”
+And catching me by the arm, he literally pulled me up the stairs.
+Arrived at the top, he loosened his grasp, and leaning, quivering
+from head to foot, over the banisters, glared below.
+
+“Who is that?” he cried. “Who is that man? What is his name?”
+
+Startled in my turn, I bent beside him, and saw Henry Clavering
+come out of the reception room and cross the hall.
+
+“That is Mr. Clavering,” I whispered, with all the self-possession
+I could muster; “do you know him?”
+
+Mr. Harwell fell back against the opposite wall. “Clavering,
+Clavering,” he murmured with quaking lips; then, suddenly bounding
+forward, clutched the railing before him, and fixing me with his
+eyes, from which all the stoic calmness had gone down forever in
+flame and frenzy, gurgled into my ear: “You want to know who the
+assassin of Mr. Leavenworth is, do you? Look there, then: that is
+the man, Clavering!” And with a leap, he bounded from my side, and,
+swaying like a drunken man, disappeared from my gaze in the hall
+above.
+
+My first impulse was to follow him. Rushing up-stairs, I knocked at
+the door of his room, but no response came to my summons. I then
+called his name in the hall, but without avail; he was determined
+not to show himself. Resolved that he should not thus escape me,
+I returned to the library, and wrote him a short note, in which I
+asked for an explanation of his tremendous accusation, saying I
+would be in my rooms the next evening at six, when I should expect
+to see him. This done I descended to rejoin Mary.
+
+But the evening was destined to be full of disappointments. She
+had retired to her room while I was in the library, and I lost the
+interview from which I expected so much. “The woman is slippery
+as an eel,” I inwardly commented, pacing the hall in my chagrin.
+“Wrapped in mystery, she expects me to feel for her the respect due
+to one of frank and open nature.”
+
+I was about to leave the house, when I saw Thomas descending the
+stairs with a letter in his hand.
+
+“Miss Leavenworth’s compliments, sir, and she is too fatigued to
+remain below this evening.”
+
+I moved aside to read the note he handed me, feeling a little
+conscience-stricken as I traced the hurried, trembling handwriting
+through the following words:
+
+    “You ask more than I can give. Matters must be received as
+    they are without explanation from me. It is the grief of my
+    life to deny you; but I have no choice. God forgive us all
+    and keep us from despair.
+
+    “M.”
+
+And below:
+
+    “As we cannot meet now without embarrassment, it is better we
+    should bear our burdens in silence and apart. Mr. Harwell will
+    visit you. Farewell!”
+
+As I was crossing Thirty-second Street, I heard a quick footstep
+behind me, and turning, saw Thomas at my side. “Excuse me, sir,”
+said he, “but I have something a little particular to say to
+you. When you asked me the other night what sort of a person
+the gentleman was who called on Miss Eleanore the evening of
+the murder, I didn’t answer you as I should. The fact is, the
+detectives had been talking to me about that very thing, and I felt
+shy; but, sir, I know you are a friend of the family, and I want
+to tell you now that that same gentleman, whoever he was,--Mr.
+Robbins, he called himself then,--was at the house again to-night,
+sir, and the name he gave me this time to carry to Miss Leavenworth
+was Clavering. Yes, sir,” he went on, seeing me start; “and, as I
+told Molly, he acts queer for a stranger. When he came the other
+night, he hesitated a long time before asking for Miss Eleanore,
+and when I wanted his name, took out a card and wrote on it the one
+I told you of, sir, with a look on his face a little peculiar for a
+caller; besides----”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Mr. Raymond,” the butler went on, in a low, excited voice, edging
+up very closely to me in the darkness. “There is something I have
+never told any living being but Molly, sir, which may be of use to
+those as wishes to find out who committed this murder.”
+
+“A fact or a suspicion?” I inquired.
+
+“A fact, sir; which I beg your pardon for troubling you with at
+this time; but Molly will give me no rest unless I speak of it
+to you or Mr. Gryce; her feelings being so worked up on Hannah’s
+account, whom we all know is innocent, though folks do dare to say
+as how she must be guilty just because she is not to be found the
+minute they want her.”
+
+“But this fact?” I urged.
+
+“Well, the fact is this. You see--I would tell Mr. Gryce,” he
+resumed, unconscious of my anxiety, “but I have my fears of
+detectives, sir; they catch you up so quick at times, and seem to
+think you know so much more than you really do.”
+
+“But this fact,” I again broke in.
+
+“O yes, sir; the fact is, that that night, the one of the murder
+you know, I saw Mr. Clavering, Robbins, or whatever his name is,
+enter the house, but neither I nor any one else saw him go out of
+it; nor do I know that he _did_.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Well, sir, what I mean is this. When I came down from Miss
+Eleanore and told Mr. Robbins, as he called himself at that time,
+that my mistress was ill and unable to see him (the word she gave
+me, sir, to deliver) Mr. Robbins, instead of bowing and leaving the
+house like a gentleman, stepped into the reception room and sat
+down. He may have felt sick, he looked pale enough; at any rate,
+he asked me for a glass of water. Not knowing any reason then for
+suspicionating any one’s actions, I immediately went down to the
+kitchen for it, leaving him there in the reception room alone.
+But before I could get it, I heard the front door close. ‘What’s
+that?’ said Molly, who was helping me, sir. ‘I don’t know,’ said
+I, ‘unless it’s the gentleman has got tired of waiting and gone.’
+‘If he’s gone, he won’t want the water,’ she said. So down I set
+the pitcher, and up-stairs I come; and sure enough he was gone, or
+so I thought then. But who knows, sir, if he was not in that room
+or the drawing-room, which was dark that night, all the time I was
+a-shutting up of the house?”
+
+I made no reply to this; I was more startled than I cared to reveal.
+
+“You see, sir, I wouldn’t speak of such a thing about any person
+that comes to see the young ladies; but we all know some one who
+was in the house that night murdered my master, and as it was not
+Hannah----”
+
+“You say that Miss Eleanore refused to see him,” I interrupted, in
+the hope that the simple suggestion would be enough to elicitate
+further details of his interview with Eleanore.
+
+“Yes, sir. When she first looked at the card, she showed a little
+hesitation; but in a moment she grew very flushed in the face, and
+bade me say what I told you. I should never have thought of it
+again if I had not seen him come blazoning and bold into the house
+this evening, with a new name on his tongue. Indeed, and I do not
+like to think any evil of him now; but Molly would have it I should
+speak to you, sir, and ease my mind,--and that is all, sir.”
+
+When I arrived home that night, I entered into my memorandum-book a
+new list of suspicious circumstances, but this time they were under
+the caption “C” instead of “E.”
+
+
+
+
+XIX. IN MY OFFICE
+
+      “Something between an hindrance and a help.”
+
+                                                Wordsworth.
+
+
+The next day as, with nerves unstrung and an exhausted brain, I
+entered my office, I was greeted by the announcement:
+
+“A gentleman, sir, in your private room--been waiting some time,
+very impatient.”
+
+Weary, in no mood to hold consultation with clients new or old, I
+advanced with anything but an eager step towards my room, when,
+upon opening the door, I saw--Mr. Clavering.
+
+Too much astounded for the moment to speak, I bowed to him
+silently, whereupon he approached me with the air and dignity
+of a highly bred gentleman, and presented his card, on which I
+saw written, in free and handsome characters, his whole name,
+Henry Ritchie Clavering. After this introduction of himself, he
+apologized for making so unceremonious a call, saying, in excuse,
+that he was a stranger in town; that his business was one of great
+urgency; that he had casually heard honorable mention of me as a
+lawyer and a gentleman, and so had ventured to seek this interview
+on behalf of a friend who was so unfortunately situated as to
+require the opinion and advice of a lawyer upon a question which
+not only involved an extraordinary state of facts, but was of a
+nature peculiarly embarrassing to him, owing to his ignorance of
+American laws, and the legal bearing of these facts upon the same.
+
+Having thus secured my attention, and awakened my curiosity, he
+asked me if I would permit him to relate his story. Recovering in a
+measure from my astonishment, and subduing the extreme repulsion,
+almost horror, I felt for the man, I signified my assent; at which
+he drew from his pocket a memorandum-book from which he read in
+substance as follows:
+
+“An Englishman travelling in this country meets, at a fashionable
+watering-place, an American girl, with whom he falls deeply in
+love, and whom, after a few days, he desires to marry. Knowing his
+position to be good, his fortune ample, and his intentions highly
+honorable, he offers her his hand, and is accepted. But a decided
+opposition arising in the family to the match, he is compelled to
+disguise his sentiments, though the engagement remained unbroken.
+While matters were in this uncertain condition, he received advices
+from England demanding his instant return, and, alarmed at the
+prospect of a protracted absence from the object of his affections,
+he writes to the lady, informing her of the circumstances, and
+proposing a secret marriage. She consents with stipulations; the
+first of which is, that he should leave her instantly upon the
+conclusion of the ceremony, and the second, that he should intrust
+the public declaration of the marriage to her. It was not precisely
+what he wished, but anything which served to make her his own was
+acceptable at such a crisis. He readily enters into the plans
+proposed. Meeting the lady at a parsonage, some twenty miles from
+the watering-place at which she was staying, he stands up with
+her before a Methodist preacher, and the ceremony of marriage is
+performed. There were two witnesses, a hired man of the minister,
+called in for the purpose, and a lady friend who came with the
+bride; but there was no license, and the bride had not completed
+her twenty-first year. Now, was that marriage legal? If the lady,
+wedded in good faith upon that day by my friend, chooses to deny
+that she is his lawful wife, can he hold her to a compact entered
+into in so informal a manner? In short, Mr. Raymond, is my friend
+the lawful husband of that girl or not?”
+
+While listening to this story, I found myself yielding to feelings
+greatly in contrast to those with which I greeted the relator but a
+moment before. I became so interested in his “friend’s” case as to
+quite forget, for the time being, that I had ever seen or heard of
+Henry Clavering; and after learning that the marriage ceremony took
+place in the State of New York, I replied to him, as near as I can
+remember, in the following words:
+
+“In this State, and I believe it to be American law, marriage is a
+civil contract, requiring neither license, priest, ceremony, nor
+certificate--and in some cases witnesses are not even necessary to
+give it validity. Of old, the modes of getting a wife were the same
+as those of acquiring any other species of property, and they are
+not materially changed at the present time. It is enough that the
+man and woman say to each other, ‘From this time we are married,’
+or, ‘You are now my wife,’ or, ‘my husband,’ as the case may be.
+The mutual consent is all that is necessary. In fact, you may
+contract marriage as you contract to lend a sum of money, or to buy
+the merest trifle.”
+
+“Then your opinion is----”
+
+“That upon your statement, your friend is the lawful husband of the
+lady in question; presuming, of course, that no legal disabilities
+of either party existed to prevent such a union. As to the young
+lady’s age, I will merely say that any fourteen-year-old girl can
+be a party to a marriage contract.”
+
+Mr. Clavering bowed, his countenance assuming a look of great
+satisfaction. “I am very glad to hear this,” said he; “my friend’s
+happiness is entirely involved in the establishment of his
+marriage.”
+
+He appeared so relieved, my curiosity was yet further aroused. I
+therefore said: “I have given you my opinion as to the legality
+of this marriage; but it may be quite another thing to prove it,
+should the same be contested.”
+
+He started, cast me an inquiring look, and murmured:
+
+“True.”
+
+“Allow me to ask you a few questions. Was the lady married under
+her own name?”
+
+“She was.”
+
+“The gentleman?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Did the lady receive a certificate?”
+
+“She did.”
+
+“Properly signed by the minister and witnesses?”
+
+He bowed his head in assent.
+
+“Did she keep this?”
+
+“I cannot say; but I presume she did.”
+
+“The witnesses were----”
+
+“A hired man of the minister----”
+
+“Who can be found?”
+
+“Who cannot be found.”
+
+“Dead or disappeared?”
+
+“The minister is dead, the man has disappeared.”
+
+“The minister dead!”
+
+“Three months since.”
+
+“And the marriage took place when?”
+
+“Last July.”
+
+“The other witness, the lady friend, where is she?”
+
+“She can be found; but her action is not to be depended upon.”
+
+“Has the gentleman himself no proofs of this marriage?”
+
+Mr. Clavering shook his head. “He cannot even prove he was in the
+town where it took place on that particular day.”
+
+“The marriage certificate was, however, filed with the clerk of the
+town?” said I.
+
+“It was not, sir.”
+
+“How was that?”
+
+“I cannot say. I only know that my friend has made inquiry, and
+that no such paper is to be found.”
+
+I leaned slowly back and looked at him. “I do not wonder your
+friend is concerned in regard to his position, if what you hint is
+true, and the lady seems disposed to deny that any such ceremony
+ever took place. Still, if he wishes to go to law, the Court may
+decide in his favor, though I doubt it. His sworn word is all he
+would have to go upon, and if she contradicts his testimony under
+oath, why the sympathy of a jury is, as a rule, with the woman.”
+
+Mr. Clavering rose, looked at me with some earnestness, and finally
+asked, in a tone which, though somewhat changed, lacked nothing
+of its former suavity, if I would be kind enough to give him in
+writing that portion of my opinion which directly bore upon the
+legality of the marriage; that such a paper would go far towards
+satisfying his friend that his case had been properly presented;
+as he was aware that no respectable lawyer would put his name to
+a legal opinion without first having carefully arrived at his
+conclusions by a thorough examination of the law bearing upon the
+facts submitted.
+
+This request seeming so reasonable, I unhesitatingly complied with
+it, and handed him the opinion. He took it, and, after reading it
+carefully over, deliberately copied it into his memorandum-book.
+This done, he turned towards me, a strong, though hitherto subdued,
+emotion showing itself in his countenance.
+
+“Now, sir,” said he, rising upon me to the full height of his
+majestic figure, “I have but one more request to make; and that is,
+that you will receive back this opinion into your own possession,
+and in the day you think to lead a beautiful woman to the altar,
+pause and ask yourself: ‘Am I sure that the hand I clasp with such
+impassioned fervor is free? Have I any certainty for knowing that
+it has not already been given away, like that of the lady whom, in
+this opinion of mine, I have declared to be a wedded wife according
+to the laws of my country?’”
+
+“Mr. Clavering!”
+
+But he, with an urbane bow, laid his hand upon the knob of the
+door. “I thank you for your courtesy, Mr. Raymond, and I bid you
+good-day. I hope you will have no need of consulting that paper
+before I see you again.” And with another bow, he passed out.
+
+It was the most vital shock I had yet experienced; and for a moment
+I stood paralyzed. Me! me! Why should he mix me up with the affair
+unless--but I would not contemplate that possibility. Eleanore
+married, and to this man? No, no; anything but that! And yet I
+found myself continually turning the supposition over in my mind
+until, to escape the torment of my own conjectures, I seized my
+hat, and rushed into the street in the hope of finding him again
+and extorting from him an explanation of his mysterious conduct.
+But by the time I reached the sidewalk, he was nowhere to be seen.
+A thousand busy men, with their various cares and purposes, had
+pushed themselves between us, and I was obliged to return to my
+office with my doubts unsolved.
+
+I think I never experienced a longer day; but it passed, and at
+five o’clock I had the satisfaction of inquiring for Mr. Clavering
+at the Hoffman House. Judge of my surprise when I learned that his
+visit to my office was his last action before taking passage upon
+the steamer leaving that day for Liverpool; that he was now on the
+high seas, and all chance of another interview with him was at an
+end. I could scarcely believe the fact at first; but after a talk
+with the cabman who had driven him off to my office and thence to
+the steamer, I became convinced. My first feeling was one of shame.
+I had been brought face to face with the accused man, had received
+an intimation from him that he was not expecting to see me again
+for some time, and had weakly gone on attending to my own affairs
+and allowed him to escape, like the simple tyro that I was. My
+next, the necessity of notifying Mr. Gryce of this man’s departure.
+But it was now six o’clock, the hour set apart for my interview
+with Mr. Harwell. I could not afford to miss that, so merely
+stopping to despatch a line to Mr. Gryce, in which I promised to
+visit him that evening, I turned my steps towards home. I found Mr.
+Harwell there before me.
+
+
+
+
+XX. “TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN!”
+
+                    “Often do the spirits
+      Of great events stride on before the events,
+      And in to-day already walks to-morrow.”
+
+                                                  Coleridge.
+
+
+Instantly a great dread seized me. What revelations might not this
+man be going to make! But I subdued the feeling; and, greeting
+him with what cordiality I could, settled myself to listen to his
+explanations.
+
+But Trueman Harwell had no explanations to give, or so it seemed;
+on the contrary, he had come to apologize for the very violent
+words he had used the evening before; words which, whatever their
+effect upon me, he now felt bound to declare had been used without
+sufficient basis in fact to make their utterance of the least
+importance.
+
+“But you must have thought you had grounds for so tremendous an
+accusation, or your act was that of a madman.”
+
+His brow wrinkled heavily, and his eyes assumed a very gloomy
+expression. “It does not follow,” he returned. “Under the pressure
+of surprise, I have known men utter convictions no better founded
+than mine without running the risk of being called mad.”
+
+“Surprise? Mr. Clavering’s face or form must, then, have been
+known to you. The mere fact of seeing a strange gentleman in the
+hall would have been insufficient to cause you astonishment, Mr.
+Harwell.”
+
+He uneasily fingered the back of the chair before which he stood,
+but made no reply.
+
+“Sit down,” I again urged, this time with a touch of command in my
+voice. “This is a serious matter, and I intend to deal with it as
+it deserves. You once said that if you knew anything which might
+serve to exonerate Eleanore Leavenworth from the suspicion under
+which she stands, you would be ready to impart it.”
+
+“Pardon me. I said that if I had ever known anything calculated to
+release her from her unhappy position, I would have spoken,” he
+coldly corrected.
+
+“Do not quibble. You know, and I know, that you are keeping
+something back; and I ask you, in her behalf, and in the cause of
+justice, to tell me what it is.”
+
+“You are mistaken,” was his dogged reply. “I have reasons, perhaps,
+for certain conclusions I may have drawn; but my conscience will
+not allow me in cold blood to give utterance to suspicions which
+may not only damage the reputation of an honest man, but place
+me in the unpleasant position of an accuser without substantial
+foundation for my accusations.”
+
+“You occupy that position already,” I retorted, with equal
+coldness. “Nothing can make me forget that in my presence you have
+denounced Henry Clavering as the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth. You
+had better explain yourself, Mr. Harwell.”
+
+He gave me a short look, but moved around and took the chair. “You
+have me at a disadvantage,” he said, in a lighter tone. “If you
+choose to profit by your position, and press me to disclose the
+little I know, I can only regret the necessity under which I lie,
+and speak.”
+
+“Then you are deterred by conscientious scruples alone?”
+
+“Yes, and by the meagreness of the facts at my command.”
+
+“I will judge of the facts when I have heard them.”
+
+He raised his eyes to mine, and I was astonished to observe a
+strange eagerness in their depths; evidently his convictions were
+stronger than his scruples. “Mr. Raymond,” he began, “you are a
+lawyer, and undoubtedly a practical man; but you may know what it
+is to scent danger before you see it, to feel influences working
+in the air over and about you, and yet be in ignorance of what it
+is that affects you so powerfully, till chance reveals that an
+enemy has been at your side, or a friend passed your window, or the
+shadow of death crossed your book as you read, or mingled with your
+breath as you slept?”
+
+I shook my head, fascinated by the intensity of his gaze into some
+sort of response.
+
+“Then you cannot understand me, or what I have suffered these last
+three weeks.” And he drew back with an icy reserve that seemed to
+promise but little to my now thoroughly awakened curiosity.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” I hastened to say; “but the fact of my
+never having experienced such sensations does not hinder me from
+comprehending the emotions of others more affected by spiritual
+influences than myself.”
+
+He drew himself slowly forward. “Then you will not ridicule me if I
+say that upon the eve of Mr. Leavenworth’s murder I experienced in
+a dream all that afterwards occurred; saw him murdered, saw”--and
+he clasped his hands before him, in an attitude inexpressibly
+convincing, while his voice sank to a horrified whisper, “saw the
+face of his murderer!”
+
+I started, looked at him in amazement, a thrill as at a ghostly
+presence running through me.
+
+“And was that----” I began.
+
+“My reason for denouncing the man I beheld before me in the hall of
+Miss Leavenworth’s house last night? It was.” And, taking out his
+handkerchief, he wiped his forehead, on which the perspiration was
+standing in large drops.
+
+“You would then intimate that the face you saw in your dream and
+the face you saw in the hall last night were the same?”
+
+He gravely nodded his head.
+
+I drew my chair nearer to his. “Tell me your dream,” said I.
+
+“It was the night before Mr. Leavenworth’s murder. I had gone to
+bed feeling especially contented with myself and the world at
+large; for, though my life is anything but a happy one,” and he
+heaved a short sigh, “some pleasant words had been said to me
+that day, and I was revelling in the happiness they conferred,
+when suddenly a chill struck my heart, and the darkness which a
+moment before had appeared to me as the abode of peace thrilled to
+the sound of a supernatural cry, and I heard my name, ‘Trueman,
+Trueman, Trueman,’ repeated three times in a voice I did not
+recognize, and starting from my pillow beheld at my bedside a
+woman. Her face was strange to me,” he solemnly proceeded, “but I
+can give you each and every detail of it, as, bending above me, she
+stared into my eyes with a growing terror that seemed to implore
+help, though her lips were quiet, and only the memory of that cry
+echoed in my ears.”
+
+“Describe the face,” I interposed.
+
+“It was a round, fair, lady’s face. Very lovely in contour, but
+devoid of coloring; not beautiful, but winning from its childlike
+look of trust. The hair, banded upon the low, broad forehead,
+was brown; the eyes, which were very far apart, gray; the mouth,
+which was its most charming feature, delicate of make and very
+expressive. There was a dimple in the chin, but none in the cheeks.
+It was a face to be remembered.”
+
+“Go on,” said I.
+
+“Meeting the gaze of those imploring eyes, I started up. Instantly
+the face and all vanished, and I became conscious, as we sometimes
+do in dreams, of a certain movement in the hall below, and the
+next instant the gliding figure of a man of imposing size entered
+the library. I remember experiencing a certain thrill at this,
+half terror, half curiosity, though I seemed to know, as if by
+intuition, what he was going to do. Strange to say, I now seemed to
+change my personality, and to be no longer a third party watching
+these proceedings, but Mr. Leavenworth himself, sitting at his
+library table and feeling his doom crawling upon him without
+capacity for speech or power of movement to avert it. Though my
+back was towards the man, I could feel his stealthy form traverse
+the passage, enter the room beyond, pass to that stand where the
+pistol was, try the drawer, find it locked, turn the key, procure
+the pistol, weigh it in an accustomed hand, and advance again. I
+could feel each footstep he took as though his feet were in truth
+upon my heart, and I remember staring at the table before me as if
+I expected every moment to see it run with my own blood. I can see
+now how the letters I had been writing danced upon the paper before
+me, appearing to my eyes to take the phantom shapes of persons and
+things long ago forgotten; crowding my last moments with regrets
+and dead shames, wild longings, and unspeakable agonies, through
+all of which that face, the face of my former dream, mingled, pale,
+sweet, and searching, while closer and closer behind me crept that
+noiseless foot till I could feel the glaring of the assassin’s
+eyes across the narrow threshold separating me from death and hear
+the click of his teeth as he set his lips for the final act. Ah!”
+and the secretary’s livid face showed the touch of awful horror,
+“what words can describe such an experience as that? In one moment,
+all the agonies of hell in the heart and brain, the next a blank
+through which I seemed to see afar, and as if suddenly removed from
+all this, a crouching figure looking at its work with starting eyes
+and pallid back-drawn lips; and seeing, recognize no face that I
+had ever known, but one so handsome, so remarkable, so unique in
+its formation and character, that it would be as easy for me to
+mistake the countenance of my father as the look and figure of the
+man revealed to me in my dream.”
+
+“And this face?” said I, in a voice I failed to recognize as my own.
+
+“Was that of him whom we saw leave Mary Leavenworth’s presence last
+night and go down the hall to the front door.”
+
+
+
+
+XXI. A PREJUDICE
+
+                “True, I talk of dreams,
+      Which are the children of an idle brain
+      Begot of nothing but vain phantasy.”
+
+                                        Romeo and Juliet.
+
+
+For one moment I sat a prey to superstitious horror; then, my
+natural incredulity asserting itself, I looked up and remarked:
+
+“You say that all this took place the night previous to the actual
+occurrence?”
+
+He bowed his head. “For a warning,” he declared.
+
+“But you did not seem to take it as such?”
+
+“No; I am subject to horrible dreams. I thought but little of it in
+a superstitious way till I looked next day upon Mr. Leavenworth’s
+dead body.”
+
+“I do not wonder you behaved strangely at the inquest.”
+
+“Ah, sir,” he returned, with a slow, sad smile; “no one knows what
+I suffered in my endeavors not to tell more than I actually knew,
+irrespective of my dream, of this murder and the manner of its
+accomplishment.”
+
+“You believe, then, that your dream foreshadowed the manner of the
+murder as well as the fact?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“It is a pity it did not go a little further, then, and tell us
+how the assassin escaped from, if not how he entered, a house so
+securely fastened.”
+
+His face flushed. “That would have been convenient,” he repeated.
+“Also, if I had been informed where Hannah was, and why a stranger
+and a gentleman should have stooped to the committal of such a
+crime.”
+
+Seeing that he was nettled, I dropped my bantering vein. “Why do
+you say a stranger?” I asked; “are you so well acquainted with all
+who visit that house as to be able to say who are and who are not
+strangers to the family?
+
+“I am well acquainted with the faces of their friends, and Henry
+Clavering is not amongst the number; but----”
+
+“Were you ever with Mr. Leavenworth,” I interrupted, “when he has
+been away from home; in the country, for instance, or upon his
+travels?”
+
+“No.” But the negative came with some constraint.
+
+“Yet I suppose he was in the habit of absenting himself from home?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Can you tell me where he was last July, he and the ladies?”
+
+“Yes, sir; they went to R----. The famous watering-place, you know.
+Ah,” he cried, seeing a change in my face, “do you think he could
+have met them there?”
+
+I looked at him for a moment, then, rising in my turn, stood level
+with him, and exclaimed:
+
+“You are keeping something back, Mr. Harwell; you have more
+knowledge of this man than you have hitherto given me to
+understand. What is it?”
+
+He seemed astonished at my penetration, but replied: “I know no
+more of the man than I have already informed you; but”--and a
+burning flush crossed his face, “if you are determined to pursue
+this matter--” and he paused, with an inquiring look.
+
+“I am resolved to find out all I can about Henry Clavering,” was my
+decided answer.
+
+“Then,” said he, “I can tell you this much. Henry Clavering wrote
+a letter to Mr. Leavenworth a few days before the murder, which
+I have some reason to believe produced a marked effect upon the
+household.” And, folding his arms, the secretary stood quietly
+awaiting my next question.
+
+“How do you know?” I asked.
+
+“I opened it by mistake. I was in the habit of reading Mr.
+Leavenworth’s business letters, and this, being from one
+unaccustomed to write to him, lacked the mark which usually
+distinguished those of a private nature.”
+
+“And you saw the name of Clavering?”
+
+“I did; Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
+
+“Did you read the letter?” I was trembling now.
+
+The secretary did not reply.
+
+“Mr. Harwell,” I reiterated, “this is no time for false delicacy.
+Did you read that letter?”
+
+“I did; but hastily, and with an agitated conscience.”
+
+“You can, however, recall its general drift?”
+
+“It was some complaint in regard to the treatment received by him
+at the hand of one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces. I remember nothing
+more.”
+
+“Which niece?”
+
+“There were no names mentioned.”
+
+“But you inferred----”
+
+“No, sir; that is just what I did not do. I forced myself to forget
+the whole thing.”
+
+“And yet you say it produced an effect upon the family?”
+
+“I can see now that it did. None of them have ever appeared quite
+the same as before.”
+
+“Mr. Harwell,” I gravely continued; “when you were questioned as
+to the receipt of any letter by Mr. Leavenworth, which might seem
+in any manner to be connected with this tragedy, you denied having
+seen any such; how was that?”
+
+“Mr. Raymond, you are a gentleman; have a chivalrous regard for the
+ladies; do you think you could have brought yourself (even if in
+your secret heart you considered some such result possible, which I
+am not ready to say I did) to mention, at such a time as that, the
+receipt of a letter complaining of the treatment received from one
+of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces, as a suspicious circumstance worthy to
+be taken into account by a coroner’s jury?”
+
+I shook my head. I could not but acknowledge the impossibility.
+
+“What reason had I for thinking that letter was one of importance?
+I knew of no Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
+
+“And yet you seemed to think it was. I remember you hesitated
+before replying.”
+
+“It is true; but not as I should hesitate now, if the question were
+put to me again.”
+
+Silence followed these words, during which I took two or three
+turns up and down the room.
+
+“This is all very fanciful,” I remarked, laughing in the vain
+endeavor to throw off the superstitious horror his words had
+awakened.
+
+He bent his head in assent. “I know it,” said he. “I am practical
+myself in broad daylight, and recognize the flimsiness of an
+accusation based upon a poor, hardworking secretary’s dream, as
+plainly as you do. This is the reason I desired to keep from
+speaking at all; but, Mr. Raymond,” and his long, thin hand
+fell upon my arm with a nervous intensity which gave me almost
+the sensation of an electrical shock, “if the murderer of Mr.
+Leavenworth is ever brought to confess his deed, mark my words, he
+will prove to be the man of my dream.”
+
+I drew a long breath. For a moment his belief was mine; and a
+mingled sensation of relief and exquisite pain swept over me as I
+thought of the possibility of Eleanore being exonerated from crime
+only to be plunged into fresh humiliation and deeper abysses of
+suffering.
+
+“He stalks the streets in freedom now,” the secretary went on, as
+if to himself; “even dares to enter the house he has so wofully
+desecrated; but justice is justice and, sooner or later, something
+will transpire which will prove to you that a premonition so
+wonderful as that I received had its significance; that the voice
+calling ‘Trueman, Trueman,’ was something more than the empty
+utterances of an excited brain; that it was Justice itself, calling
+attention to the guilty.”
+
+I looked at him in wonder. Did he know that the officers of justice
+were already upon the track of this same Clavering? I judged not
+from his look, but felt an inclination to make an effort and see.
+
+“You speak with strange conviction,” I said; “but in all
+probability you are doomed to be disappointed. So far as we know,
+Mr. Clavering is a respectable man.”
+
+He lifted his hat from the table. “I do not propose to denounce
+him; I do not even propose to speak his name again. I am not a
+fool, Mr. Raymond. I have spoken thus plainly to you only in
+explanation of last night’s most unfortunate betrayal; and while I
+trust you will regard what I have told you as confidential, I also
+hope you will give me credit for behaving, on the whole, as well
+as could be expected under the circumstances.” And he held out his
+hand.
+
+“Certainly,” I replied as I took it. Then, with a sudden impulse
+to test the accuracy of this story of his, inquired if he had any
+means of verifying his statement of having had this dream at the
+time spoken of: that is, before the murder and not afterwards.
+
+“No, sir; I know myself that I had it the night previous to that of
+Mr. Leavenworth’s death; but I cannot prove the fact.”
+
+“Did not speak of it next morning to any one?”
+
+“O no, sir; I was scarcely in a position to do so.”
+
+“Yet it must have had a great effect upon you, unfitting you for
+work----”
+
+“Nothing unfits me for work,” was his bitter reply.
+
+“I believe you,” I returned, remembering his diligence for the last
+few days. “But you must at least have shown some traces of having
+passed an uncomfortable night. Have you no recollection of any one
+speaking to you in regard to your appearance the next morning?”
+
+“Mr. Leavenworth may have done so; no one else would be likely to
+notice.” There was sadness in the tone, and my own voice softened
+as I said:
+
+“I shall not be at the house to-night, Mr. Harwell; nor do I know
+when I shall return there. Personal considerations keep me from
+Miss Leavenworth’s presence for a time, and I look to you to carry
+on the work we have undertaken without my assistance, unless you
+can bring it here----”
+
+“I can do that.”
+
+“I shall expect you, then, to-morrow evening.”
+
+“Very well, sir”; and he was going, when a sudden thought seemed
+to strike him. “Sir,” he said, “as we do not wish to return to
+this subject again, and as I have a natural curiosity in regard to
+this man, would you object to telling me what you know of him? You
+believe him to be a respectable man; are you acquainted with him,
+Mr. Raymond?”
+
+“I know his name, and where he resides.”
+
+“And where is that?”
+
+“In London; he is an Englishman.”
+
+“Ah!” he murmured, with a strange intonation.
+
+“Why do you say that?”
+
+He bit his lip, looked down, then up, finally fixed his eyes on
+mine, and returned, with marked emphasis: “I used an exclamation,
+sir, because I was startled.”
+
+“Startled?”
+
+“Yes; you say he is an Englishman. Mr. Leavenworth had the most
+bitter antagonism to the English. It was one of his marked
+peculiarities. He would never be introduced to one if he could help
+it.”
+
+It was my turn to look thoughtful.
+
+“You know,” continued the secretary, “that Mr. Leavenworth was a
+man who carried his prejudices to the extreme. He had a hatred for
+the English race amounting to mania. If he had known the letter I
+have mentioned was from an Englishman, I doubt if he would have
+read it. He used to say he would sooner see a daughter of his dead
+before him than married to an Englishman.”
+
+I turned hastily aside to hide the effect which this announcement
+made upon me.
+
+“You think I am exaggerating,” he said. “Ask Mr. Veeley.”
+
+“No,” I replied. “I have no reason for thinking so.”
+
+“He had doubtless some cause for hating the English with which
+we are unacquainted,” pursued the secretary. “He spent some time
+in Liverpool when young, and had, of course, many opportunities
+for studying their manners and character.” And the secretary made
+another movement, as if to leave.
+
+But it was my turn to detain him now. “Mr. Harwell, you must excuse
+me. You have been on familiar terms with Mr. Leavenworth for so
+long. Do you think that, in the case of one of his nieces, say,
+desiring to marry a gentleman of that nationality, his prejudice
+was sufficient to cause him to absolutely forbid the match?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+I moved back. I had learned what I wished, and saw no further
+reason for prolonging the interview.
+
+
+
+
+XXII. PATCH-WORK
+
+      “Come, give us a taste of your quality.”
+
+                                            Hamlet.
+
+
+Starting with the assumption that Mr. Clavering in his conversation
+of the morning had been giving me, with more or less accuracy,
+a detailed account of his own experience and position regarding
+Eleanore Leavenworth, I asked myself what particular facts it would
+be necessary for me to establish in order to prove the truth of
+this assumption, and found them to be:
+
+I. That Mr. Clavering had not only been in this country at the time
+designated, but that he had been located for some little time at a
+watering-place in New York State.
+
+II. That this watering-place should correspond to the one in which
+Miss Eleanore Leavenworth was staying at the same time.
+
+III. That they had been seen while there to hold more or less
+communication.
+
+IV. That they had both been absent from town, at some one time,
+long enough to have gone through the ceremony of marriage at a
+point twenty miles or so away.
+
+V. That a Methodist clergyman, who has since died, lived at that
+time within a radius of twenty miles of said watering-place.
+
+I next asked myself how I was to establish these facts. Mr.
+Clavering’s life was as yet too little known to me to offer me any
+assistance; so, leaving it for the present, I took up the thread
+of Eleanore’s history, and found that at the time given me she had
+been in R----, a fashionable watering-place in this State. Now, if
+his was true, and my theory correct, he must have been there also.
+To prove this fact, became, consequently, my first business. I
+resolved to go to R---- on the morrow.
+
+But before proceeding in an undertaking of such importance, I
+considered it expedient to make such inquiries and collect such
+facts as the few hours I had left to work in rendered possible. I
+went first to the house of Mr. Gryce.
+
+I found him lying upon a hard sofa, in the bare sitting-room I have
+before mentioned, suffering from a severe attack of rheumatism.
+His hands were done up in bandages, and his feet incased in
+multiplied folds of a dingy red shawl which looked as if it had
+been through the wars. Greeting me with a short nod that was both
+a welcome and an apology, he devoted a few words to an explanation
+of his unwonted position; and then, without further preliminaries,
+rushed into the subject which was uppermost in both our minds
+by inquiring, in a slightly sarcastic way, if I was very much
+surprised to find my bird flown when I returned to the Hoffman
+House that afternoon.
+
+“I was astonished to find you allowed him to fly at this time,” I
+replied. “From the manner in which you requested me to make his
+acquaintance, I supposed you considered him an important character
+in the tragedy which has just been enacted.”
+
+“And what makes you think I don’t? Oh, the fact that I let him go
+off so easily? That’s no proof. I never fiddle with the brakes till
+the car starts down-hill. But let that pass for the present; Mr.
+Clavering, then, did not explain himself before going?”
+
+“That is a question which I find it exceedingly difficult to
+answer. Hampered by circumstances, I cannot at present speak with
+the directness which is your due, but what I can say, I will. Know,
+then, that in my opinion Mr. Clavering did explain himself in an
+interview with me this morning. But it was done in so blind a way,
+it will be necessary for me to make a few investigations before
+I shall feel sufficiently sure of my ground to take you into my
+confidence. He has given me a possible clue----”
+
+“Wait,” said Mr. Gryce; “does he know this? Was it done
+intentionally and with sinister motive, or unconsciously and in
+plain good faith?”
+
+“In good faith, I should say.”
+
+Mr. Gryce remained silent for a moment. “It is very unfortunate you
+cannot explain yourself a little more definitely,” he said at last.
+“I am almost afraid to trust you to make investigations, as you
+call them, on your own hook. You are not used to the business, and
+will lose time, to say nothing of running upon false scents, and
+using up your strength on unprofitable details.”
+
+“You should have thought of that when you admitted me into
+partnership.”
+
+“And you absolutely insist upon working this mine alone?”
+
+“Mr. Gryce, the matter stands just here. Mr. Clavering, for all I
+know, is a gentleman of untarnished reputation. I am not even aware
+for what purpose you set me upon his trail. I only know that in
+thus following it I have come upon certain facts that seem worthy
+of further investigation.”
+
+“Well, well; you know best. But the days are slipping by. Something
+must be done, and soon. The public are becoming clamorous.”
+
+“I know it, and for that reason I have come to you for such
+assistance as you can give me at this stage of the proceedings. You
+are in possession of certain facts relating to this man which it
+concerns me to know, or your conduct in reference to him has been
+purposeless. Now, frankly, will you make me master of those facts:
+in short, tell me all you know of Mr. Clavering, without requiring
+an immediate return of confidence on my part?”
+
+“That is asking a great deal of a professional detective.”
+
+“I know it, and under other circumstances I should hesitate long
+before preferring such a request; but as things are, I don’t see
+how I am to proceed in the matter without some such concession on
+your part. At all events----”
+
+“Wait a moment! Is not Mr. Clavering the lover of one of the young
+ladies?”
+
+Anxious as I was to preserve the secret of my interest in that
+gentleman, I could not prevent the blush from rising to my face at
+the suddenness of this question.
+
+“I thought as much,” he went on. “Being neither a relative nor
+acknowledged friend, I took it for granted he must occupy some such
+position as that in the family.”
+
+“I do not see why you should draw such an inference,” said I,
+anxious to determine how much he knew about him. “Mr. Clavering is
+a stranger in town; has not even been in this country long; has
+indeed had no time to establish himself upon any such footing as
+you suggest.”
+
+“This is not the only time Mr. Clavering has been in New York. He
+was here a year ago to my certain knowledge.”
+
+“You know that?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How much more do you know? Can it be possible I am groping blindly
+about for facts which are already in your possession? I pray you
+listen to my entreaties, Mr. Gryce, and acquaint me at once with
+what I want to know. You will not regret it. I have no selfish
+motive in this matter. If I succeed, the glory shall be yours; it I
+fail, the shame of the defeat shall be mine.”
+
+“That is fair,” he muttered. “And how about the reward?”
+
+“My reward will be to free an innocent woman from the imputation of
+crime which hangs over her.”
+
+This assurance seemed to satisfy him. His voice and appearance
+changed; for a moment he looked quite confidential. “Well, well,”
+said he; “and what is it you want to know?”
+
+“I should first like to know how your suspicions came to light on
+him at all. What reason had you for thinking a gentleman of his
+bearing and position was in any way connected with this affair?”
+
+“That is a question you ought not to be obliged to put,” he
+returned.
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Simply because the opportunity of answering it was in your hands
+before ever it came into mine.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Don’t you remember the letter mailed in your presence by Miss Mary
+Leavenworth during your drive from her home to that of her friend
+in Thirty-seventh Street?”
+
+“On the afternoon of the inquest?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Certainly, but----”
+
+“You never thought to look at its superscription before it was
+dropped into the box.”
+
+“I had neither opportunity nor right to do so.”
+
+“Was it not written in your presence?”
+
+“It was.”
+
+“And you never regarded the affair as worth your attention?”
+
+“However I may have regarded it, I did not see how I could prevent
+Miss Leavenworth from dropping a letter into a box if she chose to
+do so.”
+
+“That is because you are a _gentleman_. Well, it has its
+disadvantages,” he muttered broodingly.
+
+“But you,” said I; “how came you to know anything about this
+letter? Ah, I see,” remembering that the carriage in which we were
+riding at the time had been procured for us by him. “The man on the
+box was in your pay, and informed, as you call it.”
+
+Mr. Gryce winked at his muffled toes mysteriously. “That is not the
+point,” he said. “Enough that I heard that a letter, which might
+reasonably prove to be of some interest to me, had been dropped at
+such an hour into the box on the corner of a certain street. That,
+coinciding in the opinion of my informant, I telegraphed to the
+station connected with that box to take note of the address of a
+suspicious-looking letter about to pass through their hands on the
+way to the General Post-Office, and following up the telegram in
+person, found that a curious epistle addressed in lead pencil and
+sealed with a stamp, had just arrived, the address of which I was
+allowed to see----”
+
+“And which was?”
+
+“Henry R. Clavering, Hoffman House, New York.”
+
+I drew a deep breath. “And so that is how your attention first came
+to be directed to this man?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Strange. But go on--what next?”
+
+“Why, next I followed up the clue by going to the Hoffman House
+and instituting inquiries. I learned that Mr. Clavering was a
+regular guest of the hotel. That he had come there, direct from the
+Liverpool steamer, about three months since, and, registering his
+name as Henry R. Clavering, Esq., London, had engaged a first-class
+room which he had kept ever since. That, although nothing definite
+was known concerning him, he had been seen with various highly
+respectable people, both of his own nation and ours, by all of whom
+he was treated with respect. And lastly, that while not liberal, he
+had given many evidences of being a man of means. So much done, I
+entered the office, and waited for him to come in, in the hope of
+having an opportunity to observe his manner when the clerk handed
+him that strange-looking letter from Mary Leavenworth.”
+
+“And did you succeed?”
+
+“No; an awkward gawk of a fellow stepped between us just at the
+critical moment, and shut off my view. But I heard enough that
+evening from the clerk and servants, of the agitation he had shown
+on receiving it, to convince me I was upon a trail worth following.
+I accordingly put on my men, and for two days Mr. Clavering was
+subjected to the most rigid watch a man ever walked under. But
+nothing was gained by it; his interest in the murder, if interest
+at all, was a secret one; and though he walked the streets, studied
+the papers, and haunted the vicinity of the house in Fifth Avenue,
+he not only refrained from actually approaching it, but made no
+attempt to communicate with any of the family. Meanwhile, you
+crossed my path, and with your determination incited me to renewed
+effort. Convinced from Mr. Clavering’s bearing, and the gossip I
+had by this time gathered in regard to him, that no one short of a
+gentleman and a friend could succeed in getting at the clue of his
+connection with this family, I handed him over to you, and----”
+
+“Found me rather an unmanageable colleague.”
+
+Mr. Gryce smiled very much as if a sour plum had been put in his
+mouth, but made no reply; and a momentary pause ensued.
+
+“Did you think to inquire,” I asked at last, “if any one knew where
+Mr. Clavering had spent the evening of the murder?”
+
+“Yes; but with no good result. It was agreed he went out during
+the evening; also that he was in his bed in the morning when the
+servant came in to make his fire; but further than this no one
+seemed posted.”
+
+“So that, in fact, you gleaned nothing that would in any way
+connect this man with the murder except his marked and agitated
+interest in it, and the fact that a niece of the murdered man had
+written a letter to him?”
+
+“That is all.”
+
+“Another question; did you hear in what manner and at what time he
+procured a newspaper that evening?”
+
+“No; I only learned that he was observed, by more than one, to
+hasten out of the dining-room with the _Post_ in his hand, and go
+immediately to his room without touching his dinner.”
+
+“Humph! that does not look---”
+
+“If Mr. Clavering had had a guilty knowledge of the crime, he would
+either have ordered dinner before opening the paper, or, having
+ordered it, he would have eaten it.”
+
+“Then you do not believe, from what you have learned, that Mr.
+Clavering is the guilty party?”
+
+Mr. Gryce shifted uneasily, glanced at the papers protruding from
+my coat pocket and exclaimed: “I am ready to be convinced by you
+that he is.”
+
+That sentence recalled me to the business in hand. Without
+appearing to notice his look, I recurred to my questions.
+
+“How came you to know that Mr. Clavering was in this city last
+summer? Did you learn that, too, at the Hoffman House?”
+
+“No; I ascertained that in quite another way. In short, I have had
+a communication from London in regard to the matter.
+
+“From London?”
+
+“Yes; I’ve a friend there in my own line of business, who sometimes
+assists me with a bit of information, when requested.”
+
+“But how? You have not had time to write to London, and receive an
+answer since the murder.”
+
+“It is not necessary to write. It is enough for me to telegraph him
+the name of a person, for him to understand that I want to know
+everything he can gather in a reasonable length of time about that
+person.”
+
+“And you sent the name of Mr. Clavering to him?”
+
+“Yes, in cipher.”
+
+“And have received a reply?”
+
+“This morning.”
+
+I looked towards his desk.
+
+“It is not there,” he said; “if you will be kind enough to feel in
+my breast pocket you will find a letter----”
+
+It was in my hand before he finished his sentence. “Excuse my
+eagerness,” I said. “This kind of business is new to me, you know.”
+
+He smiled indulgently at a very old and faded picture hanging on
+the wall before him. “Eagerness is not a fault; only the betrayal
+of it. But read out what you have there. Let us hear what my friend
+Brown has to tell us of Mr. Henry Ritchie Clavering, of Portland
+Place, London.”
+
+I took the paper to the light and read as follows:
+
+    “Henry Ritchie Clavering, Gentleman, aged 43. Born in ----,
+    Hertfordshire, England. His father was Chas. Clavering,
+    for short time in the army. Mother was Helen Ritchie, of
+    Dumfriesshire, Scotland; she is still living. Home with H.
+    R. C., in Portland Place, London. H. R. C. is a bachelor,
+    6 ft. high, squarely built, weight about 12 stone. Dark
+    complexion, regular features. Eyes dark brown; nose
+    straight. Called a handsome man; walks erect and rapidly.
+    In society is considered a good fellow; rather a favorite,
+    especially with ladies. Is liberal, not extravagant;
+    reported to be worth about 5000 pounds per year, and
+    appearances give color to this statement. Property consists
+    of a small estate in Hertfordshire, and some funds, amount
+    not known. Since writing this much, a correspondent sends
+    the following in regard to his history. In ’46 went from
+    uncle’s house to Eton. From Eton went to Oxford, graduating
+    in ’56. Scholarship good. In 1855 his uncle died, and his
+    father succeeded to the estates. Father died in ’57 by a
+    fall from his horse or a similar accident. Within a very
+    short time H. R. C. took his mother to London, to the
+    residence named, where they have lived to the present time.
+
+    “Travelled considerably in 1860; part of the time was with
+    ---- ----, of Munich; also in party of Vandervorts from New
+    York; went as far east as Cairo. Went to America in 1875
+    alone, but at end of three months returned on account of
+    mother’s illness. Nothing is known of his movements while
+    in America.
+
+    “From servants learn that he was always a favorite from a
+    boy. More recently has become somewhat taciturn. Toward
+    last of his stay watched the post carefully, especially
+    foreign ones. Posted scarcely anything but newspapers. Has
+    written to Munich. Have seen, from waste-paper basket,
+    torn envelope directed to Amy Belden, no address. American
+    correspondents mostly in Boston; two in New York. Names
+    not known, but supposed to be bankers. Brought home
+    considerable luggage, and fitted up part of house, as for
+    a lady. This was closed soon afterwards. Left for America
+    two months since. Has been, I understand, travelling in the
+    south. Has telegraphed twice to Portland Place. His friends
+    hear from him but rarely. Letters rec’d recently, posted in
+    New York. One by last steamer posted in F----, N. Y.
+
+    “Business here conducted by ----. In the country, ---- of
+    ---- has charge of the property.
+
+    “BROWN.”
+
+The document fell from my hands.
+
+F----, N. Y., was a small town near R----.
+
+“Your friend is a trump,” I declared. “He tells me just what I
+wanted most to know.” And, taking out my book, I made memoranda of
+the facts which had most forcibly struck me during my perusal of
+the communication before me. “With the aid of what he tells me, I
+shall ferret out the mystery of Henry Clavering in a week; see if I
+do not.”
+
+“And how soon,” inquired Mr. Gryce, “may I expect to be allowed to
+take a hand in the game?”
+
+“As soon as I am reasonably assured I am upon the right tack.”
+
+“And what will it take to assure you of that?”
+
+“Not much; a certain point settled, and----”
+
+“Hold on; who knows but what I can do that for you?” And, looking
+towards the desk which stood in the corner, Mr. Gryce asked me if I
+would be kind enough to open the top drawer and bring him the bits
+of partly-burned paper I would find there.
+
+Hastily complying, I brought three or four strips of ragged paper,
+and laid them on the table at his side.
+
+“Another result of Fobbs’ researches under the coal on the first
+day of the inquest,” Mr. Gryce abruptly explained. “You thought the
+key was all he found. Well, it wasn’t. A second turning over of the
+coal brought these to light, and very interesting they are, too.”
+
+I immediately bent over the torn and discolored scraps with great
+anxiety. They were four in number, and appeared at first glance
+to be the mere remnants of a sheet of common writing-paper, torn
+lengthwise into strips, and twisted up into lighters; but, upon
+closer inspection, they showed traces of writing upon one side,
+and, what was more important still, the presence of one or more
+drops of spattered blood. This latter discovery was horrible to me,
+and so overcame me for the moment that I put the scraps down, and,
+turning towards Mr. Gryce, inquired:
+
+“What do you make of them?”
+
+“That is just the question I was going to put to you.”
+
+Swallowing my disgust, I took them up again. “They look like the
+remnants of some old letter,” said I.
+
+“They have that appearance,” Mr. Gryce grimly assented.
+
+“A letter which, from the drop of blood observable on the written
+side, must have been lying face up on Mr. Leavenworth’s table at
+the time of the murder--”
+
+“Just so.”
+
+“And from the uniformity in width of each of these pieces, as well
+as their tendency to curl up when left alone, must first have been
+torn into even strips, and then severally rolled up, before being
+tossed into the grate where they were afterwards found.”
+
+“That is all good,” said Mr. Gryce; “go on.”
+
+“The writing, so far as discernible, is that of a cultivated
+gentleman. It is not that of Mr. Leavenworth; for I have studied
+his chirography too much lately not to know it at a glance; but it
+may be--Hold!” I suddenly exclaimed, “have you any mucilage handy?
+I think, if I could paste these strips down upon a piece of paper,
+so that they would remain flat, I should be able to tell you what I
+think of them much more easily.”
+
+“There is mucilage on the desk,” signified Mr. Gryce.
+
+Procuring it, I proceeded to consult the scraps once more for
+evidence to guide me in their arrangement. These were more marked
+than I expected; the longer and best preserved strip, with its “Mr.
+Hor” at the top, showing itself at first blush to be the left-hand
+margin of the letter, while the machine-cut edge of the next in
+length presented tokens fully as conclusive of its being the
+right-hand margin of the same. Selecting these, then, I pasted them
+down on a piece of paper at just the distance they would occupy if
+the sheet from which they were torn was of the ordinary commercial
+note size. Immediately it became apparent: first, that it would
+take two other strips of the same width to fill up the space left
+between them; and secondly, that the writing did not terminate at
+the foot of the sheet, but was carried on to another page.
+
+Taking up the third strip, I looked at its edge; it was machine-cut
+at the top, and showed by the arrangement of its words that it was
+the margin strip of a second leaf. Pasting that down by itself,
+I scrutinized the fourth, and finding it also machine-cut at the
+top but not on the side, endeavored to fit it to the piece already
+pasted down, but the words would not match. Moving it along to the
+position it would hold if it were the third strip, I fastened it
+down; the whole presenting, when completed, the appearance seen on
+the opposite page.
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, “that’s business.” Then, as I held it
+up before his eyes: “But don’t show it to me. Study it yourself,
+and tell me what you think of it.”
+
+“Well,” said I, “this much is certain: that it is a letter directed
+to Mr. Leavenworth from some House, and dated--let’s see; that is
+an _h_, isn’t it?” And I pointed to the one letter just discernible
+on the line under the word House.
+
+“I should think so; but don’t ask me.”
+
+“It must be an _h_. The year is 1875, and this is not the
+termination of either January or February. Dated, then, March 1st,
+1876, and signed ----”
+
+Mr. Gryce rolled his eyes in anticipatory ecstasy towards the
+ceiling.
+
+“By Henry Clavering,” I announced without hesitation.
+
+Mr. Gryce’s eyes returned to his swathed finger-ends. “Humph! how
+do you know that?”
+
+“Wait a moment, and I’ll show you”; and, taking out of my pocket
+the card which Mr. Clavering had handed me as an introduction at
+our late interview, I laid it underneath the last line of writing
+on the second page. One glance was sufficient. Henry Ritchie
+Clavering on the card; H----chie--in the same handwriting on the
+letter.
+
+“Clavering it is,” said he, “without a doubt.” But I saw he was not
+surprised.
+
+“And now,” I continued, “for its general tenor and meaning.” And,
+commencing at the beginning, I read aloud the words as they came,
+with pauses at the breaks, something as follows: “Mr. Hor--Dear--a
+niece whom yo--one too who see--the love and trus--any other man
+ca--autiful, so char----s she in face fo---- conversation. ery
+rose has its ---- rose is no exception ----ely as she is, char----
+tender as she is, s----pable of tramplin---- one who trusted ----
+heart ----. ---- him to ---- he owes a ---- honor ----ance.
+
+“If ----t believe ---- her to ---- cruel ---- face, ---- what is
+----ble serv---- yours
+
+  “H----tchie”
+
+“It reads like a complaint against one of Mr. Leavenworth’s
+nieces,” I said, and started at my own words.
+
+“What is it?” cried Mr. Gryce; “what is the matter?”
+
+“Why,” said I, “the fact is I have heard this very letter spoken
+of. It _is_ a complaint against one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces,
+and was written by Mr. Clavering.” And I told him of Mr. Harwell’s
+communication in regard to the matter.
+
+“Ah! then Mr. Harwell has been talking, has he? I thought he had
+forsworn gossip.”
+
+“Mr. Harwell and I have seen each other almost daily for the last
+two weeks,” I replied. “It would be strange if he had nothing to
+tell me.”
+
+“And he says he has read a letter written to Mr. Leavenworth by Mr.
+Clavering?”
+
+“Yes; but the particular words of which he has now forgotten.”
+
+“These few here may assist him in recalling the rest.”
+
+“I would rather not admit him to a knowledge of the existence of
+this piece of evidence. I don’t believe in letting any one into our
+confidence whom we can conscientiously keep out.”
+
+“I see you don’t,” dryly responded Mr. Gryce.
+
+Not appearing to notice the fling conveyed by these words, I took
+up the letter once more, and began pointing out such half-formed
+words in it as I thought we might venture to complete, as the
+Hor--, yo--, see--utiful----, har----, for----, tramplin----,
+pable----, serv----.
+
+This done, I next proposed the introduction of such others as
+seemed necessary to the sense, as _Leavenworth_ after _Horatio_;
+_Sir_ after _Dear_; _have_ with a possible _you_ before _a niece_;
+_thorn_ after _its_ in the phrase _rose has its_; _on after
+trampling_; _whom_ after _to_; _debt after a_; _you_ after _If_;
+_me ask_ after _believe_; _beautiful_ after _cruel_.
+
+Between the columns of words thus furnished I interposed a phrase
+or two, here and there, the whole reading upon its completion as
+follows:
+
+  “---- House.”
+  March 1st, 1876.
+
+  “_Mr. Horatio Leavenworth_;
+  “_Dear Sir_:
+
+  “(You) have a niece whom you      one too who seems      worthy
+        the love and trust      of any other man ca      so
+  beautiful, so charming      is she in face form and
+  conversation.      But every rose has its thorn and (this) rose
+  is no exception      lovely as she is, charming (as she is,)
+  tender as she is, she      is      capable of trampling on
+  one who trusted her heart a
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  him to whom she owes a debt of honor a      ance
+
+  “If you don’t believe me ask her to      her      cruel beautiful
+  face what is (her) humble servant yours:
+
+  “Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
+
+“I think that will do,” said Mr. Gryce. “Its general tenor is
+evident, and that is all we want at this time.”
+
+“The whole tone of it is anything but complimentary to the lady
+it mentions,” I remarked. “He must have had, or imagined he had,
+some desperate grievance, to provoke him to the use of such plain
+language in regard to one he can still characterize as tender,
+charming, beautiful.”
+
+“Grievances are apt to lie back of mysterious crimes.”
+
+“I think I know what this one was,” I said; “but”--seeing him
+look up--“must decline to communicate my suspicion to you for the
+present. My theory stands unshaken, and in some degree confirmed;
+and that is all I can say.”
+
+“Then this letter does not supply the link you wanted?”
+
+“No: it is a valuable bit of evidence; but it is not the link I am
+in search of just now.”
+
+“Yet it must be an important clue, or Eleanore Leavenworth would
+not have been to such pains, first to take it in the way she did
+from her uncle’s table, and secondly----”
+
+“Wait! what makes you think this is the paper she took, or was
+believed to have taken, from Mr. Leavenworth’s table on that fatal
+morning?”
+
+“Why, the fact that it was found together with the key, which we
+know she dropped into the grate, and that there are drops of blood
+on it.”
+
+I shook my head.
+
+“Why do you shake your head?” asked Mr. Gryce.
+
+“Because I am not satisfied with your reason for believing this to
+be the paper taken by her from Mr. Leavenworth’s table.”
+
+“And why?”
+
+“Well, first, because Fobbs does not speak of seeing any paper
+in her hand, when she bent over the fire; leaving us to conclude
+that these pieces were in the scuttle of coal she threw upon it;
+which surely you must acknowledge to be a strange place for her to
+have put a paper she took such pains to gain possession of; and,
+secondly, for the reason that these scraps were twisted as if they
+had been used for curl papers, or something of that kind; a fact
+hard to explain by your hypothesis.”
+
+The detective’s eye stole in the direction of my necktie, which was
+as near as he ever came to a face. “You are a bright one,” said he;
+“a very bright one. I quite admire you, Mr. Raymond.”
+
+A little surprised, and not altogether pleased with this unexpected
+compliment, I regarded him doubtfully for a moment and then asked:
+
+“What is your opinion upon the matter?”
+
+“Oh, you know I have no opinion. I gave up everything of that kind
+when I put the affair into your hands.”
+
+“Still----”
+
+“That the letter of which these scraps are the remnant was on Mr.
+Leavenworth’s table at the time of the murder is believed. That
+upon the body being removed, a paper was taken from the table by
+Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, is also believed. That, when she found
+her action had been noticed, and attention called to this paper
+and the key, she resorted to subterfuge in order to escape the
+vigilance of the watch that had been set over her, and, partially
+succeeding in her endeavor, flung the key into the fire from which
+these same scraps were afterwards recovered, is also known. The
+conclusion I leave to your judgment.”
+
+“Very well, then,” said I, rising; “we will let conclusions go for
+the present. My mind must be satisfied in regard to the truth or
+falsity of a certain theory of mine, for my judgment to be worth
+much on this or any other matter connected with the affair.”
+
+And, only waiting to get the address of his subordinate P., in case
+I should need assistance in my investigations, I left Mr. Gryce,
+and proceeded immediately to the house of Mr. Veeley.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII. THE STORY OF A CHARMING WOMAN
+
+                  “Fe, fi, fo, fum,
+      I smell the blood of an Englishman.”
+
+                                    Old Song.
+
+      “I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted.”
+
+                                        Measure for Measure.
+
+
+“You have never heard, then, the particulars of Mr. Leavenworth’s
+marriage?”
+
+It was my partner who spoke. I had been asking him to explain to me
+Mr. Leavenworth’s well-known antipathy to the English race.
+
+“No.”
+
+“If you had, you would not need to come to me for this explanation.
+But it is not strange you are ignorant of the matter. I doubt
+if there are half a dozen persons in existence who could tell
+you where Horatio Leavenworth found the lovely woman who
+afterwards became his wife, much less give you any details of the
+circumstances which led to his marriage.”
+
+“I am very fortunate, then, in being in the confidence of one who
+can. What were those circumstances, Mr. Veeley?”
+
+“It will aid you but little to hear. Horatio Leavenworth, when a
+young man, was very ambitious; so much so, that at one time he
+aspired to marry a wealthy lady of Providence. But, chancing to go
+to England, he there met a young woman whose grace and charm had
+such an effect upon him that he relinquished all thought of the
+Providence lady, though it was some time before he could face the
+prospect of marrying the one who had so greatly interested him; as
+she was not only in humble circumstances, but was encumbered with a
+child concerning whose parentage the neighbors professed ignorance,
+and she had nothing to say. But, as is very apt to be the case in
+an affair like this, love and admiration soon got the better of
+worldly wisdom. Taking his future in his hands, he offered himself
+as her husband, when she immediately proved herself worthy of his
+regard by entering at once into those explanations he was too much
+of a gentleman to demand.
+
+The story she told was pitiful. She proved to be an American by
+birth, her father having been a well-known merchant of Chicago.
+While he lived, her home was one of luxury, but just as she was
+emerging into womanhood he died. It was at his funeral she met the
+man destined to be her ruin. How he came there she never knew;
+he was not a friend of her father’s. It is enough he was there,
+and saw her, and that in three weeks--don’t shudder, she was such
+a child--they were married. In twenty-four hours she knew what
+that word meant for her; it meant blows. Everett, I am telling no
+fanciful story. In twenty-four hours after that girl was married,
+her husband, coming drunk into the house, found her in his way,
+and knocked her down. It was but the beginning. Her father’s
+estate, on being settled up, proving to be less than expected, he
+carried her off to England, where he did not wait to be drunk in
+order to maltreat her. She was not free from his cruelty night or
+day. Before she was sixteen, she had run the whole gamut of human
+suffering; and that, not at the hands of a coarse, common ruffian,
+but from an elegant, handsome, luxury-loving gentleman, whose taste
+in dress was so nice he would sooner fling a garment of hers into
+the fire than see her go into company clad in a manner he did not
+consider becoming. She bore it till her child was born, then she
+fled. Two days after the little one saw the light, she rose from
+her bed and, taking her baby in her arms, ran out of the house.
+The few jewels she had put into her pocket supported her till she
+could set up a little shop. As for her husband, she neither saw
+him, nor heard from him, from the day she left him till about two
+weeks before Horatio Leavenworth first met her, when she learned
+from the papers that he was dead. She was, therefore, free; but
+though she loved Horatio Leavenworth with all her heart, she would
+not marry him. She felt herself forever stained and soiled by the
+one awful year of abuse and contamination. Nor could he persuade
+her. Not till the death of her child, a month or so after his
+proposal, did she consent to give him her hand and what remained of
+her unhappy life. He brought her to New York, surrounded her with
+luxury and every tender care, but the arrow had gone too deep; two
+years from the day her child breathed its last, she too died. It
+was the blow of his life to Horatio Leavenworth; he was never the
+same man again. Though Mary and Eleanore shortly after entered his
+home, he never recovered his old light-heartedness. Money became
+his idol, and the ambition to make and leave a great fortune behind
+him modified all his views of life. But one proof remained that he
+never forgot the wife of his youth, and that was, he could not bear
+to have the word ‘Englishman’ uttered in his hearing.”
+
+Mr. Veeley paused, and I rose to go. “Do you remember how Mrs.
+Leavenworth looked?” I asked. “Could you describe her to me?”
+
+He seemed a little astonished at my request, but immediately
+replied: “She was a very pale woman; not strictly beautiful, but of
+a contour and expression of great charm. Her hair was brown, her
+eyes gray--”
+
+“And very wide apart?”
+
+He nodded, looking still more astonished. “How came you to know?
+Have you seen her picture?”
+
+I did not answer that question.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On my way down-stairs, I bethought me of a letter which I had in
+my pocket for Mr. Veeley’s son Fred, and, knowing of no surer way
+of getting it to him that night than by leaving it on the library
+table, I stepped to the door of that room, which in this house was
+at the rear of the parlors, and receiving no reply to my knock,
+opened it and looked in.
+
+The room was unlighted, but a cheerful fire was burning in the
+grate, and by its glow I espied a lady crouching on the hearth,
+whom at first glance I took for Mrs. Veeley. But, upon advancing
+and addressing her by that name, I saw my mistake; for the person
+before me not only refrained from replying, but, rising at the
+sound of my voice, revealed a form of such noble proportions that
+all possibility of its being that of the dainty little wife of my
+partner fled.
+
+“I see I have made a mistake,” said I. “I beg your pardon”; and
+would have left the room, but something in the general attitude
+of the lady before me restrained me, and, believing it to be Mary
+Leavenworth, I inquired:
+
+“Can it be this is Miss Leavenworth?”
+
+The noble figure appeared to droop, the gently lifted head to fall,
+and for a moment I doubted if I had been correct in my supposition.
+Then form and head slowly erected themselves, a soft voice spoke,
+and I heard a low “yes,” and hurriedly advancing, confronted--not
+Mary, with her glancing, feverish gaze, and scarlet, trembling
+lips--but Eleanore, the woman whose faintest look had moved me from
+the first, the woman whose husband I believed myself to be even
+then pursuing to his doom!
+
+The surprise was too great; I could neither sustain nor conceal it.
+Stumbling slowly back, I murmured something about having believed
+it to be her cousin; and then, conscious only of the one wish to
+fly a presence I dared not encounter in my present mood, turned,
+when her rich, heart-full voice rose once more and I heard:
+
+“You will not leave me without a word, Mr. Raymond, now that chance
+has thrown us together?” Then, as I came slowly forward: “Were you
+so very much astonished to find me here?”
+
+“I do not know--I did not expect--” was my incoherent reply. “I had
+heard you were ill; that you went nowhere; that you had no wish to
+see your friends.”
+
+“I have been ill,” she said; “but I am better now, and have come to
+spend the night with Mrs. Veeley, because I could not endure the
+stare of the four walls of my room any longer.”
+
+This was said without any effort at plaintiveness, but rather as if
+she thought it necessary to excuse herself for being where she was.
+
+“I am glad you did so,” said I. “You ought to be here all the
+while. That dreary, lonesome boarding-house is no place for you,
+Miss Leavenworth. It distresses us all to feel that you are exiling
+yourself at this time.”
+
+“I do not wish anybody to be distressed,” she returned. “It is best
+for me to be where I am. Nor am I altogether alone. There is a
+child there whose innocent eyes see nothing but innocence in mine.
+She will keep me from despair. Do not let my friends be anxious; I
+can bear it.” Then, in a lower tone: “There is but one thing which
+really unnerves me; and that is my ignorance of what is going on at
+home. Sorrow I can bear, but suspense is killing me. Will you not
+tell me something of Mary and home? I cannot ask Mrs. Veeley; she
+is kind, but has no real knowledge of Mary or me, nor does she know
+anything of our estrangement. She thinks me obstinate, and blames
+me for leaving my cousin in her trouble. But you know I could not
+help it. You know,--” her voice wavered off into a tremble, and she
+did not conclude.
+
+“I cannot tell you much,” I hastened to reply; “but whatever
+knowledge is at my command is certainly yours. Is there anything in
+particular you wish to know?”
+
+“Yes, how Mary is; whether she is well, and--and composed.”
+
+“Your cousin’s health is good,” I returned; “but I fear I cannot
+say she is composed. She is greatly troubled about you.”
+
+“You see her often, then?”
+
+“I am assisting Mr. Harwell in preparing your uncle’s book for the
+press, and necessarily am there much of the time.”
+
+“My uncle’s book!” The words came in a tone of low horror.
+
+“Yes, Miss Leavenworth. It has been thought best to bring it before
+the world, and----”
+
+“And Mary has set you at the task?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+It seemed as if she could not escape from the horror which this
+caused. “How could she? Oh, how could she!”
+
+“She considers herself as fulfilling her uncle’s wishes. He was
+very anxious, as you know, to have the book out by July.”
+
+“Do not speak of it!” she broke in, “I cannot bear it.” Then, as
+if she feared she had hurt my feelings by her abruptness, lowered
+her voice and said: “I do not, however, know of any one I should be
+better pleased to have charged with the task than yourself. With
+you it will be a work of respect and reverence; but a stranger--Oh,
+I could not have endured a stranger touching it.”
+
+She was fast falling into her old horror; but rousing herself,
+murmured: “I wanted to ask you something; ah, I know”--and she
+moved so as to face me. “I wish to inquire if everything is as
+before in the house; the servants the same and--and other things?”
+
+“There is a Mrs. Darrell there; I do not know of any other change.”
+
+“Mary does not talk of going away?”
+
+“I think not.”
+
+“But she has visitors? Some one besides Mrs. Darrell to help her
+bear her loneliness?”
+
+I knew what was coming, and strove to preserve my composure.
+
+“Yes,” I replied; “a few.”
+
+“Would you mind naming them?” How low her tones were, but how
+distinct!
+
+“Certainly not. Mrs. Veeley, Mrs. Gilbert, Miss Martin, and
+a--a----”
+
+“Go on,” she whispered.
+
+“A gentleman by the name of Clavering.”
+
+“You speak that name with evident embarrassment,” she said, after a
+moment of intense anxiety on my part. “May I inquire why?”
+
+Astounded, I raised my eyes to her face. It was very pale, and
+wore the old look of self-repressed calm I remembered so well. I
+immediately dropped my gaze.
+
+“Why? because there are some circumstances surrounding him which
+have struck me as peculiar.”
+
+“How so?” she asked.
+
+“He appears under two names. To-day it is Clavering; a short time
+ago it was----”
+
+“Go on.”
+
+“Robbins.”
+
+Her dress rustled on the hearth; there was a sound of desolation in
+it; but her voice when she spoke was expressionless as that of an
+automaton.
+
+“How many times has this person, of whose name you do not appear to
+be certain, been to see Mary?”
+
+“Once.”
+
+“When was it?”
+
+“Last night.”
+
+“Did he stay long?”
+
+“About twenty minutes, I should say.”
+
+“And do you think he will come again?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“He has left the country.”
+
+A short silence followed this, I felt her eyes searching my face,
+but doubt whether, if I had known she held a loaded pistol, I could
+have looked up at that moment.
+
+“Mr. Raymond,” she at length observed, in a changed tone, “the last
+time I saw you, you told me you were going to make some endeavor to
+restore me to my former position before the world. I did not wish
+you to do so then; nor do I wish you to do so now. Can you not make
+me comparatively happy, then, by assuring me you have abandoned or
+will abandon a project so hopeless?”
+
+“It is impossible,” I replied with emphasis. “I cannot abandon it.
+Much as I grieve to be a source of sorrow to you, it is best you
+should know that I can never give up the hope of righting you while
+I live.”
+
+She put out her hand in a sort of hopeless appeal inexpressibly
+touching to behold in the fast waning firelight. But I was
+relentless.
+
+“I should never be able to face the world or my own conscience if,
+through any weakness of my own, I should miss the blessed privilege
+of setting the wrong right, and saving a noble woman from unmerited
+disgrace.” And then, seeing she was not likely to reply to this,
+drew a step nearer and said: “Is there not some little kindness I
+can show you, Miss Leavenworth? Is there no message you would like
+taken, or act it would give you pleasure to see performed?”
+
+She stopped to think. “No,” said she; “I have only one request to
+make, and that you refuse to grant.”
+
+“For the most unselfish of reasons,” I urged.
+
+She slowly shook her head. “You think so”; then, before I could
+reply, “I could desire one little favor shown me, however.”
+
+“What is that?”
+
+“That if anything should transpire; if Hannah should be found,
+or--or my presence required in any way,--you will not keep me in
+ignorance. That you will let me know the worst when it comes,
+without fail.”
+
+“I will.”
+
+“And now, good-night. Mrs. Veeley is coming back, and you would
+scarcely wish to be found here by her.”
+
+“No,” said I.
+
+And yet I did not go, but stood watching the firelight flicker
+on her black dress till the thought of Clavering and the duty I
+had for the morrow struck coldly to my heart, and I turned away
+towards the door. But at the threshold I paused again, and looked
+back. Oh, the flickering, dying fire flame! Oh, the crowding,
+clustering shadows! Oh, that drooping figure in their midst, with
+its clasped hands and its hidden face! I see it all again; I see it
+as in a dream; then darkness falls, and in the glare of gas-lighted
+streets, I am hastening along, solitary and sad, to my lonely home.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV. A REPORT FOLLOWED BY SMOKE
+
+      “Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
+      Where most it promises; and oft it hits
+      Where Hope is coldest, and Despair most sits.”
+
+                                    All’s Well that Ends Well.
+
+
+When I told Mr. Gryce I only waited for the determination of one
+fact, to feel justified in throwing the case unreservedly into his
+hands, I alluded to the proving or disproving of the supposition
+that Henry Clavering had been a guest at the same watering-place
+with Eleanore Leavenworth the summer before.
+
+When, therefore, I found myself the next morning with the Visitor
+Book of the Hotel Union at R---- in my hands, it was only by the
+strongest effort of will I could restrain my impatience. The
+suspense, however, was short. Almost immediately I encountered his
+name, written not half a page below those of Mr. Leavenworth and
+his nieces, and, whatever may have been my emotion at finding my
+suspicions thus confirmed, I recognized the fact that I was in the
+possession of a clue which would yet lead to the solving of the
+fearful problem which had been imposed upon me.
+
+Hastening to the telegraph office, I sent a message for the man
+promised me by Mr. Gryce, and receiving for an answer that he could
+not be with me before three o’clock, started for the house of Mr.
+Monell, a client of ours, living in R----. I found him at home and,
+during our interview of two hours, suffered the ordeal of appearing
+at ease and interested in what he had to say, while my heart was
+heavy with its first disappointment and my brain on fire with the
+excitement of the work then on my hands.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I arrived at the depot just as the train came in. There was but
+one passenger for R----, a brisk young man, whose whole appearance
+differed so from the description which had been given me of Q that
+I at once made up my mind he could not be the man I was looking
+for, and was turning away disappointed, when he approached, and
+handed me a card on which was inscribed the single character “?”
+Even then I could not bring myself to believe that the slyest and
+most successful agent in Mr. Gryce’s employ was before me, till,
+catching his eye, I saw such a keen, enjoyable twinkle sparkling in
+its depths that all doubt fled, and, returning his bow with a show
+of satisfaction, I remarked:
+
+“You are very punctual. I like that.”
+
+He gave another short, quick nod. “Glad, sir, to please you.
+Punctuality is too cheap a virtue not to be practised by a man on
+the lookout for a rise. But what orders, sir? Down train due in ten
+minutes; no time to spare.”
+
+“Down train? What have we to do with that?”
+
+“I thought you might wish to take it, sir. Mr. Brown”--winking
+expressively at the name, “always checks his carpet-bag for
+home when he sees me coming. But that is your affair; I am not
+particular.”
+
+“I wish to do what is wisest under the circumstances.”
+
+“Go home, then, as speedily as possible.” And he gave a third sharp
+nod exceedingly business-like and determined.
+
+“If I leave you, it is with the understanding that you bring your
+information first to me; that you are in my employ, and in that of
+no one else for the time being; and that _mum_ is the word till I
+give you liberty to speak.”
+
+“Yes, sir. When I work for Brown & Co. I do not work for Smith &
+Jones. That you can count on.”
+
+“Very well then, here are your instructions.”
+
+He looked at the paper I handed him with a certain degree of care,
+then stepped into the waiting-room and threw it into the stove,
+saying in a low tone: “So much in case I should meet with some
+accident: have an apoplectic fit, or anything of that sort.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Oh, don’t worry; I sha’n’t forget. I’ve a memory, sir. No need of
+anybody using pen and paper with me.”
+
+And laughing in the short, quick way one would expect from a person
+of his appearance and conversation, he added: “You will probably
+hear from me in a day or so,” and bowing, took his brisk, free way
+down the street just as the train came rushing in from the West.
+
+My instructions to Q were as follows:
+
+1. To find out on what day, and in whose company, the Misses
+Leavenworth arrived at R---- the year before. What their movements
+had been while there, and in whose society they were oftenest to be
+seen. Also the date of their departure, and such facts as could be
+gathered in regard to their habits, etc.
+
+2. Ditto in respect to a Mr. Henry Clavering, fellow-guest and
+probable friend of said ladies.
+
+3. Name of individual fulfilling the following requirements:
+Clergyman, Methodist, deceased since last December or thereabouts,
+who in July of Seventy-five was located in some town not over
+twenty miles from R----.
+
+4. Also name and present whereabouts of a man at that time in
+service of the above.
+
+To say that the interval of time necessary to a proper inquiry into
+these matters was passed by me in any reasonable frame of mind,
+would be to give myself credit for an equanimity of temper which I
+unfortunately do not possess. Never have days seemed so long as the
+two which interposed between my return from R---- and the receipt
+of the following letter:
+
+    “Sir:
+
+    “Individuals mentioned arrived in R---- July 3, 1875. Party
+    consisted of four; the two ladies, their uncle, and the
+    girl named Hannah. Uncle remained three days, and then
+    left for a short tour through Massachusetts. Gone two
+    weeks, during which ladies were seen more or less with the
+    gentleman named between us, but not to an extent sufficient
+    to excite gossip or occasion remark, when said gentleman
+    left R---- abruptly, two days after uncle’s return. Date
+    July 19. As to habits of ladies, more or less social. They
+    were always to be seen at picnics, rides, etc., and in the
+    ballroom. M---- liked best. E----considered grave, and,
+    towards the last of her stay, moody. It is remembered now
+    that her manner was always peculiar, and that she was more
+    or less shunned by her cousin.
+
+    However, in the opinion of one girl still to be found at
+    the hotel, she was the sweetest lady that ever breathed.
+    No particular reason for this opinion. Uncle, ladies, and
+    servants left R---- for New York, August 7, 1875.
+
+    “2. H. C. arrived at the hotel in R----July 6, 1875,
+    in-company with Mr. and Mrs. Vandervort, friends of the
+    above. Left July 19, two weeks from day of arrival. Little
+    to be learned in regard to him. Remembered as the handsome
+    gentleman who was in the party with the L. girls, and that
+    is all.
+
+    “3. F----, a small town, some sixteen or seventeen miles
+    from R----, had for its Methodist minister, in July of last
+    year, a man who has since died, Samuel Stebbins by name.
+    Date of decease, Jan. 7 of this year.
+
+    “4. Name of man in employ of S. S. at that time is Timothy
+    Cook. He has been absent, but returned to F---- two days
+    ago. Can be seen if required.”
+
+“Ah, ha!” I cried aloud at this point, in my sudden surprise and
+satisfaction; “now we have something to work upon!” And sitting
+down I penned the following reply:
+
+    “T. C. wanted by all means. Also any evidence going to prove
+    that H. C. and E. L. were married at the house of Mr. S. on
+    any day of July or August last.”
+
+Next morning came the following telegram:
+
+    “T. C. on the road. Remembers a marriage. Will be with you
+    by 2 P.M.”
+
+At three o’clock of that same day, I stood before Mr. Gryce. “I am
+here to make my report,” I announced.
+
+The flicker of a smile passed over his face, and he gazed for the
+first time at his bound-up finger-ends with a softening aspect
+which must have done them good. “I’m ready,” said he.
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” I began, “do you remember the conclusion we came to at
+our first interview in this house?”
+
+“I remember the _one you_ came to.”
+
+“Well, well,” I acknowledged a little peevishly, “the one I came
+to, then. It was this: that if we could find to whom Eleanore
+Leavenworth felt she owed her best duty and love, we should
+discover the man who murdered her uncle.”
+
+“And do you imagine you have done this?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+His eyes stole a little nearer my face. “Well! that is good; go on.”
+
+“When I undertook this business of clearing Eleanore Leavenworth
+from suspicion,” I resumed, “it was with the premonition that this
+person would prove to be her lover; but I had no idea he would
+prove to be her husband.”
+
+Mr. Gryce’s gaze flashed like lightning to the ceiling.
+
+“What!” he ejaculated with a frown.
+
+“The lover of Eleanore Leavenworth is likewise her husband,” I
+repeated. “Mr. Clavering holds no lesser connection to her than
+that.”
+
+“How have you found that out?” demanded Mr. Gryce, in a harsh tone
+that argued disappointment or displeasure.
+
+“That I will not take time to state. The question is not how I
+became acquainted with a certain thing, but is what I assert in
+regard to it true. If you will cast your eye over this summary of
+events gleaned by me from the lives of these two persons, I think
+you will agree with me that it is.” And I held up before his eyes
+the following:
+
+    “During the two weeks commencing July 6, of the year 1875,
+    and ending July 19, of the same year, Henry R. Clavering,
+    of London, and Eleanore Leavenworth, of New York, were
+    guests of the same hotel. _Fact proved by Visitor Book of
+    the Hotel Union at R_----, _New York_.
+
+    “They were not only guests of the same hotel, but are known
+    to have held more or less communication with each other.
+    _Fact proved by such servants now employed in R---- as were
+    in the hotel at that time._
+
+    “July 19. Mr. Clavering left R---- abruptly, a circumstance
+    that would not be considered remarkable if Mr. Leavenworth,
+    whose violent antipathy to Englishmen as husbands is
+    publicly known, had not just returned from a journey.
+
+    “July 30. Mr. Clavering was seen in the parlor of Mr.
+    Stebbins, the Methodist minister at F----, a town about
+    sixteen miles from R----, where he was married to a lady
+    of great beauty. _Proved by Timothy Cook, a man in the
+    employ of Mr. Stebbins, who was called in from the garden
+    to witness the ceremony and sign a paper supposed to be a
+    certificate._
+
+    “July 31. Mr. Clavering takes steamer for Liverpool.
+    _Proved by newspapers of that date._
+
+    “September. Eleanore Leavenworth in her uncle’s house in
+    New York, conducting herself as usual, but pale of face
+    and preoccupied in manner. _Proved by servants then in
+    her service._ Mr. Clavering in London; watches the United
+    States mails with eagerness, but receives no letters.
+    Fits up room elegantly, as for a lady. _Proved by secret
+    communication from London._
+
+    “November. Miss Leavenworth still in uncle’s house. No
+    publication of her marriage ever made. Mr. Clavering in
+    London; shows signs of uneasiness; the room prepared for
+    lady closed. _Proved as above._
+
+    “January 17, 1876. Mr. Clavering, having returned to
+    America, engages room at Hoffman House, New York.
+
+    “March 1 or 2. Mr. Leavenworth receives a letter signed
+    by Henry Clavering, in which he complains of having been
+    ill-used by one of that gentleman’s nieces. A manifest
+    shade falls over the family at this time.
+
+    “March 4. Mr. Clavering under a false name inquires at
+    the door of Mr. Leavenworth’s house for Miss Eleanore
+    Leavenworth. _Proved by Thomas._”
+
+“March 4th?” exclaimed Mr. Gryce at this point. “That was the night
+of the murder.”
+
+“Yes; the Mr. Le Roy Robbins said to have called that evening was
+none other than Mr. Clavering.”
+
+    “March 19. Miss Mary Leavenworth, in a conversation with me,
+    acknowledges that there is a secret in the family, and is just
+    upon the point of revealing its nature, when Mr. Clavering
+    enters the house. Upon his departure she declares her
+    unwillingness ever to mention the subject again.”
+
+Mr. Gryce slowly waved the paper aside. “And from these facts you
+draw the inference that Eleanore Leavenworth is the wife of Mr.
+Clavering?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“And that, being his wife----”
+
+“It would be natural for her to conceal anything she knew likely to
+criminate him.”
+
+“Always supposing Clavering himself had done anything criminal!”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“Which latter supposition you now propose to justify!”
+
+“Which latter supposition it is left for _us_ to justify.”
+
+A peculiar gleam shot over Mr. Gryce’s somewhat abstracted
+countenance. “Then you have no new evidence against Mr. Clavering?”
+
+“I should think the fact just given, of his standing in the
+relation of unacknowledged husband to the suspected party was
+something.”
+
+“No positive evidence as to his being the assassin of Mr.
+Leavenworth, I mean?”
+
+I was obliged to admit I had none which he would consider positive.
+“But I can show the existence of motive; and I can likewise show
+it was not only possible, but probable, he was in the house at the
+time of the murder.”
+
+“Ah, you can!” cried Mr. Gryce, rousing a little from his
+abstraction.
+
+“The motive was the usual one of self-interest. Mr. Leavenworth
+stood in the way of Eleanore’s acknowledging him as a husband, and
+he must therefore be put out of the way.”
+
+“Weak!”
+
+“Motives for murders are sometimes weak.”
+
+“The motive for this was not. Too much calculation was shown
+for the arm to have been nerved by anything short of the most
+deliberate intention, founded upon the deadliest necessity of
+passion or avarice.”
+
+“Avarice?”
+
+“One should never deliberate upon the causes which have led to the
+destruction of a rich man without taking into account that most
+common passion of the human race.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Let us hear what you have to say of Mr. Clavering’s presence in
+the house at the time of the murder.”
+
+I related what Thomas the butler had told me in regard to Mr.
+Clavering’s call upon Miss Leavenworth that night, and the lack of
+proof which existed as to his having left the house when supposed
+to do so.
+
+“That is worth remembering,” said Mr. Gryce at the conclusion.
+“Valueless as direct evidence, it might prove of great value as
+corroborative.” Then, in a graver tone, he went on to say: “Mr.
+Raymond, are you aware that in all this you have been strengthening
+the case against Eleanore Leavenworth instead of weakening it?”
+
+I could only ejaculate, in my sudden wonder and dismay.
+
+“You have shown her to be secret, sly, and unprincipled; capable
+of wronging those to whom she was most bound, her uncle and her
+husband.”
+
+“You put it very strongly,” said I, conscious of a shocking
+discrepancy between this description of Eleanore’s character and
+all that I had preconceived in regard to it.
+
+“No more so than your own conclusions from this story warrant me in
+doing.” Then, as I sat silent, murmured low, and as if to himself:
+“If the case was dark against her before, it is doubly so with this
+supposition established of her being the woman secretly married to
+Mr. Clavering.”
+
+“And yet,” I protested, unable to give up my hope without a
+struggle; “you do not, cannot, believe the noble-looking Eleanore
+guilty of this horrible crime?”
+
+“No,” he slowly said; “you might as well know right here what I
+think about that. I believe Eleanore Leavenworth to be an innocent
+woman.”
+
+“You do? Then what,” I cried, swaying between joy at this admission
+and doubt as to the meaning of his former expressions, “remains to
+be done?”
+
+Mr. Gryce quietly responded: “Why, nothing but to prove your
+supposition a false one.”
+
+
+
+
+XXV. TIMOTHY COOK
+
+      “Look here upon this picture and on this.”
+
+                                            Hamlet.
+
+
+I stared at him in amazement. “I doubt if it will be so very
+difficult,” said he. Then, in a sudden burst, “Where is the man
+Cook?”
+
+“He is below with Q.”
+
+“That was a wise move; let us see the boys; have them up.”
+
+Stepping to the door I called them.
+
+“I expected, of course, you would want to question them,” said I,
+coming back.
+
+In another moment the spruce Q and the shock-headed Cook entered
+the room.
+
+“Ah,” said Mr. Gryce, directing his attention at the latter in
+his own whimsical, non-committal way; “this is the deceased Mr.
+Stebbins’ hired man, is it? Well, you look as though you could tell
+the truth.”
+
+“I usually calculate to do that thing, sir; at all events, I was
+never called a liar as I can remember.”
+
+“Of course not, of course not,” returned the affable detective.
+Then, without any further introduction: “What was the first name of
+the lady you saw married in your master’s house last summer?”
+
+“Bless me if I know! I don’t think I heard, sir.”
+
+“But you recollect how she looked?”
+
+“As well as if she was my own mother. No disrespect to the lady,
+sir, if you know her,” he made haste to add, glancing hurriedly at
+me. “What I mean is, she was so handsome, I could never forget the
+look of her sweet face if I lived a hundred years.”
+
+“Can you describe her?”
+
+“I don’t know, sirs; she was tall and grand-looking, had the
+brightest eyes and the whitest hand, and smiled in a way to make
+even a common man like me wish he had never seen her.”
+
+“Would you know her in a crowd?”
+
+“I would know her anywhere.”
+
+“Very well; now tell us all you can about that marriage.”
+
+“Well, sirs, it was something like this. I had been in Mr.
+Stebbins’ employ about a year, when one morning as I was hoeing
+in the garden I saw a gentleman walk rapidly up the road to our
+gate and come in. I noticed him particularly, because he was so
+fine-looking; unlike anybody in F----, and, indeed, unlike anybody
+I had ever seen, for that matter; but I shouldn’t have thought much
+about that if there hadn’t come along, not five minutes after, a
+buggy with two ladies in it, which stopped at our gate, too. I saw
+they wanted to get out, so I went and held their horse for them,
+and they got down and went into the house.”
+
+“Did you see their faces?”
+
+“No, sir; not then. They had veils on.”
+
+“Very well, go on.”
+
+“I hadn’t been to work long, before I heard some one calling my
+name, and looking up, saw Mr. Stebbins standing in the doorway
+beckoning. I went to him, and he said, ‘I want you, Tim; wash your
+hands and come into the parlor.’ I had never been asked to do that
+before, and it struck me all of a heap; but I did what he asked,
+and was so taken aback at the looks of the lady I saw standing up
+on the floor with the handsome gentleman, that I stumbled over
+a stool and made a great racket, and didn’t know much where I
+was or what was going on, till I heard Mr. Stebbins say ‘man and
+wife’; and then it came over me in a hot kind of way that it was a
+marriage I was seeing.”
+
+Timothy Cook stopped to wipe his forehead, as if overcome with the
+very recollection, and Mr. Gryce took the opportunity to remark:
+
+“You say there were two ladies; now where was the other one at this
+time?”
+
+“She was there, sir; but I didn’t mind much about her, I was so
+taken up with the handsome one and the way she had of smiling when
+any one looked at her. I never saw the beat.”
+
+I felt a quick thrill go through me.
+
+“Can you remember the color of her hair or eyes?”
+
+“No, sir; I had a feeling as if she wasn’t dark, and that is all I
+know.”
+
+“But you remember her face?”
+
+“Yes, sir!”
+
+Mr. Gryce here whispered me to procure two pictures which I would
+find in a certain drawer in his desk, and set them up in different
+parts of the room unbeknown to the man.
+
+“You have before said,” pursued Mr. Gryce, “that you have no
+remembrance of her name. Now, how was that? Weren’t you called upon
+to sign the certificate?”
+
+“Yes, sir; but I am most ashamed to say it; I was in a sort
+of maze, and didn’t hear much, and only remember it was a Mr.
+Clavering she was married to, and that some one called some one
+else Elner, or something like that. I wish I hadn’t been so stupid,
+sir, if it would have done you any good.”
+
+“Tell us about the signing of the certificate,” said Mr. Gryce.
+
+“Well, sir, there isn’t much to tell. Mr. Stebbins asked me to
+put my name down in a certain place on a piece of paper he pushed
+towards me, and I put it down there; that is all.”
+
+“Was there no other name there when you wrote yours?”
+
+“No, sir. Afterwards Mr. Stebbins turned towards the other lady,
+who now came forward, and asked her if she wouldn’t please sign it,
+too; and she said, ‘yes,’ and came very quickly and did so.”
+
+“And didn’t you see her face then?”
+
+“No, sir; her back was to me when she threw by her veil, and I
+only saw Mr. Stebbins staring at her as she stooped, with a kind
+of wonder on his face, which made me think she might have been
+something worth looking at too; but I didn’t see her myself.”
+
+“Well, what happened then?”
+
+“I don’t know, sir. I went stumbling out of the room, and didn’t
+see anything more.”
+
+“Where were you when the ladies went away?”
+
+“In the garden, sir. I had gone back to my work.”
+
+“You saw them, then. Was the gentleman with them?”
+
+“No, sir; that was the queer part of it all. They went back as
+they came, and so did he; and in a few minutes Mr. Stebbins came
+out where I was, and told me I was to say nothing about what I had
+seen, for it was a secret.”
+
+“Were you the only one in the house who knew anything about it?
+Weren’t there any women around?”
+
+“No, sir; Miss Stebbins had gone to the sewing circle.”
+
+I had by this time some faint impression of what Mr. Gryce’s
+suspicions were, and in arranging the pictures had placed one,
+that of Eleanore, on the mantel-piece, and the other, which was
+an uncommonly fine photograph of Mary, in plain view on the desk.
+But Mr. Cook’s back was as yet towards that part of the room, and,
+taking advantage of the moment, I returned and asked him if that
+was all he had to tell us about this matter.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Then,” said Mr. Gryce, with a glance at Q, “isn’t there something
+you can give Mr. Cook in payment for his story? Look around, will
+you?”
+
+Q nodded, and moved towards a cupboard in the wall at the side
+of the mantel-piece; Mr. Cook following him with his eyes, as
+was natural, when, with a sudden start, he crossed the room
+and, pausing before the mantel-piece, looked at the picture of
+Eleanore which I had put there, gave a low grunt of satisfaction
+or pleasure, looked at it again, and walked away. I felt my heart
+leap into my throat, and, moved by what impulse of dread or hope I
+cannot say, turned my back, when suddenly I heard him give vent to
+a startled exclamation, followed by the words: “Why! here she is;
+this is her, sirs,” and turning around saw him hurrying towards us
+with Mary’s picture in his hands.
+
+I do not know as I was greatly surprised. I was powerfully
+excited, as well as conscious of a certain whirl of thought, and
+an unsettling of old conclusions that was very confusing; but
+surprised? No. Mr. Gryce’s manner had too well prepared me.
+
+“This the lady who was married to Mr. Clavering, my good man? I
+guess you are mistaken,” cried the detective, in a very incredulous
+tone.
+
+“Mistaken? Didn’t I say I would know her anywhere? This is the
+lady, if she is the president’s wife herself.” And Mr. Cook leaned
+over it with a devouring look that was not without its element of
+homage.
+
+“I am very much astonished,” Mr. Gryce went on, winking at me in
+a slow, diabolical way which in another mood would have aroused
+my fiercest anger. “Now, if you had said the other lady was the
+one”--pointing to the picture on the mantel-piece,” I shouldn’t
+have wondered.”
+
+“She? I never saw that lady before; but this one--would you mind
+telling me her name, sirs?”
+
+“If what you say is true, her name is Mrs. Clavering.”
+
+“Clavering? Yes, that was his name.”
+
+“And a very lovely lady,” said Mr. Gryce. “Morris, haven’t you
+found anything yet?”
+
+Q, for answer, brought forward glasses and a bottle.
+
+But Mr. Cook was in no mood for liquor. I think he was struck with
+remorse; for, looking from the picture to Q, and from Q to the
+picture, he said:
+
+“If I have done this lady wrong by my talk, I’ll never forgive
+myself. You told me I would help her to get her rights; if you have
+deceived me ----”
+
+“Oh, I haven’t deceived you,” broke in Q, in his short, sharp way.
+“Ask that gentleman there if we are not all interested in Mrs.
+Clavering getting her due.”
+
+He had designated me; but I was in no mood to reply. I longed to
+have the man dismissed, that I might inquire the reason of the
+great complacency which I now saw overspreading Mr. Gryce’s frame,
+to his very finger-ends.
+
+“Mr. Cook needn’t be concerned,” remarked Mr. Gryce. “If he will
+take a glass of warm drink to fortify him for his walk, I think
+he may go to the lodgings Mr. Morris has provided for him without
+fear. Give the gent a glass, and let him mix for himself.”
+
+But it was full ten minutes before we were delivered of the man and
+his vain regrets. Mary’s image had called up every latent feeling
+in his heart, and I could but wonder over a loveliness capable of
+swaying the low as well as the high. But at last he yielded to the
+seductions of the now wily Q, and departed.
+
+Left alone with Mr. Gryce, I must have allowed some of the
+confused emotions which filled my breast to become apparent on
+my countenance; for after a few minutes of ominous silence,
+he exclaimed very grimly, and yet with a latent touch of that
+complacency I had before noticed:
+
+“This discovery rather upsets you, doesn’t it? Well, it don’t me,”
+shutting his mouth like a trap. “I expected it.”
+
+“Your conclusions must differ very materially from mine,” I
+returned; “or you would see that this discovery alters the
+complexion of the whole affair.”
+
+“It does not alter the truth.”
+
+“What is the truth?”
+
+Mr. Gryce’s very legs grew thoughtful; his voice sank to its
+deepest tone. “Do you very much want to know?”
+
+“Want to know the truth? What else are we after?”
+
+“Then,” said he, “to my notion, the complexion of things has
+altered, but very much for the better. As long as Eleanore was
+believed to be the wife, her action in this matter was accounted
+for; but the tragedy itself was not. Why should Eleanore or
+Eleanore’s husband wish the death of a man whose bounty they
+believed would end with his life? But with Mary, the heiress,
+proved the wife!--I tell you, Mr. Raymond, it all hangs together
+now. You must never, in reckoning up an affair of murder like this,
+forget who it is that most profits by the deceased man’s death.”
+
+“But Eleanore’s silence? her concealment of certain proofs and
+evidences in her own breast--how will you account for that? I can
+imagine a woman devoting herself to the shielding of a husband from
+the consequences of crime; but a cousin’s husband, never.”
+
+Mr. Gryce put his feet very close together, and softly grunted.
+“Then you still think Mr. Clavering the assassin of Mr.
+Leavenworth?”
+
+I could only stare at him in my sudden doubt and dread. “Still
+think?” I repeated.
+
+“Mr. Clavering the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth?”
+
+“Why, what else is there to think? You don’t--you can’t--suspect
+Eleanore of having deliberately undertaken to help her cousin out
+of a difficulty by taking the life of their mutual benefactor?”
+
+“No,” said Mr. Gryce; “no, I do not think Eleanore Leavenworth had
+any hand in the business.”
+
+“Then who--” I began, and stopped, lost in the dark vista that was
+opening before me.
+
+“Who? Why, who but the one whose past deceit and present
+necessity demanded his death as a relief? Who but the beautiful,
+money-loving, man-deceiving goddess----”
+
+I leaped to my feet in my sudden horror and repugnance. “Do not
+mention the name! You are wrong; but do not speak the name.”
+
+“Excuse me,” said he; “but it will have to be spoken many
+times, and we may as well begin here and now--who then but Mary
+Leavenworth; or, if you like it better, Mrs. Henry Clavering? Are
+you so much surprised? It has been my thought from the beginning.”
+
+
+
+
+XXVI. MR. GRYCE EXPLAINS HIMSELF
+
+      “Sits the wind in that corner?”
+
+                                Much Ado about Nothing.
+
+
+I do not propose to enter into a description of the mingled
+feelings aroused in me by this announcement. As a drowning man
+is said to live over in one terrible instant the events of a
+lifetime, so each word uttered in my hearing by Mary, from her
+first introduction to me in her own room, on the morning of the
+inquest, to our final conversation on the night of Mr. Clavering’s
+call, swept in one wild phantasmagoria through my brain, leaving
+me aghast at the signification which her whole conduct seemed to
+acquire from the lurid light which now fell upon it.
+
+“I perceive that I have pulled down an avalanche of doubts
+about your ears,” exclaimed my companion from the height of his
+calm superiority. “You never thought of this possibility, then,
+yourself?”
+
+“Do not ask me what I have thought. I only know I will never
+believe your suspicions true. That, however much Mary may have been
+benefited by her uncle’s death, she never had a hand in it; actual
+hand, I mean.”
+
+“And what makes you so sure of this?”
+
+“And what makes you so sure of the contrary? It is for you to
+prove, not for me to prove her innocence.”
+
+“Ah,” said Mr. Gryce, in his slow, sarcastic way, “you recollect
+that principle of law, do you? If I remember rightly, you have not
+always been so punctilious in regarding it, or wishing to have
+it regarded, when the question was whether Mr. Clavering was the
+assassin or not.”
+
+“But he is a man. It does not seem so dreadful to accuse a man of
+a crime. But a woman! and such a woman! I cannot listen to it;
+it is horrible. Nothing short of absolute confession on her part
+will ever make me believe Mary Leavenworth, or any other woman,
+committed this deed. It was too cruel, too deliberate, too----”
+
+“Read the criminal records,” broke in Mr. Gryce.
+
+But I was obstinate. “I do not care for the criminal records. All
+the criminal records in the world would never make me believe
+Eleanore perpetrated this crime, nor will I be less generous
+towards her cousin. Mary Leavenworth is a faulty woman, but not a
+guilty one.”
+
+“You are more lenient in your judgment of her than her cousin was,
+it appears.”
+
+“I do not understand you,” I muttered, feeling a new and yet more
+fearful light breaking upon me.
+
+“What! have you forgotten, in the hurry of these late events, the
+sentence of accusation which we overheard uttered between these
+ladies on the morning of the inquest?”
+
+“No, but----”
+
+“You believed it to have been spoken by Mary to Eleanore?”
+
+“Of course; didn’t you?”
+
+Oh, the smile which crossed Mr. Gryce’s face! “Scarcely. I left
+that baby-play for you. I thought one was enough to follow on that
+tack.”
+
+The light, the light that was breaking upon me! “And do you mean to
+say it was Eleanore who was speaking at that time? That I have been
+laboring all these weeks under a terrible mistake, and that you
+could have righted me with a word, and did not?”
+
+“Well, as to that, I had a purpose in letting you follow your own
+lead for a while. In the first place, I was not sure myself which
+spoke; though I had but little doubt about the matter. The voices
+are, as you must have noticed, very much alike, while the attitudes
+in which we found them upon entering were such as to be explainable
+equally by the supposition that Mary was in the act of launching
+a denunciation, or in that of repelling one. So that, while I did
+not hesitate myself as to the true explanation of the scene before
+me, I was pleased to find you accept a contrary one; as in this
+way both theories had a chance of being tested; as was right in a
+case of so much mystery. You accordingly took up the affair with
+one idea for your starting-point, and I with another. You saw
+every fact as it developed through the medium of Mary’s belief in
+Eleanore’s guilt, and I through the opposite. And what has been the
+result? With you, doubt, contradiction, constant unsettlement, and
+unwarranted resorts to strange sources for reconcilement between
+appearances and your own convictions; with me, growing assurance,
+and a belief which each and every development so far has but served
+to strengthen and make more probable.”
+
+Again that wild panorama of events, looks, and words swept before
+me. Mary’s reiterated assertions of her cousin’s innocence,
+Eleanore’s attitude of lofty silence in regard to certain matters
+which might be considered by her as pointing towards the murderer.
+
+“Your theory must be the correct one,” I finally admitted; “it was
+undoubtedly Eleanore who spoke. She believes in Mary’s guilt, and I
+have been blind, indeed, not to have seen it from the first.”
+
+“If Eleanore Leavenworth believes in her cousin’s criminality, she
+must have some good reasons for doing so.”
+
+I was obliged to admit that too. “She did not conceal in her bosom
+that telltale key,--found who knows where?--and destroy, or seek
+to destroy, it and the letter which introduced her cousin to the
+public as the unprincipled destroyer of a trusting man’s peace, for
+nothing.”
+
+“No, no.”
+
+“And yet you, a stranger, a young man who have never seen Mary
+Leavenworth in any other light than that in which her coquettish
+nature sought to display itself, presume to say she is innocent, in
+the face of the attitude maintained from the first by her cousin!”
+
+“But,” said I, in my great unwillingness to accept his conclusions,
+“Eleanore Leavenworth is but mortal. She may have been mistaken
+in her inferences. She has never stated what her suspicion was
+founded upon; nor can we know what basis she has for maintaining
+the attitude you speak of. Clavering is as likely as Mary to be the
+assassin, for all we know, and possibly for all she knows.”
+
+“You seem to be almost superstitious in your belief in Clavering’s
+guilt.”
+
+I recoiled. Was I? Could it be that Mr. Harwell’s fanciful
+conviction in regard to this man had in any way influenced me to
+the detriment of my better judgment?
+
+“And you may be right,” Mr. Gryce went on. “I do not pretend to
+be set in my notions. Future investigation may succeed in fixing
+something upon him; though I hardly think it likely. His behavior
+as the secret husband of a woman possessing motives for the
+commission of a crime has been too consistent throughout.”
+
+“All except his leaving her.”
+
+“No exception at all; for he hasn’t left her.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean that, instead of leaving the country, Mr. Clavering has
+only made pretence of doing so. That, in place of dragging himself
+off to Europe at her command, he has only changed his lodgings, and
+can now be found, not only in a house opposite to hers, but in the
+window of that house, where he sits day after day watching who goes
+in and out of her front door.”
+
+I remembered his parting injunction to me, in that memorable
+interview we had in my office, and saw myself compelled to put a
+new construction upon it.
+
+“But I was assured at the Hoffman House that he had sailed for
+Europe, and myself saw the man who professes to have driven him to
+the steamer.”
+
+“Just so.”
+
+“And Mr. Clavering returned to the city after that?”
+
+“In another carriage, and to another house.”
+
+“And you tell me that man is all right?”
+
+“No; I only say there isn’t the shadow of evidence against him as
+the person who shot Mr. Leavenworth.”
+
+Rising, I paced the floor, and for a few minutes silence fell
+between us. But the clock, striking, recalled me to the necessity
+of the hour, and, turning, I asked Mr. Gryce what he proposed to do
+now.
+
+“There is but one thing I can do,” said he.
+
+“And that is?”
+
+“To go upon such lights as I have, and cause the arrest of Miss
+Leavenworth.”
+
+I had by this time schooled myself to endurance, and was able to
+hear this without uttering an exclamation. But I could not let it
+pass without making one effort to combat his determination.
+
+“But,” said I, “I do not see what evidence you have, positive
+enough in its character, to warrant extreme measures. You have
+yourself intimated that the existence of motive is not enough, even
+though taken with the fact of the suspected party being in the
+house at the time of the murder; and what more have you to urge
+against Miss Leavenworth?”
+
+“Pardon me. I said ‘Miss Leavenworth’; I should have said ‘Eleanore
+Leavenworth.’”
+
+“Eleanore? What! when you and all unite in thinking that she alone
+of all these parties to the crime is utterly guiltless of wrong?”
+
+“And yet who is the only one against whom positive testimony of any
+kind can be brought.”
+
+I could but acknowledge that.
+
+“Mr. Raymond,” he remarked very gravely; “the public is becoming
+clamorous; something must be done to satisfy it, if only for the
+moment. Eleanore has laid herself open to the suspicion of the
+police, and must take the consequences of her action. I am sorry;
+she is a noble creature; I admire her; but justice is justice, and
+though I think her innocent, I shall be forced to put her under
+arrest unless----”
+
+“But I cannot be reconciled to it. It is doing an irretrievable
+injury to one whose only fault is an undue and mistaken devotion to
+an unworthy cousin. If Mary is the----.”
+
+“Unless something occurs between now and to-morrow morning,” Mr.
+Gryce went on, as if I had not spoken.
+
+“To-morrow morning?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+I tried to realize it; tried to face the fact that all my efforts
+had been for nothing, and failed.
+
+“Will you not grant me one more day?” I asked in my desperation.
+
+“What to do?”
+
+Alas, I did not know. “To confront Mr. Clavering, and force from
+him the truth.”
+
+“To make a mess of the whole affair!” he growled. “No, sir; the die
+is cast. Eleanore Leavenworth knows the one point which fixes this
+crime upon her cousin, and she must tell us that point or suffer
+the consequences of her refusal.”
+
+I made one more effort.
+
+“But why to-morrow? Having exhausted so much time already in our
+inquiries, why not take a little more; especially as the trail is
+constantly growing warmer? A little more moleing----”
+
+“A little more folderol!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, losing his temper.
+“No, sir; the hour for moleing has passed; something decisive has
+got to be done now; though, to be sure, if I could find the one
+missing link I want----”
+
+“Missing link? What is that?”
+
+“The immediate motive of the tragedy; a bit of proof that Mr.
+Leavenworth threatened his niece with his displeasure, or Mr.
+Clavering with his revenge, would place me on the vantage-point
+at once; no arresting of Eleanore then! No, my lady! I would walk
+right into your own gilded parlors, and when you asked me if I had
+found the murderer yet, say ‘yes,’ and show you a bit of paper
+which would surprise you! But missing links are not so easily
+found. This has been moled for, and moled for, as you are pleased
+to call our system of investigation, and totally without result.
+Nothing but the confession of some one of these several parties to
+the crime will give us what we want. I will tell you what I will
+do,” he suddenly cried. “Miss Leavenworth has desired me to report
+to her; she is very anxious for the detection of the murderer,
+you know, and offers an immense reward. Well, I will gratify this
+desire of hers. The suspicions I have, together with my reasons for
+them, will make an interesting disclosure. I should not greatly
+wonder if they produced an equally interesting confession.”
+
+I could only jump to my feet in my horror.
+
+“At all events, I propose to try it. Eleanore is worth that much
+risk any way.”
+
+“It will do no good,” said I. “If Mary is guilty, she will never
+confess it. If not----”
+
+“She will tell us who is.”
+
+“Not if it is Clavering, her husband.”
+
+“Yes; even if it is Clavering, her husband. She has not the
+devotion of Eleanore.”
+
+That I could but acknowledge. She would hide no keys for the sake
+of shielding another: no, if Mary were accused, she would speak.
+The future opening before us looked sombre enough. And yet when,
+in a short time from that, I found myself alone in a busy street,
+the thought that Eleanore was free rose above all others, filling
+and moving me till my walk home in the rain that day has become a
+marked memory of my life. It was only with nightfall that I began
+to realize the truly critical position in which Mary stood if Mr.
+Gryce’s theory was correct. But, once seized with this thought,
+nothing could drive it from my mind. Shrink as I would, it was
+ever before me, haunting me with the direst forebodings. Nor,
+though I retired early, could I succeed in getting either sleep or
+rest. All night I tossed on my pillow, saying over to myself with
+dreary iteration: “Something must happen, something will happen, to
+prevent Mr. Gryce doing this dreadful thing.” Then I would start
+up and ask what could happen; and my mind would run over various
+contingencies, such as,--Mr. Clavering might confess; Hannah might
+come back; Mary herself wake up to her position and speak the
+word I had more than once seen trembling on her lips. But further
+thought showed me how unlikely any of these things were to happen,
+and it was with a brain utterly exhausted that I fell asleep in
+the early dawn, to dream I saw Mary standing above Mr. Gryce with
+a pistol in her hand. I was awakened from this pleasing vision by
+a heavy knock at the door. Hastily rising, I asked who was there.
+The answer came in the shape of an envelope thrust under the door.
+Raising it, I found it to be a note. It was from Mr. Gryce, and ran
+thus:
+
+“Come at once; Hannah Chester is found.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Hannah found?”
+
+“So we have reason to think.”
+
+“When? where? by whom?”
+
+“Sit down, and I will tell you.”
+
+Drawing up a chair in a flurry of hope and fear, I sat down by Mr.
+Gryce’s side.
+
+“She is not in the cupboard,” that person dryly assured me, noting
+without doubt how my eyes went travelling about the room in my
+anxiety and impatience. “We are not absolutely sure that she is
+anywhere. But word has come to us that a girl’s face believed to
+be Hannah’s has been seen at the upper window of a certain house
+in--don’t start--R----, where a year ago she was in the habit of
+visiting while at the hotel with the Misses Leavenworth. Now, as it
+has already been determined that she left New York the night of the
+murder, by the ---- ----Railroad, though for what point we have
+been unable to ascertain, we consider the matter worth inquiring
+into.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“If she is there,” resumed Mr. Gryce, “she is secreted; kept very
+close. No one except the informant has ever seen her, nor is there
+any suspicion among the neighbors of her being in town.”
+
+“Hannah secreted at a certain house in R----? Whose house?”
+
+Mr. Gryce honored me with one of his grimmest smiles. “The name of
+the lady she’s with is given in the communication as Belden; Mrs.
+Amy Belden.”
+
+“Amy Belden! the name found written on a torn envelope by Mr.
+Clavering’s servant girl in London?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+I made no attempt to conceal my satisfaction. “Then we are upon the
+verge of some discovery; Providence has interfered, and Eleanore
+will be saved! But when did you get this word?”
+
+“Last night, or rather this morning; Q brought it.”
+
+“It was a message, then, to Q?”
+
+“Yes, the result of his moleings while in R----, I suppose.”
+
+“Whom was it signed by?”
+
+“A respectable tinsmith who lives next door to Mrs. B.”
+
+“And is this the first you knew of an Amy Belden living in R----?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Widow or wife?”
+
+“Don’t know; don’t know anything about her but her name.”
+
+“But you have already sent Q to make inquiries?”
+
+“No; the affair is a little too serious for him to manage alone. He
+is not equal to great occasions, and might fail just for the lack
+of a keen mind to direct him.”
+
+“In short----”
+
+“I wish you to go. Since I cannot be there myself, I know of no one
+else sufficiently up in the affair to conduct it to a successful
+issue. You see, it is not enough to find and identify the girl. The
+present condition of things demands that the arrest of so important
+a witness should be kept secret. Now, for a man to walk into a
+strange house in a distant village, find a girl who is secreted
+there, frighten her, cajole her, force her, as the case may be,
+from her hiding-place to a detective’s office in New York, and
+all without the knowledge of the next-door neighbor, if possible,
+requires judgment, brains, genius. Then the woman who conceals her!
+She must have her reasons for doing so; and they must be known.
+Altogether, the affair is a delicate one. Do you think you can
+manage it?”
+
+“I should at least like to try.”
+
+Mr. Gryce settled himself on the sofa. “To think what pleasure I am
+losing on your account!” he grumbled, gazing reproachfully at his
+helpless limbs. “But to business. How soon can you start?”
+
+“Immediately.”
+
+“Good! a train leaves the depot at 12.15. Take that. Once in R----,
+it will be for you to decide upon the means of making Mrs. Belden’s
+acquaintance without arousing her suspicions. Q, who will follow
+you, will hold himself in readiness to render you any assistance
+you may require. Only this thing is to be understood: as he will
+doubtless go in disguise, you are not to recognize him, much less
+interfere with him and his plans, till he gives you leave to do
+so, by some preconcerted signal. You are to work in your way, and
+he in his, till circumstances seem to call for mutual support and
+countenance. I cannot even say whether you will see him or not;
+he may find it necessary to keep out of the way; but you may be
+sure of one thing, that he will know where you are, and that the
+display of, well, let us say a red silk handkerchief--have you such
+a thing?”
+
+“I will get one.”
+
+“Will be regarded by him as a sign that you desire his presence or
+assistance, whether it be shown about your person or at the window
+of your room.”
+
+“And these are all the instructions you can give me?” I said, as he
+paused.
+
+“Yes, I don’t know of anything else. You must depend largely upon
+your own discretion, and the exigencies of the moment. I cannot
+tell you now what to do. Your own wit will be the best guide. Only,
+if possible, let me either hear from you or see you by to-morrow at
+this time.”
+
+And he handed me a cipher in case I should wish to telegraph.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III. HANNAH
+
+
+
+
+XXVII. AMY BELDEN
+
+                “A merrier man
+      Within the limits of becoming mirth,
+      I never spent an hour’s talk withal.”
+
+                                    Love’s Labour’s Lost.
+
+
+I had a client in R---- by the name of Monell; and it was from him
+I had planned to learn the best way of approaching Mrs. Belden.
+When, therefore, I was so fortunate as to meet him, almost on my
+arrival, driving on the long road behind his famous trotter Alfred,
+I regarded the encounter as a most auspicious beginning of a very
+doubtful enterprise.
+
+“Well, and how goes the day?” was his exclamation as, the first
+greetings passed, we drove rapidly into town.
+
+“Your part in it goes pretty smoothly,” I returned; and thinking I
+could never hope to win his attention to my own affairs till I had
+satisfied him in regard to his, I told him all I could concerning
+the law-suit then pending; a subject so prolific of question
+and answer, that we had driven twice round the town before he
+remembered he had a letter to post. As it was an important one,
+admitting of no delay, we hasted at once to the post-office, where
+he went in, leaving me outside to watch the rather meagre stream
+of goers and comers who at that time of day make the post-office
+of a country town their place of rendezvous. Among these, for some
+reason, I especially noted one middle-aged woman; why, I cannot
+say; her appearance was anything but remarkable. And yet when she
+came out, with two letters in her hand, one in a large and one in
+a small envelope, and meeting my eye hastily drew them under her
+shawl, I found myself wondering what was in her letters and who she
+could be, that the casual glance of a stranger should unconsciously
+move her to an action so suspicious. But Mr. Monell’s reappearance
+at the same moment, diverted my attention, and in the interest of
+the conversation that followed, I soon forgot both the woman and
+her letters. For determined that he should have no opportunity to
+revert to that endless topic, a law case, I exclaimed with the
+first crack of the whip,--“There, I knew there was something I
+wanted to ask you. It is this: Are you acquainted with any one is
+this town by the name of Belden?”
+
+“There is a widow Belden in town; I don’t know of any other.”
+
+“Is her first name Amy?”
+
+“Yes, Mrs. Amy Belden.”
+
+“That is the one,” said I. “Who is she, what is she, and what is
+the extent of your acquaintance with her?”
+
+“Well,” said he, “ I cannot conceive why you should be interested
+in such an antiquated piece of commonplace goodness as she is, but
+seeing you ask, I have no objection to telling you that she is the
+very respectable relict of a deceased cabinetmaker of this town;
+that she lives in a little house down the street there, and that
+if you have any forlorn old tramp to be lodged over night, or any
+destitute family of little ones to be looked after, she is the
+one to go to. As to knowing her, I know her as I do a dozen other
+members of our church there up over the hill. When I see her I
+speak to her, and that is all.”
+
+“A respectable widow, you say. Any family?”
+
+“No; lives alone, has a little income, I believe; must have, to
+put the money on the plate she always does; but spends her time in
+plain sewing and such deeds of charity, as one with small means
+but willing heart can find the opportunity of doing in a town like
+this. But why in the name of wonders do you ask?”
+
+“Business,” said I, “business. Mrs. Belden--don’t mention it by
+the way--has got mixed up in a case of mine, and I felt it due to
+my curiosity if not to my purse, to find out something about her.
+And I am not satisfied yet. The fact is I would give something,
+Monell, for the opportunity of studying this woman’s character. Now
+couldn’t you manage to get me introduced into her house in some way
+that would make it possible and proper for me to converse with her
+at my leisure? Business would thank you if you could.”
+
+“Well, I don’t know; I suppose it could be done. She used to take
+lodgers in the summer when the hotel was full, and might be induced
+to give a bed to a friend of mine who is very anxious to be near
+the post-office on account of a business telegram he is expecting,
+and which when it comes will demand his immediate attention.” And
+Mr. Monell gave me a sly wink of his eye, little imagining how near
+the mark he had struck.
+
+“You need not say that. Tell her I have a peculiar dislike to
+sleeping in a public house, and that you know of no one better
+fitted to accommodate me, for the short time I desire to be in
+town, than herself.”
+
+“And what will be said of my hospitality in allowing you under
+these circumstances to remain in any other house than my own?”
+
+“I don’t know; very hard things, no doubt; but I guess your
+hospitality can stand it.”
+
+“Well, if you persist, we will see what can be done.” And driving
+up to a neat white cottage of homely, but sufficiently attractive
+appearance, he stopped.
+
+“This is her house,” said he, jumping to the ground; “let’s go in
+and see what we can do.”
+
+Glancing up at the windows, which were all closed save the two
+on the veranda overlooking the street, I thought to myself, “If
+she has anybody in hiding here, whose presence in the house she
+desires to keep secret, it is folly to hope she will take me in,
+however well recommended I may come.” But, yielding to the example
+of my friend, I alighted in my turn and followed him up the short,
+grass-bordered walk to the front door.
+
+“As she has no servant, she will come to the door herself, so be
+ready,” he remarked as he knocked.
+
+I had barely time to observe that the curtains to the window at
+my left suddenly dropped, when a hasty step made itself heard
+within, and a quick hand drew open the door; and I saw before
+me the woman whom I had observed at the post-office, and whose
+action with the letters had struck me as peculiar. I recognized
+her at first glance, though she was differently dressed, and had
+evidently passed through some worry or excitement that had altered
+the expression of her countenance, and made her manner what it was
+not at that time, strained and a trifle uncertain. But I saw no
+reason for thinking she remembered me. On the contrary, the look
+she directed towards me had nothing but inquiry in it, and when Mr.
+Monell pushed me forward with the remark, “A friend of mine; in
+fact my lawyer from New York,” she dropped a hurried old-fashioned
+curtsey whose only expression was a manifest desire to appear
+sensible of the honor conferred upon her, through the mist of a
+certain trouble that confused everything about her.
+
+“We have come to ask a favor, Mrs. Belden; but may we not come in?
+“said my client in a round, hearty voice well calculated to recall
+a person’s thoughts into their proper channel. “I have heard many
+times of your cosy home, and am glad of this opportunity of seeing
+it.” And with a blind disregard to the look of surprised resistance
+with which she met his advance, he stepped gallantly into the
+little room whose cheery red carpet and bright picture-hung walls
+showed invitingly through the half-open door at our left.
+
+Finding her premises thus invaded by a sort of French _coup
+d’etat_, Mrs. Belden made the best of the situation, and pressing
+me to enter also, devoted herself to hospitality. As for Mr.
+Monell, he quite blossomed out in his endeavors to make himself
+agreeable; so much so, that I shortly found myself laughing at
+his sallies, though my heart was full of anxiety lest, after all,
+our efforts should fail of the success they certainly merited.
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Belden softened more and more, joining in the
+conversation with an ease hardly to be expected from one in her
+humble circumstances. Indeed, I soon saw she was no common woman.
+There was a refinement in her speech and manner, which, combined
+with her motherly presence and gentle air, was very pleasing. The
+last woman in the world to suspect of any underhanded proceeding,
+if she had not shown a peculiar hesitation when Mr. Monell broached
+the subject of my entertainment there.
+
+“I don’t know, sir; I would be glad, but,” and she turned a very
+scrutinizing look upon me, “the fact is, I have not taken lodgers
+of late, and I have got out of the way of the whole thing, and am
+afraid I cannot make him comfortable. In short, you will have to
+excuse me.”
+
+“But we can’t,” returned Mr. Monell. “What, entice a fellow into
+a room like this”--and he cast a hearty admiring glance round the
+apartment which, for all its simplicity, both its warm coloring
+and general air of cosiness amply merited, “and then turn a cold
+shoulder upon him when he humbly entreats the honor of staying a
+single night in the enjoyment of its attractions? No, no, Mrs.
+Belden; I know you too well for that. Lazarus himself couldn’t
+come to your door and be turned away; much less a good-hearted,
+clever-headed young gentleman like my friend here.”
+
+“You are very good,” she began, an almost weak love of praise
+showing itself for a moment in her eyes; “but I have no room
+prepared. I have been house-cleaning, and everything is topsy-turvy
+Mrs. Wright, now, over the way----”
+
+“My young friend is going to stop here,” Mr. Mouell broke in, with
+frank positiveness. “If I cannot have him at my own house,--and for
+certain reasons it is not advisable,--I shall at least have the
+satisfaction of knowing he is in the charge of the best housekeeper
+in R----.”
+
+“Yes,” I put in, but without too great a show of interest; “I
+should be sorry, once introduced here, to be obliged to go
+elsewhere.”
+
+The troubled eye wavered away from us to the door.
+
+“I was never called inhospitable,” she commenced; “but everything
+in such disorder. What time would you like to come?”
+
+“I was in hopes I might remain now,” I replied; “I have some
+letters to write, and ask nothing better than for leave to sit here
+and write them.”
+
+At the word letters I saw her hand go to her pocket in a movement
+which must have been involuntary, for her countenance did not
+change, and she made the quick reply:
+
+“Well, you may. If you can put up with such poor accommodations as
+I can offer, it shall not be said I refused you what Mr. Monell is
+pleased to call a favor.”
+
+And, complete in her reception as she had been in her resistance,
+she gave us a pleasant smile, and, ignoring my thanks, bustled out
+with Mr. Monell to the buggy, where she received my bag and what
+was, doubtless, more to her taste, the compliments he was now more
+than ever ready to bestow upon her.
+
+“I will see that a room is got ready for you in a very short space
+of time,” she said, upon re-entering. “Meanwhile, make yourself
+at home here; and if you wish to write, why I think you will find
+everything for the purpose in these drawers.” And wheeling up a
+table to the easy chair in which I sat, she pointed to the small
+compartments beneath, with an air of such manifest desire to have
+me make use of anything and everything she had, that I found myself
+wondering over my position with a sort of startled embarrassment
+that was not remote from shame.
+
+“Thank you; I have materials of my own,” said I, and hastened to
+open my bag and bring out the writing-case, which I always carried
+with me.
+
+“Then I will leave you,” said she; and with a quick bend and a
+short, hurried look out of the window, she hastily quitted the room.
+
+I could hear her steps cross the hall, go up two or three stairs,
+pause, go up the rest of the flight, pause again, and then pass on.
+I was left on the first floor alone.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII. A WEIRD EXPERIENCE
+
+      “Flat burglary as ever was committed.”
+
+                                  Much Ado about Nothing.
+
+
+The first thing I did was to inspect with greater care the room in
+which I sat.
+
+It was a pleasant apartment, as I have already said; square, sunny,
+and well furnished. On the floor was a crimson carpet, on the walls
+several pictures, at the windows, cheerful curtains of white,
+tastefully ornamented with ferns and autumn leaves; in one corner
+an old melodeon, and in the centre of the room a table draped
+with a bright cloth, on which were various little knick-knacks
+which, without being rich or expensive, were both pretty and, to
+a certain extent, ornamental. But it was not these things, which
+I had seen repeated in many other country homes, that especially
+attracted my attention, or drew me forward in the slow march which
+I now undertook around the room. It was the something underlying
+all these, the evidences which I found, or sought to find, not
+only in the general aspect of the room, but in each trivial object
+I encountered, of the character, disposition, and history of the
+woman with whom I now had to deal. It was for this reason I studied
+the daguerreotypes on the mantel-piece, the books on the shelf, and
+the music on the rack; for this and the still further purpose of
+noting if any indications were to be found of there being in the
+house any such person as Hannah.
+
+First then, for the little library, which I was pleased to see
+occupied one corner of the room. Composed of a few well-chosen
+books, poetical, historical, and narrative, it was of itself
+sufficient to account for the evidences of latent culture
+observable in Mrs. Belden’s conversation. Taking out a well-worn
+copy of _Byron_, I opened it. There were many passages marked,
+and replacing the book with a mental comment upon her evident
+impressibility to the softer emotions, I turned towards the
+melodeon fronting me from the opposite wall. It was closed, but
+on its neatly-covered top lay one or two hymn-books, a basket of
+russet apples, and a piece of half-completed knitting work.
+
+I took up the latter, but was forced to lay it down again without
+a notion for what it was intended. Proceeding, I next stopped
+before a window opening upon the small yard that ran about the
+house, and separated it from the one adjoining. The scene without
+failed to attract me, but the window itself drew my attention,
+for, written with a diamond point on one of the panes, I perceived
+a row of letters which, as nearly as I could make out, were meant
+for some word or words, but which utterly failed in sense or
+apparent connection. Passing it by as the work of some school-girl,
+I glanced down at the work-basket standing on a table at my side.
+It was full of various kinds of work, among which I spied a pair
+of stockings, which were much too small, as well as in too great
+a state of disrepair, to belong to Mrs. Belden; and drawing them
+carefully out, I examined them for any name on them. Do not start
+when I say I saw the letter H plainly marked upon them. Thrusting
+them back, I drew a deep breath of relief, gazing, as I did so, out
+of the window, when those letters again attracted my attention.
+
+[Illustration: (Cursive letters)]
+
+What could they mean? Idly I began to read them backward, when--But
+try for yourself, reader, and judge of my surprise! Elate at the
+discovery thus made, I sat down to write my letters. I had barely
+finished them, when Mrs. Belden came in with the announcement that
+supper was ready. “As for your room,” said she, “I have prepared
+my own room for your use, thinking you would like to remain on the
+first floor.” And, throwing open a door at my side, she displayed
+a small, but comfortable room, in which I could dimly see a
+bed, an immense bureau, and a shadowy looking-glass in a dark,
+old-fashioned frame.
+
+“I live in very primitive fashion,” she resumed, leading the way
+into the dining-room; “but I mean to be comfortable and make others
+so.”
+
+“I should say you amply succeeded,” I rejoined, with an
+appreciative glance at her well-spread board.
+
+She smiled, and I felt I had paved the way to her good graces in a
+way that would yet redound to my advantage.
+
+Shall I ever forget that supper! its dainties, its pleasant
+freedom, its mysterious, pervading atmosphere of unreality, and
+the constant sense which every bountiful dish she pressed upon
+me brought of the shame of eating this woman’s food with such
+feelings of suspicion in my heart! Shall I ever forget the emotion
+I experienced when I first perceived she had something on her mind,
+which she longed, yet hesitated, to give utterance to! Or how she
+started when a cat jumped from the sloping roof of the kitchen
+on to the grass-plot at the back of the house; or how my heart
+throbbed when I heard, or thought I heard, a board creak overhead!
+We were in a long and narrow room which seemed, curiously enough,
+to run crosswise of the house, opening on one side into the parlor,
+and on the other into the small bedroom, which had been allotted to
+my use.
+
+“You live in this house alone, without fear?” I asked, as Mrs.
+Belden, contrary to my desire, put another bit of cold chicken on
+my plate. “Have you no marauders in this town: no tramps, of whom a
+solitary woman like you might reasonably be afraid?”
+
+“No one will hurt me,” said she; “and no one ever came here for
+food or shelter but got it.”
+
+“I should think, then, that living as you do, upon a railroad, you
+would be constantly overrun with worthless beings whose only trade
+is to take all they can get without giving a return.”
+
+“I cannot turn them away. It is the only luxury I have: to feed the
+poor.”
+
+“But the idle, restless ones, who neither will work, nor let others
+work----”
+
+“Are still the poor.”
+
+Mentally remarking, here is the woman to shield an unfortunate who
+has somehow become entangled in the meshes of a great crime, I drew
+back from the table. As I did so, the thought crossed me that, in
+case there was any such person in the house as Hannah, she would
+take the opportunity of going up-stairs with something for her to
+eat; and that she might not feel hampered by my presence, I stepped
+out on the veranda with my cigar.
+
+While smoking it, I looked about for Q. I felt that the least token
+of his presence in town would be very encouraging at this time. But
+it seemed I was not to be afforded even that small satisfaction. If
+Q was anywhere near, he was lying very low.
+
+Once again seated with Mrs. Belden (who I know came down-stairs
+with an empty plate, for going into the kitchen for a drink, I
+caught her in the act of setting it down on the table), I made up
+my mind to wait a reasonable length of time for what she had to
+say; and then, if she did not speak, make an endeavor on my own
+part to surprise her secret.
+
+But her avowal was nearer and of a different nature from what I
+expected, and brought its own train of consequences with it.
+
+“You are a lawyer, I believe,” she began, taking down her knitting
+work, with a forced display of industry.
+
+“Yes,” I said; “that is my profession.”
+
+She remained for a moment silent, creating great havoc in her work
+I am sure, from the glance of surprise and vexation she afterwards
+threw it. Then, in a hesitating voice, remarked:
+
+“Perhaps you may be willing, then, to give me some advice. The
+truth is, I am in a very curious predicament; one from which I
+don’t know how to escape, and yet which demands immediate action. I
+should like to tell you about it; may I?”
+
+“You may; I shall be only too happy to give you any advice in my
+power.”
+
+She drew in her breath with a sort of vague relief, though her
+forehead did not lose its frown.
+
+“It can all be said in a few words. I have in my possession a
+package of papers which were intrusted to me by two ladies, with
+the understanding that I should neither return nor destroy them
+without the full cognizance and expressed desire of both parties,
+given in person or writing. That they were to remain in my hands
+till then, and that nothing or nobody should extort them from me.”
+
+“That is easily understood,” said I; for she stopped.
+
+“But, now comes word from one of the ladies, the one, too, most
+interested in the matter, that, for certain reasons, the immediate
+destruction of those papers is necessary to her peace and safety.”
+
+“And do you want to know what your duty is in this case?”
+
+“Yes,” she tremulously replied.
+
+I rose. I could not help it: a flood of conjectures rushing in
+tumult over me.
+
+“It is to hold on to the papers like grim death till released from
+your guardianship by the combined wish of both parties.”
+
+“Is that your opinion as a lawyer?”
+
+“Yes, and as a man. Once pledged in that way, you have no choice.
+It would be a betrayal of trust to yield to the solicitations of
+one party what you have undertaken to return to both. The fact that
+grief or loss might follow your retention of these papers does
+not release you from your bond. You have nothing to do with that;
+besides, you are by no means sure that the representations of the
+so-called interested party are true. You might be doing a greater
+wrong, by destroying in this way, what is manifestly considered of
+value to them both, than by preserving the papers intact, according
+to compact.”
+
+“But the circumstances? Circumstances alter cases; and in short,
+it seems to me that the wishes of the one most interested ought
+to be regarded, especially as there is an estrangement between
+these ladies which may hinder the other’s consent from ever being
+obtained.”
+
+“No,” said I; “two wrongs never make a right; nor are we at liberty
+to do an act of justice at the expense of an injustice. The papers
+must be preserved, Mrs. Belden.”
+
+Her head sank very despondingly; evidently it had been her wish to
+please the interested party. “Law is very hard,” she said; “very
+hard.”
+
+“This is not only law, but plain duty,” I remarked. “Suppose a
+case different; suppose the honor and happiness of the other party
+depended upon the preservation of the papers; where would your duty
+be then?”
+
+“But----”
+
+“A contract is a contract,” said I, “and cannot be tampered with.
+Having accepted the trust and given your word, you are obliged to
+fulfil, to the letter, all its conditions. It would be a breach of
+trust for you to return or destroy the papers without the mutual
+consent necessary.”
+
+An expression of great gloom settled slowly over her features. “I
+suppose you are right,” said she, and became silent.
+
+Watching her, I thought to myself, “If I were Mr. Gryce, or even
+Q, I would never leave this seat till I had probed this matter to
+the bottom, learned the names of the parties concerned, and where
+those precious papers are hidden, which she declares to be of so
+much importance.” But being neither, I could only keep her talking
+upon the subject until she should let fall some word that might
+serve as a guide to my further enlightenment; I therefore turned,
+with the intention of asking her some question, when my attention
+was attracted by the figure of a woman coming out of the back-door
+of the neighboring house, who, for general dilapidation and
+uncouthness of bearing, was a perfect type of the style of tramp of
+whom we had been talking at the supper table. Gnawing a crust which
+she threw away as she reached the street, she trudged down the
+path, her scanty dress, piteous in its rags and soil, flapping in
+the keen spring wind, and revealing ragged shoes red with the mud
+of the highway.
+
+“There is a customer that may interest you,” said I.
+
+Mrs. Belden seemed to awake from a trance. Rising slowly, she
+looked out, and with a rapidly softening gaze surveyed the forlorn
+creature before her.
+
+“Poor thing!” she muttered; “but I cannot do much for her to-night.
+A good supper is all I can give her.”
+
+And, going to the front door, she bade her step round the house to
+the kitchen, where, in another moment, I heard the rough creature’s
+voice rise in one long “Bless you!” that could only have been
+produced by the setting before her of the good things with which
+Mrs. Belden’s larder seemed teeming.
+
+But supper was not all she wanted. After a decent length of time,
+employed as I should judge in mastication, I heard her voice rise
+once more in a plea for shelter.
+
+“The barn, ma’am, or the wood-house. Any place where I can lie out
+of the wind.” And she commenced a long tale of want and disease, so
+piteous to hear that I was not at all surprised when Mrs. Belden
+told me, upon re-entering, that she had consented, notwithstanding
+her previous determination, to allow the woman to lie before the
+kitchen fire for the night.
+
+“She has such an honest eye,” said she; “and charity is my only
+luxury.”
+
+The interruption of this incident effectually broke up our
+conversation. Mrs. Belden went up-stairs, and for some time I was
+left alone to ponder over what I had heard, and determine upon my
+future course of action. I had just reached the conclusion that she
+would be fully as liable to be carried away by her feelings to the
+destruction of the papers in her charge, as to be governed by the
+rules of equity I had laid down to her, when I heard her stealthily
+descend the stairs and go out by the front door. Distrustful of
+her intentions, I took up my hat and hastily followed her. She
+was on her way down the main street, and my first thought was,
+that she was bound for some neighbor’s house or perhaps for the
+hotel itself; but the settled swing into which she soon altered
+her restless pace satisfied me that she had some distant goal in
+prospect; and before long I found myself passing the hotel with
+its appurtenances, even the little schoolhouse, that was the last
+building at this end of the village, and stepping out into the
+country beyond. What could it mean?
+
+But still her fluttering figure hasted on, the outlines of her
+form, with its close shawl and neat bonnet, growing fainter and
+fainter in the now settled darkness of an April night; and still
+I followed, walking on the turf at the side of the road lest she
+should hear my footsteps and look round. At last we reached a
+bridge. Over this I could hear her pass, and then every sound
+ceased. She had paused, and was evidently listening. It would not
+do for me to pause too, so gathering myself into as awkward a shape
+as possible, I sauntered by her down the road, but arrived at a
+certain point, stopped, and began retracing my steps with a sharp
+lookout for her advancing figure, till I had arrived once more at
+the bridge. She was not there.
+
+Convinced now that she had discovered my motive for being in her
+house and, by leading me from it, had undertaken to supply Hannah
+with an opportunity for escape, I was about to hasten back to the
+charge I had so incautiously left, when a strange sound heard at my
+left arrested me. It came from the banks of the puny stream which
+ran under the bridge, and was like the creaking of an old door on
+worn-out hinges.
+
+Leaping the fence, I made my way as best I could down the sloping
+field in the direction from which the sound came. It was quite
+dark, and my progress was slow; so much so, that I began to fear
+I had ventured upon a wild-goose chase, when an unexpected streak
+of lightning shot across the sky, and by its glare I saw before me
+what seemed, in the momentary glimpse I had of it, an old barn.
+From the rush of waters near at hand, I judged it to be somewhere
+on the edge of the stream, and consequently hesitated to advance,
+when I heard the sound of heavy breathing near me, followed by a
+stir as of some one feeling his way over a pile of loose boards;
+and presently, while I stood there, a faint blue light flashed up
+from the interior of the barn, and I saw, through the tumbled-down
+door that faced me, the form of Mrs. Belden standing with a lighted
+match in her hand, gazing round on the four walls that encompassed
+her. Hardly daring to breathe, lest I should alarm her, I watched
+her while she turned and peered at the roof above her, which was
+so old as to be more than half open to the sky, at the flooring
+beneath, which was in a state of equal dilapidation, and finally
+at a small tin box which she drew from under her shawl and laid on
+the ground at her feet. The sight of that box at once satisfied
+me as to the nature of her errand. She was going to hide what she
+dared not destroy; and, relieved upon this point, I was about to
+take a step forward when the match went out in her hand. While she
+was engaged in lighting another, I considered that perhaps it would
+be better for me not to arouse her apprehensions by accosting her
+at this time, and thus endanger the success of my main scheme; but
+to wait till she was gone, before I endeavored to secure the box.
+Accordingly I edged my way up to the side of the barn and waited
+till she should leave it, knowing that if I attempted to peer in
+at the door, I ran great risk of being seen, owing to the frequent
+streaks of lightning which now flashed about us on every side.
+Minute after minute went by, with its weird alternations of heavy
+darkness and sudden glare; and still she did not come. At last,
+just as I was about to start impatiently from my hiding-place, she
+reappeared, and began to withdraw with faltering steps toward the
+bridge. When I thought her quite out of hearing, I stole from my
+retreat and entered the barn. It was of course as dark as Erebus,
+but thanks to being a smoker I was as well provided with matches as
+she had been, and having struck one, I held it up; but the light
+it gave was very feeble, and as I did not know just where to look,
+it went out before I had obtained more than a cursory glimpse
+of the spot where I was. I thereupon lit another; but though I
+confined my attention to one place, namely, the floor at my feet,
+it too went out before I could conjecture by means of any sign
+seen there where she had hidden the box. I now for the first time
+realized the difficulty before me. She had probably made up her
+mind, before she left home, in just what portion of this old barn
+she would conceal her treasure; but I had nothing to guide me: I
+could only waste matches. And I did waste them. A dozen had been
+lit and extinguished before I was so much as sure the box was not
+under a pile of debris that lay in one corner, and I had taken the
+last in my hand before I became aware that one of the broken boards
+of the floor was pushed a little out of its proper position. One
+match! and that board was to be raised, the space beneath examined,
+and the box, if there, lifted safely out. I concluded not to waste
+my resources, so kneeling down in the darkness, I groped for the
+board, tried it, and found it to be loose. Wrenching at it with
+all my strength, I tore it free and cast it aside; then lighting
+my match looked into the hole thus made. Something, I could not
+tell what, stone or box, met my eye, but while I reached for it,
+the match flew out of my hand. Deploring my carelessness, but
+determined at all hazards to secure what I had seen, I dived down
+deep into the hole, and in another moment had the object of my
+curiosity in my hands. It was the box!
+
+Satisfied at this result of my efforts, I turned to depart, my
+one wish now being to arrive home before Mrs. Belden. Was this
+possible? She had several minutes the start of me; I would have to
+pass her on the road, and in so doing might be recognized. Was the
+end worth the risk? I decided that it was.
+
+Regaining the highway, I started at a brisk pace. For some little
+distance I kept it up, neither overtaking nor meeting any one.
+But suddenly, at a turn in the road, I came unexpectedly upon
+Mrs. Belden, standing in the middle of the path, looking back.
+Somewhat disconcerted, I hastened swiftly by her, expecting her to
+make some effort to stop me. But she let me pass without a word.
+Indeed, I doubt now if she even saw or heard me. Astonished at
+this treatment, and still more surprised that she made no attempt
+to follow me, I looked back, when I saw what enchained her to the
+spot, and made her so unmindful of my presence. The barn behind us
+was on fire!
+
+Instantly I realized it was the work of my hands; I had dropped a
+half-extinguished match, and it had fallen upon some inflammable
+substance.
+
+Aghast at the sight, I paused in my turn, and stood staring. Higher
+and higher the red flames mounted, brighter and brighter glowed
+the clouds above, the stream beneath; and in the fascination of
+watching it all, I forgot Mrs. Belden. But a short, agitated gasp
+in my vicinity soon recalled her presence to my mind, and drawing
+nearer, I heard her exclaim like a person speaking in a dream,
+“Well, I didn’t mean to do it”; then lower, and with a certain
+satisfaction in her tone, “But it’s all right, any way; the thing
+is lost now for good, and Mary will be satisfied without any one
+being to blame.”
+
+I did not linger to hear more; if this was the conclusion she had
+come to, she would not wait there long, especially as the sound of
+distant shouts and running feet announced that a crowd of village
+boys was on its way to the scene of the conflagration.
+
+The first thing I did, upon my arrival at the house, was to assure
+myself that no evil effects had followed my inconsiderate desertion
+of it to the mercies of the tramp she had taken in; the next to
+retire to my room, and take a peep at the box. I found it to be a
+neat tin coffer, fastened with a lock. Satisfied from its weight
+that it contained nothing heavier than the papers of which Mrs.
+Belden had spoken, I hid it under the bed and returned to the
+sitting-room. I had barely taken a seat and lifted a book when Mrs.
+Belden came in.
+
+“Well!” cried she, taking off her bonnet and revealing a face much
+flushed with exercise, but greatly relieved in expression; “this
+_is_ a night! It lightens, and there is a fire somewhere down
+street, and altogether it is perfectly dreadful out. I hope you
+have not been lonesome,” she continued, with a keen searching of
+my face which I bore in the best way I could. “I had an errand to
+attend to, but didn’t expect to stay so long.”
+
+I returned some nonchalant reply, and she hastened from the room to
+fasten up the house.
+
+I waited, but she did not come back; fearful, perhaps, of betraying
+herself, she had retired to her own apartment, leaving me to take
+care of myself as best I might. I own that I was rather relieved at
+this. The fact is, I did not feel equal to any more excitement that
+night, and was glad to put off further action until the next day.
+As soon, then, as the storm was over, I myself went to bed, and,
+after several ineffectual efforts, succeeded in getting asleep.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX. THE MISSING WITNESS
+
+      “I fled and cried out death.”
+
+                                  Milton.
+
+
+“MR. RAYMOND!”
+
+The voice was low and searching; it reached me in my dreams, waked
+me, and caused me to look up. Morning had begun to break, and
+by its light I saw, standing in the open door leading into the
+dining-room, the forlorn figure of the tramp who had been admitted
+into the house the night before. Angry and perplexed, I was about
+to bid her be gone, when, to my great surprise, she pulled out a
+red handkerchief from her pocket, and I recognized Q.
+
+“Read that,” said he, hastily advancing and putting a slip of paper
+into my hand. And, without another word or look, left the room,
+closing the door behind him.
+
+Rising in considerable agitation, I took it to the window, and by
+the rapidly increasing light, succeeded in making out the rudely
+scrawled lines as follows:
+
+    “She is here; I have seen her; in the room marked with a
+    cross in the accompanying plan. Wait till eight o’clock,
+    then go up. I will contrive some means of getting Mrs.
+    B---- out of the house.”
+
+Sketched below this was the following plan of the upper floor:
+
+[Illustration: (Upper floor plan)]
+
+Hannah, then, was in the small back room over the dining-room, and
+I had not been deceived in thinking I had heard steps overhead, the
+evening before. Greatly relieved, and yet at the same time much
+moved at the near prospect of being brought face to face with one
+who we had every reason to believe was acquainted with the dreadful
+secret involved in the Leavenworth murder, I lay down once more,
+and endeavored to catch another hour’s rest. But I soon gave up
+the effort in despair, and contented myself with listening to the
+sounds of awakening life which now began to make themselves heard
+in the house and neighborhood.
+
+As Q had closed the door after him, I could only faintly hear
+Mrs. Belden when she came down-stairs. But the short, surprised
+exclamation which she uttered upon reaching the kitchen and finding
+the tramp gone and the back-door wide open, came plainly enough
+to my ears, and for a moment I was not sure but that Q had made a
+mistake in thus leaving so unceremoniously. But he had not studied
+Mrs. Belden’s character in vain. As she came, in the course of her
+preparations for breakfast, into the room adjoining mine, I could
+hear her murmur to herself:
+
+“Poor thing! She has lived so long in the fields and at the
+roadside, she finds it unnatural to be cooped up in the house all
+night.”
+
+The trial of that breakfast! The effort to eat and appear
+unconcerned, to chat and make no mistake,--May I never be called
+upon to go through such another! But at last it was over, and I was
+left free to await in my own room the time for the dreaded though
+much-to-be-desired interview. Slowly the minutes passed; eight
+o’clock struck, when, just as the last vibration ceased, there came
+a loud knock at the back-door, and a little boy burst into the
+kitchen, crying at the top of his voice: “Papa’s got a fit! Oh,
+Mrs. Belden! papa’s got a fit; do come!”
+
+Rising, as was natural, I hastened towards the kitchen, meeting
+Mrs. Belden’s anxious face in the doorway.
+
+“A poor wood-chopper down the street has fallen in a fit,” she
+said. “Will you please watch over the house while I see what I can
+do for him? I won’t be absent any longer than I can help.”
+
+And almost without waiting for my reply, she caught up a shawl,
+threw it over her head, and followed the urchin, who was in a state
+of great excitement, out into the street.
+
+Instantly the silence of death seemed to fill the house, and a
+dread the greatest I had ever experienced settled upon me. To leave
+the kitchen, go up those stairs, and confront that girl seemed
+for the moment beyond my power; but, once on the stair, I found
+myself relieved from the especial dread which had overwhelmed me,
+and possessed, instead, of a sort of combative curiosity that led
+me to throw open the door which I saw at the top with a certain
+fierceness new to my nature, and not altogether suitable, perhaps,
+to the occasion.
+
+I found myself in a large bedroom, evidently the one occupied by
+Mrs. Belden the night before. Barely stopping to note certain
+evidences of her having passed a restless night, I passed on to the
+door leading into the room marked with a cross in the plan drawn
+for me by Q. It was a rough affair, made of pine boards rudely
+painted. Pausing before it, I listened. All was still. Raising the
+latch, I endeavored to enter. The door was locked. Pausing again, I
+bent my ear to the keyhole. Not a sound came from within; the grave
+itself could not have been stiller. Awe-struck and irresolute,
+I looked about me and questioned what I had best do. Suddenly I
+remembered that, in the plan Q had given me, I had seen intimation
+of another door leading into this same room from the one on the
+opposite side of the hall. Going hastily around to it, I tried it
+with my hand. But it was as fast as the other. Convinced at last
+that nothing was left me but force, I spoke for the first time,
+and, calling the girl by name, commanded her to open the door.
+Receiving no response, I said aloud with an accent of severity:
+
+“Hannah Chester, you are discovered; if you do not open the door,
+we shall be obliged to break it down; save us the trouble, then,
+and open immediately.”
+
+Still no reply.
+
+Going back a step, I threw my whole weight against the door. It
+creaked ominously, but still resisted.
+
+[Illustration: “I could not prevent a feeling of sickly
+apprehension from seizing me as I turned towards the silent figure
+stretched so near”]
+
+Stopping only long enough to be sure no movement had taken place
+within, I pressed against it once more, this time with all my
+strength, when it flew from its hinges, and I fell forward into a
+room so stifling, chill, and dark that I paused for a moment to
+collect my scattered senses before venturing to look around me. It
+was well I did so. In another moment, the pallor and fixity of the
+pretty Irish face staring upon me from amidst the tumbled clothes
+of a bed, drawn up against the wall at my side, struck me with so
+deathlike a chill that, had it not been for that one instant of
+preparation, I should have been seriously dismayed. As it was, I
+could not prevent a feeling of sickly apprehension from seizing
+me as I turned towards the silent figure stretched so near, and
+observed with what marble-like repose it lay beneath the patchwork
+quilt drawn across it, asking myself if sleep could be indeed so
+like death in its appearance. For that it was a sleeping woman I
+beheld, I did not seriously doubt. There were too many evidences
+of careless life in the room for any other inference. The clothes,
+left just as she had stepped from them in a circle on the floor;
+the liberal plate of food placed in waiting for her on the chair by
+the door, --food amongst which I recognized, even in this casual
+glance, the same dish which we had had for breakfast --all and
+everything in the room spoke of robust life and reckless belief in
+the morrow.
+
+And yet so white was the brow turned up to the bare beams of the
+unfinished wall above her, so glassy the look of the half-opened
+eyes, so motionless the arm lying half under, half over, the edge
+of the coverlid that it was impossible not to shrink from contact
+with a creature so sunk in unconsciousness. But contact seemed to
+be necessary; any cry which I could raise at that moment would
+be ineffectual enough to pierce those dull ears. Nerving myself,
+therefore, I stooped and lifted the hand which lay with its
+telltale scar mockingly uppermost, intending to speak, call, do
+something, anything, to arouse her. But at the first touch of her
+hand on mine an unspeakable horror thrilled me. It was not only
+icy cold, but stiff. Dropping it in my agitation, I started back
+and again surveyed the face. Great God! when did life ever look
+like that? What sleep ever wore such pallid hues, such accusing
+fixedness? Bending once more I listened at the lips. Not a breath,
+nor a stir. Shocked to the core of my being, I made one final
+effort. Tearing down the clothes, I laid my hand upon her heart. It
+was pulseless as stone.
+
+
+
+
+XXX. BURNED PAPER
+
+      “I could have better spared a better man.”
+
+                                          Henry IV.
+
+
+I do not think I called immediately for help. The awful shock of
+this discovery, coming as it did at the very moment life and hope
+were strongest within me; the sudden downfall which it brought of
+all the plans based upon this woman’s expected testimony; and,
+worst of all, the dread coincidence between this sudden death
+and the exigency in which the guilty party, whoever it was, was
+supposed to be at that hour were much too appalling for instant
+action. I could only stand and stare at the quiet face before me,
+smiling in its peaceful rest as if death were pleasanter than we
+think, and marvel over the providence which had brought us renewed
+fear instead of relief, complication instead of enlightenment,
+disappointment instead of realization. For eloquent as is death,
+even on the faces of those unknown and unloved by us, the causes
+and consequences of this one were much too important to allow the
+mind to dwell upon the pathos of the scene itself. Hannah, the
+girl, was lost in Hannah the witness.
+
+But gradually, as I gazed, the look of expectation which I
+perceived hovering about the wistful mouth and half-open lids
+attracted me, and I bent above her with a more personal interest,
+asking myself if she were quite dead, and whether or not immediate
+medical assistance would be of any avail. But the more closely
+I looked, the more certain I became that she had been dead for
+some hours; and the dismay occasioned by this thought, taken with
+the regrets which I must ever feel, that I had not adopted the
+bold course the evening before, and, by forcing my way to the
+hiding-place of this poor creature, interrupted, if not prevented
+the consummation of her fate, startled me into a realization of
+my present situation; and, leaving her side, I went into the next
+room, threw up the window, and fastened to the blind the red
+handkerchief which I had taken the precaution to bring with me.
+
+Instantly a young man, whom I was fain to believe Q, though he bore
+not the least resemblance, either in dress or facial expression to
+any renderings of that youth which I had yet seen, emerged from the
+tinsmith’s house, and approached the one I was in.
+
+Observing him cast a hurried glance in my direction, I crossed the
+floor, and stood awaiting him at the head of the stairs.
+
+“Well?” he whispered, upon entering the house and meeting my glance
+from below; “have you seen her?”
+
+“Yes,” I returned bitterly, “I have seen her!”
+
+He hurriedly mounted to my side. “And she has confessed?”
+
+“No; I have had no talk with her.” Then, as I perceived him growing
+alarmed at my voice and manner, I drew him into Mrs. Belden’s room
+and hastily inquired: “What did you mean this morning when you
+informed me you had seen this girl? that she was in a certain room
+where I might find her?”
+
+“What I said.”
+
+“You have, then, been to her room?”
+
+[Illustration: “I crawled up on to the ledge of the slanting roof
+last night . . . and . . . saw her moving round the room”]
+
+“No; I have only been on the outside of it. Seeing a light, I
+crawled up on to the ledge of the slanting roof last night while
+both you and Mrs. Belden were out, and, looking through the
+window, saw her moving round the room.” He must have observed my
+countenance change, for he stopped. “What is to pay?” he cried.
+
+I could restrain myself no longer. “Come,” I said, “and see for
+yourself!” And, leading him to the little room I had just left,
+I pointed to the silent form lying within. “You told me I should
+find Hannah here; but you did not tell me I should find her in this
+condition.”
+
+“Great heaven!” he cried with a start: “not dead?”
+
+“Yes,” I said, “dead.”
+
+It seemed as if he could not realize it. “But it is impossible!” he
+returned. “She is in a heavy sleep, has taken a narcotic----”
+
+“It is not sleep,” I said, “or if it is, she will never wake.
+Look!” And, taking the hand once more in mine, I let it fall in its
+stone weight upon the bed.
+
+The sight seemed to convince him. Calming down, he stood gazing at
+her with a very strange expression upon his face. Suddenly he moved
+and began quietly turning over the clothes that were lying on the
+floor.
+
+“What are you doing?” I asked. “What are you looking for?”
+
+“I am looking for the bit of paper from which I saw her take what I
+supposed to be a dose of medicine last night. Oh, here it is!” he
+cried, lifting a morsel of paper that, lying on the floor under the
+edge of the bed, had hitherto escaped his notice.
+
+“Let me see!” I anxiously exclaimed.
+
+He handed me the paper, on the inner surface of which I could dimly
+discern the traces of an impalpable white powder.
+
+“This is important,” I declared, carefully folding the paper
+together. “If there is enough of this powder remaining to show that
+the contents of this paper were poisonous, the manner and means
+of the girl’s death are accounted for, and a case of deliberate
+suicide made evident.”
+
+“I am not so sure of that,” he retorted. “If I am any judge of
+countenances, and I rather flatter myself I am, this girl had no
+more idea she was taking poison than I had. She looked not only
+bright but gay; and when she tipped up the paper, a smile of almost
+silly triumph crossed her face. If Mrs. Belden gave her that dose
+to take, telling her it was medicine----”
+
+“That is something which yet remains to be learned; also whether
+the dose, as you call it, was poisonous or not. It may be she died
+of heart disease.”
+
+He simply shrugged his shoulders, and pointed first at the plate of
+breakfast left on the chair, and secondly at the broken-down door.
+
+“Yes,” I said, answering his look, “Mrs. Belden has been in here
+this morning, and Mrs. Belden locked the door when she went out;
+but that proves nothing beyond her belief in the girl’s hearty
+condition.”
+
+“A belief which that white face on its tumbled pillow did not seem
+to shake?”
+
+“Perhaps in her haste she may not have looked at the girl, but
+have set the dishes down without more than a casual glance in her
+direction?”
+
+“I don’t want to suspect anything wrong, but it is such a
+coincidence!”
+
+This was touching me on a sore point, and I stepped back. “Well,”
+said I, “there is no use in our standing here busying ourselves
+with conjectures. There is too much to be done. Come!” and I moved
+hurriedly towards the door.
+
+“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Have you forgotten this
+is but an episode in the one great mystery we are sent here to
+unravel? If this girl has come to her death by some foul play, it
+is our business to find it out.”
+
+“That must be left for the coroner. It has now passed out of our
+hands.”
+
+“I know; but we can at least take full note of the room and
+everything in it before throwing the affair into the hands of
+strangers. Mr. Gryce will expect that much of us, I am sure.”
+
+“I have looked at the room. The whole is photographed on my mind. I
+am only afraid I can never forget it.”
+
+“And the body? Have you noticed its position? the lay of the
+bed-clothes around it? the lack there is of all signs of struggle
+or fear? the repose of the countenance? the easy fall of the hands?”
+
+“Yes, yes; don’t make me look at it any more.”
+
+“Then the clothes hanging on the wall?”--rapidly pointing out each
+object as he spoke. “Do you see? a calico dress, a shawl,--not the
+one in which she was believed to have run away, but an old black
+one, probably belonging to Mrs. Belden. Then this chest,”--opening
+it,--“containing a few underclothes marked,--let us see, ah, with
+the name of the lady of the house, but smaller than any she ever
+wore; made for Hannah, you observe, and marked with her own name to
+prevent suspicion. And then these other clothes lying on the floor,
+all new, all marked in the same way. Then this--Halloo! look here!”
+he suddenly cried.
+
+Going over to where he stood I stooped down, when a wash-bowl half
+full of burned paper met my eye.
+
+“I saw her bending over something in this corner, and could not
+think what it was. Can it be she is a suicide after all? She has
+evidently destroyed something here which she didn’t wish any one to
+see.”
+
+“I do not know,” I said. “I could almost hope so.”
+
+“Not a scrap, not a morsel left to show what it was; how
+unfortunate!”
+
+“Mrs. Belden must solve this riddle,” I cried.
+
+“Mrs. Belden must solve the whole riddle,” he replied; “the secret
+of the Leavenworth murder hangs upon it.” Then, with a lingering
+look towards the mass of burned paper, “Who knows but what that was
+a confession?”
+
+The conjecture seemed only too probable.
+
+“Whatever it was,” said I, “it is now ashes, and we have got to
+accept the fact and make the best of it.”
+
+“Yes,” said he with a deep sigh; “that’s so; but Mr. Gryce will
+never forgive me for it, never. He will say I ought to have known
+it was a suspicious circumstance for her to take a dose of medicine
+at the very moment detection stood at her back.”
+
+“But she did not know that; she did not see you.”
+
+“We don’t know what she saw, nor what Mrs. Belden saw. Women are a
+mystery; and though I flatter myself that ordinarily I am a match
+for the keenest bit of female flesh that ever walked, I must say
+that in this case I feel myself thoroughly and shamefully worsted.”
+
+“Well, well,” I said, “the end has not come yet; who knows what a
+talk with Mrs. Belden will bring out? And, by the way, she will
+be coming back soon, and I must be ready to meet her. Everything
+depends upon finding out, if I can, whether she is aware of this
+tragedy or not. It is just possible she knows nothing about it.”
+
+And, hurrying him from the room, I pulled the door to behind me,
+and led the way down-stairs.
+
+“Now,” said I, “there is one thing you must attend to at once.
+A telegram must be sent Mr. Gryce acquainting him with this
+unlooked-for occurrence.”
+
+“All right, sir,” and Q started for the door.
+
+“Wait one moment,” said I. “I may not have another opportunity to
+mention it. Mrs. Belden received two letters from the postmaster
+yesterday; one in a large and one in a small envelope; if you could
+find out where they were postmarked----”
+
+Q put his hand in his pocket. “I think I will not have to go far to
+find out where one of them came from. Good George, I have lost it!”
+And before I knew it, he had returned up-stairs.
+
+That moment I heard the gate click.
+
+
+
+
+XXXI. Q
+
+      “Thereby hangs a tale.”
+
+                            Taming of the Shrew.
+
+
+“It was all a hoax; nobody was ill; I have been imposed upon,
+meanly imposed upon!” And Mrs. Belden, flushed and panting, entered
+the room where I was, and proceeded to take off her bonnet; but
+whilst doing so paused, and suddenly exclaimed: “What is the
+matter? How you look at me! Has anything happened?”
+
+“Something very serious has occurred,” I replied; “you have been
+gone but a little while, but in that time a discovery has been
+made--” I purposely paused here that the suspense might elicit from
+her some betrayal; but, though she turned pale, she manifested less
+emotion than I expected, and I went on--“which is likely to produce
+very important consequences.”
+
+To my surprise she burst violently into tears. “I knew it, I knew
+it!” she murmured. “I always said it would be impossible to keep
+it secret if I let anybody into the house; she is so restless. But
+I forget,” she suddenly said, with a frightened look; “you haven’t
+told me what the discovery was. Perhaps it isn’t what I thought;
+perhaps----”
+
+I did not hesitate to interrupt her. “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “I
+shall not try to mitigate the blow. A woman who, in the face of
+the most urgent call from law and justice, can receive into her
+house and harbor there a witness of such importance as Hannah,
+cannot stand in need of any great preparation for hearing that her
+efforts, have been too successful, that she has accomplished her
+design of suppressing valuable testimony, that law and justice are
+outraged, and that the innocent woman whom this girl’s evidence
+might have saved stands for ever compromised in the eyes of the
+world, if not in those of the officers of the law.”
+
+Her eyes, which had never left me during this address, flashed wide
+with dismay.
+
+“What do you mean?” she cried. “I have intended no wrong; I have
+only tried to save people. I--I--But who are you? What have you
+got to do with all this? What is it to you what I do or don’t
+do? You said you were a lawyer. Can it be you are come from Mary
+Leavenworth to see how I am fulfilling her commands, and----”
+
+“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “it is of small importance now as to who I
+am, or for what purpose I am here. But that my words may have the
+more effect, I will say, that whereas I have not deceived you,
+either as to my name or position, it is true that I am the friend
+of the Misses Leavenworth, and that anything which is likely to
+affect them, is of interest to me. When, therefore, I say that
+Eleanore Leavenworth is irretrievably injured by this girl’s
+death----”
+
+“Death? What do you mean? Death!”
+
+The burst was too natural, the tone too horror-stricken for me to
+doubt for another moment as to this woman’s ignorance of the true
+state of affairs.
+
+“Yes,” I repeated, “the girl you have been hiding so long and so
+well is now beyond your control. Only her dead body remains, Mrs.
+Belden.”
+
+I shall never lose from my ears the shriek which she uttered, nor
+the wild, “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it!” with which she
+dashed from the room and rushed up-stairs.
+
+Nor that after-scene when, in the presence of the dead, she stood
+wringing her hands and protesting, amid sobs of the sincerest
+grief and terror, that she knew nothing of it; that she had left
+the girl in the best of spirits the night before; that it was true
+she had locked her in, but this she always did when any one was
+in the house; and that if she died of any sudden attack, it must
+have been quietly, for she had heard no stir all night, though she
+had listened more than once, being naturally anxious lest the girl
+should make some disturbance that would arouse me.
+
+“But you were in here this morning?” said I.
+
+“Yes; but I didn’t notice. I was in a hurry, and thought she was
+asleep; so I set the things down where she could get them and came
+right away, locking the door as usual.”
+
+“It is strange she should have died this night of all others. Was
+she ill yesterday?”
+
+“No, sir; she was even brighter than common; more lively. I never
+thought of her being sick then or ever. If I had----”
+
+“You never thought of her being sick?” a voice here interrupted.
+“Why, then, did you take such pains to give her a dose of medicine
+last night?” And Q entered from the room beyond.
+
+“I didn’t!” she protested, evidently under the supposition it was
+I who had spoken. “Did I, Hannah, did I, poor girl?” stroking the
+hand that lay in hers with what appeared to be genuine sorrow and
+regret.
+
+“How came she by it, then? Where she did she get it if you didn’t
+give it to her?”
+
+This time she seemed to be aware that some one besides myself was
+talking to her, for, hurriedly rising, she looked at the man with a
+wondering stare, before replying.
+
+“I don’t know who you are, sir; but I can tell you this, the girl
+had no medicine,--took no dose; she wasn’t sick last night that I
+know of.”
+
+“Yet I saw her swallow a powder.”
+
+“Saw her!--the world is crazy, or I am--saw her swallow a powder!
+How could you see her do that or anything else? Hasn’t she been
+shut up in this room for twenty-four hours?”
+
+“Yes; but with a window like that in the roof, it isn’t so very
+difficult to see into the room, madam.”
+
+“Oh,” she cried, shrinking, “I have a spy in the house, have I? But
+I deserve it; I kept her imprisoned in four close walls, and never
+came to look at her once all night. I don’t complain; but what was
+it you say you saw her take? medicine? poison?”
+
+“I didn’t say poison.”
+
+“But you meant it. You think she has poisoned herself, and that I
+had a hand in it!”
+
+“No,” I hastened to remark, “he does not think you had a hand in
+it. He says he saw the girl herself swallow something which he
+believes to have been the occasion of her death, and only asks you
+now where she obtained it.”
+
+“How can I tell? I never gave her anything; didn’t know she had
+anything.”
+
+Somehow, I believed her, and so felt unwilling to prolong the
+present interview, especially as each moment delayed the action
+which I felt it incumbent upon us to take. So, motioning Q to
+depart upon his errand, I took Mrs. Belden by the hand and
+endeavored to lead her from the room. But she resisted, sitting
+down by the side of the bed with the expression, “I will not leave
+her again; do not ask it; here is my place, and here I will stay,”
+while Q, obdurate for the first time, stood staring severely upon
+us both, and would not move, though I urged him again to make
+haste, saying that the morning was slipping away, and that the
+telegram to Mr. Gryce ought to be sent.
+
+“Till that woman leaves the room, I don’t; and unless you promise
+to take my place in watching her, I don’t quit the house.”
+
+Astonished, I left her side and crossed to him.
+
+“You carry your suspicions too far,” I whispered, “and I think you
+are too rude. We have seen nothing, I am sure, to warrant us in
+any such action; besides, she can do no harm here; though, as for
+watching her, I promise to do that much if it will relieve your
+mind.”
+
+“I don’t want her watched here; take her below. I cannot leave
+while she remains.”
+
+“Are you not assuming a trifle the master?”
+
+“Perhaps; I don’t know. If I am, it is because I have something in
+my possession which excuses my conduct.”
+
+“What is that? the letter?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Agitated now in my turn, I held out my hand. “Let me see,” I said.
+
+“Not while that woman remains in the room.”
+
+Seeing him implacable, I returned to Mrs. Belden.
+
+“I must entreat you to come with me,” said I. “This is not a common
+death; we shall be obliged to have the coroner here and others. You
+had better leave the room and go below.”
+
+“I don’t mind the coroner; he is a neighbor of mine; his coming
+won’t prevent my watching over the poor girl until he arrives.”
+
+“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “your position as the only one conscious of
+the presence of this girl in your house makes it wiser for you not
+to invite suspicion by lingering any longer than is necessary in
+the room where her dead body lies.”
+
+“As if my neglect of her now were the best surety of my good
+intentions towards her in time past!”
+
+“It will not be neglect for you to go below with me at my earnest
+request. You can do no good here by staying; will, in fact, be
+doing harm. So listen to me or I shall be obliged to leave you in
+charge of this man and go myself to inform the authorities.”
+
+This last argument seemed to affect her, for with one look of
+shuddering abhorrence at Q she rose, saying, “You have me in your
+power,” and then, without another word, threw her handkerchief over
+the girl’s face and left the room. In two minutes more I had the
+letter of which Q had spoken in my hands.
+
+“It is the only one I could find, sir. It was in the pocket of the
+dress Mrs. Belden had on last night. The other must be lying around
+somewhere, but I haven’t had time to find it. This will do, though,
+I think. You will not ask for the other.”
+
+Scarcely noticing at the time with what deep significance he spoke,
+I opened the letter. It was the smaller of the two I had seen her
+draw under her shawl the day before at the post-office, and read as
+follows:
+
+  “DEAR, DEAR FRIEND:
+
+    “I am in awful trouble. You who love me must know it. I cannot
+    explain, I can only make one prayer. Destroy what you have,
+    to-day, instantly, without question or hesitation. The consent
+    of any one else has nothing to do with it. You must obey. I am
+    lost if you refuse. Do then what I ask, and save
+
+  “ONE WHO LOVES YOU.”
+
+It was addressed to Mrs. Belden; there was no signature or date,
+only the postmark New York; but I knew the handwriting. It was Mary
+Leavenworth’s.
+
+“A damning letter!” came in the dry tones which Q seemed to think
+fit to adopt on this occasion. “And a damning bit of evidence
+against the one who wrote it, and the woman who received it!”
+
+“A terrible piece of evidence, indeed,” said I, “if I did not
+happen to know that this letter refers to the destruction of
+something radically different from what you suspect. It alludes to
+some papers in Mrs. Belden’s charge; nothing else.”
+
+“Are you sure, sir?”
+
+“Quite; but we will talk of this hereafter. It is time you sent
+your telegram, and went for the coroner.”
+
+“Very well, sir.” And with this we parted; he to perform his role
+and I mine.
+
+I found Mrs. Belden walking the floor below, bewailing her
+situation, and uttering wild sentences as to what the neighbors
+would say of her; what the minister would think; what Clara,
+whoever that was, would do, and how she wished she had died before
+ever she had meddled with the affair.
+
+Succeeding in calming her after a while, I induced her to sit down
+and listen to what I had to say. “You will only injure yourself by
+this display of feeling,” I remarked, “besides unfitting yourself
+for what you will presently be called upon to go through.” And,
+laying myself out to comfort the unhappy woman, I first explained
+the necessities of the case, and next inquired if she had no friend
+upon whom she could call in this emergency.
+
+To my great surprise she replied no; that while she had kind
+neighbors and good friends, there was no one upon whom she could
+call in a case like this, either for assistance or sympathy, and
+that, unless I would take pity on her, she would have to meet it
+alone--“As I have met everything,” she said, “from Mr. Belden’s
+death to the loss of most of my little savings in a town fire last
+year.”
+
+I was touched by this,--that she who, in spite of her weakness
+and inconsistencies of character, possessed at least the one
+virtue of sympathy with her kind, should feel any lack of friends.
+Unhesitatingly, I offered to do what I could for her, providing she
+would treat me with the perfect frankness which the case demanded.
+To my great relief, she expressed not only her willingness, but her
+strong desire, to tell all she knew. “I have had enough secrecy
+for my whole life,” she said. And indeed I do believe she was so
+thoroughly frightened, that if a police-officer had come into the
+house and asked her to reveal secrets compromising the good name
+of her own son, she would have done so without cavil or question.
+“I feel as if I wanted to take my stand out on the common, and,
+in the face of the whole world, declare what I have done for Mary
+Leavenworth. But first,” she whispered, “tell me, for God’s sake,
+how those girls are situated. I have not dared to ask or write. The
+papers say a good deal about Eleanore, but nothing about Mary; and
+yet Mary writes of her own peril only, and of the danger she would
+be in if certain facts were known. What is the truth? I don’t want
+to injure them, only to take care of myself.”
+
+“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “Eleanore Leavenworth has got into her
+present difficulty by not telling all that was required of her.
+Mary Leavenworth--but I cannot speak of her till I know what you
+have to divulge. Her position, as well as that of her cousin, is
+too anomalous for either you or me to discuss. What we want to
+learn from you is, how you became connected with this affair, and
+what it was that Hannah knew which caused her to leave New York and
+take refuge here.”
+
+But Mrs. Belden, clasping and unclasping her hands, met my gaze
+with one full of the most apprehensive doubt. “You will never
+believe me,” she cried; “but I don’t know what Hannah knew. I am
+in utter ignorance of what she saw or heard on that fatal night;
+she never told, and I never asked. She merely said that Miss
+Leavenworth wished me to secrete her for a short time; and I,
+because I loved Mary Leavenworth and admired her beyond any one I
+ever saw, weakly consented, and----”
+
+“Do you mean to say,” I interrupted, “that after you knew of the
+murder, you, at the mere expression of Miss Leavenworth’s wishes,
+continued to keep this girl concealed without asking her any
+questions or demanding any explanations?”
+
+“Yes, sir; you will never believe me, but it is so. I thought
+that, since Mary had sent her here, she must have her reasons;
+and--and--I cannot explain it now; it all looks so differently; but
+I did do as I have said.”
+
+“But that was very strange conduct. You must have had strong reason
+for obeying Mary Leavenworth so blindly.”
+
+“Oh, sir,” she gasped, “I thought I understood it all; that
+Mary, the bright young creature, who had stooped from her lofty
+position to make use of me and to love me, was in some way linked
+to the criminal, and that it would be better for me to remain in
+ignorance, do as I was bid, and trust all would come right. I did
+not reason about it; I only followed my impulse. I couldn’t do
+otherwise; it isn’t my nature. When I am requested to do anything
+for a person I love, I cannot refuse.”
+
+“And you love Mary Leavenworth; a woman whom you yourself seem to
+consider capable of a great crime?”
+
+“Oh, I didn’t say that; I don’t know as I thought that. She
+might be in some way connected with it, without being the actual
+perpetrator. She could never be that; she is too dainty.”
+
+“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “what do you know of Mary Leavenworth which
+makes even that supposition possible?”
+
+The white face of the woman before me flushed. “I scarcely know
+what to reply,” she cried. “It is a long story, and----”
+
+“Never mind the long story,” I interrupted. “Let me hear the one
+vital reason.”
+
+“Well,” said she, “it is this; that Mary was in an emergency from
+which nothing but her uncle’s death could release her.”
+
+“Ah, how’s that?”
+
+But here we were interrupted by the sound of steps on the porch,
+and, looking out, I saw Q entering the house alone. Leaving Mrs.
+Belden where she was, I stepped into the hall.
+
+“Well,” said I, “what is the matter? Haven’t you found the coroner?
+Isn’t he at home?”
+
+“No, gone away; off in a buggy to look after a man that was found
+some ten miles from here, lying in a ditch beside a yoke of oxen.”
+Then, as he saw my look of relief, for I was glad of this temporary
+delay, said, with an expressive wink: “It would take a fellow a
+long time to go to him--if he wasn’t in a hurry--hours, I think.”
+
+“Indeed!” I returned, amused at his manner. “Rough road?”
+
+“Very; no horse I could get could travel it faster than a walk.”
+
+“Well,” said I, “so much the better for us. Mrs. Belden has a long
+story to tell, and----”
+
+“Doesn’t wish to be interrupted. I understand.”
+
+I nodded and he turned towards the door.
+
+“Have you telegraphed Mr. Gryce?” I asked.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Do you think he will come?”
+
+“Yes, sir; if he has to hobble on two sticks.”
+
+“At what time do you look for him?”
+
+“_You_ will look for him as early as three o’clock. I shall be
+among the mountains, ruefully eying my broken-down team.” And
+leisurely donning his hat he strolled away down the street like one
+who has the whole day on his hands and does not know what to do
+with it.
+
+An opportunity being thus given for Mrs. Belden’s story, she at
+once composed herself to the task, with the following result.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII. MRS. BELDEN’S NARRATIVE
+
+            “Cursed, destructive Avarice,
+      Thou everlasting foe to Love and Honor.”
+
+                                        Trap’s Abram.
+
+      “----Mischief never thrives
+      Without the help of Woman.”
+
+                                The Same.
+
+
+It will be a year next July since I first saw Mary Leavenworth. I
+was living at that time a most monotonous existence. Loving what
+was beautiful, hating what was sordid, drawn by nature towards
+all that was romantic and uncommon, but doomed by my straitened
+position and the loneliness of my widowhood to spend my days in the
+weary round of plain sewing, I had begun to think that the shadow
+of a humdrum old age was settling down upon me, when one morning,
+in the full tide of my dissatisfaction, Mary Leavenworth stepped
+across the threshold of my door and, with one smile, changed the
+whole tenor of my life.
+
+This may seem exaggeration to you, especially when I say that her
+errand was simply one of business, she having heard I was handy
+with my needle; but if you could have seen her as she appeared that
+day, marked the look with which she approached me, and the smile
+with which she left, you would pardon the folly of a romantic old
+woman, who beheld a fairy queen in this lovely young lady. The
+fact is, I was dazzled by her beauty and her charms. And when, a
+few days after, she came again, and crouching down on the stool at
+my feet, said she was so tired of the gossip and tumult down at
+the hotel, that it was a relief to run away and hide with some one
+who would let her act like the child she was, I experienced for
+the moment, I believe, the truest happiness of my life. Meeting
+her advances with all the warmth her manner invited, I found her
+ere long listening eagerly while I told her, almost without my own
+volition, the story of my past life, in the form of an amusing
+allegory.
+
+The next day saw her in the same place; and the next; always with
+the eager, laughing eyes, and the fluttering, uneasy hands, that
+grasped everything they touched, and broke everything they grasped.
+
+But the fourth day she was not there, nor the fifth, nor the
+sixth, and I was beginning to feel the old shadow settling back
+upon me, when one night, just as the dusk of twilight was merging
+into evening gloom, she came stealing in at the front door, and,
+creeping up to my side, put her hands over my eyes with such a low,
+ringing laugh, that I started.
+
+“You don’t know what to make of me!” she cried, throwing aside
+her cloak, and revealing herself in the full splendor of evening
+attire. “I don’t know what to make of myself. Though it seems
+folly, I felt that I must run away and tell some one that a certain
+pair of eyes have been looking into mine, and that for the first
+time in my life I feel myself a woman as well as a queen.” And with
+a glance in which coyness struggled with pride, she gathered up her
+cloak around her, and laughingly cried:
+
+“Have you had a visit from a flying sprite? Has one little ray of
+moonlight found its way into your prison for a wee moment, with
+Mary’s laugh and Mary’s snowy silk and flashing diamonds? Say!” and
+she patted my cheek, and smiled so bewilderingly, that even now,
+with all the dull horror of these after-events crowding upon me,
+I cannot but feel something like tears spring to my eyes at the
+thought of it.
+
+“And so the Prince has come for you?” I whispered, alluding to a
+story I had told her the last time she had visited me; a story in
+which a girl, who had waited all her life in rags and degradation
+for the lordly knight who was to raise her from a hovel to a
+throne, died just as her one lover, an honest peasant-lad whom she
+had discarded in her pride, arrived at her door with the fortune he
+had spent all his days in amassing for her sake.
+
+But at this she flushed, and drew back towards the door. “I don’t
+know; I am afraid not. I--I don’t think anything about that.
+Princes are not so easily won,” she murmured.
+
+“What! are you going?” I said, “and alone? Let me accompany you.”
+
+But she only shook her fairy head, and replied: “No, no; that
+would be spoiling the romance, indeed. I have come upon you like
+a sprite, and like a sprite I will go.” And, flashing like the
+moonbeam she was, she glided out into the night, and floated away
+down the street.
+
+When she next came, I observed a feverish excitement in her manner,
+which assured me, even plainer than the coy sweetness displayed in
+our last interview, that her heart had been touched by her lover’s
+attentions. Indeed, she hinted as much before she left, saying in
+a melancholy tone, when I had ended my story in the usual happy
+way, with kisses and marriage, “I shall never marry!” finishing the
+exclamation with a long-drawn sigh, that somehow emboldened me to
+say, perhaps because I knew she had no mother:
+
+“And why? What reason can there be for such rosy lips saying their
+possessor will never marry?”
+
+She gave me one quick look, and then dropped her eyes. I feared I
+had offended her, and was feeling very humble, when she suddenly
+replied, in an even but low tone, “I said I should never marry,
+because the one man who pleases me can never be my husband.”
+
+All the hidden romance in my nature started at once into life. “Why
+not? What do you mean? Tell me.”
+
+“There is nothing to tell,” said she; “only I have been so
+weak as to”--she would not say, fall in love, she was a proud
+woman--“admire a man whom my uncle will never allow me to marry.”
+
+And she rose as if to go; but I drew her back. “Whom your uncle
+will not allow you to marry!” I repeated. “Why? because he is poor?”
+
+“No; uncle loves money, but not to such an extent as that. Besides,
+Mr. Clavering is not poor. He is the owner of a beautiful place in
+his own country----”
+
+“Own country?” I interrupted. “Is he not an American?”
+
+“No,” she returned; “he is an Englishman.”
+
+I did not see why she need say that in just the way she did, but,
+supposing she was aggravated by some secret memory, went on to
+inquire: “Then what difficulty can there be? Isn’t he--” I was
+going to say steady, but refrained.
+
+“He is an Englishman,” she emphasized in the same bitter tone as
+before. “In saying that, I say it all. Uncle will never let me
+marry an Englishman.”
+
+I looked at her in amazement. Such a puerile reason as this had
+never entered my mind.
+
+“He has an absolute mania on the subject,” resumed she. “I might as
+well ask him to allow me to drown myself as to marry an Englishman.”
+
+A woman of truer judgment than myself would have said: “Then,
+if that is so, why not discard from your breast all thought of
+him? Why dance with him, and talk to him, and let your admiration
+develop into love?” But I was all romance then, and, angry at a
+prejudice I could neither understand nor appreciate, I said:
+
+“But that is mere tyranny! Why should he hate the English so? And
+why, if he does, should you feel yourself obliged to gratify him in
+a whim so unreasonable?”
+
+“Why? Shall I tell you, auntie?” she said, flushing and looking
+away.
+
+“Yes,” I returned; “tell me everything.”
+
+“Well, then, if you want to know the worst of me, as you
+already know the best, I hate to incur my uncle’s displeasure,
+because--because--I have always been brought up to regard myself
+as his heiress, and I know that if I were to marry contrary to his
+wishes, he would instantly change his mind, and leave me penniless.”
+
+“But,” I cried, my romance a little dampened by this admission,
+“you tell me Mr. Clavering has enough to live upon, so you would
+not want; and if you love--”
+
+Her violet eyes fairly flashed in her amazement.
+
+“You don’t understand,” she said; “Mr. Clavering is not poor; but
+uncle is rich. I shall be a queen--” There she paused, trembling,
+and falling on my breast. “Oh, it sounds mercenary, I know, but
+it is the fault of my bringing up. I have been taught to worship
+money. I would be utterly lost without it. And yet”--her whole face
+softening with the light of another emotion, “I cannot say to Henry
+Clavering, ‘Go! my prospects are dearer to me than you!’ I cannot,
+oh, I cannot!”
+
+“You love him, then?” said I, determined to get at the truth of the
+matter if possible.
+
+She rose restlessly. “Isn’t that a proof of love? If you knew me,
+you would say it was.” And, turning, she took her stand before a
+picture that hung on the wall of my sitting-room.
+
+“That looks like me,” she said.
+
+It was one of a pair of good photographs I possessed.
+
+“Yes,” I remarked, “that is why I prize it.”
+
+She did not seem to hear me; she was absorbed in gazing at the
+exquisite face before her. “That is a winning face,” I heard her
+say. “Sweeter than mine. I wonder if she would ever hesitate
+between love and money. I do not believe she would,” her own
+countenance growing gloomy and sad as she said so; “she would think
+only of the happiness she would confer; she is not hard like me.
+Eleanore herself would love this girl.”
+
+I think she had forgotten my presence, for at the mention of her
+cousin’s name she turned quickly round with a half suspicious look,
+saying lightly:
+
+“My dear old Mamma Hubbard looks horrified. She did not know she
+had such a very unromantic little wretch for a listener, when she
+was telling all those wonderful stories of Love slaying dragons,
+and living in caves, and walking over burning ploughshares as if
+they were tufts of spring grass?”
+
+“No,” I said, taking her with an irresistible impulse of admiring
+affection into my arms; “but if I had, it would have made no
+difference. I should still have talked about love, and of all it
+can do to make this weary workaday world sweet and delightful.”
+
+“Would you? Then you do not think me such a wretch?”
+
+What could I say? I thought her the winsomest being in the world,
+and frankly told her so. Instantly she brightened into her very
+gayest self. Not that I thought then, much less do I think now,
+she partially cared for my good opinion; but her nature demanded
+admiration, and unconsciously blossomed under it, as a flower under
+the sunshine.
+
+“And you will still let me come and tell you how bad I am,--that
+is, if I go on being bad, as I doubtless shall to the end of the
+chapter? You will not turn me off?”
+
+“I will never turn you off.”
+
+“Not if I should do a dreadful thing? Not if I should run away
+with my lover some fine night, and leave uncle to discover how his
+affectionate partiality had been requited?”
+
+It was lightly said, and lightly meant, for she did not even wait
+for my reply. But its seed sank deep into our two hearts for all
+that. And for the next few days I spent my time in planning how
+I should manage, if it should ever fall to my lot to conduct
+to a successful issue so enthralling a piece of business as an
+elopement. You may imagine, then, how delighted I was, when one
+evening Hannah, this unhappy girl who is now lying dead under my
+roof, and who was occupying the position of lady’s maid to Miss
+Mary Leavenworth at that time, came to my door with a note from her
+mistress, running thus:
+
+    “Have the loveliest story of the season ready for me
+    to-morrow; and let the prince be as handsome as--as some
+    one you have heard of, and the princess as foolish as your
+    little yielding pet,
+
+  “MARY.”
+
+Which short note could only mean that she was engaged. But the
+next day did not bring me my Mary, nor the next, nor the next; and
+beyond hearing that Mr. Leavenworth had returned from his trip I
+received neither word nor token. Two more days dragged by, when,
+just as twilight set in, she came. It had been a week since I had
+seen her, but it might have been a year from the change I observed
+in her countenance and expression. I could scarcely greet her with
+any show of pleasure, she was so unlike her former self.
+
+“You are disappointed, are you not?” said she, looking at me. “You
+expected revelations, whispered hopes, and all manner of sweet
+confidences; and you see, instead, a cold, bitter woman, who for
+the first time in your presence feels inclined to be reserved and
+uncommunicative.”
+
+“That is because you have had more to trouble than encourage you
+in your love,” I returned, though not without a certain shrinking,
+caused more by her manner than words.
+
+She did not reply to this, but rose and paced the floor, coldly
+at first, but afterwards with a certain degree of excitement that
+proved to be the prelude to a change in her manner; for, suddenly
+pausing, she turned to me and said: “Mr. Clavering has left R----,
+Mrs. Belden.”
+
+“Left!”
+
+“Yes, my uncle commanded me to dismiss him, and I obeyed.”
+
+The work dropped from my hands, in my heartfelt disappointment.
+“Ah! then he knows of your engagement to Mr. Clavering?”
+
+“Yes; he had not been in the house five minutes before Eleanore
+told him.”
+
+“Then _she_ knew?”
+
+“Yes,” with a half sigh. “She could hardly help it. I was foolish
+enough to give her the cue in my first moment of joy and weakness.
+I did not think of the consequences; but I might have known. She is
+so conscientious.”
+
+“I do not call it conscientiousness to tell another’s secrets,” I
+returned.
+
+“That is because you are not Eleanore.”
+
+Not having a reply for this, I said, “And so your uncle did not
+regard your engagement with favor?”
+
+“Favor! Did I not tell you he would never allow me to marry an
+Englishman? He said he would sooner see me buried.”
+
+“And you yielded? Made no struggle? Let the hard, cruel man have
+his way?”
+
+She was walking off to look again at that picture which had
+attracted her attention the time before, but at this word gave me
+one little sidelong look that was inexpressibly suggestive.
+
+“I obeyed him when he commanded, if that is what you mean.”
+
+“And dismissed Mr. Clavering after having given him your word of
+honor to be his wife?”
+
+“Why not, when I found I could not keep my word.”
+
+“Then you have decided not to marry him?”
+
+She did not reply at once, but lifted her face mechanically to the
+picture.
+
+“My uncle would tell you that I had decided to be governed wholly
+by his wishes!” she responded at last with what I felt was
+self-scornful bitterness.
+
+Greatly disappointed, I burst into tears. “Oh, Mary!” I cried, “Oh,
+Mary!” and instantly blushed, startled that I had called her by her
+first name.
+
+But she did not appear to notice.
+
+“Have you any complaint to make?” she asked. “Is it not my manifest
+duty to be governed by my uncle’s wishes? Has he not brought me up
+from childhood? lavished every luxury upon me? made me all I am,
+even to the love of riches which he has instilled into my soul with
+every gift he has thrown into my lap, every word he has dropped
+into my ear, since I was old enough to know what riches meant?
+Is it for me now to turn my back upon fostering care so wise,
+beneficent, and free, just because a man whom I have known some two
+weeks chances to offer me in exchange what he pleases to call his
+love?”
+
+“But,” I feebly essayed, convinced perhaps by the tone of sarcasm
+in which this was uttered that she was not far from my way of
+thinking after all, “if in two weeks you have learned to love this
+man more than everything else, even the riches which make your
+uncle’s favor a thing of such moment--”
+
+“Well,” said she, “what then?”
+
+“Why, then I would say, secure your happiness with the man of
+your choice, if you have to marry him in secret, trusting to your
+influence over your uncle to win the forgiveness he never can
+persistently deny.”
+
+You should have seen the arch expression which stole across her
+face at that. “Would it not be better,” she asked, creeping to my
+arms, and laying her head on my shoulder, “would it not be better
+for me to make sure of that uncle’s favor first, before undertaking
+the hazardous experiment of running away with a too ardent lover?”
+
+Struck by her manner, I lifted her face and looked at it. It was
+one amused smile.
+
+“Oh, my darling,” said I, “you have not, then dismissed Mr.
+Clavering?”
+
+“I have sent him away,” she whispered demurely.
+
+“But not without hope?”
+
+She burst into a ringing laugh.
+
+“Oh, you dear old Mamma Hubbard; what a matchmaker you are, to
+be sure! You appear as much interested as if you were the lover
+yourself.”
+
+“But tell me,” I urged.
+
+In a moment her serious mood returned. “He will wait for me,” said
+she.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day I submitted to her the plan I had formed for her
+clandestine intercourse with Mr. Clavering. It was for them both
+to assume names, she taking mine, as one less liable to provoke
+conjecture than a strange name, and he that of LeRoy Robbins. The
+plan pleased her, and with the slight modification of a secret sign
+being used on the envelope, to distinguish her letters from mine,
+was at once adopted.
+
+And so it was I took the fatal step that has involved me in all
+this trouble. With the gift of my name to this young girl to use
+as she would and sign what she would, I seemed to part with what
+was left me of judgment and discretion. Henceforth, I was only her
+scheming, planning, devoted slave; now copying the letters which
+she brought me, and enclosing them to the false name we had agreed
+upon, and now busying myself in devising ways to forward to her
+those which I received from him, without risk of discovery. Hannah
+was the medium we employed, as Mary felt it would not be wise for
+her to come too often to my house. To this girl’s charge, then, I
+gave such notes as I could not forward in any other way, secure in
+the reticence of her nature, as well as in her inability to read,
+that these letters addressed to Mrs. Amy Belden would arrive at
+their proper destination without mishap. And I believe they always
+did. At all events, no difficulty that I ever heard of arose out of
+the use of this girl as a go-between.
+
+But a change was at hand. Mr. Clavering, who had left an invalid
+mother in England, was suddenly summoned home. He prepared to
+go, but, flushed with love, distracted by doubts, smitten with
+the fear that, once withdrawn from the neighborhood of a woman
+so universally courted as Mary, he would stand small chance of
+retaining his position in her regard, he wrote to her, telling his
+fears and asking her to marry him before he went.
+
+“Make me your husband, and I will follow your wishes in all
+things,” he wrote. “The certainty that you are mine will make
+parting possible; without it, I cannot go; no, not if my mother
+should die without the comfort of saying good-bye to her only
+child.”
+
+By some chance she was in my house when I brought this letter from
+the post-office, and I shall never forget how she started when she
+read it. But, from looking as if she had received an insult, she
+speedily settled down into a calm consideration of the subject,
+writing and delivering into my charge for copying a few lines in
+which she promised to accede to his request, if he would agree to
+leave the public declaration of the marriage to her discretion, and
+consent to bid her farewell at the door of the church or wherever
+the ceremony of marriage should take place, never to come into her
+presence again till such declaration had been made. Of course this
+brought in a couple of days the sure response: “Anything, so you
+will be mine.”
+
+And Amy Belden’s wits and powers of planning were all summoned
+into requisition for the second time, to devise how this matter
+could be arranged without subjecting the parties to the chance of
+detection. I found the thing very difficult. In the first place,
+it was essential that the marriage should come off within three
+days, Mr. Clavering having, upon the receipt of her letter, secured
+his passage upon a steamer that sailed on the following Saturday;
+and, next, both he and Miss Leavenworth were too conspicuous in
+their personal appearance to make it at all possible for them to be
+secretly married anywhere within gossiping distance of this place.
+And yet it was desirable that the scene of the ceremony should not
+be too far away, or the time occupied in effecting the journey to
+and from the place would necessitate an absence from the hotel on
+the part of Miss Leavenworth long enough to arouse the suspicions
+of Eleanore; something which Mary felt it wiser to avoid. Her
+uncle, I have forgotten to say, was not here--having gone away
+again shortly after the apparent dismissal of Mr. Clavering.
+F----, then, was the only town I could think of which combined the
+two advantages of distance and accessibility. Although upon the
+railroad, it was an insignificant place, and had, what was better
+yet, a very obscure man for its clergyman, living, which was best
+of all, not ten rods from the depot. If they could meet there?
+Making inquiries, I found that it could be done, and, all alive to
+the romance of the occasion, proceeded to plan the details.
+
+And now I am coming to what might have caused the overthrow of the
+whole scheme: I allude to the detection on the part of Eleanore
+of the correspondence between Mary and Mr. Clavering. It happened
+thus. Hannah, who, in her frequent visits to my house, had grown
+very fond of my society, had come in to sit with me for a while
+one evening. She had not been in the house, however, more than ten
+minutes, before there came a knock at the front door; and going
+to it I saw Mary, as I supposed, from the long cloak she wore,
+standing before me. Thinking she had come with a letter for Mr.
+Clavering, I grasped her arm and drew her into the hall, saying,
+“Have you got it? I must post it to-night, or he will not receive
+it in time.”
+
+There I paused, for, the panting creature I had by the arm turning
+upon me, I saw myself confronted by a stranger.
+
+“You have made a mistake,” she cried. “I am Eleanore Leavenworth,
+and I have come for my girl Hannah. Is she here?”
+
+I could only raise my hand in apprehension, and point to the girl
+sitting in the corner of the room before her. Miss Leavenworth
+immediately turned back.
+
+“Hannah, I want you,” said she, and would have left the house
+without another word, but I caught her by the arm.
+
+“Oh, miss--” I began, but she gave me such a look, I dropped her
+arm.
+
+“I have nothing to say to you!” she cried in a low, thrilling
+voice. “Do not detain me.” And, with a glance to see if Hannah were
+following her, she went out.
+
+For an hour I sat crouched on the stair just where she had left me.
+Then I went to bed, but I did not sleep a wink that night. You can
+imagine, then, my wonder when, with the first glow of the early
+morning light, Mary, looking more beautiful than ever, came running
+up the steps and into the room where I was, with the letter for Mr.
+Clavering trembling in her hand.
+
+“Oh!” I cried in my joy and relief, “didn’t she understand me,
+then?”
+
+The gay look on Mary’s face turned to one of reckless scorn. “If
+you mean Eleanore, yes. She is duly initiated, Mamma Hubbard. Knows
+that I love Mr. Clavering and write to him. I couldn’t keep it
+secret after the mistake you made last evening; so I did the next
+best thing, told her the truth.”
+
+“Not that you were about to be married?”
+
+“Certainly not. I don’t believe in unnecessary communications.”
+
+“And you did not find her as angry as you expected?”
+
+“I will not say that; she was angry enough. And yet,” continued
+Mary, with a burst of self-scornful penitence, “I will not call
+Eleanore’s lofty indignation anger. She was grieved, Mamma Hubbard,
+grieved.” And with a laugh which I believe was rather the result of
+her own relief than of any wish to reflect on her cousin, she threw
+her head on one side and eyed me with a look which seemed to say,
+“Do I plague you so very much, you dear old Mamma Hubbard?”
+
+She did plague me, and I could not conceal it. “And will she not
+tell her uncle?” I gasped.
+
+The naive expression on Mary’s face quickly changed. “No,” said she.
+
+I felt a heavy hand, hot with fever, lifted from my heart. “And we
+can still go on?”
+
+She held out the letter for reply.
+
+The plan agreed upon between us for the carrying out of our
+intentions was this. At the time appointed, Mary was to excuse
+herself to her cousin upon the plea that she had promised to
+take me to see a friend in the next town. She was then to enter
+a buggy previously ordered, and drive here, where I was to join
+her. We were then to proceed immediately to the minister’s house
+in F----, where we had reason to believe we should find everything
+prepared for us. But in this plan, simple as it was, one thing was
+forgotten, and that was the character of Eleanore’s love for her
+cousin. That her suspicions would be aroused we did not doubt; but
+that she would actually follow Mary up and demand an explanation
+of her conduct, was what neither she, who knew her so well, nor
+I, who knew her so little, ever imagined possible. And yet that
+was just what occurred. But let me explain. Mary, who had followed
+out the programme to the point of leaving a little note of excuse
+on Eleanore’s dressing-table, had come to my house, and was just
+taking off her long cloak to show me her dress, when there came
+a commanding knock at the front door. Hastily pulling her cloak
+about her I ran to open it, intending, you may be sure, to dismiss
+my visitor with short ceremony, when I heard a voice behind me
+say, “Good heavens, it is Eleanore!” and, glancing back, saw Mary
+looking through the window-blind upon the porch without.
+
+“What shall we do?” I cried, in very natural dismay.
+
+“Do? why, open the door and let her in; I am not afraid of
+Eleanore.”
+
+I immediately did so, and Eleanore Leavenworth, very pale, but with
+a resolute countenance, walked into the house and into this room,
+confronting Mary in very nearly the same spot where you are now
+sitting. “I have come,” said she, lifting a face whose expression
+of mingled sweetness and power I could not but admire, even in
+that moment of apprehension, “to ask you without any excuse for my
+request, if you will allow me to accompany you upon your drive this
+morning?”
+
+Mary, who had drawn herself up to meet some word of accusation or
+appeal, turned carelessly away to the glass. “I am very sorry,”
+she said, “but the buggy holds only two, and I shall be obliged to
+refuse.”
+
+“I will order a carriage.”
+
+“But I do not wish your company, Eleanore. We are off on a pleasure
+trip, and desire to have our fun by ourselves.”
+
+“And you will not allow me to accompany you?”
+
+“I cannot prevent your going in another carriage.”
+
+Eleanore’s face grew yet more earnest in its expression. “Mary,”
+said she, “we have been brought up together. I am your sister in
+affection if not in blood, and I cannot see you start upon this
+adventure with no other companion than this woman. Then tell me,
+shall I go with you, as a sister, or on the road behind you as the
+enforced guardian of your honor against your will?”
+
+“My honor?”
+
+“You are going to meet Mr. Clavering.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Twenty miles from home.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Now is it discreet or honorable in you to do this?”
+
+Mary’s haughty lip took an ominous curve. “The same hand that
+raised you has raised me,” she cried bitterly.
+
+“This is no time to speak of that,” returned Eleanore.
+
+Mary’s countenance flushed. All the antagonism of her nature was
+aroused. She looked absolutely Juno-like in her wrath and reckless
+menace. “Eleanore,” she cried, “I am going to F---- to marry Mr.
+Clavering! _Now_ do you wish to accompany me?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+Mary’s whole manner changed. Leaping forward, she grasped her
+cousin’s arm and shook it. “For what reason?” she cried. “What do
+you intend to do?”
+
+“To witness the marriage, if it be a true one; to step between you
+and shame if any element of falsehood should come in to affect its
+legality.”
+
+Mary’s hand fell from her cousin’s arm. “I do not understand
+you,” said she. “I thought you never gave countenance to what you
+considered wrong.”
+
+“Nor do I. Any one who knows me will understand that I do not give
+my approval to this marriage just because I attend its ceremonial
+in the capacity of an unwilling witness.”
+
+“Then why go?”
+
+“Because I value your honor above my own peace. Because I love our
+common benefactor, and know that he would never pardon me if I let
+his darling be married, however contrary her union might be to his
+wishes, without lending the support of my presence to make the
+transaction at least a respectable one.”
+
+“But in so doing you will be involved in a world of
+deception--which you hate.”
+
+“Any more so than now?”
+
+“Mr. Clavering does not return with me, Eleanore.”
+
+“No, I supposed not.”
+
+“I leave him immediately after the ceremony.”
+
+Eleanore bowed her head.
+
+“He goes to Europe.” A pause.
+
+“And I return home.”
+
+“There to wait for what, Mary?”
+
+Mary’s face crimsoned, and she turned slowly away.
+
+“What every other girl does under such circumstances, I suppose.
+The development of more reasonable feelings in an obdurate parent’s
+heart.”
+
+Eleanore sighed, and a short silence ensued, broken by Eleanore’s
+suddenly falling upon her knees, and clasping her cousin’s hand.
+“Oh, Mary,” she sobbed, her haughtiness all disappearing in a gush
+of wild entreaty, “consider what you are doing! Think, before it
+is too late, of the consequences which must follow such an act as
+this. Marriage founded upon deception can never lead to happiness.
+Love--but it is not that. Love would have led you either to have
+dismissed Mr. Clavering at once, or to have openly accepted the
+fate which a union with him would bring. Only passion stoops
+to subterfuge like this. And you,” she continued, rising and
+turning toward me in a sort of forlorn hope very touching to see,
+“can you see this young motherless girl, driven by caprice, and
+acknowledging no moral restraint, enter upon the dark and crooked
+path she is planning for herself, without uttering one word of
+warning and appeal? Tell me, mother of children dead and buried,
+what excuse you will have for your own part in this day’s work,
+when she, with her face marred by the sorrows which must follow
+this deception, comes to you----”
+
+“The same excuse, probably,” Mary’s voice broke in, chill and
+strained, “which you will have when uncle inquires how you came to
+allow such an act of disobedience to be perpetrated in his absence:
+that she could not help herself, that Mary would gang her ain gait,
+and every one around must accommodate themselves to it.”
+
+It was like a draught of icy air suddenly poured into a room heated
+up to fever point. Eleanore stiffened immediately, and drawing
+back, pale and composed, turned upon her cousin with the remark:
+
+“Then nothing can move you?”
+
+The curling of Mary’s lips was her only reply.
+
+Mr. Raymond, I do not wish to weary you with my feelings, but the
+first great distrust I ever felt of my wisdom in pushing this
+matter so far came with that curl of Mary’s lip. More plainly
+than Eleanore’s words it showed me the temper with which she was
+entering upon this undertaking; and, struck with momentary dismay,
+I advanced to speak when Mary stopped me.
+
+“There, now, Mamma Hubbard, don’t you go and acknowledge that you
+are frightened, for I won’t hear it. I have promised to marry Henry
+Clavering to-day, and I am going to keep my word--if I don’t love
+him,” she added with bitter emphasis. Then, smiling upon me in a
+way which caused me to forget everything save the fact that she was
+going to her bridal, she handed me her veil to fasten. As I was
+doing this, with very trembling fingers, she said, looking straight
+at Eleanore:
+
+“You have shown yourself more interested in my fate than I had any
+reason to expect. Will you continue to display this concern all the
+way to F----, or may I hope for a few moments of peace in which to
+dream upon the step which, according to you, is about to hurl upon
+me such dreadful consequences?”
+
+“If I go with you to F----,” Eleanore returned, “it is as a
+witness, no more. My sisterly duty is done.”
+
+“Very well, then,” Mary said, dimpling with sudden gayety; “I
+suppose I shall have to accept the situation. Mamma Hubbard, I am
+so sorry to disappoint you, but the buggy _won’t_ hold three. If
+you are good you shall be the first to congratulate me when I come
+home to-night.” And, almost before I knew it, the two had taken
+their seats in the buggy that was waiting at the door. “Good-by,”
+cried Mary, waving her hand from the back; “wish me much joy--of my
+ride.”
+
+I tried to do so, but the words wouldn’t come. I could only wave my
+hand in response, and rush sobbing into the house.
+
+Of that day, and its long hours of alternate remorse and anxiety, I
+cannot trust myself to speak. Let me come at once to the time when,
+seated alone in my lamp-lighted room, I waited and watched for the
+token of their return which Mary had promised me. It came in the
+shape of Mary herself, who, wrapped in her long cloak, and with her
+beautiful face aglow with blushes, came stealing into the house
+just as I was beginning to despair.
+
+A strain of wild music from the hotel porch, where they were having
+a dance, entered with her, producing such a weird effect upon my
+fancy that I was not at all surprised when, in flinging off her
+cloak, she displayed garments of bridal white and a head crowned
+with snowy roses.
+
+“Oh, Mary!” I cried, bursting into tears; “you are then----”
+
+“Mrs. Henry Clavering, at your service. I’m a bride, Auntie.”
+
+“Without a bridal,” I murmured, taking her passionately into my
+embrace.
+
+She was not insensible to my emotion. Nestling close to me, she
+gave herself up for one wild moment to a genuine burst of tears,
+saying between her sobs all manner of tender things; telling me
+how she loved me, and how I was the only one in all the world to
+whom she dared come on this, her wedding night, for comfort or
+congratulation, and of how frightened she felt now it was all over,
+as if with her name she had parted with something of inestimable
+value.
+
+“And does not the thought of having made some one the proudest of
+men solace you?” I asked, more than dismayed at this failure of
+mine to make these lovers happy.
+
+“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “What satisfaction can it be for him
+to feel himself tied for life to a girl who, sooner than lose a
+prospective fortune, subjected him to such a parting?”
+
+“Tell me about it,” said I.
+
+But she was not in the mood at that moment. The excitement of the
+day had been too much for her. A thousand fears seemed to beset
+her mind. Crouching down on the stool at my feet, she sat with her
+hands folded and a glare on her face that lent an aspect of strange
+unreality to her brilliant attire. “How shall I keep it secret! The
+thought haunts me every moment; how can I keep it secret!”
+
+“Why, is there any danger of its being known?” I inquired. “Were
+you seen or followed?”
+
+“No,” she murmured. “It all went off well, but----”
+
+“Where is the danger, then?”
+
+“I cannot say; but some deeds are like ghosts. They will not be
+laid; they reappear; they gibber; they make themselves known
+whether we will or not. I did not think of this before. I was
+mad, reckless, what you will. But ever since the night has come,
+I have felt it crushing upon me like a pall that smothers life
+and youth and love out of my heart. While the sunlight remained I
+could endure it; but now--oh, Auntie, I have done something that
+will keep me in constant fear. I have allied myself to a living
+apprehension. I have destroyed my happiness.”
+
+I was too aghast to speak.
+
+“For two hours I have played at being gay. Dressed in my bridal
+white, and crowned with roses, I have greeted my friends as if
+they were wedding-guests, and made believe to myself that all the
+compliments bestowed upon me--and they are only too numerous--were
+just so many congratulations upon my marriage. But it was no use;
+Eleanore knew it was no use. She has gone to her room to pray,
+while I--I have come here for the first time, perhaps for the last,
+to fall at some one’s feet and cry,--‘God have mercy upon me!’”
+
+I looked at her in uncontrollable emotion. “Oh, Mary, have I only
+succeeded, then, in making you miserable?”
+
+She did not answer; she was engaged in picking up the crown of
+roses which had fallen from her hair to the floor.
+
+“If I had not been taught to love money so!” she said at length.
+“If, like Eleanore, I could look upon the splendor which has been
+ours from childhood as a mere accessory of life, easy to be dropped
+at the call of duty or affection! If prestige, adulation, and
+elegant belongings were not so much to me; or love, friendship,
+and domestic happiness more! If only I could walk a step without
+dragging the chain of a thousand luxurious longings after me.
+Eleanore can. Imperious as she often is in her beautiful womanhood,
+haughty as she can be when the delicate quick of her personality is
+touched too rudely, I have known her to sit by the hour in a low,
+chilly, ill-lighted and ill-smelling garret, cradling a dirty child
+on her knee, and feeding with her own hand an impatient old woman
+whom no one else would consent to touch. Oh, oh! they talk about
+repentance and a change of heart! If some one or something would
+only change mine! But there is no hope of that! no hope of my ever
+being anything else than what I am: a selfish, wilful, mercenary
+girl.”
+
+Nor was this mood a mere transitory one. That same night she made
+a discovery which increased her apprehension almost to terror.
+This was nothing less than the fact that Eleanore had been keeping
+a diary of the last few weeks. “Oh,” she cried in relating this
+to me the next day, “what security shall I ever feel as long as
+this diary of hers remains to confront me every time I go into her
+room? And she will not consent to destroy it, though I have done my
+best to show her that it is a betrayal of the trust I reposed in
+her. She says it is all she has to show in the way of defence, if
+uncle should ever accuse her of treachery to him and his happiness.
+She promises to keep it locked up; but what good will that do! A
+thousand accidents might happen, any of them sufficient to throw it
+into uncle’s hands. I shall never feel safe for a moment while it
+exists.”
+
+I endeavored to calm her by saying that if Eleanore was without
+malice, such fears were groundless. But she would not be comforted,
+and seeing her so wrought up, I suggested that Eleanore should be
+asked to trust it into my keeping till such time as she should feel
+the necessity of using it. The idea struck Mary favorably. “O yes,”
+she cried; “and I will put my certificate with it, and so get rid
+of all my care at once.” And before the afternoon was over, she had
+seen Eleanore and made her request.
+
+It was acceded to with this proviso, that I was neither to destroy
+nor give up all or any of the papers except upon their united
+demand. A small tin box was accordingly procured, into which
+were put all the proofs of Mary’s marriage then existing, viz.:
+the certificate, Mr. Clavering’s letters, and such leaves from
+Eleanore’s diary as referred to this matter. It was then handed
+over to me with the stipulation I have already mentioned, and I
+stowed it away in a certain closet up-stairs, where it has lain
+undisturbed till last night.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here Mrs. Belden paused, and, blushing painfully, raised her eyes
+to mine with a look in which anxiety and entreaty were curiously
+blended.
+
+“I don’t know what you will say,” she began, “but, led away by my
+fears, I took that box out of its hiding-place last evening and,
+notwithstanding your advice, carried it from the house, and it is
+now----”
+
+“In my possession,” I quietly finished.
+
+I don’t think I ever saw her look more astounded, not even when I
+told her of Hannah’s death. “Impossible!” she exclaimed. “I left it
+last night in the old barn that was burned down. I merely meant to
+hide it for the present, and could think of no better place in my
+hurry; for the barn is said to be haunted--a man hung himself there
+once--and no one ever goes there. I--I--you cannot have it!” she
+cried, “unless----”
+
+“Unless I found and brought it away before the barn was destroyed,”
+I suggested.
+
+Her face flushed deeper. “Then you followed me?”
+
+“Yes,” said I. Then, as I felt my own countenance redden, hastened
+to add: “We have been playing strange and unaccustomed parts, you
+and I. Some time, when all these dreadful events shall be a mere
+dream of the past, we will ask each other’s pardon. But never mind
+all this now. The box is safe, and I am anxious to hear the rest of
+your story.”
+
+This seemed to compose her, and after a minute she continued:
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mary seemed more like herself after this. And though, on account
+of Mr. Leavenworth’s return and their subsequent preparations for
+departure, I saw but little more of her, what I did see was enough
+to make me fear that, with the locking up of the proofs of her
+marriage, she was indulging the idea that the marriage itself had
+become void. But I may have wronged her in this.
+
+The story of those few weeks is almost finished. On the eve of the
+day before she left, Mary came to my house to bid me good-by. She
+had a present in her hand the value of which I will not state, as I
+did not take it, though she coaxed me with all her prettiest wiles.
+But she said something that night that I have never been able to
+forget. It was this. I had been speaking of my hope that before two
+months had elapsed she would find herself in a position to send
+for Mr. Clavering, and that when that day came I should wish to be
+advised of it; when she suddenly interrupted me by saying:
+
+“Uncle will never be won upon, as you call it, while he lives. If
+I was convinced of it before, I am sure of it now. Nothing but his
+death will ever make it possible for me to send for Mr. Clavering.”
+Then, seeing me look aghast at the long period of separation which
+this seemed to betoken, blushed a little and whispered: “The
+prospect looks somewhat dubious, doesn’t it? But if Mr. Clavering
+loves me, he can wait.”
+
+“But,” said I, “your uncle is only little past the prime of life
+and appears to be in robust health; it will be years of waiting,
+Mary.”
+
+“I don’t know,” she muttered, “I think not. Uncle is not as strong
+as he looks and--” She did not say any more, horrified perhaps at
+the turn the conversation was taking. But there was an expression
+on her countenance that set me thinking at the time, and has kept
+me thinking ever since.
+
+Not that any actual dread of such an occurrence as has since
+happened came to oppress my solitude during the long months which
+now intervened. I was as yet too much under the spell of her charm
+to allow anything calculated to throw a shadow over her image
+to remain long in my thoughts. But when, some time in the fall,
+a letter came to me personally from Mr. Clavering, filled with
+a vivid appeal to tell him something of the woman who, in spite
+of her vows, doomed him to a suspense so cruel, and when, on the
+evening of the same day, a friend of mine who had just returned
+from New York spoke of meeting Mary Leavenworth at some gathering,
+surrounded by manifest admirers, I began to realize the alarming
+features of the affair, and, sitting down, I wrote her a letter.
+Not in the strain in which I had been accustomed to talk to her,--I
+had not her pleading eyes and trembling, caressing hands ever
+before me to beguile my judgment from its proper exercise,--but
+honestly and earnestly, telling her how Mr. Clavering felt, and
+what a risk she ran in keeping so ardent a lover from his rights.
+The reply she sent rather startled me.
+
+“I have put Mr. Robbins out of my calculations for the present, and
+advise you to do the same. As for the gentleman himself, I have
+told him that when I could receive him I would be careful to notify
+him. That day has not yet come.
+
+“But do not let him be discouraged,” she added in a postscript.
+“When he does receive his happiness, it will be a satisfying one.”
+
+_When_, I thought. Ah, it is that _when_ which is likely to ruin
+all! But, intent only upon fulfilling her will, I sat down and
+wrote a letter to Mr. Clavering, in which I stated what she had
+said, and begged him to have patience, adding that I would surely
+let him know if any change took place in Mary or her circumstances.
+And, having despatched it to his address in London, awaited the
+development of events.
+
+They were not slow in transpiring. In two weeks I heard of the
+sudden death of Mr. Stebbins, the minister who had married them;
+and while yet laboring under the agitation produced by this shock,
+was further startled by seeing in a New York paper the name of Mr.
+Clavering among the list of arrivals at the Hoffman House; showing
+that my letter to him had failed in its intended effect, and that
+the patience Mary had calculated upon so blindly was verging to its
+end. I was consequently far from being surprised when, in a couple
+of weeks or so afterwards, a letter came from him to my address,
+which, owing to the careless omission of the private mark upon
+the envelope, I opened, and read enough to learn that, driven to
+desperation by the constant failures which he had experienced in
+all his endeavors to gain access to her in public or private, a
+failure which he was not backward in ascribing to her indisposition
+to see him, he had made up his mind to risk everything, even
+her displeasure; and, by making an appeal to her uncle, end the
+suspense under which he was laboring, definitely and at once.
+“I want you,” he wrote; “dowered or dowerless, it makes little
+difference to me. If you will not come of yourself, then I must
+follow the example of the brave knights, my ancestors; storm the
+castle that holds you, and carry you off by force of arms.”
+
+Neither can I say I was much surprised, knowing Mary as I did,
+when, in a few days from this, she forwarded to me for copying,
+this reply: “If Mr. Robbins ever expects to be happy with Amy
+Belden, let him reconsider the determination of which he speaks.
+Not only would he by such an action succeed in destroying the
+happiness of her he professes to love, but run the greater risk of
+effectually annulling the affection which makes the tie between
+them endurable.”
+
+To this there was neither date nor signature. It was the cry of
+warning which a spirited, self-contained creature gives when
+brought to bay. It made even me recoil, though I had known from the
+first that her pretty wilfulness was but the tossing foam floating
+above the soundless depths of cold resolve and most deliberate
+purpose.
+
+What its real effect was upon him and her fate I can only
+conjecture. All I know is that in two weeks thereafter Mr.
+Leavenworth was found murdered in his room, and Hannah Chester,
+coming direct to my door from the scene of violence, begged me to
+take her in and secrete her from public inquiry, as I loved and
+desired to serve Mary Leavenworth.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII. UNEXPECTED TESTIMONY
+
+      _Pol._ What do you read, my lord?
+
+      _Ham._ Words, words, words.
+
+                                        Hamlet.
+
+
+Mrs. Belden paused, lost in the sombre shadow which these words
+were calculated to evoke, and a short silence fell upon the room.
+It was broken by my asking for some account of the occurrence she
+had just mentioned, it being considered a mystery how Hannah could
+have found entrance into her house without the knowledge of the
+neighbors.
+
+“Well,” said she, “it was a chilly night, and I had gone to bed
+early (I was sleeping then in the room off this) when, at about a
+quarter to one--the last train goes through R---- at 12.50--there
+came a low knock on the window-pane at the head of my bed. Thinking
+that some of the neighbors were sick, I hurriedly rose on my elbow
+and asked who was there. The answer came in low, muffled tones,
+‘Hannah, Miss Leavenworth’s girl! Please let me in at the kitchen
+door.’ Startled at hearing the well-known voice, and fearing I knew
+not what, I caught up a lamp and hurried round to the door. ‘Is
+any one with you?’ I asked. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Then come in.’ But
+no sooner had she done so than my strength failed me, and I had to
+sit down, for I saw she looked very pale and strange, was without
+baggage, and altogether had the appearance of some wandering
+spirit. ‘Hannah!’ I gasped, ‘what is it? what has happened? what
+brings you here in this condition and at this time of night?’ ‘Miss
+Leavenworth has sent me,’ she replied, in the low, monotonous tone
+of one repeating a lesson by rote. ‘She told me to come here;
+said you would keep me. I am not to go out of the house, and no
+one is to know I am here.’ ‘But why?’ I asked, trembling with a
+thousand undefined fears; ‘what has occurred?’ ‘I dare not say,’
+she whispered; ‘I am forbid; I am just to stay here, and keep
+quiet.’ ‘But,’ I began, helping her to take off her shawl,--the
+dingy blanket advertised for in the papers--‘you must tell me. She
+surely did not forbid you to tell _me_?’ ‘Yes she did; every one,’
+the girl replied, growing white in her persistence, ‘and I never
+break my word; fire couldn’t draw it out of me.’ She looked so
+determined, so utterly unlike herself, as I remembered her in the
+meek, unobtrusive days of our old acquaintance, that I could do
+nothing but stare at her. ‘You will keep me,’ she said; ‘you will
+not turn me away?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘I will not turn you away.’ ‘And
+tell no one?’ she went on. ‘And tell no one,’ I repeated.
+
+“This seemed to relieve her. Thanking me, she quietly followed me
+up-stairs. I put her into the room in which you found her, because
+it was the most secret one in the house; and there she has remained
+ever since, satisfied and contented, as far as I could see, till
+this very same horrible day.”
+
+“And is that all?” I asked. “Did you have no explanation with her
+afterwards? Did she never give you any information in regard to the
+transactions which led to her flight?”
+
+“No, sir. She kept a most persistent silence. Neither then nor
+when, upon the next day, I confronted her with the papers in my
+hand, and the awful question upon my lips as to whether her flight
+had been occasioned by the murder which had taken place in Mr.
+Leavenworth’s household, did she do more than acknowledge she had
+run away on this account. Some one or something had sealed her
+lips, and, as she said, ‘Fire and torture should never make her
+speak.’”
+
+Another short pause followed this; then, with my mind still
+hovering about the one point of intensest interest to me, I said:
+
+“This story, then, this account which you have just given me of
+Mary Leavenworth’s secret marriage and the great strait it put
+her into--a strait from which nothing but her uncle’s death could
+relieve her--together with this acknowledgment of Hannah’s that
+she had left home and taken refuge here on the insistence of Mary
+Leavenworth, is the groundwork you have for the suspicions you have
+mentioned?”
+
+“Yes, sir; that and the proof of her interest in the matter which
+is given by the letter I received from her yesterday, and which you
+say you have now in your possession.”
+
+Oh, that letter!
+
+“I know,” Mrs. Belden went on in a broken voice, “that it is wrong,
+in a serious case like this, to draw hasty conclusions; but, oh,
+sir, how can I help it, knowing what I do?”
+
+I did not answer; I was revolving in my mind the old question: was
+it possible, in face of all these later developments, still to
+believe Mary Leavenworth’s own hand guiltless of her uncle’s blood?
+
+“It is dreadful to come to such conclusions,” proceeded Mrs.
+Belden, “and nothing but her own words written in her own hand
+would ever have driven me to them, but----”
+
+“Pardon me,” I interrupted; “but you said in the beginning of this
+interview that you did not believe Mary herself had any direct hand
+in her uncle’s murder. Are you ready to repeat that assertion?”
+
+“Yes, yes, indeed. Whatever I may think of her influence in
+inducing it, I never could imagine her as having anything to do
+with its actual performance. Oh, no! oh, no! whatever was done on
+that dreadful night, Mary Leavenworth never put hand to pistol
+or ball, or even stood by while they were used; that you may be
+sure of. Only the man who loved her, longed for her, and felt the
+impossibility of obtaining her by any other means, could have found
+nerve for an act so horrible.”
+
+“Then you think----”
+
+“Mr. Clavering is the man? I do: and oh, sir, when you consider
+that he is her husband, is it not dreadful enough?”
+
+“It is, indeed,” said I, rising to conceal how much I was affected
+by this conclusion of hers.
+
+Something in my tone or appearance seemed to startle her. “I hope
+and trust I have not been indiscreet,” she cried, eying me with
+something like an incipient distrust. “With this dead girl lying in
+my house, I ought to be very careful, I know, but----”
+
+“You have said nothing,” was my earnest assurance as I edged
+towards the door in my anxiety to escape, if but for a moment,
+from an atmosphere that was stifling me. “No one can blame you
+for anything you have either said or done to-day. But”--and here
+I paused and walked hurriedly back,--“I wish to ask one question
+more. Have you any reason, beyond that of natural repugnance to
+believing a young and beautiful woman guilty of a great crime,
+for saying what you have of Henry Clavering, a gentleman who has
+hitherto been mentioned by you with respect?”
+
+“No,” she whispered, with a touch of her old agitation.
+
+I felt the reason insufficient, and turned away with something
+of the same sense of suffocation with which I had heard that the
+missing key had been found in Eleanore Leavenworth’s possession.
+“You must excuse me,” I said; “I want to be a moment by myself, in
+order to ponder over the facts which I have just heard; I will soon
+return “; and without further ceremony, hurried from the room.
+
+By some indefinable impulse, I went immediately up-stairs, and took
+my stand at the western window of the large room directly over Mrs.
+Belden. The blinds were closed; the room was shrouded in funereal
+gloom, but its sombreness and horror were for the moment unfelt; I
+was engaged in a fearful debate with myself. Was Mary Leavenworth
+the principal, or merely the accessory, in this crime? Did the
+determined prejudice of Mr. Gryce, the convictions of Eleanore,
+the circumstantial evidence even of such facts as had come to our
+knowledge, preclude the possibility that Mrs. Belden’s conclusions
+were correct? That all the detectives interested in the affair
+would regard the question as settled, I did not doubt; but need
+it be? Was it utterly impossible to find evidence yet that Henry
+Clavering was, after all, the assassin of Mr. Leavenworth?
+
+Filled with the thought, I looked across the room to the closet
+where lay the body of the girl who, according to all probability,
+had known the truth of the matter, and a great longing seized me.
+Oh, why could not the dead be made to speak? Why should she lie
+there so silent, so pulseless, so inert, when a word from her were
+enough to decide the awful question? Was there no power to compel
+those pallid lips to move?
+
+Carried away by the fervor of the moment, I made my way to her
+side. Ah, God, how still! With what a mockery the closed lips and
+lids confronted my demanding gaze! A stone could not have been more
+unresponsive.
+
+With a feeling that was almost like anger, I stood there,
+when--what was it I saw protruding from beneath her shoulders where
+they crushed against the bed? An envelope? a letter? Yes.
+
+Dizzy with the sudden surprise, overcome with the wild hopes this
+discovery awakened, I stooped in great agitation and drew the
+letter out. It was sealed but not directed. Breaking it hastily
+open, I took a glance at its contents. Good heavens! it was the
+work of the girl herself!--its very appearance was enough to make
+that evident! Feeling as if a miracle had happened, I hastened with
+it into the other room, and set myself to decipher the awkward
+scrawl.
+
+This is what I saw, rudely printed in lead pencil on the inside of
+a sheet of common writing-paper:
+
+    “I am a wicked girl. I have knone things all the time which
+    I had ought to have told but I didn’t dare to he said he
+    would kill me if I did I mene the tall splendud looking
+    gentulman with the black mustash who I met coming out of
+    Mister Levenworth’s room with a key in his hand the night
+    Mr. Levenworth was murdered. He was so scared he gave me
+    money and made me go away and come here and keep every
+    thing secret but I can’t do so no longer. I seem to see
+    Miss Elenor all the time crying and asking me if I want her
+    sent to prisun. God knows I’d rathur die. And this is the
+    truth and my last words and I pray every body’s forgivness
+    and hope nobody will blame me and that they wont bother
+    Miss Elenor any more but go and look after the handsome
+    gentulman with the black mushtash.”
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV. THE PROBLEM SOLVED
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV. MR. GRYCE RESUMES CONTROL
+
+      “It out-herods Herod.”
+
+                          Hamlet.
+
+      “A thing devised by the enemy.”
+
+                                Richard III.
+
+
+A half-hour had passed. The train upon which I had every reason to
+expect Mr. Gryce had arrived, and I stood in the doorway awaiting
+with indescribable agitation the slow and labored approach of the
+motley group of men and women whom I had observed leave the depot
+at the departure of the cars. Would he be among them? Was the
+telegram of a nature peremptory enough to make his presence here,
+sick as he was, an absolute certainty? The written confession of
+Hannah throbbing against my heart, a heart all elation now, as but
+a short half-hour before it had been all doubt and struggle, seemed
+to rustle distrust, and the prospect of a long afternoon spent in
+impatience was rising before me, when a portion of the advancing
+crowd turned off into a side street, and I saw the form of Mr.
+Gryce hobbling, not on two sticks, but very painfully on one,
+coming slowly down the street.
+
+His face, as he approached, was a study.
+
+“Well, well, well,” he exclaimed, as we met at the gate; “this is
+a pretty how-dye-do, I must say. Hannah dead, eh? and everything
+turned topsy-turvy! Humph, and what do you think of Mary
+Leavenworth now?”
+
+It would therefore seem natural, in the conversation which followed
+his introduction into the house and installment in Mrs. Belden’s
+parlor, that I should begin my narration by showing him Hannah’s
+confession; but it was not so. Whether it was that I felt anxious
+to have him go through the same alternations of hope and fear it
+had been my lot to experience since I came to R----; or whether, in
+the depravity of human nature, there lingered within me sufficient
+resentment for the persistent disregard he had always paid to my
+suspicions of Henry Clavering to make it a matter of moment to
+me to spring this knowledge upon him just at the instant his own
+convictions seemed to have reached the point of absolute certainty,
+I cannot say. Enough that it was not till I had given him a full
+account of every other matter connected with my stay in this house;
+not till I saw his eye beaming, and his lip quivering with the
+excitement incident upon the perusal of the letter from Mary, found
+in Mrs. Belden’s pocket; not, indeed, until I became assured from
+such expressions as “Tremendous! The deepest game of the season!
+Nothing like it since the Lafarge affair!” that in another moment
+he would be uttering some theory or belief that once heard would
+forever stand like a barrier between us, did I allow myself to hand
+him the letter I had taken from under the dead body of Hannah.
+
+I shall never forget his expression as he received it; “Good
+heavens!” cried he, “what’s this?”
+
+“A dying confession of the girl Hannah. I found it lying in her bed
+when I went up, a half-hour ago, to take a second look at her.”
+
+Opening it, he glanced over it with an incredulous air that
+speedily, however, turned to one of the utmost astonishment, as he
+hastily perused it, and then stood turning it over and over in his
+hand, examining it.
+
+“A remarkable piece of evidence,” I observed, not without a certain
+feeling of triumph; “quite changes the aspect of affairs!”
+
+“Think so?” he sharply retorted; then, whilst I stood staring at
+him in amazement, his manner was so different from what I expected,
+looked up and said: “You tell me that you found this in her bed.
+Whereabouts in her bed?”
+
+“Under the body of the girl herself,” I returned. “I saw one corner
+of it protruding from beneath her shoulders, and drew it out.”
+
+He came and stood before me. “Was it folded or open, when you first
+looked at it?”
+
+“Folded; fastened up in this envelope,” showing it to him.
+
+He took it, looked at it for a moment, and went on with his
+questions.
+
+“This envelope has a very crumpled appearance, as well as the
+letter itself. Were they so when you found them?”
+
+“Yes, not only so, but doubled up as you see.”
+
+“Doubled up? You are sure of that? Folded, sealed, and then doubled
+up as if her body had rolled across it while alive?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“No trickery about it? No look as if the thing had been insinuated
+there since her death?”
+
+“Not at all. I should rather say that to every appearance she held
+it in her hand when she lay down, but turning over, dropped it and
+then laid upon it.”
+
+Mr. Gryce’s eyes, which had been very bright, ominously clouded;
+evidently he had been disappointed in my answers. Laying the letter
+down, he stood musing, but suddenly lifted it again, scrutinized
+the edges of the paper on which it was written, and, darting me a
+quick look, vanished with it into the shade of the window curtain.
+His manner was so peculiar, I involuntarily rose to follow; but he
+waved me back, saying:
+
+“Amuse yourself with that box on the table, which you had such an
+ado over; see if it contains all we have a right to expect to find
+in it. I want to be by myself for a moment.”
+
+Subduing my astonishment, I proceeded to comply with his request,
+but scarcely had I lifted the lid of the box before me when he came
+hurrying back, flung the letter down on the table with an air of
+the greatest excitement, and cried:
+
+“Did I say there had never been anything like it since the Lafarge
+affair? I tell you there has never been anything like it in any
+affair. It is the rummest case on record! Mr. Raymond,” and his
+eyes, in his excitement, actually met mine for the first time in
+my experience of him, “prepare yourself for a disappointment. This
+pretended confession of Hannah’s is a fraud!”
+
+“A fraud?”
+
+“Yes; fraud, forgery, what you will; the girl never wrote it.”
+
+Amazed, outraged almost, I bounded from my chair. “How do you know
+that?” I cried.
+
+Bending forward, he put the letter into my hand. “Look at it,” said
+he; “examine it closely. Now tell me what is the first thing you
+notice in regard to it?”
+
+“Why, the first thing that strikes me, is that the words are
+printed, instead of written; something which might be expected from
+this girl, according to all accounts.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“That they are printed on the inside of a sheet of ordinary
+paper----”
+
+“Ordinary paper?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“That is, a sheet of commercial note of the ordinary quality.”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“But is it?”
+
+“Why, yes; I should say so.”
+
+“Look at the lines.”
+
+“What of them? Oh, I see, they run up close to the top of the page;
+evidently the scissors have been used here.”
+
+“In short, it is a large sheet, trimmed down to the size of
+commercial note?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And is that all you see?”
+
+“All but the words.”
+
+“Don’t you perceive what has been lost by means of this trimming
+down?”
+
+“No, unless you mean the manufacturer’s stamp in the corner.” Mr.
+Gryce’s glance took meaning. “But I don’t see why the loss of that
+should be deemed a matter of any importance.”
+
+“Don’t you? Not when you consider that by it we seem to be deprived
+of all opportunity of tracing this sheet back to the quire of paper
+from which it was taken?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Humph! then you are more of an amateur than I thought you. Don’t
+you see that, as Hannah could have had no motive for concealing
+where the paper came from on which she wrote her dying words, this
+sheet must have been prepared by some one else?”
+
+“No,” said I; “I cannot say that I see all that.”
+
+“Can’t! Well then, answer me this. Why should Hannah, a girl about
+to commit suicide, care whether any clue was furnished, in her
+confession, to the actual desk, drawer, or quire of paper from
+which the sheet was taken, on which she wrote it?”
+
+“She wouldn’t.”
+
+“Yet especial pains have been taken to destroy that clue.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“Then there is another thing. Read the confession itself, Mr.
+Raymond, and tell me what you gather from it.”
+
+“Why,” said I, after complying, “that the girl, worn out with
+constant apprehension, has made up her mind to do away with
+herself, and that Henry Clavering----”
+
+“Henry Clavering?”
+
+The interrogation was put with so much meaning, I looked up. “Yes,”
+said I.
+
+“Ah, I didn’t know that Mr. Clavering’s name was mentioned there;
+excuse me.”
+
+“His name is not mentioned, but a description is given so
+strikingly in accordance----”
+
+Here Mr. Gryce interrupted me. “Does it not seem a little
+surprising to you that a girl like Hannah should have stopped to
+describe a man she knew by name?”
+
+I started; it was unnatural surely.
+
+“You believe Mrs. Belden’s story, don’t you?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Consider her accurate in her relation of what took place here a
+year ago?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“Must believe, then, that Hannah, the go-between, was acquainted
+with Mr. Clavering and with his name?”
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“Then why didn’t she use it? If her intention was, as she here
+professes, to save Eleanore Leavenworth from the false imputation
+which had fallen upon her, she would naturally take the most direct
+method of doing it. This description of a man whose identity she
+could have at once put beyond a doubt by the mention of his name is
+the work, not of a poor, ignorant girl, but of some person who, in
+attempting to play the _role_ of one, has signally failed. But that
+is not all. Mrs. Belden, according to you, maintains that Hannah
+told her, upon entering the house, that Mary Leavenworth sent her
+here. But in this document, she declares it to have been the work
+of Black Mustache.”
+
+“I know; but could they not have both been parties to the
+transaction?”
+
+“Yes,” said he; “yet it is always a suspicious circumstance, when
+there is a discrepancy between the written and spoken declaration
+of a person. But why do we stand here fooling, when a few words
+from this Mrs. Belden, you talk so much about, will probably settle
+the whole matter!”
+
+“A few words from Mrs. Belden,” I repeated. “I have had thousands
+from her to-day, and find the matter no nearer settled than in the
+beginning.”
+
+“_You_ have had,” said he, “but I have not. Fetch her in, Mr.
+Raymond.”
+
+I rose. “One thing,” said I, “before I go. What if Hannah had found
+the sheet of paper, trimmed just as it is, and used it without any
+thought of the suspicions it would occasion!”
+
+“Ah!” said he, “that is just what we are going to find out.”
+
+Mrs. Belden was in a flutter of impatience when I entered the
+sitting-room. When did I think the coroner would come? and what did
+I imagine this detective would do for us? It was dreadful waiting
+there alone for something, she knew not what.
+
+I calmed her as well as I could, telling her the detective had not
+yet informed me what he could do, having some questions to ask
+her first. Would she come in to see him? She rose with alacrity.
+Anything was better than suspense.
+
+Mr. Gryce, who in the short interim of my absence had altered his
+mood from the severe to the beneficent, received Mrs. Belden with
+just that show of respectful courtesy likely to impress a woman as
+dependent as she upon the good opinion of others.
+
+“Ah! and this is the lady in whose house this very disagreeable
+event has occurred,” he exclaimed, partly rising in his enthusiasm
+to greet her. “May I request you to sit,” he asked; “if a stranger
+may be allowed to take the liberty of inviting a lady to sit in her
+own house.”
+
+“It does not seem like my own house any longer,” said she, but in
+a sad, rather than an aggressive tone; so much had his genial way
+imposed upon her. “Little better than a prisoner here, go and come,
+keep silence or speak, just as I am bidden; and all because an
+unhappy creature, whom I took in for the most unselfish of motives,
+has chanced to die in my house!”
+
+“Just so!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce; “it is very unjust. But perhaps
+we can right matters. I have every reason to believe we can. This
+sudden death ought to be easily explained. You say you had no
+poison in the house?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“And that the girl never went out?”
+
+“Never, sir.”
+
+“And that no one has ever been here to see her?”
+
+“No one, sir.”
+
+“So that she could not have procured any such thing if she had
+wished?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Unless,” he added suavely, “she had it with her when she came
+here?”
+
+“That couldn’t have been, sir. She brought no baggage; and as for
+her pocket, I know everything there was in it, for I looked.”
+
+“And what did you find there?”
+
+“Some money in bills, more than you would have expected such a girl
+to have, some loose pennies, and a common handkerchief.”
+
+“Well, then, it is proved the girl didn’t die of poison, there
+being none in the house.”
+
+He said this in so convinced a tone she was deceived.
+
+“That is just what I have been telling Mr. Raymond,” giving me a
+triumphant look.
+
+“Must have been heart disease,” he went on, “You say she was well
+yesterday?”
+
+“Yes, sir; or seemed so.”
+
+“Though not cheerful?”
+
+“I did not say that; she was, sir, very.”
+
+“What, ma’am, this girl?” giving me a look. “I don’t understand
+that. I should think her anxiety about those she had left behind
+her in the city would have been enough to keep her from being very
+cheerful.”
+
+“So you would,” returned Mrs. Belden; “but it wasn’t so. On the
+contrary, she never seemed to worry about them at all.”
+
+“What! not about Miss Eleanore, who, according to the papers,
+stands in so cruel a position before the world? But perhaps she
+didn’t know anything about that--Miss Leavenworth’s position, I
+mean?”
+
+“Yes, she did, for I told her. I was so astonished I could not keep
+it to myself. You see, I had always considered Eleanore as one
+above reproach, and it so shocked me to see her name mentioned in
+the newspaper in such a connection, that I went to Hannah and read
+the article aloud, and watched her face to see how she took it.”
+
+“And how did she?”
+
+“I can’t say. She looked as if she didn’t understand; asked me why
+I read such things to her, and told me she didn’t want to hear any
+more; that I had promised not to trouble her about this murder, and
+that if I continued to do so she wouldn’t listen.”
+
+“Humph! and what else?”
+
+“Nothing else. She put her hand over her ears and frowned in such a
+sullen way I left the room.”
+
+“That was when?”
+
+“About three weeks ago.”
+
+“She has, however, mentioned the subject since?”
+
+“No, sir; not once.”
+
+“What! not asked what they were going to do with her mistress?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“She has shown, however, that something was preying on her
+mind--fear, remorse, or anxiety?”
+
+“No, sir; on the contrary, she has oftener appeared like one
+secretly elated.”
+
+“But,” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, with another sidelong look at me, “that
+was very strange and unnatural. I cannot account for it.”
+
+“Nor I, sir. I used to try to explain it by thinking her
+sensibilities had been blunted, or that she was too ignorant to
+comprehend the seriousness of what had happened; but as I learned
+to know her better, I gradually changed my mind. There was too much
+method in her gayety for that. I could not help seeing she had
+some future before her for which she was preparing herself. As,
+for instance, she asked me one day if I thought she could learn
+to play on the piano. And I finally came to the conclusion she
+had been promised money if she kept the secret intrusted to her,
+and was so pleased with the prospect that she forgot the dreadful
+past, and all connected with it. At all events, that was the only
+explanation I could find for her general industry and desire to
+improve herself, or for the complacent smiles I detected now and
+then stealing over her face when she didn’t know I was looking.”
+
+Not such a smile as crept over the countenance of Mr. Gryce at that
+moment, I warrant.
+
+“It was all this,” continued Mrs. Belden, “which made her death
+such a shock to me. I couldn’t believe that so cheerful and healthy
+a creature could die like that, all in one night, without anybody
+knowing anything about it. But----”
+
+“Wait one moment,” Mr. Gryce here broke in. “You speak of her
+endeavors to improve herself. What do you mean by that?”
+
+“Her desire to learn things she didn’t know; as, for instance, to
+write and read writing. She could only clumsily print when she came
+here.”
+
+I thought Mr. Gryce would take a piece out of my arm, he griped it
+so.
+
+“When she came here! Do you mean to say that since she has been
+with you she has learned to write?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I used to set her copies and----”
+
+“Where are these copies?” broke in Mr. Gryce, subduing his voice to
+its most professional tone. “And where are her attempts at writing?
+I’d like to see some of them. Can’t you get them for us?”
+
+“I don’t know, sir. I always made it a point to destroy them as
+soon as they had answered their purpose. I didn’t like to have such
+things lying around. But I will go see.”
+
+“Do,” said he; “and I will go with you. I want to take a look at
+things up-stairs, any way.” And, heedless of his rheumatic feet, he
+rose and prepared to accompany her.
+
+“This is getting very intense,” I whispered, as he passed me.
+
+The smile he gave me in reply would have made the fortune of a
+Thespian Mephistopheles.
+
+Of the ten minutes of suspense which I endured in their absence, I
+say nothing. At the end of that time they returned with their hands
+full of paper boxes, which they flung down on the table.
+
+“The writing-paper of the household,” observed Mr. Gryce; “every
+scrap and half-sheet which could be found. But, before you examine
+it, look at this.” And he held out a sheet of bluish foolscap, on
+which were written some dozen imitations of that time-worn copy,
+“BE GOOD AND YOU WILL BE HAPPY”; with an occasional “_Beauty soon
+fades_,” and “_Evil communications corrupt good manners_.”
+
+“What do you think of that?”
+
+“Very neat and very legible.”
+
+“That is Hannah’s latest. The only specimens of her writing to be
+found. Not much like some scrawls we have seen, eh?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Mrs. Belden says this girl has known how to write as good as this
+for more than a week. Took great pride in it, and was continually
+talking about how smart she was.” Leaning over, he whispered in my
+ear, “This thing you have in your hand must have been scrawled some
+time ago, if she did it.” Then aloud: “But let us look at the paper
+she used to write on.”
+
+Dashing open the covers of the boxes on the table, he took out the
+loose sheets lying inside, and scattered them out before me. One
+glance showed they were all of an utterly different quality from
+that used in the confession. “This is all the paper in the house,”
+said he.
+
+“Are you sure of that?” I asked, looking at Mrs. Belden, who stood
+in a sort of maze before us. “Wasn’t there one stray sheet lying
+around somewhere, foolscap or something like that, which she might
+have got hold of and used without your knowing it?”
+
+“No, sir; I don’t think so. I had only these kinds; besides, Hannah
+had a whole pile of paper like this in her room, and wouldn’t have
+been apt to go hunting round after any stray sheets.”
+
+“But you don’t know what a girl like that might do. Look at this
+one,” said I, showing her the blank side of the confession.
+“Couldn’t a sheet like this have come from somewhere about the
+house? Examine it well; the matter is important.”
+
+“I have, and I say, no, I never had a sheet of paper like that in
+my house.”
+
+Mr. Gryce advanced and took the confession from my hand. As he did
+so, he whispered: “What do you think now? Many chances that Hannah
+got up this precious document?”
+
+I shook my head, convinced at last; but in another moment turned to
+him and whispered back: “But, if Hannah didn’t write it, who did?
+And how came it to be found where it was?”
+
+“That,” said he, “is just what is left for us to learn.” And,
+beginning again, he put question after question concerning the
+girl’s life in the house, receiving answers which only tended to
+show that she could not have brought the confession with her, much
+less received it from a secret messenger. Unless we doubted Mrs.
+Belden’s word, the mystery seemed impenetrable, and I was beginning
+to despair of success, when Mr. Gryce, with an askance look at me,
+leaned towards Mrs. Belden and said:
+
+“You received a letter from Miss Mary Leavenworth yesterday, I
+hear.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“_This_ letter?” he continued, showing it to her.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Now I want to ask you a question. Was the letter, as you see it,
+the only contents of the envelope in which it came? Wasn’t there
+one for Hannah enclosed with it?”
+
+“No, sir. There was nothing in my letter for her; but she had a
+letter herself yesterday. It came in the same mail with mine.”
+
+“Hannah had a letter!” we both exclaimed; “and in the mail?”
+
+“Yes; but it was not directed to her. It was”--casting me a look
+full of despair, “directed to me. It was only by a certain mark in
+the corner of the envelope that I knew----”
+
+“Good heaven!” I interrupted; “where is this letter? Why didn’t you
+speak of it before? What do you mean by allowing us to flounder
+about here in the dark, when a glimpse at this letter might have
+set us right at once?”
+
+“I didn’t think anything about it till this minute. I didn’t know
+it was of importance. I----”
+
+But I couldn’t restrain myself. “Mrs. Belden, where is this
+letter?” I demanded. “Have you got it?”
+
+“No,” said she; “I gave it to the girl yesterday; I haven’t seen it
+since.”
+
+“It must be up-stairs, then. Let us take another look.” and I
+hastened towards the door.
+
+“You won’t find it,” said Mr. Gryce at my elbow. “I have looked.
+There is nothing but a pile of burned paper in the corner. By the
+way, what could that have been?” he asked of Mrs. Belden.
+
+“I don’t know, sir. She hadn’t anything to burn unless it was the
+letter.”
+
+“We will see about that,” I muttered, hurrying up-stairs and
+bringing down the wash-bowl with its contents. “If the letter was
+the one I saw in your hand at the post-office, it was in a yellow
+envelope.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Yellow envelopes burn differently from white paper. I ought to
+be able to tell the tinder made by a yellow envelope when I see
+it. Ah, the letter has been destroyed; here is a piece of the
+envelope,” and I drew out of the heap of charred scraps a small bit
+less burnt than the rest, and held it up.
+
+“Then there is no use looking here for what the letter contained,”
+said Mr. Gryce, putting the wash-bowl aside. “We will have to ask
+you, Mrs. Belden.”
+
+“But I don’t know. It was directed to me, to be sure; but Hannah
+told me, when she first requested me to teach her how to write,
+that she expected such a letter, so I didn’t open it when it came,
+but gave it to her just as it was.”
+
+“You, however, stayed by to see her read it?”
+
+“No, sir; I was in too much of a flurry. Mr. Raymond had just
+come and I had no time to think of her. My own letter, too, was
+troubling me.”
+
+“But you surely asked her some questions about it before the day
+was out?”
+
+“Yes, sir, when I went up with her tea things; but she had nothing
+to say. Hannah could be as reticent as any one I ever knew, when
+she pleased. She didn’t even admit it was from her mistress.”
+
+“Ah! then you thought it was from Miss Leavenworth?”
+
+“Why, yes, sir; what else was I to think, seeing that mark in the
+corner? Though, to be sure, it might have been put there by Mr.
+Clavering,” she thoughtfully added.
+
+“You say she was cheerful yesterday; was she so after receiving
+this letter?”
+
+“Yes, sir; as far as I could see. I wasn’t with her long; the
+necessity I felt of doing something with the box in my charge--but
+perhaps Mr. Raymond has told you?”
+
+Mr. Gryce nodded.
+
+“It was an exhausting evening, and quite put Hannah out of my head,
+but----”
+
+“Wait!” cried Mr. Gryce, and beckoning me into a corner, he
+whispered, “Now comes in that experience of Q’s. While you are
+gone from the house, and before Mrs. Belden sees Hannah again, he
+has a glimpse of the girl bending over something in the corner of
+her room which may very fairly be the wash-bowl we found there.
+After which, he sees her swallow, in the most lively way, a dose of
+something from a bit of paper. Was there anything more?”
+
+“No,” said I.
+
+“Very well, then,” he cried, going back to Mrs. Belden. “But----”
+
+“But when I went up-stairs to bed, I thought of the girl, and going
+to her door opened it. The light was extinguished, and she seemed
+asleep, so I closed it again and came out.”
+
+“Without speaking?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Did you notice how she was lying?”
+
+“Not particularly. I think on her back.”
+
+“In something of the same position in which she was found this
+morning?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And that is all you can tell us, either of her letter or her
+mysterious death?”
+
+“All, sir.”
+
+Mr. Gryce straightened himself up.
+
+“Mrs. Belden,” said he, “you know Mr. Clavering’s handwriting when
+_you_ see it?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“And Miss Leavenworth’s?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Now, which of the two was upon the envelope of the letter you gave
+Hannah?”
+
+“I couldn’t say. It was a disguised handwriting and might have been
+that of either; but I think----”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“That it was more like hers than his, though it wasn’t like hers
+either.”
+
+With a smile, Mr. Gryce enclosed the confession in his hand in the
+envelope in which it had been found. “You remember how large the
+letter was which you gave her?”
+
+“Oh, it was large, very large; one of the largest sort.”
+
+“And thick?”
+
+“O yes; thick enough for two letters.”
+
+“Large enough and thick enough to contain this?” laying the
+confession, folded and enveloped as it was, before her.
+
+“Yes, sir,” giving it a look of startled amazement, “large enough
+and thick enough to contain that.”
+
+Mr. Gryce’s eyes, bright as diamonds, flashed around the room, and
+finally settled upon a fly traversing my coat-sleeve. “Do you need
+to ask now,” he whispered, in a low voice, “where, and from whom,
+this so-called confession comes?”
+
+He allowed himself one moment of silent triumph, then rising, began
+folding the papers on the table and putting them in his pocket.
+
+“What are you going to do?” I asked, hurriedly approaching.
+
+He took me by the arm and led me across the hall into the
+sitting-room. “I am going back to New York, I am going to pursue
+this matter. I am going to find out from whom came the poison
+which killed this girl, and by whose hand this vile forgery of a
+confession was written.”
+
+“But,” said I, rather thrown off my balance by all this, “Q and the
+coroner will be here presently, won’t you wait to see them?”
+
+“No; clues such as are given here must be followed while the trail
+is hot; I can’t afford to wait.”
+
+“If I am not mistaken, they have already come,” I remarked, as a
+tramping of feet without announced that some one stood at the door.
+
+“That is so,” he assented, hastening to let them in.
+
+Judging from common experience, we had every reason to fear that
+an immediate stop would be put to all proceedings on our part, as
+soon as the coroner was introduced upon the scene. But happily
+for us and the interest at stake, Dr. Fink, of R ----, proved to
+be a very sensible man. He had only to hear a true story of the
+affair to recognize at once its importance and the necessity of
+the most cautious action in the matter. Further, by a sort of
+sympathy with Mr. Gryce, all the more remarkable that he had never
+seen him before, he expressed himself as willing to enter into our
+plans, offering not only to allow us the temporary use of such
+papers as we desired, but even undertaking to conduct the necessary
+formalities of calling a jury and instituting an inquest in such a
+way as to give us time for the investigations we proposed to make.
+
+The delay was therefore short. Mr. Gryce was enabled to take the
+6:30 train for New York, and I to follow on the 10 P.M.,--the
+calling of a jury, ordering of an autopsy, and final adjournment of
+the inquiry till the following Tuesday, having all taken place in
+the interim.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV. FINE WORK
+
+                            “No hinge nor loop
+                        To hang a doubt on!”
+
+      “But yet the pity of it, Iago! Oh, Iago, the pity of it, Iago.”
+
+                                    Othello.
+
+
+One sentence dropped by Mr. Gryce before leaving R---- prepared me
+for his next move.
+
+“The clue to this murder is supplied by the paper on which the
+confession is written. Find from whose desk or portfolio this
+especial sheet was taken, and you find the double murderer,” he had
+said.
+
+Consequently, I was not surprised when, upon visiting his house,
+early the next morning, I beheld him seated before a table on which
+lay a lady’s writing-desk and a pile of paper, till told the desk
+was Eleanore’s. Then I did show astonishment. “What,” said I, “are
+you not satisfied yet of her innocence?”
+
+“O yes; but one must be thorough. No conclusion is valuable which
+is not preceded by a full and complete investigation. Why,” he
+cried, casting his eyes complacently towards the fire-tongs, “I
+have even been rummaging through Mr. Clavering’s effects, though
+the confession bears the proof upon its face that it could not
+have been written by him. It is not enough to look for evidence
+where you expect to find it. You must sometimes search for it where
+you don’t. Now,” said he, drawing the desk before him, “I don’t
+anticipate finding anything here of a criminating character; but
+it is among the possibilities that I may; and that is enough for a
+detective.”
+
+“Did you see Miss Leavenworth this morning?” I asked, as he
+proceeded to fulfil his intention by emptying the contents of the
+desk upon the table.
+
+“Yes; I was unable to procure what I desired without it. And she
+behaved very handsomely, gave me the desk with her own hands, and
+never raised an objection. To be sure, she had little idea what I
+was looking for; thought, perhaps, I wanted to make sure it did not
+contain the letter about which so much has been said. But it would
+have made but little difference if she had known the truth. This
+desk contains nothing _we_ want.”
+
+“Was she well; and had she heard of Hannah’s sudden death?” I
+asked, in my irrepressible anxiety.
+
+“Yes, and feels it, as you might expect her to. But let us see what
+we have here,” said he, pushing aside the desk, and drawing towards
+him the stack of paper I have already referred to. “I found this
+pile, just as you see it, in a drawer of the library table at Miss
+Mary Leavenworth’s house in Fifth Avenue. If I am not mistaken, it
+will supply us with the clue we want.”
+
+“But----”
+
+“But this paper is square, while that of the confession is of the
+size and shape of commercial note? I know; but you remember the
+sheet used in the confession was trimmed down. Let us compare the
+quality.”
+
+Taking the confession from his pocket and the sheet from the pile
+before him, he carefully compared them, then held them out for my
+inspection. A glance showed them to be alike in color.
+
+“Hold them up to the light,” said he.
+
+I did so; the appearance presented by both was precisely alike.
+
+“Now let us compare the ruling.” And, laying them both down on the
+table, he placed the edges of the two sheets together. The lines on
+the one accommodated themselves to the lines on the other; and that
+question was decided.
+
+His triumph was assured. “I was convinced of it,” said he. “From
+the moment I pulled open that drawer and saw this mass of paper, I
+knew the end was come.”
+
+“But,” I objected, in my old spirit of combativeness, “isn’t there
+any room for doubt? This paper is of the commonest kind. Every
+family on the block might easily have specimens of it in their
+library.”
+
+“That isn’t so,” he said. “It is letter size, and that has gone
+out. Mr. Leavenworth used it for his manuscript, or I doubt if
+it would have been found in his library. But, if you are still
+incredulous, let us see what can be done,” and jumping up, he
+carried the confession to the window, looked at it this way and
+that, and, finally discovering what he wanted, came back and,
+laying it before me, pointed out one of the lines of ruling which
+was markedly heavier than the rest, and another which was so faint
+as to be almost undistinguishable. “Defects like these often run
+through a number of consecutive sheets,” said he. “If we could
+find the identical half-quire from which this was taken, I might
+show you proof that would dispel every doubt,” and taking up the
+one that lay on top, he rapidly counted the sheets. There were but
+eight. “It might have been taken from this one,” said he; but,
+upon looking closely at the ruling, he found it to be uniformly
+distinct. “Humph! that won’t do!” came from his lips.
+
+The remainder of the paper, some dozen or so half-quires, looked
+undisturbed. Mr. Gryce tapped his fingers on the table and a
+frown crossed his face. “Such a pretty thing, if it could have
+been done!” he longingly exclaimed. Suddenly he took up the next
+half-quire. “Count the sheets,” said he, thrusting it towards me,
+and himself lifting another.
+
+I did as I was bid. “Twelve.”
+
+He counted his and laid it down. “Go on with the rest,” he cried.
+
+I counted the sheets in the next; twelve. He counted those in the
+one following, and paused. “Eleven!”
+
+“Count again,” I suggested.
+
+He counted again, and quietly put them aside. “I made a mistake,”
+said he.
+
+But he was not to be discouraged. Taking another half-quire, he
+went through with the same operation;--in vain. With a sigh of
+impatience he flung it down on the table and looked up. “Halloo!”
+he cried, “what is the matter?”
+
+“There are but eleven sheets in this package,” I said, placing it
+in his hand.
+
+The excitement he immediately evinced was contagious. Oppressed
+as I was, I could not resist his eagerness. “Oh, beautiful!” he
+exclaimed. “Oh, beautiful! See! the light on the inside, the heavy
+one on the outside, and both in positions precisely corresponding
+to those on this sheet of Hannah’s. What do you think now? Is any
+further proof necessary?”
+
+“The veriest doubter must succumb before this,” returned I.
+
+With something like a considerate regard for my emotion, he turned
+away. “I am obliged to congratulate myself, notwithstanding the
+gravity of the discovery that has been made,” said he. “It is
+so neat, so very neat, and so conclusive. I declare I am myself
+astonished at the perfection of the thing. But what a woman that
+is!” he suddenly cried, in a tone of the greatest admiration. “What
+an intellect she has! what shrewdness! what skill! I declare it is
+almost a pity to entrap a woman who has done as well as this--taken
+a sheet from the very bottom of the pile, trimmed it into another
+shape, and then, remembering the girl couldn’t write, put what she
+had to say into coarse, awkward printing, Hannah-like. _Splendid_!
+or would have been, if any other man than myself had had this thing
+in charge.” And, all animated and glowing with his enthusiasm, he
+eyed the chandelier above him as if it were the embodiment of his
+own sagacity.
+
+Sunk in despair, I let him go on.
+
+“Could she have done any better?” he now asked. “Watched,
+circumscribed as she was, could she have done any better? I hardly
+think so; the fact of Hannah’s having learned to write after she
+left here was fatal. No, she could not have provided against that
+contingency.”
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” I here interposed, unable to endure this any longer;
+“did you have an interview with Miss Mary Leavenworth this morning?”
+
+“No,” said he; “it was not in the line of my present purpose to do
+so. I doubt, indeed, if she knew I was in her house. A servant maid
+who has a grievance is a very valuable assistant to a detective.
+With Molly at my side, I didn’t need to pay my respects to the
+mistress.”
+
+“Mr. Gryce,” I asked, after another moment of silent
+self-congratulation on his part, and of desperate self-control
+on mine, “what do you propose to do now? You have followed your
+clue to the end and are satisfied. Such knowledge as this is the
+precursor of action.”
+
+“Humph! we will see,” he returned, going to his private desk and
+bringing out the box of papers which we had no opportunity of
+looking at while in R----. “First let us examine these documents,
+and see if they do not contain some hint which may be of service
+to us.” And taking out the dozen or so loose sheets which had been
+torn from Eleanore’s Diary, he began turning them over.
+
+While he was doing this, I took occasion to examine the contents
+of the box. I found them to be precisely what Mrs. Belden had led
+me to expect,--a certificate of marriage between Mary and Mr.
+Clavering and a half-dozen or more letters. While glancing over the
+former, a short exclamation from Mr. Gryce startled me into looking
+up.
+
+“What is it?” I cried.
+
+He thrust into my hand the leaves of Eleanore’s Diary. “Read,” said
+he. “Most of it is a repetition of what you have already heard from
+Mrs. Belden, though given from a different standpoint; but there is
+one passage in it which, if I am not mistaken, opens up the way to
+an explanation of this murder such as we have not had yet. Begin at
+the beginning; you won’t find it dull.”
+
+Dull! Eleanore’s feelings and thoughts during that anxious time,
+dull!
+
+Mustering up my self-possession, I spread out the leaves in their
+order and commenced:
+
+“R----, July 6,----”
+
+“Two days after they got there, you perceive,” Mr. Gryce explained.
+
+“--A gentleman was introduced to us to-day upon the _piazza_ whom
+I cannot forbear mentioning; first, because he is the most perfect
+specimen of manly beauty I ever beheld, and secondly, because
+Mary, who is usually so voluble where gentlemen are concerned,
+had nothing to say when, in the privacy of our own apartment, I
+questioned her as to the effect his appearance and conversation had
+made upon her. The fact that he is an Englishman may have something
+to do with this; Uncle’s antipathy to every one of that nation
+being as well-known to her as to me. But somehow I cannot feel
+satisfied of this. Her experience with Charlie Somerville has made
+me suspicious. What if the story of last summer were to be repeated
+here, with an Englishman for the hero! But I will not allow myself
+to contemplate such a possibility. Uncle will return in a few days,
+and then all communication with one who, however prepossessing, is
+of a family and race with whom it is impossible for us to unite
+ourselves, must of necessity cease. I doubt if I should have
+thought twice of all this if Mr. Clavering had not betrayed, upon
+his introduction to Mary, such intense and unrestrained admiration.
+
+“July 8. The old story is to be repeated. Mary not only submits to
+the attentions of Mr. Clavering, but encourages them. To-day she
+sat two hours at the piano singing over to him her favorite songs,
+and to-night--But I will not put down every trivial circumstance
+that comes under my observation; it is unworthy of me. And yet, how
+can I shut my eyes when the happiness of so many I love is at stake!
+
+“July 11. If Mr. Clavering is not absolutely in love with Mary,
+he is on the verge of it. He is a very fine-looking man, and too
+honorable to be trifled with in this reckless fashion.
+
+“July 13. Mary’s beauty blossoms like the rose. She was absolutely
+wonderful to-night in scarlet and silver. I think her smile the
+sweetest I ever beheld, and in this I am sure Mr. Clavering
+passionately agrees with me; he never looked away from her
+to-night. But it is not so easy to read _her_ heart. To be sure,
+she appears anything but indifferent to his fine appearance,
+strong sense, and devoted affection. But did she not deceive us
+into believing she loved Charlie Somerville? In her case, blush
+and smile go for little, I fear. Would it not be wiser under the
+circumstances to say, I hope?
+
+“July 17. Oh, my heart! Mary came into my room this evening, and
+absolutely startled me by falling at my side and burying her face
+in my lap. ‘Oh, Eleanore, Eleanore!’ she murmured, quivering with
+what seemed to me very happy sobs. But when I strove to lift her
+head to my breast, she slid from my arms, and drawing herself up
+into her old attitude of reserved pride, raised her hand as if
+to impose silence, and haughtily left the room. There is but one
+interpretation to put upon this. Mr. Clavering has expressed his
+sentiments, and she is filled with that reckless delight which in
+its first flush makes one insensible to the existence of barriers
+which have hitherto been deemed impassable. When will Uncle come?
+
+“July 18. Little did I think when I wrote the above that Uncle was
+already in the house. He arrived unexpectedly on the last train,
+and came into my room just as I was putting away my diary. Looking
+a little care-worn, he took me in his arms and then asked for Mary.
+I dropped my head, and could not help stammering as I replied that
+she was in her own room. Instantly his love took alarm, and leaving
+me, he hastened to her apartment, where I afterwards learned he
+came upon her sitting abstractedly before her dressing-table with
+Mr. Clavering’s family ring on her finger. I do not know what
+followed. An unhappy scene, I fear, for Mary is ill this morning,
+and Uncle exceedingly melancholy and stern.
+
+“Afternoon. We are an unhappy family! Uncle not only refuses to
+consider for a moment the question of Mary’s alliance with Mr.
+Clavering, but even goes so far as to demand his instant and
+unconditional dismissal. The knowledge of this came to me in
+the most distressing way. Recognizing the state of affairs, but
+secretly rebelling against a prejudice which seemed destined to
+separate two persons otherwise fitted for each other, I sought
+Uncle’s presence this morning after breakfast, and attempted to
+plead their cause. But he almost instantly stopped me with the
+remark, ‘You are the last one, Eleanore, who should seek to promote
+this marriage.’ Trembling with apprehension, I asked him why.
+‘For the reason that by so doing you work entirely for your own
+interest.’ More and more troubled, I begged him to explain himself.
+‘I mean,’ said he, ‘that if Mary disobeys me by marrying this
+Englishman, I shall disinherit her, and substitute your name for
+hers in my will as well as in my affection.’
+
+“For a moment everything swam before my eyes. ‘You will never make
+me so wretched!’ I entreated. ‘I will make you my heiress, if Mary
+persists in her present determination,’ he declared, and without
+further word sternly left the room. What could I do but fall on
+my knees and pray! Of all in this miserable house, I am the most
+wretched. To supplant her! But I shall not be called upon to do it;
+Mary will give up Mr. Clavering.”
+
+“There!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce. “What do you think of that? Isn’t it
+becoming plain enough what was Mary’s motive for this murder? But
+go on; let us hear what followed.”
+
+With sinking heart, I continued. The next entry is dated July 19,
+and runs thus:
+
+“I was right. After a long struggle with Uncle’s invincible will,
+Mary has consented to dismiss Mr. Clavering. I was in the room when
+she made known her decision, and I shall never forget our Uncle’s
+look of gratified pride as he clasped her in his arms and called
+her his own True Heart. He has evidently been very much exercised
+over this matter, and I cannot but feel greatly relieved that
+affairs have terminated so satisfactorily. But Mary? What is there
+in her manner that vaguely disappoints me? I cannot say. I only
+know that I felt a powerful shrinking overwhelm me when she turned
+her face to me and asked if I were satisfied now. But I conquered
+my feelings and held out my hand. She did not take it.
+
+“July 26. How long the days are! The shadow of our late trial is
+upon me yet; I cannot shake it off. I seem to see Mr. Clavering’s
+despairing face wherever I go. How is it that Mary preserves her
+cheerfulness? If she does not love him, I should think the respect
+which she must feel for his disappointment would keep her from
+levity at least.
+
+“Uncle has gone away again. Nothing I could say sufficed to keep
+him.
+
+“July 28. It has all come out. Mary has only nominally separated
+from Mr. Clavering; she still cherishes the idea of one day
+uniting herself to him in marriage. The fact was revealed to me in
+a strange way not necessary to mention here; and has since been
+confirmed by Mary herself. ‘I admire the man,’ she declares, ‘and
+have no intention of giving him up.’ ‘Then why not tell Uncle so?’
+I asked. Her only answer was a bitter smile and a short,--‘I leave
+that for you to do.’
+
+“July 30. Midnight. Worn completely out, but before my blood cools
+let me write. Mary is a wife. I have just returned from seeing
+her give her hand to Henry Clavering. Strange that I can write it
+without quivering when my whole soul is one flush of indignation
+and revolt. But let me state the facts. Having left my room for a
+few minutes this morning, I returned to find on my dressing-table
+a note from Mary in which she informed me that she was going to
+take Mrs. Belden for a drive and would not be back for some hours.
+Convinced, as I had every reason to be, that she was on her way to
+meet Mr. Clavering, I only stopped to put on my hat--”
+
+There the Diary ceased.
+
+“She was probably interrupted by Mary at this point,” explained
+Mr. Gryce. “But we have come upon the one thing we wanted to know.
+Mr. Leavenworth threatened to supplant Mary with Eleanore if she
+persisted in marrying contrary to his wishes. She did so marry, and
+to avoid the consequences of her act she----”
+
+“Say no more,” I returned, convinced at last. “It is only too
+clear.”
+
+Mr. Gryce rose.
+
+“But the writer of these words is saved,” I went on, trying to
+grasp the one comfort left me. “No one who reads this Diary will
+ever dare to insinuate she is capable of committing a crime.”
+
+“Assuredly not; the Diary settles that matter effectually.”
+
+I tried to be man enough to think of that and nothing else. To
+rejoice in her deliverance, and let every other consideration go;
+but in this I did not succeed. “But Mary, her cousin, almost her
+sister, is lost,” I muttered.
+
+Mr. Gryce thrust his hands into his pockets and, for the first
+time, showed some evidence of secret disturbance. “Yes, I am afraid
+she is; I really am afraid she is.” Then after a pause, during
+which I felt a certain thrill of vague hope: “Such an entrancing
+creature too! It is a pity, it positively is a pity! I declare,
+now that the thing is worked up, I begin to feel almost sorry we
+have succeeded so well. Strange, but true. If there was the least
+loophole out of it,” he muttered. “But there isn’t. The thing is
+clear as A, B, C.” Suddenly he rose, and began pacing the floor
+very thoughtfully, casting his glances here, there, and everywhere,
+except at me, though I believe now, as then, my face was all he saw.
+
+“Would it be a very great grief to you, Mr. Raymond, if Miss
+Mary Leavenworth should be arrested on this charge of murder?”
+he asked, pausing before a sort of tank in which two or three
+disconsolate-looking fishes were slowly swimming about.
+
+“Yes,” said I, “it would; a very great grief.”
+
+“Yet it must be done,” said he, though with a strange lack of
+his usual decision. “As an honest official, trusted to bring
+the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth to the notice of the proper
+authorities, I have got to do it.”
+
+Again that strange thrill of hope at my heart induced by his
+peculiar manner.
+
+“Then my reputation as a detective! I ought surely to consider
+that. I am not so rich or so famous that I can afford to forget
+all that a success like this may bring me. No, lovely as she is, I
+have got to push it through.” But even as he said this, he became
+still more thoughtful, gazing down into the murky depths of the
+wretched tank before him with such an intentness I half expected
+the fascinated fishes to rise from the water and return his gaze.
+What was in his mind?
+
+After a little while he turned, his indecision utterly gone. “Mr.
+Raymond, come here again at three. I shall then have my report
+ready for the Superintendent. I should like to show it to you
+first, so don’t fail me.”
+
+There was something so repressed in his expression, I could not
+prevent myself from venturing one question. “Is your mind made up?”
+I asked.
+
+“Yes,” he returned, but in a peculiar tone, and with a peculiar
+gesture.
+
+“And you are going to make the arrest you speak of?”
+
+“Come at three!”
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI. GATHERED THREADS
+
+      “This is the short and the long of it.”
+
+                  Merry Wives of Windsor.
+
+
+Promptly at the hour named, I made my appearance at Mr. Gryce’s
+door. I found him awaiting me on the threshold.
+
+“I have met you,” said he gravely, “for the purpose of requesting
+you not to speak during the coming interview. I am to do the
+talking; you the listening. Neither are you to be surprised at
+anything I may do or say. I am in a facetious mood”--he did not
+look so--“and may take it into my head to address you by another
+name than your own. If I do, don’t mind it. Above all, don’t talk:
+remember that.” And without waiting to meet my look of doubtful
+astonishment, he led me softly up-stairs.
+
+The room in which I had been accustomed to meet him was at the top
+of the first flight, but he took me past that into what appeared to
+be the garret story, where, after many cautionary signs, he ushered
+me into a room of singularly strange and unpromising appearance. In
+the first place, it was darkly gloomy, being lighted simply by a
+very dim and dirty skylight. Next, it was hideously empty; a pine
+table and two hard-backed chairs, set face to face at each end of
+it, being the only articles in the room. Lastly, it was surrounded
+by several closed doors with blurred and ghostly ventilators over
+their tops which, being round, looked like the blank eyes of a row
+of staring mummies. Altogether it was a lugubrious spot, and in the
+present state of my mind made me feel as if something unearthly
+and threatening lay crouched in the very atmosphere. Nor, sitting
+there cold and desolate, could I imagine that the sunshine glowed
+without, or that life, beauty, and pleasure paraded the streets
+below.
+
+Mr. Gryce’s expression, as he took a seat and beckoned me to do the
+same, may have had something to do with this strange sensation, it
+was so mysteriously and sombrely expectant.
+
+“You’ll not mind the room,” said he, in so muffled a tone I
+scarcely heard him. “It’s an awful lonesome spot, I know; but folks
+with such matters before them mustn’t be too particular as to the
+places in which they hold their consultations, if they don’t want
+all the world to know as much as they do. Smith,” and he gave me
+an admonitory shake of his finger, while his voice took a more
+distinct tone, “I have done the business; the reward is mine; the
+assassin of Mr. Leavenworth is found, and in two hours will be in
+custody. Do you want to know who it is?” leaning forward with every
+appearance of eagerness in tone and expression.
+
+I stared at him in great amazement. Had anything new come to
+light? any great change taken place in his conclusions? All this
+preparation could not be for the purpose of acquainting me with
+what I already knew, yet--
+
+He cut short my conjectures with a low, expressive chuckle. “It was
+a long chase, I tell you,” raising his voice still more; “a tight
+go; a woman in the business too; but all the women in the world
+can’t pull the wool over the eyes of Ebenezer Gryce when he is on
+a trail; and the assassin of Mr. Leavenworth and”--here his voice
+became actually shrill in his excitement--“and of Hannah Chester is
+found.
+
+“Hush!” he went on, though I had neither spoken nor made any move;
+“you didn’t know Hannah Chester was murdered. Well, she wasn’t in
+one sense of the word, but in another she was, and by the same
+hand that killed the old gentleman. How do I know this? look here!
+This scrap of paper was found on the floor of her room; it had a
+few particles of white powder sticking to it; those particles were
+tested last night and found to be poison. But you say the girl
+took it herself, that she was a suicide. You are right, she did
+take it herself, and it was a suicide; but who terrified her into
+this act of self-destruction? Why, the one who had the most reason
+to fear her testimony, of course. But the proof, you say. Well,
+sir, this girl left a confession behind her, throwing the onus of
+the whole crime on a certain party believed to be innocent; this
+confession was a forged one, known from three facts; first, that
+the paper upon which it was written was unobtainable by the girl
+in the place where she was; secondly, that the words used therein
+were printed in coarse, awkward characters, whereas Hannah, thanks
+to the teaching of the woman under whose care she has been since
+the murder, had learned to write very well; thirdly, that the story
+told in the confession does not agree with the one related by the
+girl herself. Now the fact of a forged confession throwing the
+guilt upon an innocent party having been found in the keeping of
+this ignorant girl, killed by a dose of poison, taken with the fact
+here stated, that on the morning of the day on which she killed
+herself the girl received from some one manifestly acquainted
+with the customs of the Leavenworth family a letter large enough
+and thick enough to contain the confession folded, as it was when
+found, makes it almost certain to my mind that the murderer of Mr.
+Leavenworth sent this powder and this so-called confession to the
+girl, meaning her to use them precisely as she did: for the purpose
+of throwing off suspicion from the right track and of destroying
+herself at the same time; for, as you know, dead men tell no tales.”
+
+He paused and looked at the dingy skylight above us. Why did the
+air seem to grow heavier and heavier? Why did I shudder in vague
+apprehension? I knew all this before; why did it strike me, then,
+as something new?
+
+“But who was this? you ask. Ah, that is the secret; that is the bit
+of knowledge which is to bring me fame and fortune. But, secret
+or not, I don’t mind telling you”; lowering his voice and rapidly
+raising it again. “The fact is, _I_ can’t keep it to myself; it
+burns like a new dollar in my pocket. Smith, my boy, the murderer
+of Mr. Leavenworth--but stay, who does the world say it is? Whom do
+the papers point at and shake their heads over? A woman! a young,
+beautiful, bewitching woman! Ha, ha, ha! The papers are right; it
+is a woman; young, beautiful, and bewitching too. But what one?
+Ah, that’s the question. There is more than one woman in this
+affair. Since Hannah’s death I have heard it openly advanced that
+she was the guilty party in the crime: bah! Others cry it is the
+niece who was so unequally dealt with by her uncle in his will:
+bah! again. But folks are not without some justification for this
+latter assertion. Eleanore Leavenworth did know more of this matter
+than appeared. Worse than that, Eleanore Leavenworth stands in a
+position of positive peril to-day. If you don’t think so, let me
+show you what the detectives have against her.
+
+“First, there is the fact that a handkerchief, with her name on it,
+was found stained with pistol grease upon the scene of murder; a
+place which she explicitly denies having entered for twenty-four
+hours previous to the discovery of the dead body.
+
+“Secondly, the fact that she not only evinced terror when
+confronted with this bit of circumstantial evidence, but manifested
+a decided disposition, both at this time and others, to mislead
+inquiry, shirking a direct answer to some questions and refusing
+all answer to others.
+
+“Thirdly, that an attempt was made by her to destroy a certain
+letter evidently relating to this crime.
+
+“Fourthly, that the key to the library door was seen in her
+possession.
+
+“All this, taken with the fact that the fragments of the letter
+which this same lady attempted to destroy within an hour after
+the inquest were afterwards put together, and were found to
+contain a bitter denunciation of one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces,
+by a gentleman we will call _X_ in other words, an unknown
+quantity--makes out a dark case against _you_, especially as
+after investigations revealed the fact that a secret underlay the
+history of the Leavenworth family. That, unknown to the world at
+large, and Mr. Leavenworth in particular, a marriage ceremony
+had been performed a year before in a little town called F----
+between a Miss Leavenworth and this same _X_. That, in other
+words, the unknown gentleman who, in the letter partly destroyed
+by Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, complained to Mr. Leavenworth of
+the treatment received by him from one of his nieces, was in fact
+the secret husband of that niece. And that, moreover, this same
+gentleman, under an assumed name, called on the night of the murder
+at the house of Mr. Leavenworth and asked for Miss Eleanore.
+
+“Now you see, with all this against her, Eleanore Leavenworth is
+lost if it cannot be proved, first that the articles testifying
+against her, viz.: the handkerchief, letter, and key, passed after
+the murder through other hands, before reaching hers; and secondly,
+that some one else had even a stronger reason than she for desiring
+Mr. Leavenworth’s death at this time.
+
+“Smith, my boy, both of these hypotheses have been established by
+me. By dint of moleing into old secrets, and following unpromising
+clues, I have finally come to the conclusion that not Eleanore
+Leavenworth, dark as are the appearances against her, but another
+woman, beautiful as she, and fully as interesting, is the true
+criminal. In short, that her cousin, the exquisite Mary, is the
+murderer of Mr. Leavenworth, and by inference of Hannah Chester
+also.”
+
+He brought this out with such force, and with such a look of
+triumph and appearance of having led up to it, that I was for the
+moment dumbfounded, and started as if I had not known what he was
+going to say. The stir I made seemed to awake an echo. Something
+like a suppressed cry was in the air about me. All the room
+appeared to breathe horror and dismay. Yet when, in the excitement
+of this fancy, I half turned round to look, I found nothing but the
+blank eyes of those dull ventilators staring upon me.
+
+“You are taken aback!” Mr. Gryce went on. “I don’t wonder.
+Every one else is engaged in watching the movements of Eleanore
+Leavenworth; I only know where to put my hand upon the real
+culprit. You shake your head!” (Another fiction.) “You don’t
+believe me! Think I am deceived. Ha, ha! Ebenezer Gryce deceived
+after a month of hard work! You are as bad as Miss Leavenworth
+herself, who has so little faith in my sagacity that she offered
+me, of all men, an enormous reward if I would find for her the
+assassin of her uncle! But that is neither here nor there; you
+have your doubts, and you are waiting for me to solve them.
+Well, nothing is easier. Know first that on the morning of the
+inquest I made one or two discoveries not to be found in the
+records, viz.: that the handkerchief picked up, as I have said,
+in Mr. Leavenworth’s library, had notwithstanding its stains of
+pistol grease, a decided perfume lingering about it. Going to the
+dressing-table of the two ladies, I sought for that perfume, and
+found it in Mary’s room, not Eleanore’s. This led me to examine
+the pockets of the dresses respectively worn by them the evening
+before. In that of Eleanore I found a handkerchief, presumably the
+one she had carried at that time. But in Mary’s there was none,
+nor did I see any lying about her room as if tossed down on her
+retiring. The conclusion I drew from this was, that she, and not
+Eleanore, had carried the handkerchief into her uncle’s room, a
+conclusion emphasized by the fact privately communicated to me by
+one of the servants, that Mary was in Eleanore’s room when the
+basket of clean clothes was brought up with this handkerchief lying
+on top.
+
+“But knowing the liability we are to mistake in such matters as
+these, I made another search in the library, and came across a very
+curious thing. Lying on the table was a penknife, and scattered
+on the floor beneath, in close proximity to the chair, were two
+or three minute portions of wood freshly chipped off from the leg
+of the table; all of which looked as if some one of a nervous
+disposition had been sitting there, whose hand in a moment of
+self-forgetfulness had caught up the knife and unconsciously
+whittled the table. A little thing, you say; but when the question
+is, which of two ladies, one of a calm and self-possessed nature,
+the other restless in her ways and excitable in her disposition,
+was in a certain spot at a certain time, it is these little things
+that become almost deadly in their significance. No one who has
+been with these two women an hour can hesitate as to whose delicate
+hand made that cut in Mr. Leavenworth’s library table.
+
+“But we are not done. I distinctly overheard Eleanore accuse her
+cousin of this deed. Now such a woman as Eleanore Leavenworth has
+proved herself to be never would accuse a relative of crime without
+the strongest and most substantial reasons. First, she must have
+been sure her cousin stood in a position of such emergency that
+nothing but the death of her uncle could release her from it;
+secondly, that her cousin’s character was of such a nature she
+would not hesitate to relieve herself from a desperate emergency
+by the most desperate of means; and lastly, been in possession
+of some circumstantial evidence against her cousin, seriously
+corroborative of her suspicions. Smith, all this was true of
+Eleanore Leavenworth. As to the character of her cousin, she has
+had ample proof of her ambition, love of money, caprice and deceit,
+it having been Mary Leavenworth, and not Eleanore, as was first
+supposed, who had contracted the secret marriage already spoken of.
+Of the critical position in which she stood, let the threat once
+made by Mr. Leavenworth to substitute her cousin’s name for hers in
+his will in case she had married this _x_ be remembered, as well as
+the tenacity with which Mary clung to her hopes of future fortune;
+while for the corroborative testimony of her guilt which Eleanore
+is supposed to have had, remember that previous to the key having
+been found in Eleanore’s possession, she had spent some time in her
+cousin’s room; and that it was at Mary’s fireplace the half-burned
+fragments of that letter were found,--and you have the outline of a
+report which in an hour’s time from this will lead to the arrest of
+Mary Leavenworth as the assassin of her uncle and benefactor.”
+
+A silence ensued which, like the darkness of Egypt, could be felt;
+then a great and terrible cry rang through the room, and a man’s
+form, rushing from I knew not where, shot by me and fell at Mr.
+Gryce’s feet shrieking out:
+
+“It is a lie! a lie! Mary Leavenworth is innocent as a babe unborn.
+I am the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth. I! I! I!”
+
+It was Trueman Harwell.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII. CULMINATION
+
+      “Saint seducing gold.”
+
+           Romeo and Juliet.
+
+              “When our actions do not,
+      Our fears do make us traitors.”
+
+                          Macbeth.
+
+
+I never saw such a look of mortal triumph on the face of a man as
+that which crossed the countenance of the detective.
+
+“Well,” said he, “this is unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome. I
+am truly glad to learn that Miss Leavenworth is innocent; but I
+must hear some few more particulars before I shall be satisfied.
+Get up, Mr. Harwell, and explain yourself. If you are the murderer
+of Mr. Leavenworth, how comes it that things look so black against
+everybody but yourself?”
+
+But in the hot, feverish eyes which sought him from the writhing
+form at his feet, there was mad anxiety and pain, but little
+explanation. Seeing him making unavailing efforts to speak, I drew
+near.
+
+“Lean on me,” said I, lifting him to his feet.
+
+His face, relieved forever from its mask of repression, turned
+towards me with the look of a despairing spirit. “Save! save!” he
+gasped. “Save her--Mary--they are sending a report--stop it!”
+
+“Yes,” broke in another voice. “If there is a man here who believes
+in God and prizes woman’s honor, let him stop the issue of that
+report.” And Henry Clavering, dignified as ever, but in a state of
+extreme agitation, stepped into our midst through an open door at
+our right.
+
+[Illustration: “At the sight of his face, the man in our arms
+quivered, shrieked, and gave one bound that would have overturned
+Mr. Clavering, . . . had not Mr. Gryce interposed”]
+
+But at the sight of his face, the man in our arms quivered,
+shrieked, and gave one bound that would have overturned Mr.
+Clavering, herculean of frame as he was, had not Mr. Gryce
+interposed.
+
+“Wait!” he cried; and holding back the secretary with one
+hand--where was his rheumatism now!--he put the other in his pocket
+and drew thence a document which he held up before Mr. Clavering.
+“It has not gone yet,” said he; “be easy. And you,” he went on,
+turning towards Trueman Harwell, “be quiet, or----”
+
+His sentence was cut short by the man springing from his grasp.
+“Let me go!” he shrieked. “Let me have my revenge on him who, in
+face of all I have done for Mary Leavenworth, dares to call her his
+wife! Let me--” But at this point he paused, his quivering frame
+stiffening into stone, and his clutching hands, outstretched for
+his rival’s throat, falling heavily back. “Hark!” said he, glaring
+over Mr. Clavering’s shoulder: “it is she! I hear her! I feel her!
+She is on the stairs! she is at the door! she--” a low, shuddering
+sigh of longing and despair finished the sentence: the door opened,
+and Mary Leavenworth stood before us!
+
+It was a moment to make young hairs turn gray. To see her face, so
+pale, so haggard, so wild in its fixed horror, turned towards Henry
+Clavering, to the utter ignoring of the real actor in this most
+horrible scene! Trueman Harwell could not stand it.
+
+“Ah, ah!” he cried; “look at her! cold, cold; not one glance for
+me, though I have just drawn the halter from her neck and fastened
+it about my own!”
+
+And, breaking from the clasp of the man who in his jealous rage
+would now have withheld him, he fell on his knees before Mary,
+clutching her dress with frenzied hands. “You _shall_ look at me,”
+he cried; “you _shall_ listen to me! I will not lose body and soul
+for nothing. Mary, they said you were in peril! I could not endure
+that thought, so I uttered the truth,--yes, though I knew what the
+consequence would be,--and all I want now is for you to say you
+believe me, when I swear that I only meant to secure to you the
+fortune you so much desired; that I never dreamed it would come to
+this; that it was because I loved you, and hoped to win your love
+in return that I----”
+
+But she did not seem to see him, did not seem to hear him. Her eyes
+were fixed upon Henry Clavering with an awful inquiry in their
+depths, and none but he could move her.
+
+“You do not hear me!” shrieked the poor wretch. “Ice that you are,
+you would not turn your head if I should call to you from the
+depths of hell!”
+
+But even this cry fell unheeded. Pushing her hands down upon his
+shoulders as though she would sweep some impediment from her path,
+she endeavored to advance. “Why is that man here?” she cried,
+indicating her husband with one quivering hand. “What has he done
+that he should be brought here to confront me at this awful time?”
+
+“I told her to come here to meet her uncle’s murderer,” whispered
+Mr. Gryce into my ear.
+
+But before I could reply to her, before Mr. Clavering himself could
+murmur a word, the guilty wretch before her had started to his feet.
+
+“Don’t you know? then I will tell you. It is because these
+gentlemen, chivalrous and honorable as they consider themselves,
+think that you, the beauty and the Sybarite, committed with your
+own white hand the deed of blood which has brought you freedom and
+fortune. Yes, yes, this man”--turning and pointing at me--“friend
+as he has made himself out to be, kindly and honorable as you have
+doubtless believed him, but who in every look he has bestowed upon
+you, every word he has uttered in your hearing during all these
+four horrible weeks, has been weaving a cord for your neck--thinks
+you the assassin of your uncle, unknowing that a man stood at your
+side ready to sweep half the world from your path if that same
+white hand rose in bidding. That I----”
+
+“You?” Ah! now she could see him: now she could hear him!
+
+“Yes,” clutching her robe again as she hastily recoiled; “didn’t
+you know it? When in that dreadful hour of your rejection by
+your uncle, you cried aloud for some one to help you, didn’t you
+know----”
+
+“Don’t!” she shrieked, bursting from him with a look of unspeakable
+horror. “Don’t say that! Oh!” she gasped, “is the mad cry of a
+stricken woman for aid and sympathy the call for a murderer?” And
+turning away in horror, she moaned: “Who that ever looks at me now
+will forget that a man--such a man!--dared to think that, because
+I was in mortal perplexity, I would accept the murder of my best
+friend as a relief from it!” Her horror was unbounded. “Oh, what a
+chastisement for folly!” she murmured. “What a punishment for the
+love of money which has always been my curse!”
+
+Henry Clavering could no longer restrain himself, leaping to her
+side, he bent over her. “Was it nothing but folly, Mary? Are you
+guiltless of any deeper wrong? Is there no link of complicity
+between you two? Have you nothing on your soul but an inordinate
+desire to preserve your place in your uncle’s will, even at the
+risk of breaking my heart and wronging your noble cousin? Are you
+innocent in this matter? Tell me!” placing his hand on her head,
+he pressed it slowly back and gazed into her eyes; then, without a
+word, took her to his breast and looked calmly around him.
+
+“She is innocent!” said he.
+
+It was the uplifting of a stifling pall. No one in the room, unless
+it was the wretched criminal shivering before us, but felt a
+sudden influx of hope. Even Mary’s own countenance caught a glow.
+“Oh!” she whispered, withdrawing from his arms to look better into
+his face, “and is this the man I have trifled with, injured, and
+tortured, till the very name of Mary Leavenworth might well make
+him shudder? Is this he whom I married in a fit of caprice, only
+to forsake and deny? Henry, do you declare me innocent in face of
+all you have seen and heard; in face of that moaning, chattering
+wretch before us, and my own quaking flesh and evident terror;
+with the remembrance on your heart and in your mind of the letter
+I wrote you the morning after the murder, in which I prayed you to
+keep away from me, as I was in such deadly danger the least hint
+given to the world that I had a secret to conceal would destroy me?
+Do you, can you, will you, declare me innocent before God and the
+world?”
+
+“I do,” said he.
+
+A light such as had never visited her face before passed slowly
+over it. “Then God forgive me the wrong I have done this noble
+heart, for I can never forgive myself! Wait!” said she, as he
+opened his lips. “Before I accept any further tokens of your
+generous confidence, let me show you what I am. You shall know the
+worst of the woman you have taken to your heart. Mr. Raymond,”
+she cried, turning towards me for the first time, “in those days
+when, with such an earnest desire for my welfare (you see I do not
+believe this man’s insinuations), you sought to induce me to speak
+out and tell all I knew concerning this dreadful deed, I did not
+do it because of my selfish fears. I knew the case looked dark
+against me. Eleanore had told me so. Eleanore herself--and it was
+the keenest pang I had to endure--believed me guilty. She had her
+reasons. She knew first, from the directed envelope she had found
+lying underneath my uncle’s dead body on the library table, that
+he had been engaged at the moment of death in summoning his lawyer
+to make that change in his will which would transfer my claims
+to her; secondly, that notwithstanding my denial of the same, I
+had been down to his room the night before, for she had heard my
+door open and my dress rustle as I passed out. But that was not
+all; the key that every one felt to be a positive proof of guilt
+wherever found, had been picked up by her from the floor of my
+room; the letter written by Mr. Clavering to my uncle was found in
+my fire; and the handkerchief which she had seen me take from the
+basket of clean clothes, was produced at the inquest stained with
+pistol grease. I could not account for these things. A web seemed
+tangled about my feet. I could not stir without encountering some
+new toil. I knew I was innocent; but if I failed to satisfy my
+cousin of this, how could I hope to convince the general public,
+if once called upon to do so. Worse still, if Eleanore, with every
+apparent motive for desiring long life to our uncle, was held in
+such suspicion because of a few circumstantial evidences against
+her, what would I not have to fear if these evidences were turned
+against me, the heiress! The tone and manner of the juryman at the
+inquest that asked who would be most benefited by my uncle’s will
+showed but too plainly. When, therefore, Eleanore, true to her
+heart’s generous instincts, closed her lips and refused to speak
+when speech would have been my ruin, I let her do it, justifying
+myself with the thought that she had deemed me capable of crime,
+and so must bear the consequences. Nor, when I saw how dreadful
+these were likely to prove, did I relent. Fear of the ignominy,
+suspense, and danger which confession would entail sealed my lips.
+Only once did I hesitate. That was when, in the last conversation
+we had, I saw that, notwithstanding appearances, you believed in
+Eleanore’s innocence, and the thought crossed me you might be
+induced to believe in mine if I threw myself upon your mercy. But
+just then Mr. Clavering came; and as in a flash I seemed to realize
+what my future life would be, stained by suspicion, and, instead
+of yielding to my impulse, went so far in the other direction as
+to threaten Mr. Clavering with a denial of our marriage if he
+approached me again till all danger was over.
+
+“Yes, he will tell you that was my welcome to him when, with heart
+and brain racked by long suspense, he came to my door for one word
+of assurance that the peril I was in was not of my own making. That
+was the greeting I gave him after a year of silence every moment of
+which was torture to him. But he forgives me; I see it in his eyes;
+I hear it in his accents; and you--oh, if in the long years to
+come you can forget what I have made Eleanore suffer by my selfish
+fears; if with the shadow of her wrong before you, you can by the
+grace of some sweet hope think a little less hardly of me, do. As
+for this man--torture could not be worse to me than this standing
+with him in the same room--let him come forward and declare if I
+by look or word have given him reason to believe I understood his
+passion, much less returned it.”
+
+“Why ask!” he gasped. “Don’t you see it was your indifference which
+drove me mad? To stand before you, to agonize after you, to follow
+you with thoughts in every move you made; to know my soul was
+welded to yours with bands of steel no fire could melt, no force
+destroy, no strain dissever; to sleep under the same roof, sit at
+the same table, and yet meet not so much as one look to show me you
+understood! It was that which made my life a hell. I was determined
+you should understand. If I had to leap into a pit of flame, you
+should know what I was, and what my passion for you was. And you
+do. You comprehend it all now. Shrink as you will from my presence,
+cower as you may to the weak man you call husband, you can never
+forget the love of Trueman Harwell; never forget that love, love,
+love, was the force which led me down into your uncle’s room that
+night, and lent me will to pull the trigger which poured all the
+wealth you hold this day into your lap. Yes,” he went on, towering
+in his preternatural despair till even the noble form of Henry
+Clavering looked dwarfed beside him, “every dollar that chinks from
+your purse shall talk of me. Every gew-gaw which flashes on that
+haughty head, too haughty to bend to me, shall shriek my name into
+your ears. Fashion, pomp, luxury,--you will have them all; but
+till gold loses its glitter and ease its attraction you will never
+forget the hand that gave them to you!”
+
+With a look whose evil triumph I cannot describe, he put his hand
+into the arm of the waiting detective, and in another moment would
+have been led from the room; when Mary, crushing down the swell of
+emotions that was seething in her breast, lifted her head and said:
+
+“No, Trueman Harwell; I cannot give you even that thought for your
+comfort. Wealth so laden would bring nothing but torture. I cannot
+accept the torture, so must release the wealth. From this day, Mary
+Clavering owns nothing but what comes to her from the husband she
+has so long and so basely wronged.” And raising her hands to her
+ears, she tore out the diamonds which hung there, and flung them at
+the feet of the unfortunate man.
+
+It was the final wrench of the rack. With a yell such as I never
+thought to listen to from the lips of a man, he flung up his arms,
+while all the lurid light of madness glared on his face. “And I
+have given my soul to hell for a shadow!” he moaned, “for a shadow!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Well, that is the best day’s work I ever did! Your
+congratulations, Mr. Raymond, upon the success of the most daring
+game ever played in a detective’s office.”
+
+I looked at the triumphant countenance of Mr. Gryce in amazement.
+“What do you mean?” I cried; “did you plan all this?”
+
+“Did I plan it?” he repeated. “Could I stand here, seeing how
+things have turned out, if I had not? Mr. Raymond, let us be
+comfortable. You are a gentleman, but we can well shake hands over
+this. I have never known such a satisfactory conclusion to a bad
+piece of business in all my professional career.”
+
+We did shake hands, long and fervently, and then I asked him to
+explain himself.
+
+“Well,” said he, “there has always been one thing that plagued
+me, even in the very moment of my strongest suspicion against
+this woman, and that was, the pistol-cleaning business. I could
+not reconcile it with what I knew of womankind. I could not make
+it seem the act of a woman. Did you ever know a woman who cleaned
+a pistol? No. They can fire them, and do; but after firing them,
+they do not clean them. Now it is a principle which every detective
+recognizes, that if of a hundred leading circumstances connected
+with a crime, ninety-nine of these are acts pointing to the
+suspected party with unerring certainty, but the hundredth equally
+important act one which that person could not have performed, the
+whole fabric of suspicion is destroyed. Recognizing this principle,
+then, as I have said, I hesitated when it came to the point of
+arrest. The chain was complete; the links were fastened; but one
+link was of a different size and material from the rest; and in
+this argued a break in the chain. I resolved to give her a final
+chance. Summoning Mr. Clavering, and Mr. Harwell, two persons whom
+I had no reason to suspect, but who were the only persons beside
+herself who could have committed this crime, being the only persons
+of intellect who were in the house or believed to be, at the time
+of the murder, I notified them separately that the assassin of Mr.
+Leavenworth was not only found, but was about to be arrested in my
+house, and that if they wished to hear the confession which would
+be sure to follow, they might have the opportunity of doing so by
+coming here at such an hour. They were both too much interested,
+though for very different reasons, to refuse; and I succeeded in
+inducing them to conceal themselves in the two rooms from which
+you saw them issue, knowing that if either of them had committed
+this deed, he had done it for the love of Mary Leavenworth, and
+consequently could not hear her charged with crime, and threatened
+with arrest, without betraying himself. I did not hope much from
+the experiment; least of all did I anticipate that Mr. Harwell
+would prove to be the guilty man--but live and learn, Mr. Raymond,
+live and learn.”
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII. A FULL CONFESSION
+
+      “Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
+        And the first motion, all the interim is
+      Like a phantasma or a hideous dream;
+      The genius and the mortal instruments
+      Are then in council; and the state of a man,
+      Like to a little Kingdom, suffers then
+      The nature of an insurrection.”
+
+                                Julius Cæsar.
+
+
+I am not a bad man; I am only an intense one. Ambition, love,
+jealousy, hatred, revenge--transitory emotions with some, are
+terrific passions with me. To be sure, they are quiet and concealed
+ones, coiled serpents that make no stir till aroused; but then,
+deadly in their spring and relentless in their action. Those who
+have known me best have not known this. My own mother was ignorant
+of it. Often and often have I heard her say: “If Trueman only had
+more sensibility! If Trueman were not so indifferent to everything!
+In short, if Trueman had more power in him!”
+
+It was the same at school. No one understood me. They thought me
+meek; called me Dough-face. For three years they called me this,
+then I turned upon them. Choosing out their ringleader, I felled
+him to the ground, laid him on his back, and stamped upon him. He
+was handsome before my foot came down; afterwards--Well, it is
+enough he never called me Dough-face again. In the store I entered
+soon after, I met with even less appreciation. Regular at my work
+and exact in my performance of it, they thought me a good machine
+and nothing more. What heart, soul, and feeling could a man have
+who never sported, never smoked, and never laughed? I could reckon
+up figures correctly, but one scarcely needed heart or soul for
+that. I could even write day by day and month by month without
+showing a flaw in my copy; but that only argued I was no more than
+they intimated, a regular automaton. I let them think so, with the
+certainty before me that they would one day change their minds as
+others had done. The fact was, I loved nobody well enough, not even
+myself, to care for any man’s opinion. Life was well-nigh a blank
+to me; a dead level plain that had to be traversed whether I would
+or not. And such it might have continued to this day if I had never
+met Mary Leavenworth. But when, some nine months since, I left my
+desk in the counting-house for a seat in Mr. Leavenworth’s library,
+a blazing torch fell into my soul whose flame has never gone out,
+and never will, till the doom before me is accomplished.
+
+She was so beautiful! When, on that first evening, I followed my
+new employer into the parlor, and saw this woman standing up before
+me in her half-alluring, half-appalling charm, I knew, as by a
+lightning flash, what my future would be if I remained in that
+house. She was in one of her haughty moods, and bestowed upon me
+little more than a passing glance. But her indifference made slight
+impression upon me then. It was enough that I was allowed to stand
+in her presence and look unrebuked upon her loveliness. To be sure,
+it was like gazing into the flower-wreathed crater of an awakening
+volcano. Fear and fascination were in each moment I lingered there;
+but fear and fascination made the moment what it was, and I could
+not have withdrawn if I would.
+
+And so it was always. Unspeakable pain as well as pleasure was in
+the emotion with which I regarded her. Yet for all that I did not
+cease to study her hour by hour and day by day; her smiles, her
+movement, her way of turning her head or lifting her eyelids. I had
+a purpose in this. I wished to knit her beauty so firmly into the
+warp and woof of my being that nothing could ever serve to tear it
+away. For I saw then as plainly as now that, coquette though she
+was, she would never stoop to me. No; I might lie down at her feet
+and let her trample over me; she would not even turn to see what
+it was she had stepped upon. I might spend days, months, years,
+learning the alphabet of her wishes; she would not thank me for
+my pains or even raise the lashes from her cheek to look at me as
+I passed. I was nothing to her, could not be anything unless--and
+this thought came slowly--I could in some way become her master.
+
+Meantime I wrote at Mr. Leavenworth’s dictation and pleased him.
+My methodical ways were just to his taste. As for the other member
+of the family, Miss Eleanore Leavenworth--she treated me just as
+one of her proud but sympathetic nature might be expected to do.
+Not familiarly, but kindly; not as a friend, but as a member of the
+household whom she met every day at table, and who, as she or any
+one else could see, was none too happy or hopeful.
+
+Six months went by. I had learned two things; first, that Mary
+Leavenworth loved her position as prospective heiress to a large
+fortune above every other earthly consideration; and secondly,
+that she was in the possession of a secret which endangered that
+position. What this was, I had for some time no means of knowing.
+But when later I became convinced it was one of love, I grew
+hopeful, strange as it may seem. For by this time I had learned Mr.
+Leavenworth’s disposition almost as perfectly as that of his niece,
+and knew that in a matter of this kind he would be uncompromising;
+and that in the clashing of these two wills something might occur
+which would give me a hold upon her. The only thing that troubled
+me was the fact that I did not know the name of the man in whom she
+was interested. But chance soon favored me here. One day--a month
+ago now--I sat down to open Mr. Leavenworth’s mail as usual. One
+letter--shall I ever forget it? ran thus:
+
+  “HOFFMAN HOUSE,
+  “March 1, 1876.”
+
+  MR. HORATIO LEAVENWORTH:
+
+    “DEAR SIR,--You have a niece whom you love and trust, one,
+    too, who seems worthy of all the love and trust that you or
+    any other man can give her; so beautiful, so charming, so
+    tender is she in face, form, manner, and conversation. But,
+    dear sir, every rose has its thorn, and your rose is no
+    exception to this rule. Lovely as she is, charming as she
+    is, tender as she is, she is not only capable of trampling
+    on the rights of one who trusted her, but of bruising the
+    heart and breaking the spirit of him to whom she owes all
+    duty, honor, and observance.
+
+    “If you don’t believe this, ask her to her cruel,
+    bewitching face, who and what is her humble servant, and
+    yours.
+
+  “Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
+
+If a bombshell had exploded at my feet, or the evil one himself
+appeared at my call, I would not have been more astounded. Not
+only was the name signed to these remarkable words unknown to me,
+but the epistle itself was that of one who felt himself to be her
+master: a position which, as you know, I was myself aspiring to
+occupy. For a few minutes, then, I stood a prey to feelings of the
+bitterest wrath and despair; then I grew calm, realizing that with
+this letter in my possession I was virtually the arbitrator of her
+destiny. Some men would have sought her there and then and, by
+threatening to place it in her uncle’s hand, won from her a look of
+entreaty, if no more; but I--well, my plans went deeper than that.
+I knew she would have to be in extremity before I could hope to win
+her. She must feel herself slipping over the edge of the precipice
+before she would clutch at the first thing offering succor. I
+decided to allow the letter to pass into my employer’s hands. But
+it had been opened! How could I manage to give it to him in this
+condition without exciting his suspicion? I knew of but one way; to
+let him see me open it for what he would consider the first time.
+So, waiting till he came into the room, I approached him with the
+letter, tearing off the end of the envelope as I came. Opening it,
+I gave a cursory glance at its contents and tossed it down on the
+table before him.
+
+“That appears to be of a private character,” said I, “though there
+is no sign to that effect on the envelope.”
+
+He took it up while I stood there. At the first word he started,
+looked at me, seemed satisfied from my expression that I had not
+read far enough to realize its nature, and, whirling slowly around
+in his chair, devoured the remainder in silence. I waited a moment,
+then withdrew to my own desk. One minute, two minutes passed in
+silence; he was evidently rereading the letter; then he hurriedly
+rose and left the room. As he passed me I caught a glimpse of his
+face in the mirror. The expression I saw there did not tend to
+lessen the hope that was rising in my breast.
+
+By following him almost immediately up-stairs I ascertained that
+he went directly to Mary’s room, and when in a few hours later
+the family collected around the dinner table, I perceived, almost
+without looking up, that a great and insurmountable barrier had
+been raised between him and his favorite niece.
+
+Two days passed; days that were for me one long and unrelieved
+suspense. Had Mr. Leavenworth answered that letter? Would it all
+end as it had begun, without the appearance of the mysterious
+Clavering on the scene? I could not tell.
+
+Meanwhile my monotonous work went on, grinding my heart beneath its
+relentless wheel. I wrote and wrote and wrote, till it seemed as if
+my life blood went from me with every drop of ink I used. Always
+alert and listening, I dared not lift my head or turn my eyes at
+any unusual sound, lest I should seem to be watching. The third
+night I had a dream; I have already told Mr. Raymond what it was,
+and hence will not repeat it here. One correction, however, I wish
+to make in regard to it. In my statement to him I declared that the
+face of the man whom I saw lift his hand against my employer was
+that of Mr. Clavering. I lied when I said this. The face seen by me
+in my dream was my own. It was that fact which made it so horrible
+to me. In the crouching figure stealing warily down-stairs, I saw
+as in a glass the vision of my own form. Otherwise my account of
+the matter was true.
+
+This vision had a tremendous effect upon me. Was it a premonition?
+a forewarning of the way in which I was to win this coveted
+creature for my own? Was the death of her uncle the bridge by
+which the impassable gulf between us might be spanned? I began to
+think it might be; to consider the possibilities which could make
+this the only path to my elysium; even went so far as to picture
+her lovely face bending gratefully towards me through the glare
+of a sudden release from some emergency in which she stood. One
+thing was sure; if that was the way I must go, I had at least been
+taught how to tread it; and all through the dizzy, blurred day that
+followed, I saw, as I sat at my work, repeated visions of that
+stealthy, purposeful figure stealing down the stairs and entering
+with uplifted pistol into the unconscious presence of my employer.
+I even found myself a dozen times that day turning my eyes upon
+the door through which it was to come, wondering how long it would
+be before my actual form would pause there. That the moment was
+at hand I did not imagine. Even when I left him that night after
+drinking with him the glass of sherry mentioned at the inquest, I
+had no idea the hour of action was so near. But when, not three
+minutes after going up-stairs, I caught the sound of a lady’s dress
+rustling through the hall, and listening, heard Mary Leavenworth
+pass my door on her way to the library, I realized that the fatal
+hour was come; that something was going to be said or done in that
+room which would make this deed necessary. What? I determined to
+ascertain. Casting about in my mind for the means of doing so, I
+remembered that the ventilator running up through the house opened
+first into the passageway connecting Mr. Leavenworth’s bedroom and
+library, and, secondly, into the closet of the large spare room
+adjoining mine. Hastily unlocking the door of the communication
+between the rooms, I took my position in the closet. Instantly
+the sound of voices reached my ears; all was open below, and
+standing there, I was as much an auditor of what went on between
+Mary and her uncle as if I were in the library itself. And what
+did I hear? Enough to assure me my suspicions were correct; that
+it was a moment of vital interest to her; that Mr. Leavenworth,
+in pursuance of a threat evidently made some time since, was in
+the act of taking steps to change his will, and that she had come
+to make an appeal to be forgiven her fault and restored to his
+favor. What that fault was, I did not learn. No mention was made
+of Mr. Clavering as her husband. I only heard her declare that her
+action had been the result of impulse, rather than love; that she
+regretted it, and desired nothing more than to be free from all
+obligations to one she would fain forget, and be again to her uncle
+what she was before she ever saw this man. I thought, fool that I
+was, it was a mere engagement she was alluding to, and took the
+insanest hope from these words; and when, in a moment later I heard
+her uncle reply, in his sternest tone, that she had irreparably
+forfeited her claims to his regard and favor, I did not need her
+short and bitter cry of shame and disappointment, or that low moan
+for some one to help her, for me to sound his death-knell in my
+heart. Creeping back to my own room, I waited till I heard her
+reascend, then I stole forth. Calm as I had ever been in my life, I
+went down the stairs just as I had seen myself do in my dream, and
+knocking lightly at the library door, went in. Mr. Leavenworth was
+sitting in his usual place writing.
+
+“Excuse me,” said I as he looked up, “I have lost my
+memorandum-book, and think it possible I may have dropped it in the
+passageway when I went for the wine.” He bowed, and I hurried past
+him into the closet. Once there, I proceeded rapidly into the room
+beyond, procured the pistol, returned, and almost before I realized
+what I was doing, had taken up my position behind him, aimed, and
+fired. The result was what you know. Without a groan his head
+fell forward on his hands, and Mary Leavenworth was the virtual
+possessor of the thousands she coveted.
+
+My first thought was to procure the letter he was writing.
+Approaching the table, I tore it out from under his hands, looked
+at it, saw that it was, as I expected, a summons to his lawyer,
+and thrust it into my pocket, together with the letter from Mr.
+Clavering, which I perceived lying spattered with blood on the
+table before me. Not till this was done did I think of myself, or
+remember the echo which that low, sharp report must have made in
+the house. Dropping the pistol at the side of the murdered man, I
+stood ready to shriek to any one who entered that Mr. Leavenworth
+had killed himself. But I was saved from committing such a folly.
+The report had not been heard, or if so, had evidently failed to
+create an alarm. No one came, and I was left to contemplate my work
+undisturbed and decide upon the best course to be taken to avoid
+detection. A moment’s study of the wound made in his head by the
+bullet convinced me of the impossibility of passing the affair off
+as a suicide, or even the work of a burglar. To any one versed in
+such matters it was manifestly a murder, and a most deliberate
+one. My one hope, then, lay in making it as mysterious as it was
+deliberate, by destroying all clue to the motive and manner of
+the deed. Picking up the pistol, I carried it into the other room
+with the intention of cleaning it, but finding nothing there to
+do it with, came back for the handkerchief I had seen lying on
+the floor at Mr. Leavenworth’s feet. It was Miss Eleanore’s, but
+I did not know it till I had used it to clean the barrel; then
+the sight of her initials in one corner so shocked me I forgot
+to clean the cylinder, and only thought of how I could do away
+with this evidence of her handkerchief having been employed for
+a purpose so suspicious. Not daring to carry it from the room, I
+sought for means to destroy it; but finding none, compromised the
+matter by thrusting it deep down behind the cushion of one of the
+chairs, in the hope of being able to recover and burn it the next
+day. This done, I reloaded the pistol, locked it up, and prepared
+to leave the room. But here the horror which usually follows such
+deeds struck me like a thunderbolt and made me for the first time
+uncertain in my action. I locked the door on going out, something
+I should never have done. Not till I reached the top of the stairs
+did I realize my folly; and then it was too late, for there before
+me, candle in hand, and surprise written on every feature of her
+face, stood Hannah, one of the servants, looking at me.
+
+“Lor, sir, where have you been?” she cried, but strange to say, in
+a low tone. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.” And her eyes
+turned suspiciously to the key which I held in my hand.
+
+I felt as if some one had clutched me round the throat. Thrusting
+the key into my pocket, I took a step towards her. “I will tell you
+what I have seen if you will come down-stairs,” I whispered; “the
+ladies will be disturbed if we talk here,” and smoothing my brow as
+best I could, I put out my hand and drew her towards me. What my
+motive was I hardly knew; the action was probably instinctive; but
+when I saw the look which came into her face as I touched her, and
+the alacrity with which she prepared to follow me, I took courage,
+remembering the one or two previous tokens I had had of this girl’s
+unreasonable susceptibility to my influence; a susceptibility which
+I now felt could be utilized and made to serve my purpose.
+
+Taking her down to the parlor floor, I drew her into the depths of
+the great drawing-room, and there told her in the least alarming
+way possible what had happened to Mr. Leavenworth. She was of
+course intensely agitated, but she did not scream;--the novelty of
+her position evidently bewildering her--and, greatly relieved, I
+went on to say that I did not know who committed the deed, but that
+folks would declare it was I if they knew I had been seen by her
+on the stairs with the library key in my hand. “But I won’t tell,”
+she whispered, trembling violently in her fright and eagerness.
+“I will keep it to myself. I will say I didn’t see anybody.” But
+I soon convinced her that she could never keep her secret if the
+police once began to question her, and, following up my argument
+with a little cajolery, succeeded after a long while in winning her
+consent to leave the house till the storm should be blown over.
+But that given, it was some little time before I could make her
+comprehend that she must depart at once and without going back
+after her things. Not till I brightened up her wits by a promise to
+marry her some day if she only obeyed me now, did she begin to look
+the thing in the face and show any evidence of the real mother wit
+she evidently possessed. “Mrs. Belden would take me in,” said she,
+“if I could only get to R----. She takes everybody in who asks,
+her; and she would keep me, too, if I told her Miss Mary sent me.
+But I can’t get there to-night.”
+
+I immediately set to work to convince her that she could. The
+midnight train did not leave the city for a half-hour yet, and the
+distance to the depot could be easily walked by her in fifteen
+minutes. But she had no money! I easily supplied that. And she
+was afraid she couldn’t find her way! I entered into minutest
+directions. She still hesitated, but at length consented to go, and
+with some further understanding of the method I was to employ in
+communicating with her, we went down-stairs. There we found a hat
+and shawl of the cook’s which I put on her, and in another moment
+we were in the carriage yard. “Remember, you are to say nothing of
+what has occurred, no matter what happens,” I whispered in parting
+injunction as she turned to leave me. “Remember, you are to come
+and marry me some day,” she murmured in reply, throwing her arms
+about my neck. The movement was sudden, and it was probably at this
+time she dropped the candle she had unconsciously held clenched in
+her hand till now. I promised her, and she glided out of the gate.
+
+Of the dreadful agitation that followed the disappearance of this
+girl I can give no better idea than by saying I not only committed
+the additional error of locking up the house on my re-entrance,
+but omitted to dispose of the key then in my pocket by flinging it
+into the street or dropping it in the hall as I went up. The fact
+is, I was so absorbed by the thought of the danger I stood in from
+this girl, I forgot everything else. Hannah’s pale face, Hannah’s
+look of terror, as she turned from my side and flitted down the
+street, were continually before me. I could not escape them; the
+form of the dead man lying below was less vivid. It was as though
+I were tied in fancy to this woman of the white face fluttering
+down the midnight streets. That she would fail in something--come
+back or be brought back--that I should find her standing white and
+horror-stricken on the front steps when I went down in the morning,
+was like a nightmare to me. I began to think no other result
+possible; that she never would or could win her way unchallenged
+to that little cottage in a distant village; that I had but sent
+a trailing flag of danger out into the world with this wretched
+girl;--danger that would come back to me with the first burst of
+morning light!
+
+But even those thoughts faded after a while before the realization
+of the peril I was in as long as the key and papers remained in
+my possession. How to get rid of them! I dared not leave my room
+again, or open my window. Some one might see me and remember it.
+Indeed I was afraid to move about in my room. Mr. Leavenworth
+might hear me. Yes, my morbid terror had reached that point--I was
+fearful of one whose ears I myself had forever closed, imagined him
+in his bed beneath and wakeful to the least sound.
+
+But the necessity of doing something with these evidences of guilt
+finally overcame this morbid anxiety, and drawing the two letters
+from my pocket--I had not yet undressed--I chose out the most
+dangerous of the two, that written by Mr. Leavenworth himself, and,
+chewing it till it was mere pulp, threw it into a corner; but the
+other had blood on it, and nothing, not even the hope of safety,
+could induce me to put it to my lips. I was forced to lie with it
+clenched in my hand, and the flitting image of Hannah before my
+eyes, till the slow morning broke. I have heard it said that a year
+in heaven seems like a day; I can easily believe it. I know that an
+hour in hell seems an eternity!
+
+But with daylight came hope. Whether it was that the sunshine
+glancing on the wall made me think of Mary and all I was ready to
+do for her sake, or whether it was the mere return of my natural
+stoicism in the presence of actual necessity, I cannot say. I only
+know that I arose calm and master of myself. The problem of the
+letter and key had solved itself also. Hide them? I would not try
+to! Instead of that I would put them in plain sight, trusting to
+that very fact for their being overlooked. Making the letter up
+into lighters, I carried them into the spare room and placed them
+in a vase. Then, taking the key in my hand, went down-stairs,
+intending to insert it in the lock of the library door as I went
+by. But Miss Eleanore descending almost immediately behind me made
+this impossible. I succeeded, however, in thrusting it, without
+her knowledge, among the filagree work of the gas-fixture in the
+second hall, and thus relieved, went down into the breakfast room
+as self-possessed a man as ever crossed its threshold. Mary was
+there, looking exceedingly pale and disheartened, and as I met her
+eye, which for a wonder turned upon me as I entered, I could almost
+have laughed, thinking of the deliverance that had come to her, and
+of the time when I should proclaim myself to be the man who had
+accomplished it.
+
+Of the alarm that speedily followed, and my action at that time and
+afterwards, I need not speak in detail. I behaved just as I would
+have done if I had had no hand in the murder. I even forbore to
+touch the key or go to the spare room, or make any movement which
+I was not willing all the world should see. For as things stood,
+there was not a shadow of evidence against me in the house; neither
+was I, a hard-working, uncomplaining secretary, whose passion for
+one of his employer’s nieces was not even mistrusted by the lady
+herself, a person to be suspected of the crime which threw him out
+of a fair situation. So I performed all the duties of my position,
+summoning the police, and going for Mr. Veeley, just as I would
+have done if those hours between me leaving Mr. Leavenworth for
+the first time and going down to breakfast in the morning had been
+blotted from my consciousness.
+
+And this was the principle upon which I based my action at the
+inquest. Leaving that half-hour and its occurrences out of the
+question, I resolved to answer such questions as might be put me as
+truthfully as I could; the great fault with men situated as I was
+usually being that they lied too much, thus committing themselves
+on unessential matters. But alas, in thus planning for my own
+safety, I forgot one thing, and that was the dangerous position in
+which I should thus place Mary Leavenworth as the one benefited by
+the crime. Not till the inference was drawn by a juror, from the
+amount of wine found in Mr. Leavenworth’s glass in the morning,
+that he had come to his death shortly after my leaving him, did I
+realize what an opening I had made for suspicion in her direction
+by admitting that I had heard a rustle on the stair a few minutes
+after going up. That all present believed it to have been made by
+Eleanore, did not reassure me. She was so completely disconnected
+with the crime I could not imagine suspicion holding to her for
+an instant. But Mary--If a curtain had been let down before me,
+pictured with the future as it has since developed, I could not
+have seen more plainly what her position would be, if attention
+were once directed towards her. So, in the vain endeavor to cover
+up my blunder, I began to lie. Forced to admit that a shadow of
+disagreement had been lately visible between Mr. Leavenworth
+and one of his nieces, I threw the burden of it upon Eleanore,
+as the one best able to bear it. The consequences were more
+serious than I anticipated. Direction had been given to suspicion
+which every additional evidence that now came up seemed by some
+strange fatality to strengthen. Not only was it proved that Mr.
+Leavenworth’s own pistol had been used in the assassination, and
+that too by a person then in the house, but I myself was brought to
+acknowledge that Eleanore had learned from me, only a little while
+before, how to load, aim, and fire this very pistol--a coincidence
+mischievous enough to have been of the devil’s own making.
+
+Seeing all this, my fear of what the ladies would admit when
+questioned became very great. Let them in their innocence
+acknowledge that, upon my ascent, Mary had gone to her uncle’s
+room for the purpose of persuading him not to carry into effect
+the action he contemplated, and what consequences might not
+ensue! I was in a torment of apprehension. But events of which
+I had at that time no knowledge had occurred to influence them.
+Eleanore, with some show of reason, as it seems, not only suspected
+her cousin of the crime, but had informed her of the fact, and
+Mary, overcome with terror at finding there was more or less
+circumstantial evidence supporting the suspicion, decided to deny
+whatever told against herself, trusting to Eleanore’s generosity
+not to be contradicted. Nor was her confidence misplaced. Though,
+by the course she took, Eleanore was forced to deepen the prejudice
+already rife against herself, she not only forbore to contradict
+her cousin, but when a true answer would have injured her, actually
+refused to return any, a lie being something she could not utter,
+even to save one especially endeared to her.
+
+This conduct of hers had one effect upon me. It aroused my
+admiration and made me feel that here was a woman worth helping if
+assistance could be given without danger to myself. Yet I doubt if
+my sympathy would have led me into doing anything, if I had not
+perceived, by the stress laid upon certain well-known matters,
+that actual danger hovered about us all while the letter and key
+remained in the house. Even before the handkerchief was produced,
+I had made up my mind to attempt their destruction; but when that
+was brought up and shown, I became so alarmed I immediately rose
+and, making my way under some pretence or other to the floors
+above, snatched the key from the gas-fixture, the lighters from the
+vase, and hastening with them down the hall to Mary Leavenworth’s
+room, went in under the expectation of finding a fire there in
+which to destroy them. But, to my heavy disappointment, there
+were only a few smoldering ashes in the grate, and, thwarted in
+my design, I stood hesitating what to do, when I heard some one
+coming up-stairs. Alive to the consequences of being found in that
+room at that time, I cast the lighters into the grate and started
+for the door. But in the quick move I made, the key flew from my
+hand and slid under a chair. Aghast at the mischance, I paused,
+but the sound of approaching steps increasing, I lost all control
+over myself and fled from the room. And indeed I had no time to
+lose. I had barely reached my own door when Eleanore Leavenworth,
+followed by two servants, appeared at the top of the staircase and
+proceeded towards the room I had just left. The sight reassured
+me; she would see the key, and take some means of disposing of it;
+and indeed I always supposed her to have done so, for no further
+word of key or letter ever came to my ears. This may explain why
+the questionable position in which Eleanore soon found herself
+awakened in me no greater anxiety. I thought the suspicions of the
+police rested upon nothing more tangible than the peculiarity of
+her manner at the inquest and the discovery of her handkerchief on
+the scene of the tragedy. I did not know they possessed what might
+be called absolute proof of her connection with the crime. But if
+I had, I doubt if my course would have been any different. Mary’s
+peril was the one thing capable of influencing me, and she did
+not appear to be in peril. On the contrary, every one, by common
+consent, seemed to ignore all appearance of guilt on her part.
+If Mr. Gryce, whom I soon learned to fear, had given one sign of
+suspicion, or Mr. Raymond, whom I speedily recognized as my most
+persistent though unconscious foe, had betrayed the least distrust
+of her, I should have taken warning. But they did not, and, lulled
+into a false security by their manner, I let the days go by without
+suffering any fears on her account. But not without many anxieties
+for myself. Hannah’s existence precluded all sense of personal
+security. Knowing the determination of the police to find her, I
+trod the verge of an awful suspense continually.
+
+Meantime the wretched certainty was forcing itself upon me that
+I had lost, instead of gained, a hold on Mary Leavenworth. Not
+only did she evince the utmost horror of the deed which had made
+her mistress of her uncle’s wealth, but, owing, as I believed,
+to the influence of Mr. Raymond, soon gave evidence that she was
+losing, to a certain extent, the characteristics of mind and
+heart which had made me hopeful of winning her by this deed of
+blood. This revelation drove me almost insane. Under the terrible
+restraint forced upon me, I walked my weary round in a state of
+mind bordering on frenzy. Many and many a time have I stopped in
+my work, wiped my pen and laid it down with the idea that I could
+not repress myself another moment, but I have always taken it up
+again and gone on with my task. Mr. Raymond has sometimes shown his
+wonder at my sitting in my dead employer’s chair. Great heaven!
+it was my only safeguard. By keeping the murder constantly before
+my mind, I was enabled to restrain myself from any inconsiderate
+action.
+
+At last there came a time when my agony could be no longer
+suppressed. Going down the stairs one evening with Mr. Raymond, I
+saw a strange gentleman standing in the reception room, looking at
+Mary Leavenworth in a way that would have made my blood boil, even
+if I had not heard him whisper these words: “But you are my wife,
+and know it, whatever you may say or do!”
+
+It was the lightning-stroke of my life. After what I had done to
+make her mine, to hear another claim her as already his own, was
+stunning, maddening! It forced a demonstration from me. I had
+either to yell in my fury or deal the man beneath some tremendous
+blow in my hatred. I did not dare to shriek, so I struck the blow.
+Demanding his name from Mr. Raymond, and hearing that it was, as I
+expected, Clavering, I flung caution, reason, common sense, all to
+the winds, and in a moment of fury denounced him as the murderer of
+Mr. Leavenworth.
+
+The next instant I would have given worlds to recall my words.
+What had I done but drawn attention to myself in thus accusing a
+man against whom nothing could of course be proved! But recall now
+was impossible. So, after a night of thought, I did the next best
+thing: gave a superstitious reason for my action, and so restored
+myself to my former position without eradicating from the mind
+of Mr. Raymond that vague doubt of the man which my own safety
+demanded. But I had no intention of going any further, nor should I
+have done so if I had not observed that for some reason Mr. Raymond
+was willing to suspect Mr. Clavering. But that once seen, revenge
+took possession of me, and I asked myself if the burden of this
+crime could be thrown on this man. Still I do not believe that any
+active results would have followed this self-questioning if I had
+not overheard a whispered conversation between two of the servants,
+in which I learned that Mr. Clavering had been seen to enter the
+house on the night of the murder, but was not seen to leave it.
+That determined me. With such a fact for a starting-point, what
+might I not hope to accomplish? Hannah alone stood in my way. While
+she remained alive I saw nothing but ruin before me. I made up my
+mind to destroy her and satisfy my hatred of Mr. Clavering at one
+blow. But how? By what means could I reach her without deserting my
+post, or make away with her without exciting fresh suspicion? The
+problem seemed insolvable; but Trueman Harwell had not played the
+part of a machine so long without result. Before I had studied the
+question a day, light broke upon it, and I saw that the only way to
+accomplish my plans was to inveigle her into destroying herself.
+
+No sooner had this thought matured than I hastened to act upon
+it. Knowing the tremendous risk I ran, I took every precaution.
+Locking myself up in my room, I wrote her a letter in printed
+characters--she having distinctly told me she could not read
+writing--in which I played upon her ignorance, foolish fondness,
+and Irish superstition, by telling her I dreamed of her every
+night and wondered if she did of me; was afraid she didn’t, so
+enclosed her a little charm, which, if she would use according
+to directions, would give her the most beautiful visions. These
+directions were for her first to destroy my letter by burning it,
+next to take in her hand the packet I was careful to enclose,
+swallow the powder accompanying it, and go to bed. The powder was
+a deadly dose of poison and the packet was, as you know, a forged
+confession falsely criminating Henry Clavering. Enclosing all these
+in an envelope in the corner of which I had marked a cross, I
+directed it, according to agreement, to Mrs. Belden, and sent it.
+
+Then followed the greatest period of suspense I had yet endured.
+Though I had purposely refrained from putting my name to the
+letter, I felt that the chances of detection were very great. Let
+her depart in the least particular from the course I had marked
+out for her, and fatal results must ensue. If she opened the
+enclosed packet, mistrusted the powder, took Mrs. Belden into
+her confidence, or even failed to burn my letter, all would be
+lost. I could not be sure of her or know the result of my scheme
+except through the newspapers. Do you think I kept watch of the
+countenances about me? devoured the telegraphic news, or started
+when the bell rang? And when, a few days since, I read that short
+paragraph in the paper which assured me that my efforts had at
+least produced the death of the woman I feared, do you think I
+experienced any sense of relief?
+
+But of that why speak? In six hours had come the summons from Mr.
+Gryce, and--let these prison walls, this confession itself, tell
+the rest. I am no longer capable of speech or action.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX. THE OUTCOME OF A GREAT CRIME
+
+                “Leave her to Heaven
+      And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
+      To prick and sting her.”
+
+                          Hamlet
+
+      “For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
+      And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
+      And true she is, as she has proved herself;
+      And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true,
+      Shall she be placed in my constant soul.”
+
+                                Merchant of Venice.
+
+
+“Oh, Eleanore!” I cried, as I made my way into her presence, “are
+you prepared for very good news? News that will brighten these pale
+cheeks and give the light back to these eyes, and make life hopeful
+and sweet to you once more? Tell me,” I urged, stooping over her
+where she sat, for she looked ready to faint.
+
+“I don’t know,” she faltered; “I fear your idea of good news and
+mine may differ. No news can be good but----”
+
+“What?” I asked, taking her hands in mine with a smile that ought
+to have reassured her, it was one of such profound happiness. “Tell
+me; do not be afraid.”
+
+But she was. Her dreadful burden had lain upon her so long it had
+become a part of her being. How could she realize it was founded
+on a mistake; that she had no cause to fear the past, present, or
+future?
+
+But when the truth was made known to her; when, with all the
+fervor and gentle tact of which I was capable, I showed her that
+her suspicions had been groundless, and that Trueman Harwell, and
+not Mary, was accountable for the evidences of crime which had led
+her into attributing to her cousin the guilt of her uncle’s death,
+her first words were a prayer to be taken to the one she had so
+wronged. “Take me to her! Oh, take me to her! I cannot breathe or
+think till I have begged pardon of her on my knees. Oh, my unjust
+accusation! My unjust accusation!”
+
+Seeing the state she was in, I deemed it wise to humor her. So,
+procuring a carriage, I drove with her to her cousin’s home.
+
+“Mary will spurn me; she will not even look at me; and she will be
+right!” she cried, as we rolled away up the avenue. “An outrage
+like this can never be forgiven. But God knows I thought myself
+justified in my suspicions. If you knew--”
+
+“I do know,” I interposed. “Mary acknowledges that the
+circumstantial evidence against her was so overwhelming, she was
+almost staggered herself, asking if she could be guiltless with
+such proofs against her. But----”
+
+“Wait, oh, wait; did Mary say that?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“To-day?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Mary must be changed.”
+
+I did not answer; I wanted her to see for herself the extent of
+that change. But when, in a few minutes later, the carriage stopped
+and I hurried with her into the house which had been the scene of
+so much misery, I was hardly prepared for the difference in her own
+countenance which the hall light revealed. Her eyes were bright,
+her cheeks were brilliant, her brow lifted and free from shadow; so
+quickly does the ice of despair melt in the sunshine of hope.
+
+Thomas, who had opened the door, was sombrely glad to see his
+mistress again. “Miss Leavenworth is in the drawing-room,” said he.
+
+I nodded, then seeing that Eleanore could scarcely move for
+agitation, asked her whether she would go in at once, or wait till
+she was more composed.
+
+“I will go in at once; I cannot wait.” And slipping from my grasp,
+she crossed the hall and laid her hand upon the drawing-room
+curtain, when it was suddenly lifted from within and Mary stepped
+out.
+
+“Mary!”
+
+“Eleanore!”
+
+The ring of those voices told everything. I did not need to glance
+their way to know that Eleanore had fallen at her cousin’s feet,
+and that her cousin had affrightedly lifted her. I did not need
+to hear: “My sin against you is too great; you cannot forgive
+me!” followed by the low: “My shame is great enough to lead me to
+forgive anything!” to know that the lifelong shadow between these
+two had dissolved like a cloud, and that, for the future, bright
+days of mutual confidence and sympathy were in store.
+
+Yet when, a half-hour or so later, I heard the door of the
+reception room, into which I had retired, softly open, and looking
+up, saw Mary standing on the threshold, with the light of true
+humility on her face, I own that I was surprised at the softening
+which had taken place in her haughty beauty. “Blessed is the shame
+that purifies,” I inwardly murmured, and advancing, held out my
+hand with a respect and sympathy I never thought to feel for her
+again.
+
+The action seemed to touch her. Blushing deeply, she came and stood
+by my side. “I thank you,” said she. “I have much to be grateful
+for; how much I never realized till to-night; but I cannot speak
+of it now. What I wish is for you to come in and help me persuade
+Eleanore to accept this fortune from my hands. It is hers, you
+know; was willed to her, or would have been if--”
+
+“Wait,” said I, in the trepidation which this appeal to me on such
+a subject somehow awakened. “Have you weighed this matter well?
+Is it your determined purpose to transfer your fortune into your
+cousin’s hands?”
+
+Her look was enough without the low, “Ah, how can you ask me?” that
+followed it.
+
+Mr. Clavering was sitting by the side of Eleanore when we entered
+the drawing-room. He immediately rose, and drawing me to one side,
+earnestly said:
+
+“Before the courtesies of the hour pass between us, Mr. Raymond,
+allow me to tender you my apology. You have in your possession a
+document which ought never to have been forced upon you. Founded
+upon a mistake, the act was an insult which I bitterly regret. If,
+in consideration of my mental misery at that time, you can pardon
+it, I shall feel forever indebted to you; if not----”
+
+“Mr. Clavering, say no more. The occurrences of that day belong to
+a past which I, for one, have made up my mind to forget as soon as
+possible. The future promises too richly for us to dwell on bygone
+miseries.”
+
+And with a look of mutual understanding and friendship we hastened
+to rejoin the ladies.
+
+Of the conversation that followed, it is only necessary to state
+the result. Eleanore, remaining firm in her refusal to accept
+property so stained by guilt, it was finally agreed upon that
+it should be devoted to the erection and sustainment of some
+charitable institution of magnitude sufficient to be a recognized
+benefit to the city and its unfortunate poor. This settled, our
+thoughts returned to our friends, especially to Mr. Veeley.
+
+“He ought to know,” said Mary. “He has grieved like a father over
+us.” And, in her spirit of penitence, she would have undertaken the
+unhappy task of telling him the truth.
+
+But Eleanore, with her accustomed generosity, would not hear of
+this. “No, Mary,” said she; “you have suffered enough. Mr. Raymond
+and I will go.”
+
+And leaving them there, with the light of growing hope and
+confidence on their faces, we went out again into the night, and so
+into a dream from which I have never waked, though the shine of her
+dear eyes have been now the load-star of my life for many happy,
+happy months.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEAVENWORTH CASE ***
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