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diff --git a/1851-h/1851-h.htm b/1851-h/1851-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e58671 --- /dev/null +++ b/1851-h/1851-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9644 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Woman in the Alcove, by Anna Katharine Green</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Woman in the Alcove, by Anna Katharine Green</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Woman in the Alcove</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Anna Katharine Green</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August, 1999 [eBook #1851]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 28, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Steve Crites</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE ***</div> + +<h1>The Woman in the Alcove</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Anna Katharine Green</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. THE WOMAN WITH THE DIAMOND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. THE GLOVES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. ANSON DURAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. EXPLANATIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. SUPERSTITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. SUSPENSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. NIGHT AND A VOICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. ARREST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. THE MOUSE NIBBLES AT THE NET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. I ASTONISH THE INSPECTOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. THE INSPECTOR ASTONISHES ME</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. ALMOST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. THE MISSING RECOMMENDATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. TRAPPED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. SEARS OR WELLGOOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. DOUBT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. SWEETWATER IN A NEW ROLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII. THE CLOSED DOOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX. THE FACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX. MOONLIGHT—AND A CLUE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI. GRIZEL! GRIZEL!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXII. GUILT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII. THE GREAT MOGUL</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0001"></a> +I.<br/> +THE WOMAN WITH THE DIAMOND</h2> + +<p> +I was, perhaps, the plainest girl in the room that night. I was also the +happiest—up to one o’clock. Then my whole world crumbled, or, at least, +suffered an eclipse. Why and how, I am about to relate. +</p> + +<p> +I was not made for love. This I had often said to myself; very often of late. +In figure I am too diminutive, in face far too unbeautiful, for me to cherish +expectations of this nature. Indeed, love had never entered into my plan of +life, as was evinced by the nurse’s diploma I had just gained after three years +of hard study and severe training. +</p> + +<p> +I was not made for love. But if I had been; had I been gifted with height, +regularity of feature, or even with that eloquence of expression which redeems +all defects save those which savor of deformity, I knew well whose eye I should +have chosen to please, whose heart I should have felt proud to win. +</p> + +<p> +This knowledge came with a rush to my heart—(did I say heart? I should +have said understanding, which is something very different)—when, at the +end of the first dance, I looked up from the midst of the bevy of girls by whom +I was surrounded and saw Anson Durand’s fine figure emerging from that quarter +of the hall where our host and hostess stood to receive their guests. His eye +was roaming hither and thither and his manner was both eager and expectant. +Whom was he seeking? Some one of the many bright and vivacious girls about me, +for he turned almost instantly our way. But which one? +</p> + +<p> +I thought I knew. I remembered at whose house I had met him first, at whose +house I had seen him many times since. She was a lovely girl, witty and +vivacious, and she stood at this very moment at my elbow. In her beauty lay the +lure, the natural lure for a man of his gifts and striking personality. If I +continued to watch, I should soon see his countenance light up under the +recognition she could not fail to give him. And I was right; in another instant +it did, and with a brightness there was no mistaking. But one feeling common to +the human heart lends such warmth, such expressiveness to the features. How +handsome it made him look, how distinguished, how everything I was not +except— +</p> + +<p> +But what does this mean? He has passed Miss Sperry—passed her with a +smile and a friendly word—and is speaking to me, singling me out, +offering me his arm! He is smiling, too, not as he smiled on Miss Sperry, but +more warmly, with more that is personal in it. I took his arm in a daze. The +lights were dimmer than I thought; nothing was really bright except his smile. +It seemed to change the world for me. I forgot that I was plain, forgot that I +was small, with nothing to recommend me to the eye or heart, and let myself be +drawn away, asking nothing, anticipating nothing, till I found myself alone +with him in the fragrant recesses of the conservatory, with only the throb of +music in our ears to link us to the scene we had left. +</p> + +<p> +Why had he brought me here, into this fairyland of opalescent lights and +intoxicating perfumes? What could he have to say—to show? Ah in another +moment I knew. He had seized my hands, and love, ardent love, came pouring from +his lips. +</p> + +<p> +Could it be real? Was I the object of all this feeling, I? If so, then life had +changed for me indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Silent from rush of emotion, I searched his face to see if this Paradise, whose +gates I was thus passionately bidden to enter, was indeed a verity or only a +dream born of the excitement of the dance and the charm of a scene exceptional +in its splendor and picturesqueness even for so luxurious a city as New York. +</p> + +<p> +But it was no mere dream. Truth and earnestness were in his manner, and his +words were neither feverish nor forced. +</p> + +<p> +“I love you I! I need you!” So I heard, and so he soon made me believe. “You +have charmed me from the first. Your tantalizing, trusting, loyal self, like no +other, sweeter than any other, has drawn the heart from my breast. I have seen +many women, admired many women, but you only have I loved. Will you be my +wife?” +</p> + +<p> +I was dazzled; moved beyond anything I could have conceived. I forgot all that +I had hitherto said to myself—all that I had endeavored to impress upon +my heart when I beheld him approaching, intent, as I believed, in his search +for another woman; and, confiding in his honesty, trusting entirely to his +faith, I allowed the plans and purposes of years to vanish in the glamour of +this new joy, and spoke the word which linked us together in a bond which half +an hour before I had never dreamed would unite me to any man. +</p> + +<p> +His impassioned “Mine! mine!” filled my cup to overflowing. Something of the +ecstasy of living entered my soul; which, in spite of all I have suffered +since, recreated the world for me and made all that went before but the prelude +to the new life, the new joy. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, I was happy, happy, perhaps too happy! As the conservatory filled and we +passed back into the adjoining room, the glimpse I caught of myself in one of +the mirrors startled me into thinking so. For had it not been for the odd color +of my dress and the unique way in which I wore my hair that night, I should not +have recognized the beaming girl who faced me so naively from the depths of the +responsive glass. +</p> + +<p> +Can one be too happy? I do not know. I know that one can be too perplexed, too +burdened and too sad. +</p> + +<p> +Thus far I have spoken only of myself in connection with the evening’s +elaborate function. But though entitled by my old Dutch blood to a certain +social consideration which I am happy to say never failed me, I, even in this +hour of supreme satisfaction, attracted very little attention and awoke small +comment. There was another woman present better calculated to do this. A fair +woman, large and of a bountiful presence, accustomed to conquest, and gifted +with the power of carrying off her victories with a certain lazy grace +irresistibly fascinating to the ordinary man; a gorgeously appareled woman, +with a diamond on her breast too vivid for most women, almost too vivid for +her. I noticed this diamond early in the evening, and then I noticed her. She +was not as fine as the diamond, but she was very fine, and, had I been in a +less ecstatic frame of mind, I might have envied the homage she received from +all the men, not excepting him upon whose arm I leaned. Later, there was no one +in the world I envied less. +</p> + +<p> +The ball was a private and very elegant one. There were some notable guests. +One gentleman in particular was pointed out to me as an Englishman of great +distinction and political importance. I thought him a very interesting man for +his years, but odd and a trifle self-centered. Though greatly courted, he +seemed strangely restless under the fire of eyes to which he was constantly +subjected, and only happy when free to use his own in contemplation of the +scene about him. Had I been less absorbed in my own happiness I might have +noted sooner than I did that this contemplation was confined to such groups as +gathered about the lady with the diamond. But this I failed to observe at the +time, and consequently was much surprised to come upon him, at the end of one +of the dances, talking With this lady in an animated and courtly manner totally +opposed to the apathy, amounting to boredom, with which he had hitherto met all +advances. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was not admiration for her person which he openly displayed. During the +whole time he stood there his eyes seldom rose to her face; they lingered +mainly-and this was what aroused my curiosity—on the great fan of ostrich +plumes which this opulent beauty held against her breast. Was he desirous of +seeing the great diamond she thus unconsciously (or was it consciously) +shielded from his gaze? It was possible, for, as I continued to note him, he +suddenly bent toward her and as quickly raised himself again with a look which +was quite inexplicable to me. The lady had shifted her fan a moment and his +eyes had fallen on the gem. +</p> + +<p> +The next thing I recall with any definiteness was a <i>tête-à-tête</i> +conversation which I held with my lover on a certain yellow divan at the end of +one of the halls. +</p> + +<p> +To the right of this divan rose a curtained recess, highly suggestive of +romance, called “the alcove.” As this alcove figures prominently in my story, I +will pause here to describe it. +</p> + +<p> +It was originally intended to contain a large group of statuary which our host, +Mr. Ramsdell, had ordered from Italy to adorn his new house. He is a man of +original ideas in regard to such matters, and in this instance had gone so far +as to have this end of the house constructed with a special view to an +advantageous display of this promised work of art. Fearing the ponderous effect +of a pedestal large enough to hold such a considerable group, he had planned to +raise it to the level of the eye by having the alcove floor built a few feet +higher than the main one. A flight of low, wide steps connected the two, which, +following the curve of the wall, added much to the beauty of this portion of +the hall. +</p> + +<p> +The group was a failure and was never shipped; but the alcove remained, and, +possessing as it did all the advantages of a room in the way of heat and light, +had been turned into a miniature retreat of exceptional beauty. +</p> + +<p> +The seclusion it offered extended, or so we were happy to think, to the +solitary divan at its base on which Mr. Durand and I were seated. With possibly +an undue confidence in the advantage of our position, we were discussing a +subject interesting only to ourselves, when Mr. Durand interrupted himself to +declare: “You are the woman I want, you and you only. And I want you soon. When +do you think you can marry me? Within a week—if—” +</p> + +<p> +Did my look stop him? I was startled. I had heard no incoherent phrase from him +before. +</p> + +<p> +“A week!” I remonstrated. “We take more time than that to fit ourselves for a +journey or some transient pleasure. I hardly realize my engagement yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not been thinking of it for these last two months as I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I replied demurely, forgetting everything else in my delight at this +admission. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor are you a nomad among clubs and restaurants.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I have a home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor do you love me as deeply as I do you.” +</p> + +<p> +This I thought open to argument. +</p> + +<p> +“The home you speak of is a luxurious one,” he continued. “I can not offer you +its equal Do you expect me to?” +</p> + +<p> +I was indignant. +</p> + +<p> +“You know that I do not. Shall I, who deliberately chose a nurse’s life when an +indulgent uncle’s heart and home were open to me, shrink from braving poverty +with the man I love? We will begin as simply as you please—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he peremptorily put in, yet with a certain hesitancy which seemed to +speak of doubts he hardly acknowledged to himself, “I will not marry you if I +must expose you to privation or to the genteel poverty I hate. I love you more +than you realize, and wish to make your life a happy one. I can not give you +all you have been accustomed to in your rich uncle’s house, but if matters +prosper with me, if the chance I have built on succeeds—and it will fail +or succeed tonight—you will have those comforts which love will heighten +into luxuries and—and—” +</p> + +<p> +He was becoming incoherent again, and this time with his eyes fixed elsewhere +than on my face. Following his gaze, I discovered what had distracted his +attention. The lady with the diamond was approaching us on her way to the +alcove. She was accompanied by two gentlemen, both strangers to me, and her +head, sparkling with brilliants, was turning from one to the other with an +indolent grace. I was not surprised that the man at my side quivered and made a +start as if to rise. She was a gorgeous image. In comparison with her imposing +figure in its trailing robe of rich pink velvet, my diminutive frame in its +sea-green gown must have looked as faded and colorless as a half-obliterated +pastel. +</p> + +<p> +“A striking woman,” I remarked as I saw he was not likely to resume the +conversation which her presence had interrupted. “And what a diamond!” +</p> + +<p> +The glance he cast me was peculiar. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you notice it particularly?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Astonished, for there was something very uneasy in his manner so that I half +expected to see him rise and join the group he was so eagerly watching without +waiting for my lips to frame a response, I quickly replied: +</p> + +<p> +“It would be difficult not to notice what one would naturally expect to see +only on the breast of a queen. But perhaps she is a queen. I should judge so +from the homage which follows her.” +</p> + +<p> +His eyes sought mine. There was inquiry in them, but it was an inquiry I did +not understand. +</p> + +<p> +“What can you know about diamonds?” he presently demanded. “Nothing but their +glitter, and glitter is not all,—the gem she wears may be a very tawdry +one.” +</p> + +<p> +I flushed with humiliation. He was a dealer in gems—that was his +business—and the check which he had put upon my enthusiasm certainly made +me conscious of my own presumption. Yet I was not disposed to take back my +words. I had had a better opportunity than himself for seeing this remarkable +jewel, and, with the perversity of a somewhat ruffled mood, I burst forth, as +soon as the color had subsided from my cheeks: +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! It is glorious, magnificent. I never saw its like. I doubt if you ever +have, for all your daily acquaintance with jewels. Its value must be enormous. +Who is she? You seem to know her.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a direct question, but I received no reply. Mr. Durand’s eyes had +followed the lady, who had lingered somewhat ostentatiously on the top step and +they did not return to me till she had vanished with her companions behind the +long plush curtain which partly veiled the entrance. By this time he had +forgotten my words, if he had ever heard them and it was with the forced +animation of one whose thoughts are elsewhere that he finally returned to the +old plea: +</p> + +<p> +When would I marry him? If he could offer me a home in a month—and he +would know by to-morrow if he could do so—would I come to him then? He +would not say in a week; that was perhaps to soon; but in a month? Would I not +promise to be his in a month? +</p> + +<p> +What I answered I scarcely recall. His eyes had stolen back to the alcove and +mine had followed them. The gentlemen who had accompanied the lady inside were +coming out again, but others were advancing to take their places, and soon she +was engaged in holding a regular court in this favored retreat. +</p> + +<p> +Why should this interest me? Why should I notice her or look that way at all? +Because Mr. Durand did? Possibly. I remember that for all his ardent +love-making, I felt a little piqued that he should divide his attentions in +this way. Perhaps I thought that for this evening, at least, he might have been +blind to a mere coquette’s fascinations. +</p> + +<p> +I was thus doubly engaged in listening to my lover’s words and in watching the +various gentlemen who went up and down the steps, when a former partner +advanced and reminded me that I had promised him a waltz. Loath to leave Mr. +Durand, yet seeing no way of excusing myself to Mr. Fox, I cast an appealing +glance at the former and was greatly chagrined to find him already on his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Enjoy your dance,” he cried; “I have a word to say to Mrs. Fairbrother,” and +was gone before my new partner had taken me on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +Was Mrs. Fairbrother the lady with the diamond? Yes; as I turned to enter the +parlor with my partner, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Durand’s tall figure just +disappearing from the step behind the sage-green curtains. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Mrs. Fairbrother?” I inquired of Mr. Fox at the end of the dance. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fox, who is one of society’s perennial beaux, knows everybody. +</p> + +<p> +“She is—well, she was Abner Fairbrother’s wife. You know Fairbrother, the +millionaire who built that curious structure on Eighty-sixth Street. At present +they are living apart—an amicable understanding, I believe. Her diamond +makes her conspicuous. It is one of the most remarkable stones in New York, +perhaps in the United States. Have you observed it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—that is, at a distance. Do you think her very handsome?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Fairbrother? She’s called so, but she’s not my style.” Here he gave me a +killing glance. “I admire women of mind and heart. They do not need to wear +jewels worth an ordinary man’s fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked about for an excuse to leave this none too desirable partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go back into the long hall,” I urged. “The ceaseless whirl of these +dancers is making me dizzy.” +</p> + +<p> +With the ease of a gallant man he took me on his arm and soon we were +promenading again in the direction of the alcove. A passing glimpse of its +interior was afforded me as we turned to retrace our steps in front of the +yellow divan. The lady with the diamond was still there. A fold of the superb +pink velvet she wore protruded across the gap made by the half-drawn curtains, +just as it had done a half-hour before. But it was impossible to see her face +or who was with her. What I could see, however, and did, was the figure of a +man leaning against the wall at the foot of the steps. At first I thought this +person unknown to me, then I perceived that he was no other than the chief +guest of the evening, the Englishman of whom I have previously spoken. +</p> + +<p> +His expression had altered. He looked now both anxious and absorbed, +particularly anxious and particularly absorbed; so much so that I was not +surprised that no one ventured to approach him. Again I wondered and again I +asked myself for whom or for what he was waiting. For Mr. Durand to leave this +lady’s presence? No, no, I would not believe that. Mr. Durand could not be +there still; yet some women make it difficult for a man to leave them and, +realizing this, I could not forbear casting a parting glance behind me as, +yielding to Mr. Fox’s importunities, I turned toward the supper-room. It showed +me the Englishman in the act of lifting two cups of coffee from a small table +standing near the reception-room door. As his manner plainly betokened whither +he was bound with this refreshment, I felt all my uneasiness vanish, and was +able to take my seat at one of the small tables with which the supper-room was +filled, and for a few minutes, at least, lend an ear to Mr. Fox’s vapid +compliments and trite opinions. Then my attention wandered. +</p> + +<p> +I had not moved nor had I shifted my gaze from the scene before me the ordinary +scene of a gay and well-filled supper-room, yet I found myself looking, as if +through a mist I had not even seen develop, at something as strange, unusual +and remote as any phantasm, yet distinct enough in its outlines for me to get a +decided impression of a square of light surrounding the figure of a man in a +peculiar pose not easily imagined and not easily described. It all passed in an +instant, and I sat staring at the window opposite me with the feeling of one +who has just seen a vision. Yet almost immediately I forgot the whole +occurrence in my anxiety as to Mr. Durand’s whereabouts. Certainly he was +amusing himself very much elsewhere or he would have found an opportunity of +joining me long before this. He was not even in sight, and I grew weary of the +endless menu and the senseless chit chat of my companion, and, finding him +amenable to my whims, rose from my seat at table and made my way to a group of +acquaintances standing just outside the supper-room door. As I listened to +their greetings some impulse led me to cast another glance down the hall toward +the alcove. A man—a waiter—was issuing from it in a rush. Bad news +was in his face, and as his eyes encountered those of Mr. Ramsdell, who was +advancing hurriedly to meet him, he plunged down the steps with a cry which +drew a crowd about the two in an instant. +</p> + +<p> +What was it? What had happened? +</p> + +<p> +Mad with an anxiety I did not stop to define, I rushed toward this group now +swaying from side to side in irrepressible excitement, when suddenly everything +swam before me and I fell in a swoon to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Some one had shouted aloud +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Fairbrother has been murdered and her diamond stolen! Lock the doors!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0002"></a> +II.<br/> +THE GLOVES</h2> + +<p> +I must have remained insensible for many minutes, for when I returned to full +consciousness the supper-room was empty and the two hundred guests I had left +seated at table were gathered in agitated groups about the hall. This was what +I first noted; not till afterward did I realize my own situation. I was lying +on a couch in a remote corner of this same hall and beside me, but not looking +at me, stood my lover, Mr. Durand. +</p> + +<p> +How he came to know my state and find me in the general disturbance I did not +stop to inquire. It was enough for me at that moment to look up and see him so +near. Indeed, the relief was so great, the sense of his protection so +comforting that I involuntarily stretched out my hand in gratitude toward him, +but, failing to attract his attention, slipped to the floor and took my stand +at his side. This roused him and he gave me a look which steadied me, in spite +of the thrill of surprise with which I recognized his extreme pallor and a +certain peculiar hesitation in his manner not at all natural to it. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, some words uttered near us were slowly making their way into my +benumbed brain. The waiter who had raised the first alarm was endeavoring to +describe to an importunate group in advance of us what he had come upon in that +murderous alcove. +</p> + +<p> +“I was carrying about a tray of ices,” he was saying, “and seeing the lady +sitting there, went up. I had expected to find the place full of gentlemen, but +she was all alone, and did not move as I picked my way over her long train. The +next moment I had dropped ices, tray and all. I bad come face to face with her +and seen that she was dead. She had been stabbed and robbed. There was no +diamond on her breast, but there was blood.” +</p> + +<p> +A hubbub of disordered sentences seasoned with horrified cries followed this +simple description. Then a general movement took place in the direction of the +alcove, during which Mr. Durand stooped to my ear and whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“We must get out of this. You are not strong enough to stand such excitement. +Don’t you think we can escape by the window over there?” +</p> + +<p> +“What, without wraps and in such a snowstorm?” I protested. “Besides, uncle +will be looking for me. He came with me, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +An expression of annoyance, or was it perplexity, crossed Mr. Durand’s face, +and he made a movement as if to leave me. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go,” he began, but stopped at my glance of surprise and assumed a +different air—one which became him very much better. “Pardon me, dear, I +will take you to your uncle. This—this dreadful tragedy, interrupting so +gay a scene, has quite upset me. I was always sensitive to the sight, the +smell, even to the very mention of the word blood.” +</p> + +<p> +So was I, but not to the point of cowardice. But then I had not just come from +an interview with the murdered woman. Her glances, her smiles, the lift of her +eyebrows were not fresh memories to me. Some consideration was certainly due +him for the shock he must be laboring under. Yet I did not know how to keep +back the vital question. +</p> + +<p> +“Who did it? You must have heard some one say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard nothing,” was his somewhat fierce rejoinder. Then, as I made a +move, “What you do not wish to follow the crowd there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to find my uncle, and he is in that crowd.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Durand said nothing further, and together we passed down the hall. A +strange mood pervaded my mind. Instead of wishing to fly a scene which under +ordinary conditions would have filled me with utter repugnance, I felt a desire +to see and hear everything. Not from curiosity, such as moved most of the +people about me, but because of some strong instinctive feeling I could not +understand; as if it were my heart which had been struck, and my fate which was +trembling in the balance. +</p> + +<p> +We were consequently among the first to hear such further details as were +allowed to circulate among the now well-nigh frenzied guests. No one knew the +perpetrator of the deed nor did there appear to be any direct evidence +calculated to fix his identity. Indeed, the sudden death of this beautiful +woman in the midst of festivity might have been looked upon as suicide, if the +jewel had not been missing from her breast and the instrument of death removed +from the wound. So far, the casual search which had been instituted had failed +to produce this weapon; but the police would be here soon and then something +would be done. As to the means of entrance employed by the assassin, there +seemed to be but one opinion. The alcove contained a window opening upon a +small balcony. By this he had doubtless entered and escaped. The long plush +curtains which, during the early part of the evening, had remained looped back +on either side of the casement, were found at the moment of the crime’s +discovery closely drawn together. Certainly a suspicious circumstance. However, +the question was one easily settled. If any one had approached by the balcony +there would be marks in the snow to show it. Mr. Ramsdell had gone out to see. +He would be coming back soon. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think this a probable explanation of the crime?” I demanded of Mr. +Durand at this juncture. “If I remember rightly this window overlooks the +carriage drive; it must, therefore, be within plain sight of the door through +which some three hundred guests have passed to-night. How could any one climb +to such a height, lift the window and step in without being seen?” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget the awning.” He spoke quickly and with unexpected vivacity. “The +awning runs up very near this window and quite shuts it off from the sight of +arriving guests. The drivers of departing carriages could see it if they +chanced to glance back. But their eyes are usually on their horses in such a +crowd. The probabilities are against any of them having looked up.” His brow +had cleared; a weight seemed removed from his mind. “When I went into the +alcove to see Mrs. Fairbrother, she was sitting in a chair near this window +looking out. I remember the effect of her splendor against the snow sifting +down in a steady stream behind her. The pink velvet—the soft green of the +curtains on either side—her brilliants—and the snow for a +background! Yes, the murderer came in that way. Her figure would be plain to +any one outside, and if she moved and the diamond shone—Don’t you see +what a probable theory it is? There must be ways by which a desperate man might +reach that balcony. I believe—” +</p> + +<p> +How eager he was and with what a look he turned when the word came filtering +through the crowd that, though footsteps had been found in the snow pointing +directly toward the balcony, there was none on the balcony itself, proving, as +any one could see, that the attack had not come from without, since no one +could enter the alcove by the window without stepping on the balcony. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Durand has suspicions of his own,” I explained determinedly to myself. “He +met some one going in as he stepped out. Shall I ask him to name this person?” +No, I did not have the courage; not while his face wore so stern a look and was +so resolutely turned away. +</p> + +<p> +The next excitement was a request from Mr. Ramsdell for us all to go into the +drawing-room. This led to various cries from hysterical lips, such as, “We are +going to be searched!” “He believes the thief and murderer to be still in the +house!” “Do you see the diamond on me?” “Why don’t they confine their +suspicions to the favored few who were admitted to the alcove?” +</p> + +<p> +“They will,” remarked some one close to my ear. +</p> + +<p> +But quickly as I turned I could not guess from whom the comment came. Possibly +from a much beflowered, bejeweled, elderly dame, whose eyes were fixed on Mr. +Durand’s averted face. If so, she received a defiant look from mine, which I do +not believe she forgot in a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! it was not the only curious, I might say searching glance I surprised +directed against him as we made our way to where I could see my uncle +struggling to reach us from a short side hall. The whisper seemed to have gone +about that Mr. Durand had been the last one to converse with Mrs. Fairbrother +prior to the tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +In time I had the satisfaction of joining my uncle. He betrayed great relief at +the sight of me, and, encouraged by his kindly smile, I introduced Mr. Durand. +My conscious air must have produced its impression, for he turned a startled +and inquiring look upon my companion, then took me resolutely on his own arm, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“There is likely to be some unpleasantness ahead for all of us. I do not think +the police will allow any one to go till that diamond has been looked for. This +is a very serious matter, dear. So many think the murderer was one of the +guests.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, too,” said I. But why I thought so or why I should say so with +such vehemence, I do not know even now. +</p> + +<p> +My uncle looked surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“You had better not advance any opinions,” he advised. “A lady like yourself +should have none on a subject so gruesome. I shall never cease regretting +bringing you here tonight. I shall seize on the first opportunity to take you +home. At present we are supposed to await the action of our host.” +</p> + +<p> +“He can not keep all these people here long,” I ventured. +</p> + +<p> +“No; most of us will be relieved soon. Had you not better get your wraps so as +to be ready to go as soon as he gives the word?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should prefer to have a peep at the people in the drawing-room first,” was +my perverse reply. “I don’t know why I want to see them, but I do; and, uncle, +I might as well tell you now that I engaged myself to Mr. Durand this +evening—the gentleman with me when you first came up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have engaged yourself to—to this man—to marry him, do you +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded, with a sly look behind to see if Mr. Durand were near enough to hear. +He was not, and I allowed my enthusiasm to escape in a few quick words. +</p> + +<p> +“He has chosen me,” I said, “the plainest, most uninteresting puss in the whole +city.” My uncle smiled. “And I believe he loves me; at all events, I know that +I love him.” +</p> + +<p> +My uncle sighed, while giving me the most affectionate of glances. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pity you should have come to this understanding to-night,” said he. +“He’s an acquaintance of the murdered woman, and it is only right for you to +know that you will have to leave him behind when you start for home. All who +have been seen entering that alcove this evening will necessarily be detained +here till the coroner arrives.” +</p> + +<p> +My uncle and I strolled toward the drawing-room and as we did so we passed the +library. It held but one occupant, the Englishman. He was seated before a +table, and his appearance was such as precluded any attempt at intrusion, even +if one had been so disposed. There was a fixity in his gaze and a frown on his +powerful forehead which bespoke a mind greatly agitated. It was not for me to +read that mind, much as it interested me, and I passed on, chatting, as if I +had not the least desire to stop. +</p> + +<p> +I can not say how much time elapsed before my uncle touched me on the arm with +the remark: +</p> + +<p> +“The police are here in full force. I saw a detective in plain clothes look in +here a minute ago. He seemed to have his eye on you. There he is again! What +can he want? No, don’t turn; he’s gone away now.” +</p> + +<p> +Frightened as I had never been in all my life, I managed to keep my head up and +maintain an indifferent aspect. What, as my uncle said, could a detective want +of me? I had nothing to do with the crime; not in the remotest way could I be +said to be connected with it; why, then, had I caught the attention of the +police? Looking about, I sought Mr. Durand. He had left me on my uncle’s coming +up, but had remained, as I supposed, within sight. But at this moment he was +nowhere to be seen. Was I afraid on his account? Impossible; yet— +</p> + +<p> +Happily just then the word was passed about that the police had given orders +that, with the exception of such as had been requested to remain to answer +questions, the guests generally should feel themselves at liberty to depart. +</p> + +<p> +The time had now come to take a stand and I informed my uncle, to his evident +chagrin, that I should not leave as long as any excuse could be found for +staying. +</p> + +<p> +He said nothing at the time, but as the noise of departing carriages gradually +lessened and the great hall and drawing-rooms began to wear a look of desertion +he at last ventured on this gentle protest: +</p> + +<p> +“You have more pluck, Rita, than I supposed. Do you think it wise to stay on +here? Will not people imagine that you have been requested to do so? Look at +those waiters hanging about in the different doorways. Run up and put on your +wraps. Mr. Durand will come to the house fast enough as soon as he is released. +I give you leave to sit up for him if you will; only let us leave this place +before that impertinent little man dares to come around again,” he artfully +added. +</p> + +<p> +But I stood firm, though somewhat moved by his final suggestion; and, being a +small tyrant in my way, at least with him, I carried my point. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly my anxiety became poignant. A party of men, among whom I saw Mr. +Durand, appeared at the end of the hall, led by a very small but self-important +personage whom my uncle immediately pointed out as the detective who had twice +come to the door near which I stood. As this man looked up and saw me still +there, a look of relief crossed his face, and, after a word or two with another +stranger of seeming authority, he detached himself from the group he had +ushered upon the scene, and, approaching me respectfully enough, said with a +deprecatory glance at my uncle whose frown he doubtless understood: +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Van Arsdale, I believe?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded, too choked to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry, Madam, if you were expecting to go. Inspector Dalzell has arrived +and would like to speak to you. Will you step into one of these rooms? Not the +library, but any other. He will come to you as quickly as he can.” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to carry it off bravely and as if I saw nothing in this summons which +was unique or alarming. But I succeeded only in dividing a wavering glance +between him and the group of men of which he had just formed a part. In the +latter were several gentlemen whom I had noted in Mrs. Fairbrother’s train +early in the evening and a few strangers, two of whom were officials. Mr. +Durand was with the former, and his expression did not encourage me. +</p> + +<p> +“The affair is very serious,” commented the detective on leaving me. “That’s +our excuse for any trouble we may be putting you to.” I clutched my uncle’s +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Where shall we go?” I asked. “The drawing-room is too large. In this hall my +eyes are for ever traveling in the direction of the alcove. Don’t you know some +little room? Oh, what, what can he want of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing serious, nothing important,” blustered my good uncle. “Some triviality +such as you can answer in a moment. A little room? Yes, I know one, there, +under the stairs. Come, I will find the door for you. Why did we ever come to +this wretched ball?” +</p> + +<p> +I had no answer for this. Why, indeed! +</p> + +<p> +My uncle, who is a very patient man, guided me to the place he had picked out, +without adding a word to the ejaculation in which he had just allowed his +impatience to expend itself. But once seated within, and out of the range of +peering eyes and listening ears, he allowed a sigh to escape him which +expressed the fullness of his agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he began, and stopped. “I feel—” here he again came to a +pause—“that you should know—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” I managed to ask. +</p> + +<p> +“That I do not like Mr. Durand and—that others do not like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it because of something you knew about him before to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +He made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Or because he was seen, like many other gentlemen, talking with that woman +some time before—a long time before—she was attacked for her +diamond and murdered?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, my dear, he was the last one seen talking to her. Some one may yet +be found who went in after he came out, but as yet he is considered the last. +Mr. Ramsdell himself told me so.” +</p> + +<p> +“It makes no difference,” I exclaimed, in all the heat of my long-suppressed +agitation. “I am willing to stake my life on his integrity and honor. No man +could talk to me as he did early this evening with any vile intentions at +heart. He was interested, no doubt, like many others, in one who had the name +of being a captivating woman, but—” +</p> + +<p> +I paused in sudden alarm. A look had crossed my uncle’s face which assured me +that we were no longer alone. Who could have entered so silently? In some +trepidation I turned to see. A gentleman was standing in the doorway, who +smiled as I met his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this Miss Van Arsdale?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly my courage, which had threatened to leave me, returned and I smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said I. “Are you the inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector Dalzell,” he explained with a bow, which included my uncle. +</p> + +<p> +Then he closed the door. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I have not frightened you,” he went on, approaching me with a +gentlemanly air. “A little matter has come up concerning which I mean to be +perfectly frank with you. It may prove to be of trivial importance; if so, you +will pardon my disturbing you. Mr. Durand—you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am engaged to him,” I declared before poor uncle could raise his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You are engaged to him. Well, that makes it difficult, and yet, in some +respects, easier for me to ask a certain question.” +</p> + +<p> +It must have made it more difficult than easy, for he did not proceed to put +this question immediately, but went on: +</p> + +<p> +“You know that Mr. Durand visited Mrs. Fairbrother in the alcove a little while +before her death?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been told so.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was seen to go in, but I have not yet found any one who saw him come out; +consequently we have been unable to fix the exact minute when he did so. What +is the matter, Miss Van Arsdale? You want to say something?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” I protested, reconsidering my first impulse. Then, as I met his look, +“He can probably tell you that himself. I am sure he would not hesitate.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall ask him later,” was the inspector’s response. “Meanwhile, are you +ready to assure me that since that time he has not intrusted you with a little +article to keep—No, no, I do not mean the diamond,” he broke in, in very +evident dismay, as I fell back from him in irrepressible indignation and alarm. +“The diamond—well, we shall look for that later; it is another article we +are in search of now, one which Mr. Durand might very well have taken in his +hand without realizing just what he was doing. As it is important for us to +find this article, and as it is one he might very naturally have passed over to +you when he found himself in the hall with it in his hand, I have ventured to +ask you if this surmise is correct.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not,” I retorted fiercely, glad that I could speak from my very heart. +“He has given me nothing to keep for him. He would not—” +</p> + +<p> +Why that peculiar look in the inspector’s eye? Why did he reach out for a chair +and seat me in it before he took up my interrupted sentence and finished it? +</p> + +<p> +“—would not give you anything to hold which had belonged to another +woman? Miss Van Arsdale, you do not know men. They do many things which a +young, trusting girl like yourself would hardly expect from them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Mr. Durand,” I maintained stoutly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not; let us hope not.” Then, with a quick change of manner, he bent +toward me, with a sidelong look at uncle, and, pointing to my gloves, remarked: +“You wear gloves. Did you feel the need of two pairs, that you carry another in +that pretty bag hanging from your arm?” +</p> + +<p> +I started, looked down, and then slowly drew up into my hand the bag he had +mentioned. The white finger of a glove was protruding from the top. Any one +could see it; many probably had. What did it mean? I had brought no extra pair +with me. +</p> + +<p> +“This is not mine,” I began, faltering into silence as I perceived my uncle +turn and walk a step or two away. +</p> + +<p> +“The article we are looking for,” pursued the inspector, “is a pair of long, +white gloves, supposed to have been worn by Mrs. Fairbrother when she entered +the alcove. Do you mind showing me those, a finger of which I see?” +</p> + +<p> +I dropped the bag into his hand. The room and everything in it was whirling +around me. But when I noted what trouble it was to his clumsy fingers to open +it, my senses returned and, reaching for the bag, I pulled it open and snatched +out the gloves. They had been hastily rolled up and some of the fingers were +showing. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me have them,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +With quaking heart and shaking fingers I handed over the gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Fairbrother’s hand was not a small one,” he observed as he slowly +unrolled them. “Yours is. We can soon tell—” +</p> + +<p> +But that sentence was never finished. As the gloves fell open in his grasp he +uttered a sudden, sharp ejaculation and I a smothered shriek. An object of +superlative brilliancy had rolled out from them. The diamond! the gem which men +said was worth a king’s ransom, and which we all knew had just cost a life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0003"></a> +III.<br/> +ANSON DURAND</h2> + +<p> +With benumbed senses and a dismayed heart, I stared at the fallen jewel as at +some hateful thing menacing both my life and honor. +</p> + +<p> +“I have had nothing to do with it,” I vehemently declared. “I did not put the +gloves in my bag, nor did I know the diamond was in them. I fainted at the +first alarm, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“There! there! I know,” interposed the inspector kindly. “I do not doubt you in +the least; not when there is a man to doubt. Miss Van Arsdale, you had better +let your uncle take you home. I will see that the hall is cleared for you. +Tomorrow I may wish to talk to you again, but I will spare you all further +importunity tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. It would require more courage to leave at that moment than to +stay. Meeting the inspector’s eye firmly, I quietly declared, +</p> + +<p> +“If Mr. Durand’s good name is to suffer in any way, I will not forsake him. I +have confidence in his integrity, if you have not. It was not his hand, but one +much more guilty, which dropped this jewel into the bag.” +</p> + +<p> +“So! so! do not be too sure of that, little woman. You had better take your +lesson at once. It will be easier for you, and more wholesome for him.” +</p> + +<p> +Here he picked up the jewel. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they said it was a wonder!” he exclaimed, in sudden admiration. “I am +not surprised, now that I have seen a great gem, at the famous stories I have +read of men risking life and honor for their possession. If only no blood had +been shed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle! uncle!” I wailed aloud in my agony. +</p> + +<p> +It was all my lips could utter, but to uncle it was enough. Speaking for the +first time, he asked to have a passage made for us, and when the inspector +moved forward to comply, he threw his arm about me, and was endeavoring to find +fitting words with which to fill up the delay, when a short altercation was +heard from the doorway, and Mr. Durand came rushing in, followed immediately by +the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +His first look was not at myself, but at the bag, which still hung from my arm. +As I noted this action, my whole inner self seemed to collapse, dragging my +happiness down with it. But my countenance remained unchanged, too much so, it +seems; for when his eye finally rose to my face, he found there what made him +recoil and turn with something like fierceness on his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been talking to her,” he vehemently protested. “Perhaps you have gone +further than that. What has happened here? I think I ought to know. She is so +guileless, Inspector Dalzell; so perfectly free from all connection with this +crime. Why have you shut her up here, and plied her with questions, and made +her look at me with such an expression, when all you have against me is just +what you have against some half-dozen others,—that I was weak enough, or +unfortunate enough, to spend a few minutes with that unhappy woman in the +alcove before she died?” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be well if Miss Van Arsdale herself would answer you,” was the +inspector’s quiet retort. “What you have said may constitute all that we have +against you, but it is not all we have against her.” +</p> + +<p> +I gasped, not so much at this seeming accusation, the motive of which I +believed myself to understand, but at the burning blush with which it was +received by Mr. Durand. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” he demanded, with certain odd breaks in his voice. “What +can you have against her?” +</p> + +<p> +“A triviality,” returned the inspector, with a look in my direction that was, I +felt, not to be mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not call it a triviality,” I burst out. “It seems that Mrs. Fairbrother, +for all her elaborate toilet, was found without gloves on her arms. As she +certainly wore them on entering the alcove, the police have naturally been +looking for them. And where do you think they have found them? Not in the +alcove with her, not in the possession of the man who undoubtedly carried them +away with him, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, I know,” Mr. Durand hoarsely put in. “You need not say any more. Oh, +my poor Rita! what have I brought upon you by my weakness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Weakness!” +</p> + +<p> +He started; I started; my voice was totally unrecognizable. +</p> + +<p> +“I should give it another name,” I added coldly. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he seemed to lose heart, then he lifted his head again, and looked +as handsome as when he pleaded for my hand in the little conservatory. +</p> + +<p> +“You have that right,” said he; “besides, weakness at such a time, and under +such an exigency, is little short of wrong. It was unmanly in me to endeavor to +secrete these gloves; more than unmanly for me to choose for their hiding-place +the recesses of an article belonging exclusively to yourself. I acknowledge it, +Rita, and shall meet only my just punishment if you deny me in the future both +your sympathy and regard. But you must let me assure you and these gentlemen +also, one of whom can make it very unpleasant for me, that consideration for +you, much more than any miserable anxiety about myself, lay at the bottom of +what must strike you all as an act of unpardonable cowardice. From the moment I +learned of this woman’s murder in the alcove, where I had visited her, I +realized that every one who had been seen to approach her within a half-hour of +her death would be subjected to a more or less rigid investigation, and I +feared, if her gloves were found in my possession, some special attention might +be directed my way which would cause you unmerited distress. So, yielding to an +impulse which I now recognize as a most unwise, as well as unworthy one, I took +advantage of the bustle about us, and of the insensibility into which you had +fallen, to tuck these miserable gloves into the bag I saw lying on the floor at +your side. I do not ask your pardon. My whole future life shall be devoted to +winning that; I simply wish to state a fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good!” It was the inspector who spoke; I could not have uttered a word to +save my life. “Perhaps you will now feel that you owe it to this young lady to +add how you came to have these gloves in your possession?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Fairbrother handed them to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Handed them to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I hardly know why myself. She asked me to take care of them for her. I +know that this must strike you as a very peculiar statement. It was my +realization of the unfavorable effect it could not fail to produce upon those +who beard it, which made me dread any interrogation on the subject. But I +assure you it was as I say. She put the gloves into my hand while I was talking +to her, saying they incommoded her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I held them for a few minutes, then I put them in my pocket, but quite +automatically, and without thinking very much about it. She was a woman +accustomed to have her own way. People seldom questioned it, I judge.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the tension about my throat relaxed, and I opened my lips to speak. But +the inspector, with a glance of some authority, forestalled me. +</p> + +<p> +“Were the gloves open or rolled up when she offered them to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“They were rolled up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see her take them off?” +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly.” +</p> + +<p> +“And roll them up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“After which she passed them over to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not immediately. She let them lie in her lap for a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“While you talked?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Durand bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“And looked at the diamond?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Durand bowed for the second time. +</p> + +<p> +“Had you ever seen so fine a diamond before?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you deal in precious stones?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my business.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are regarded as a judge of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have that reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Durand, would you know this diamond if you saw it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly should.” +</p> + +<p> +“The setting was an uncommon one, I hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite an unusual one.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector opened his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this the article?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! Where—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector eyed him gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I have a bit of news for you. It was hidden in the gloves you took from +Mrs. Fairbrother. Miss Van Arsdale was present at their unrolling.” +</p> + +<p> +Do we live, move, breathe at certain moments? It hardly seems so. I know that I +was conscious of but one sense, that of seeing; and of but one faculty, that of +judgment. Would he flinch, break down, betray guilt, or simply show +astonishment? I chose to believe it was the latter feeling only which informed +his slowly whitening and disturbed features. Certainly it was all his words +expressed, as his glances flew from the stone to the gloves, and back again to +the inspector’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I can not believe it. I can not believe it.” And his hand flew wildly to his +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet it is the truth, Mr. Durand, and one you have now to face. How will you do +this? By any further explanations, or by what you may consider a discreet +silence?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to explain,—the facts are as I have stated.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector regarded him with an earnestness which made my heart sink. +</p> + +<p> +“You can fix the time of this visit, I hope; tell us, I mean, just when you +left the alcove. You must have seen some one who can speak for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear not.” +</p> + +<p> +Why did he look so disturbed and uncertain? +</p> + +<p> +“There were but few persons in the hall just then,” he went on to explain. “No +one was sitting on the yellow divan.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know where you went, though? Whom you saw and what you did before the +alarm spread?” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector, I am quite confused. I did go somewhere; I did not remain in that +part of the hall. But I can tell you nothing definite, save that I walked +about, mostly among strangers, till the cry rose which sent us all in one +direction and me to the side of my fainting sweetheart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you pick out any stranger you talked to, or any one who might have noted +you during this interval? You see, for the sake of this little woman, I wish to +give you every chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector, I am obliged to throw myself on your mercy. I have no such witness +to my innocence as you call for. Innocent people seldom have. It is only the +guilty who take the trouble to provide for such contingencies.” +</p> + +<p> +This was all very well, if it had been uttered with a straightforward air and +in a clear tone. But it was not. I who loved him felt that it was not, and +consequently was more or less prepared for the change which now took place in +the inspector’s manner. Yet it pierced me to the heart to observe this change, +and I instinctively dropped my face into my hands when I saw him move toward +Mr. Durand with some final order or word of caution. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly (and who can account for such phenomena?) there floated into view +before my retina a reproduction of the picture I had seen, or imagined myself +to have seen, in the supper-room; and as at that time it opened before me an +unknown vista quite removed from the surrounding scene, so it did now, and I +beheld again in faint outlines, and yet with the effect of complete +distinctness, a square of light through which appeared an open passage partly +shut off from view by a half-lifted curtain and the tall figure of a man +holding back this curtain and gazing, or seeming to gaze, at his own breast, on +which he had already laid one quivering finger. +</p> + +<p> +What did it mean? In the excitement of the horrible occurrence which had +engrossed us all, I had forgotten this curious experience; but on feeling anew +the vague sensation of shock and expectation which seemed its natural +accompaniment, I became conscious of a sudden conviction that the picture which +had opened before me in the supper-room was the result of a reflection in a +glass or mirror of something then going on in a place not otherwise within the +reach of my vision; a reflection, the importance of which I suddenly realized +when I recalled at what a critical moment it had occurred. A man in a state of +dread looking at his breast, within five minutes of the stir and rush of the +dreadful event which had marked this evening! +</p> + +<p> +A hope, great as the despair in which I had just been sunk, gave me courage to +drop my hands and advance impetuously toward the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t speak, I pray; don’t judge any of us further till you have heard what I +have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +In great astonishment and with an aspect of some severity, he asked me what I +had to say now which I had not had the opportunity of saying before. I replied +with all the passion of a forlorn hope that it was only at this present moment +I remembered a fact which might have a very decided bearing on this case; and, +detecting evidences, as I thought, of relenting on his part, I backed up this +statement by an entreaty for a few words with him apart, as the matter I had to +tell was private and possibly too fanciful for any ear but his own. +</p> + +<p> +He looked as if he apprehended some loss of valuable time, but, touched by the +involuntary gesture of appeal with which I supplemented my request, he led me +into a corner, where, with just an encouraging glance toward Mr. Durand, who +seemed struck dumb by my action, I told the inspector of that momentary picture +which I had seen reflected in what I was now sure was some window-pane or +mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“It was at a time coincident, or very nearly coincident, with the perpetration +of the crime you are now investigating,” I concluded. “Within five minutes +afterward came the shout which roused us all to what had happened in the +alcove. I do not know what passage I saw or what door or even what figure; but +the latter, I am sure, was that of the guilty man. Something in the outline +(and it was the outline only I could catch) expressed an emotion +incomprehensible to me at the moment, but which, in my remembrance, impresses +me as that of fear and dread. It was not the entrance to the alcove I +beheld—that would have struck me at once—but some other opening +which I might recognize if I saw it. Can not that opening be found, and may it +not give a clue to the man I saw skulking through it with terror and remorse in +his heart?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was this figure, when you saw it, turned toward you or away?” the inspector +inquired with unexpected interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Turned partly away. He was going from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you sat—where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I show you?” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector bowed, then with a low word of caution turned to my uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to take this young lady into the hall for a moment, at her own +request. May I ask you and Mr. Durand to await me here?” +</p> + +<p> +Without pausing for reply, he threw open the door and presently we were pacing +the deserted supper-room, seeking the place where I had sat. I found it almost +by a miracle,—everything being in great disorder. Guided by my bouquet, +which I had left behind me in my escape from the table, I laid hold of the +chair before which it lay, and declared quite confidently to the inspector: +</p> + +<p> +“This is where I sat.” +</p> + +<p> +Naturally his glance and mine both flew to the opposite wall. A window was +before us of an unusual size and make. Unlike any which had ever before come +under my observation, it swung on a pivot, and, though shut at the present +moment, might very easily, when opened, present its huge pane at an angle +capable of catching reflections from some of the many mirrors decorating the +reception-room situated diagonally across the hall. As all the doorways on this +lower floor were of unusual width, an open path was offered, as it were, for +these reflections to pass, making it possible for scenes to be imaged here +which, to the persons involved, would seem as safe from any one’s scrutiny as +if they were taking place in the adjoining house. +</p> + +<p> +As we realized this, a look passed between us of more than ordinary +significance. Pointing to the window, the inspector turned to a group of +waiters watching us from the other side of the room and asked if it had been +opened that evening. +</p> + +<p> +The answer came quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,—just before the—the—” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” broke in the inspector; and, leaning over me, he whispered: +“Tell me again exactly what you thought you saw.” +</p> + +<p> +But I could add little to my former description. “Perhaps you can tell me +this,” he kindly persisted. “Was the picture, when you saw it, on a level with +your eye, or did you have to lift your head in order to see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was high up,—in the air, as it were. That seemed its oddest feature.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector’s mouth took a satisfied curve. “Possibly I might identify the +door and passage, if I saw them,” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, certainly,” was his cheerful rejoinder; and, summoning one of his +men, he was about to give some order, when his impulse changed, and he asked if +I could draw. +</p> + +<p> +I assured him, in some surprise, that I was far from being an adept in that +direction, but that possibly I might manage a rough sketch; whereupon he pulled +a pad and pencil from his pocket and requested me to make some sort of attempt +to reproduce, on paper, my memory of this passage and the door. +</p> + +<p> +My heart was beating violently, and the pencil shook in my hand, but I knew +that it would not do for me to show any hesitation in fixing for all eyes what, +unaccountably to myself, continued to be perfectly plain to my own. So I +endeavored to do as he bade me, and succeeded, to some extent, for he uttered a +slight ejaculation at one of its features, and, while duly expressing his +thanks, honored me with a very sharp look. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this your first visit to this house?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I have been here before.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the evening, or in the afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am told that the main entrance is not in use to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. A side door is provided for occasions like the present. Guests entering +there find a special hall and staircase, by which they can reach the upstairs +dressing-rooms, without crossing the main hall. Is that what you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that is what I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +I stared at him in wonder. What lay back of such questions as these? +</p> + +<p> +“You came in, as others did, by this side entrance,” he now proceeded. “Did you +notice, as you turned to go up stairs, an arch opening into a small passageway +at your left?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not,” I began, flushing, for I thought I understood him now. “I was too +eager to reach the dressing-room to look about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he replied; “I may want to show you that arch.” +</p> + +<p> +The outline of an arch, backing the figure we were endeavoring to identify, was +a marked feature in the sketch I had shown him. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take a seat near by while I make a study of this matter?” +</p> + +<p> +I turned with alacrity to obey. There was something in his air and manner which +made me almost buoyant. Had my fanciful interpretation of what I had seen +reached him with the conviction it had me? If so, there was hope,—hope +for the man I loved, who had gone in and out between curtains, and not through +any arch such as he had mentioned or I had described. Providence was working +for me. I saw it in the way the men now moved about, swinging the window to and +fro, under the instruction of the inspector, manipulating the lights, opening +doors and drawing back curtains. Providence was working for me, and when, a few +minutes later, I was asked to reseat myself in my old place at the supper-table +and take another look in that slightly deflected glass, I knew that my effort +had met with its reward, and that for the second time I was to receive the +impression of a place now indelibly imprinted on my consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Is not that it?” asked the inspector, pointing at the glass with a last look +at the imperfect sketch I had made him, and which he still held in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I eagerly responded. “All but the man. He whose figure I see there is +another person entirely; I see no remorse, or even fear, in his looks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. You are looking at the reflection of one of my men. Miss Van +Arsdale, do you recognize the place now under your eye?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not. You spoke of an arch in the hall, at the left of the carriage +entrance, and I see an arch in the window-pane before me, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“You are looking straight through the alcove,—perhaps you did not know +that another door opened at its back,—into the passage which runs behind +it. Farther on is the arch, and beyond that arch the side hall and staircase +leading to the dressing-rooms. This door, the one in the rear of the alcove, I +mean, is hidden from those entering from the main hall by draperies which have +been hung over it for this occasion, but it is quite visible from the back +passageway, and there can be no doubt that it was by its means the man, whose +reflected image you saw, both entered and left the alcove. It is an important +fact to establish, and we feel very much obliged to you for the aid you have +given us in this matter.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as I continued to stare at him in my elation and surprise, he added, in +quick explanation: +</p> + +<p> +“The lights in the alcove, and in the several parlors, are all hung with +shades, as you must perceive, but the one in the hall, beyond the arch, is very +bright, which accounts for the distinctness of this double reflection. Another +thing,—and it is a very interesting point,—it would have been +impossible for this reflection to be noticeable from where you sit, if the +level of the alcove flooring had not been considerably higher than that of the +main floor. But for this freak of the architect, the continual passing to and +fro of people would have prevented the reflection in its passage from surface +to surface. Miss Van Arsdale, it would seem that by one of those chances which +happen but once or twice in a lifetime, every condition was propitious at the +moment to make this reflection a possible occurrence, even the location and +width of the several doorways and the exact point at which the portiere was +drawn aside from the entrance to the alcove.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is wonderful,” I cried, “wonderful!” Then, to his astonishment, perhaps, I +asked if there was not a small door of communication between the passageway +back of the alcove and the large central hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied. “It opens just beyond the fireplace. Three small steps lead +to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought so,” I murmured, but more to myself than to him. In my mind I was +thinking how a man, if he so wished, could pass from the very heart of this +assemblage into the quiet passageway, and so on into the alcove, without +attracting very much attention from his fellow guests. I forgot that there was +another way of approach even less noticeable that by the small staircase +running up beyond the arch directly to the dressing-rooms. +</p> + +<p> +That no confusion may arise in any one’s mind in regard to these curious +approaches, I subjoin a plan of this portion of the lower floor as it afterward +appeared in the leading dailies. +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Durand?” I stammered, as I followed the inspector back to the room +where we had left that gentleman. “You will believe his statement now and look +for this second intruder with the guiltily-hanging head and frightened mien?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied, stopping me on the threshold of the door and taking my hand +kindly in his, “if—(don’t start, my dear; life is full of trouble for +young and old, and youth is the best time to face a sad experience) if he is +not himself the man you saw staring in frightened horror at his breast. Have +you not noticed that he is not dressed in all respects like the other gentlemen +present? That, though he has not donned his overcoat, he has put on, somewhat +prematurely, one might say, the large silk handkerchief he presumably wears +under it? Have you not noticed this, and asked yourself why?” +</p> + +<p> +I had noticed it. I had noticed it from the moment I recovered from my fainting +fit, but I had not thought it a matter of sufficient interest to ask, even of +myself, his reason for thus hiding his shirt-front. Now I could not. My +faculties were too confused, my heart too deeply shaken by the suggestion which +the inspector’s words conveyed, for me to be conscious of anything but the +devouring question as to what I should do if, by my own mistaken zeal, I had +succeeded in plunging the man I loved yet deeper into the toils in which he had +become enmeshed. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector left me no time for the settlement of this question. Ushering me +back into the room where Mr. Durand and my uncle awaited our return in +apparently unrelieved silence, he closed the door upon the curious eyes of the +various persons still lingering in the hall, and abruptly said to Mr. Durand: +</p> + +<p> +“The explanations you have been pleased to give of the manner in which this +diamond came into your possession are not too fanciful for credence, if you can +satisfy us on another point which has awakened some doubt in the mind of one of +my men. Mr. Durand, you appear to have prepared yourself for departure somewhat +prematurely. Do you mind removing that handkerchief for a moment? My reason for +so peculiar a request will presently appear.” +</p> + +<p> +Alas, for my last fond hope! Mr. Durand, with a face as white as the background +of snow framed by the uncurtained window against which he leaned, lifted his +hand as if to comply with the inspector’s request, then let it fall again with +a grating laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“I see that I am not likely to escape any of the results of my imprudence,” he +cried, and with a quick jerk bared his shirt-front. +</p> + +<p> +A splash of red defiled its otherwise uniform whiteness! That it was the red of +heart’s blood was proved by the shrinking look he unconsciously cast at it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0004"></a> +IV.<br/> +EXPLANATIONS</h2> + +<p> +My love for Anson Durand died at sight of that crimson splash or I thought it +did. In this spot of blood on the breast of him to whom I had given my heart I +could read but one word—guilt—heinous guilt, guilt denied and now +brought to light in language that could be seen and read by all men. Why should +I stay in such a presence? Had not the inspector himself advised me to go? +</p> + +<p> +Yes, but another voice bade me remain. Just as I reached the door, Anson Durand +found his voice and I heard, in the full, sweet tones I loved so well: +</p> + +<p> +“Wait I am not to be judged like this. I will explain!” +</p> + +<p> +But here the inspector interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think it wise to make any such attempt without the advice of counsel, +Mr. Durand?” +</p> + +<p> +The indignation with which Mr. Durand wheeled toward him raised in me a faint +hope. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God, yes!” he cried. “Would you have me leave Miss Van Arsdale one minute +longer than is necessary to such dreadful doubts? Rita—Miss Van +Arsdale—weakness, and weakness only, has brought me into my present +position. I did not kill Mrs. Fairbrother, nor did I knowingly take her +diamond, though appearances look that way, as I am very ready to acknowledge. I +did go to her in the alcove, not once, but twice, and these are my reasons for +doing so: About three months ago a certain well-known man of enormous wealth +came to me with the request that I should procure for him a diamond of superior +beauty. He wished to give it to his wife, and he wished it to outshine any +which could now be found in New York. This meant sending abroad—an +expense he was quite willing to incur on the sole condition that the stone +should not disappoint him when he saw it, and that it was to be in his hands on +the eighteenth of March, his wife’s birthday. Never before had I had such an +opportunity for a large stroke of business. Naturally elated, I entered at once +into correspondence with the best known dealers on the other side, and last +week a diamond was delivered to me which seemed to fill all the necessary +requirements. I had never seen a finer stone, and was consequently rejoicing in +my success, when some one, I do not remember who now, chanced to speak in my +hearing of the wonderful stone possessed by a certain Mrs. Fairbrother—a +stone so large, so brilliant and so precious altogether that she seldom wore +it, though it was known to connoisseurs and had a great reputation at +Tiffany’s, where it had once been sent for some alteration in the setting. Was +this stone larger and finer than the one I had procured with so much trouble? +If so, my labor had all been in vain, for my patron must have known of this +diamond and would expect to see it surpassed. +</p> + +<p> +“I was so upset by this possibility that I resolved to see the jewel and make +comparisons for myself. I found a friend who agreed to introduce me to the +lady. She received me very graciously and was amiable enough until the subject +of diamonds was broached, when she immediately stiffened and left me without an +opportunity of proffering my request. However, on every other subject she was +affable, and I found it easy enough to pursue the acquaintance till we were +almost on friendly terms. But I never saw the diamond, nor would she talk about +it, though I caused her some surprise when one day I drew out before her eyes +the one I had procured for my patron and made her look at it. ‘Fine,’ she +cried, ‘fine!’ But I failed to detect any envy in her manner, and so knew that +I had not achieved the object set me by my wealthy customer. This was a woeful +disappointment; yet, as Mrs. Fairbrother never wore her diamond, it was among +the possibilities that he might be satisfied with the very fine gem I had +obtained for him, and, influenced by this hope, I sent him this morning a +request to come and see it tomorrow. Tonight I attended this ball, and almost +as soon as I enter the drawing-room I hear that Mrs. Fairbrother is present and +is wearing her famous jewel. What could you expect of me? Why, that I would +make an effort to see it and so be ready with a reply to my exacting customer +when he should ask me to-morrow if the stone I showed him had its peer in the +city. But was not in the drawing-room then, and later I became interested +elsewhere”—here he cast a look at me—“so that half the evening +passed before I had an opportunity to join her in the so-called alcove, where I +had seen her set up her miniature court. What passed between us in the short +interview we held together you will find me prepared to state, if necessary. It +was chiefly marked by the one short view I succeeded in obtaining of her +marvelous diamond, in spite of the pains she took to hide it from me by some +natural movement whenever she caught my eyes leaving her face. But in that one +short look I had seen enough. This was a gem for a collector, not to be worn +save in a royal presence. How had she come by it? And could Mr. Smythe expect +me to procure him a stone like that? In my confusion I arose to depart, but the +lady showed a disposition to keep me, and began chatting so vivaciously that I +scarcely noticed that she was all the time engaged in drawing off her gloves. +Indeed, I almost forgot the jewel, possibly because her movements hid it so +completely, and only remembered it when, with a sudden turn from the window +where she had drawn me to watch the falling flakes, she pressed the gloves into +my hand with the coquettish request that I should take care of them for her. I +remember, as I took them, of striving to catch another glimpse of the stone, +whose brilliancy had dazzled me, but she had opened her fan between us. A +moment after, thinking I heard approaching steps, I quitted the room. This was +my first visit.” +</p> + +<p> +As he stopped, possibly for breath, possibly to judge to what extent I was +impressed by his account, the inspector seized the opportunity to ask if Mrs. +Fairbrother had been standing any of this time with her back to him. To which +he answered yes, while they were in the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Long enough for her to pluck off the jewel and thrust it into the gloves, if +she had so wished?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite long enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you did not see her do this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so took the gloves without suspicion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Entirely so.” +</p> + +<p> +“And carried them away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without thinking that she might want them the next minute?” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt if I was thinking seriously of her at all. My thoughts were on my own +disappointment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you carry these gloves out in your hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, in my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. And you met—” +</p> + +<p> +“No one. The sound I heard must have come from the rear hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there was nobody on the steps?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. A gentleman was standing at their foot—Mr. Grey, the +Englishman—but his face was turned another way, and he looked as if he +had been in that same position for several minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did this gentleman—Mr. Grey—see you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can not say, but I doubt it. He appeared to be in a sort of dream. There +were other people about, but nobody with whom I was acquainted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Now for the second visit you acknowledge having paid this +unfortunate lady.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector’s voice was hard. I clung a little more tightly to my uncle, and +Mr. Durand, after one agonizing glance my way, drew himself up as if quite +conscious that he had entered upon the most serious part of the struggle. +</p> + +<p> +“I had forgotten the gloves in my hurried departure; but presently I remembered +them, and grew very uneasy. I did not like carrying this woman’s property about +with me. I had engaged myself, an hour before, to Miss Van Arsdale, and was +very anxious to rejoin her. The gloves worried me, and finally, after a little +aimless wandering through the various rooms, I determined to go back and +restore them to their owner. The doors of the supper-room had just been flung +open, and the end of the hall near the alcove was comparatively empty, save for +a certain quizzical friend of mine, whom I saw sitting with his partner on the +yellow divan. I did not want to encounter him just then, for he had already +joked me about my admiration for the lady with the diamond, and so I conceived +the idea of approaching her by means of a second entrance to the alcove, +unsuspected by most of those present, but perfectly well-known to me, who have +been a frequent guest in this house. A door, covered by temporary draperies, +connects, as you may know, this alcove with a passageway communicating directly +with the hall of entrance and the up-stairs dressing-rooms. To go up the main +stairs and come down by the side one, and so on, through a small archway, was a +very simple matter for me. If no early-departing or late arriving guests were +in that hall, I need fear but one encounter, and that was with the servant +stationed at the carriage entrance. But even he was absent at this propitious +instant, and I reached the door I sought without any unpleasantness. This door +opened out instead of in,—this I also knew when planning this +surreptitious intrusion, but, after pulling it open and reaching for the +curtain, which hung completely across it, I found it not so easy to proceed as +I had imagined. The stealthiness of my action held back my hand; then the faint +sounds I heard within advised me that she was not alone, and that she might +very readily regard with displeasure my unexpected entrance by a door of which +she was possibly ignorant. I tell you all this because, if by any chance I was +seen hesitating in face of that curtain, doubts might have been raised which I +am anxious to dispel.” Here his eyes left my face for that of the inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly had a bad look,—that I don’t deny; but I did not think of +appearances then. I was too anxious to complete a task which had suddenly +presented unexpected difficulties. That I listened before entering was very +natural, and when I heard no voice, only something like a great sigh, I +ventured to lift the curtain and step in. She was sitting, not where I had left +her, but on a couch at the left of the usual entrance, her face toward me, +and—you know how, Inspector. It was her last sigh I had heard. Horrified, +for I had never looked on death before, much less crime, I reeled forward, +meaning, I presume, to rush down the steps shouting for help, when, suddenly, +something fell splashing on my shirt-front, and I saw myself marked with a +stain of blood. This both frightened and bewildered me, and it was a minute or +two before I had the courage to look up. When I did do so, I saw whence this +drop had come. Not from her, though the red stream was pouring down the rich +folds of her dress, but from a sharp needle-like instrument which had been +thrust, point downward, in the open work of an antique lantern hanging near the +doorway. What had happened to me might have happened to any one who chanced to +be in that spot at that special moment, but I did not realize this then. +Covering the splash with my hands, I edged myself back to the door by which I +had entered, watching those deathful eyes and crushing under my feet the +remnants of some broken china with which the carpet was bestrewn. I had no +thought of her, hardly any of myself. To cross the room was all; to escape as +secretly as I came, before the portiere so nearly drawn between me and the main +hall should stir under the hand of some curious person entering. It was my +first sight of blood; my first contact with crime, and that was what I +did,—I fled.” +</p> + +<p> +The last word was uttered with a gasp. Evidently he was greatly affected by +this horrible experience. +</p> + +<p> +“I am ashamed of myself,” he muttered, “but nothing can now undo the fact. I +slid from the presence of this murdered woman as though she had been the victim +of my own rage or cupidity; and, being fortunate enough to reach the +dressing-room before the alarm had spread beyond the immediate vicinity of the +alcove, found and put on the handkerchief, which made it possible for me to +rush down and find Miss Van Arsdale, who, somebody told me, had fainted. Not +till I stood over her in that remote corner beyond the supper-room did I again +think of the gloves. What I did when I happened to think of them, you already +know. I could have shown no greater cowardice if I had known that the murdered +woman’s diamond was hidden inside them. Yet, I did not know this, or even +suspect it. Nor do I understand, now, her reason for placing it there. Why +should Mrs. Fairbrother risk such an invaluable gem to the custody of one she +knew so little? An unconscious custody, too? Was she afraid of being murdered +if she retained this jewel?” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector thought a moment, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“You mention your dread of some one entering by the one door before you could +escape by the other. Do you refer to the friend you left sitting on the divan +opposite?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my friend had left that seat. The portiere was sufficiently drawn for me +to detect that. If I had waited a minute longer,” he bitterly added, “I should +have found my way open to the regular entrance, and so escaped all this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Durand, you are not obliged to answer any of my questions; but, if you +wish, you may tell me whether, at this moment of apprehension, you thought of +the danger you ran of being seen from outside by some one of the many coachmen +passing by on the driveway?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,—I did not even think of the window,—I don’t know why; but, if +any one passing by did see me, I hope they saw enough to substantiate my +story.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector made no reply. He seemed to be thinking. I heard afterward that +the curtains, looped back in the early evening, had been found hanging at full +length over this window by those who first rushed in upon the scene of death. +Had he hoped to entrap Mr. Durand into some damaging admission? Or was he +merely testing his truth? His expression afforded no clue to his thoughts, and +Mr. Durand, noting this, remarked with some dignity: +</p> + +<p> +“I do not expect strangers to accept these explanations, which must sound +strange and inadequate in face of the proof I carry of having been with that +woman after the fatal weapon struck her heart. But, to one who knows me, and +knows me well, I can surely appeal for credence to a tale which I here declare +to be as true as if I had sworn to it in a court of justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anson!” I passionately cried out, loosening my clutch upon my uncle’s arm. My +confidence in him had returned. +</p> + +<p> +And then, as I noted the inspector’s businesslike air, and my uncle’s wavering +look and unconvinced manner, I felt my heart swell, and, flinging all +discretion to the wind, I bounded eagerly forward. Laying my hands in those of +Mr. Durand, I cried fervently: +</p> + +<p> +“I believe in you. Nothing but your own words shall ever shake my confidence in +your innocence.” +</p> + +<p> +The sweet, glad look I received was my best reply. I could leave the room, +after that. +</p> + +<p> +But not the house. Another experience awaited me, awaited us all, before this +full, eventful evening came to a close. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0005"></a> +V.<br/> +SUPERSTITION</h2> + +<p> +I had gone up stairs for my wraps—my uncle having insisted on my +withdrawing from a scene where my very presence seemed in some degree to +compromise me. +</p> + +<p> +Soon prepared for my departure, I was crossing the hall to the small door +communicating with the side staircase where my uncle had promised to await me, +when I felt myself seized by a desire to have another look below before leaving +the place in which were centered all my deepest interests. +</p> + +<p> +A wide landing, breaking up the main flight of stairs some few feet from the +top, offered me an admirable point of view. With but little thought of possible +consequences, and no thought at all of my poor, patient uncle, I slipped down +to this landing, and, protected by the unusual height of its balustrade, +allowed myself a parting glance at the scene with which my most poignant +memories were henceforth to be connected. +</p> + +<p> +Before me lay the large square of the central hall. Opening out from this was +the corridor leading to the front door, and incidentally to the library. As my +glance ran down this corridor, I beheld, approaching from the room just +mentioned, the tall figure of the Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +He halted as he reached the main hall and stood gazing eagerly at a group of +men and women clustered near the fireplace—a group on which I no sooner +cast my own eye than my attention also became fixed. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector had come from the room where I had left him with Mr. Durand and +was showing to these people the extraordinary diamond, which he had just +recovered under such remarkable if not suspicious circumstances. Young heads +and old were meeting over it, and I was straining my ears to hear such comments +as were audible above the general hubbub, when Mr. Grey made a quick move and I +looked his way again in time to mark his air of concern and the uncertainty he +showed whether to advance or retreat. +</p> + +<p> +Unconscious of my watchful eye, and noting, no doubt, that most of the persons +in the group on which his own eye was leveled stood with their backs toward +him, he made no effort to disguise his profound interest in the stone. His eye +followed its passage from hand to hand with a covetous eagerness of which he +may not have been aware, and I was not at all surprised when, after a short +interval of troubled indecision, he impulsively stepped forward and begged the +privilege of handling the gem himself. +</p> + +<p> +Our host, who stood not far from the inspector, said something to that +gentleman which led to this request being complied with. The stone was passed +over to Mr. Grey, and I saw, possibly because my heart was in my eyes, that the +great man’s hand trembled as it touched his palm. Indeed, his whole frame +trembled, and I was looking eagerly for the result of his inspection when, on +his turning to hold the jewel up to the light, something happened so abnormal +and so strange that no one who was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be +present in the house at that instant will ever forget it. +</p> + +<p> +This something was a cry, coming from no one knew where, which, unearthly in +its shrillness and the power it had on the imagination, reverberated through +the house and died away in a wail so weird, so thrilling and so prolonged that +it gripped not only my own nerveless and weakened heart, but those of the ten +strong men congregated below me. The diamond dropped from Mr. Grey’s hand, and +neither he nor any one else moved to pick it up. Not till silence had come +again—a silence almost as unendurable to the sensitive ear as the cry +which had preceded it—did any one stir or think of the gem. Then one +gentleman after another bent to look for it, but with no success, till one of +the waiters, who possibly had followed it with his eye or caught sight of its +sparkle on the edge of the rug, whither it had rolled, sprang and picked it up +and handed it back to Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +Instinctively the Englishman’s hand closed on it, but it was very evident to +me, and I think to all, that his interest in it was gone. If he looked at it he +did not see it, for he stood like one stunned all the time that agitated men +and women were running hither and thither in unavailing efforts to locate the +sound yet ringing in their ears. Not till these various searchers had all come +together again, in terror of a mystery they could not solve, did he let his +hand fall and himself awake to the scene about him. +</p> + +<p> +The words he at once gave utterance to were as remarkable as all the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said he, “you must pardon my agitation. This cry—you need +not seek its source—is one to which I am only too well accustomed. I have +been the happy father of six children. Five I have buried, and, before the +death of each, this same cry has echoed in my ears. I have but one child left, +a daughter,—she is ill at the hotel. Do you wonder that I shrink from +this note of warning, and show myself something less than a man under its +influence? I am going home; but, first, one word about this stone.” Here he +lifted it and bestowed, or appeared to bestow on it, an anxious scrutiny, +putting on his glasses and examining it carefully before passing it back to the +inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard,” said he, with a change of tone which must have been noticeable +to every one, “that this stone was a very superior one, and quite worthy of the +fame it bore here in America. But, gentlemen, you have all been greatly +deceived in it; no one more than he who was willing to commit murder for its +possession. The stone, which you have just been good enough to allow me to +inspect, is no diamond, but a carefully manufactured bit of paste not worth the +rich and elaborate setting which has been given to it. I am sorry to be the one +to say this, but I have made a study of precious stones, and I can not let this +bare-faced imitation pass through my hands without a protest. Mr. Ramsdell,” +this to our host, “I beg you will allow me to utter my excuses, and depart at +once. My daughter is worse,—this I know, as certainly as that I am +standing here. The cry you have heard is the one superstition of our family. +Pray God that I find her alive!” +</p> + +<p> +After this, what could be said? Though no one who had heard him, not even my +own romantic self, showed any belief in this interpretation of the remarkable +sound that had just gone thrilling through the house, yet, in face of his +declared acceptance of it as a warning, and the fact that all efforts had +failed to locate the sound, or even to determine its source, no other course +seemed open but to let this distinguished man depart with the suddenness his +superstitious fears demanded. +</p> + +<p> +That this was in opposition to the inspector’s wishes was evident enough. +Naturally, he would have preferred Mr. Grey to remain, if only to make clear +his surprising conclusions in regard to a diamond which had passed through the +hands of some of the best judges in the country, without a doubt having been +raised as to its genuineness. +</p> + +<p> +With his departure the inspector’s manner changed. He glanced at the stone in +his hand, and slowly shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt if Mr. Grey’s judgment can be depended on, to-night,” said he, and +pocketed the gem as carefully as if his belief in its real value had been but +little disturbed by the assertions of this renowned foreigner. +</p> + +<p> +I have no distinct remembrance of how I finally left the house, or of what +passed between my uncle and myself on our way home. I was numb with the shock, +and neither my intelligence nor my feelings were any longer active. I recall +but one impression, and that was the effect made on me by my old home on our +arrival there, as of something new and strange; so much had happened, and such +changes had taken place in myself since leaving it five hours before. But +nothing else is vivid in my remembrance till that early hour of the dreary +morning, when, on waking to the world with a cry, I beheld my uncle’s anxious +figure, bending over me from the foot-board. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly I found tongue, and question after question leaped from my lips. He +did not answer them; he could not; but when I grew feverish and insistent, he +drew the morning paper from behind his back, and laid it quietly down within my +reach. I felt calmed in an instant, and when, after a few affectionate words, +he left me to myself, I seized on the sheet and read what so many others were +reading at that moment throughout the city. +</p> + +<p> +I spare you the account so far as it coincides with what I had myself seen and +heard the night before. A few particulars which had not reached my ears will +interest you. The instrument of death found in the place designated by Mr. +Durand was one of note to such as had any taste or knowledge of curios. It was +a stiletto of the most delicate type, long, keen and slender. Not an American +product, not even of this century’s manufacture, but a relic of the days when +deadly thrusts were given in the corners and by-ways of medieval streets. +</p> + +<p> +This made the first mystery. +</p> + +<p> +The second was the as yet unexplainable presence, on the alcove floor, of two +broken coffee-cups, which no waiter nor any other person, in fact, admitted +having carried there. The tray, which had fallen from Peter Mooney’s +hand,—the waiter who had been the first to give the alarm of +murder,—had held no cups, only ices. This was a fact, proved. But the +handles of two cups had been found among the debris,—cups which must have +been full, from the size of the coffee stain left on the rug where they had +fallen. +</p> + +<p> +In reading this I remembered that Mr. Durand had mentioned stepping on some +broken pieces of china in his escape from the fatal scene, and, struck with +this confirmation of a theory which was slowly taking form in my own mind, I +passed on to the next paragraph, with a sense of expectation. +</p> + +<p> +The result was a surprise. Others may have been told, I was not, that Mrs. +Fairbrother had received a communication from outside only a few minutes +previous to her death. A Mr. Fullerton, who had preceded Mr. Durand in his +visit to the alcove, owned to having opened the window for her at some call or +signal from outside, and taken in a small piece of paper which he saw lifted up +from below on the end of a whip handle. He could not see who held the whip, but +at Mrs. Fairbrother’s entreaty he unpinned the note and gave it to her. While +she was puzzling over it, for it was apparently far from legible, he took +another look out in time to mark a figure rush from below toward the carriage +drive. He did not recognize the figure nor would he know it again. As to the +nature of the communication itself he could say nothing, save that Mrs. +Fairbrother did not seem to be affected favorably by it. She frowned and was +looking very gloomy when he left the alcove. Asked if he had pulled the +curtains together after closing the window, he said that he had not; that she +had not requested him to do so. +</p> + +<p> +This story, which was certainly a strange one, had been confirmed by the +testimony of the coachman who had lent his whip for the purpose. This coachman, +who was known to be a man of extreme good nature, had seen no harm in lending +his whip to a poor devil who wished to give a telegram or some such hasty +message to the lady sitting just above them in a lighted window. The wind was +fierce and the snow blinding, and it was natural that the man should duck his +head, but he remembered his appearance well enough to say that he was either +very cold or very much done up and that he wore a greatcoat with the collar +pulled up about his ears. When he came back with the whip he seemed more +cheerful than when he asked for it, but had no “thank you” for the favor done +him, or if he had, it was lost in his throat and the piercing gale. +</p> + +<p> +The communication, which was regarded by the police as a matter of the highest +importance, had been found in her hand by the coroner. It was a mere scrawl +written in pencil on a small scrap of paper. The following facsimile of the +scrawl was given to the public in the hope that some one would recognize the +handwriting. +</p> + +<p> +The first two lines overlapped and were confused, but the last one was clear +enough. Expect trouble if—If what? Hundreds were asking the question and +at this very moment. I should soon be asking it, too, but first, I must make an +effort to understand the situation,—a situation which up to now appeared +to involve Mr. Durand, and Mr. Durand only, as the suspected party. +</p> + +<p> +This was no more than I expected, yet it came with a shock under the broad +glare of this wintry morning; so impossible did it seem in the light of +every-day life that guilt could be associated in any one’s mind with a man of +such unblemished record and excellent standing. But the evidence adduced +against him was of a kind to appeal to the common mind—we all know that +evidence—nor could I say, after reading the full account, that I was +myself unaffected by its seeming weight. Not that my faith in his innocence was +shaken. I had met his look of love and tender gratitude and my confidence in +him had been restored, but I saw, with all the clearness of a mind trained by +continuous study, how difficult it was going to be to counteract the prejudice +induced, first, by his own inconsiderate acts, especially by that unfortunate +attempt of his to secrete Mrs. Fairbrother’s gloves in another woman’s bag, and +secondly, by his peculiar explanations—explanations which to many must +seem forced and unnatural. +</p> + +<p> +I saw and felt nerved to a superhuman task. I believed him innocent, and if +others failed to prove him so, I would undertake to clear him myself,—I, +the little Rita, with no experience of law or courts or crime, but with simply +an unbounded faith in the man suspected and in the keenness of my own +insight,—an insight which had already served me so well and would serve +me yet better, once I had mastered the details which must be the prelude to all +intelligent action. +</p> + +<p> +The morning’s report stopped with the explanations given by Mr. Durand of the +appearances against him. Consequently no word appeared of the after events +which had made such an impression at the time on all the persons present. Mr. +Grey was mentioned, but simply as one of the guests, and to no one reading this +early morning issue would any doubt come as to the genuineness of the diamond +which, to all appearance, had been the leading motive in the commission of this +great crime. +</p> + +<p> +The effect on my own mind of this suppression was a curious one. I began to +wonder if the whole event had not been a chimera of my disturbed brain—a +nightmare which had visited me, and me alone, and not a fact to be reckoned +with. But a moment’s further thought served to clear my mind of all such +doubts, and I perceived that the police had only exercised common prudence in +withholding Mr. Grey’s sensational opinion of the stone till it could be +verified by experts. +</p> + +<p> +The two columns of gossip devoted to the family differences which had led to +the separation of Mr. and Mrs. Fairbrother, I shall compress into a few lines. +They had been married three years before in the city of Baltimore. He was a +rich man then, but not the multimillionaire he is to-day. Plain-featured and +without manner, lie was no mate for this sparkling coquette, whose charm was of +the kind which grows with exercise. Though no actual scandal was ever +associated with her name, he grew tired of her caprices, and the conquests +which she made no endeavor to hide either from him or from the world at large; +and at some time during the previous year they had come to a friendly +understanding which led to their living apart, each in grand style and with a +certain deference to the proprieties which retained them their friends and an +enviable place in society. He was not often invited where she was, and she +never appeared in any assemblage where he was expected; but with this +exception, little feeling was shown; matters progressed smoothly, and to their +credit, let it be said, no one ever heard either of them speak otherwise than +considerately of the other. He was at present out or town, having started some +three weeks before for the southwest, but would probably return on receipt of +the telegram which had been sent him. +</p> + +<p> +The comments made on the murder were necessarily hurried. It was called a +mystery, but it was evident enough that Mr. Durand’s detention was looked on as +the almost certain prelude to his arrest on the charge of murder. +</p> + +<p> +I had had some discipline in life. Although a favorite of my wealthy uncle, I +had given up very early the prospects he held out to me of a continued +enjoyment of his bounty, and entered on duties which required self-denial and +hard work. I did this because I enjoy having both my mind and heart occupied. +To be necessary to some one, as a nurse is to a patient, seemed to me an +enviable fate till I came under the influence of Anson Durand. Then the craving +of all women for the common lot of their sex became my craving also; a craving, +however, to which I failed at first to yield, for I felt that it was unshared, +and thus a token of weakness. Fighting my battle, I succeeded in winning it, as +I thought, just as the nurse’s diploma was put in my hands. Then came the great +surprise of my life. Anson Durand expressed his love for me and I awoke to the +fact that all my preparation had been for home joys and a woman’s true +existence. One hour of ecstasy in the light of this new hope, then tragedy and +something approaching chaos! Truly I had been through a schooling. But was it +one to make me useful in the only way I could be useful now? I did not know; I +did not care; I was determined on my course, fit or unfit, and, in the relief +brought by this appeal to my energy, I rose and dressed and went about the +duties of the day. +</p> + +<p> +One of these was to determine whether Mr. Grey, on his return to his hotel, had +found his daughter as ill as his fears had foreboded. A telephone message or +two satisfied me on this point. Miss Grey was very ill, but not considered +dangerously so; indeed, if anything, her condition was improved, and if nothing +happened in the way of fresh complications, the prospects were that she would +be out in a fortnight. +</p> + +<p> +I was not surprised. It was more than I had expected. The cry of the banshee in +an American house was past belief, even in an atmosphere surcharged with fear +and all the horror surrounding a great crime; and in the secret reckoning I was +making against a person I will not even name at this juncture, I added it as +another suspicious circumstance. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0006"></a> +VI.<br/> +SUSPENSE</h2> + +<p> +To relate the full experiences of the next few days would be to encumber my +narrative with unnecessary detail. +</p> + +<p> +I did not see Mr. Durand again. My uncle, so amenable in most matters, proved +Inexorable on this point. Till Mr. Durand’s good name should be restored by the +coroner’s verdict, or such evidence brought to light as should effectually +place him beyond all suspicion, I was to hold no communication with him of any +sort whatever. I remember the very words with which my uncle ended the one +exhaustive conversation we had on the subject. They were these: +</p> + +<p> +“You have fully expressed to Mr. Durand your entire confidence In his +Innocence. That must suffice him for the present. If he Is the honest gentleman +you think him, It will.” +</p> + +<p> +As uncle seldom asserted himself, and as he is very much in earnest when he +does, I made no attempt to combat this resolution, especially as it met the +approval of my better judgment. But though my power to convey sympathy fell +thus under a yoke, my thoughts and feelings remained free, and these were all +consecrated to the man struggling under an imputation, the disgrace and +humiliation of which he was but poorly prepared, by his former easy life of +social and business prosperity, to meet. +</p> + +<p> +For Mr. Durand, in spite of the few facts which came up from time to time in +confirmation of his story, continued to be almost universally regarded as a +suspect. +</p> + +<p> +This seemed to me very unjust. What if no other clue offered—no other +clue, I mean, recognized as such by police or public! Was he not to have the +benefit of whatever threw a doubt on his own culpability? For instance, that +splash of blood on his shirt-front, which I had seen, and the shape of which I +knew! Why did not the fact that it was a splash and not a spatter (and spatter +it would have been had it spurted there, instead of falling from above, as he +stated), count for more in the minds of those whose business it was to probe +into the very heart of this crime? To me, it told such a tale of innocence that +I wondered how a man like the inspector could pass over it. But later I +understood. A single word enlightened me. The stain, it was true, was in the +form of a splash and not a spurt, but a splash would have been the result of a +drop falling from the reeking end of the stiletto, whether it dislodged itself +early or late. And what was there to prove that this drop had not fallen at the +instant the stiletto was being thrust Into the lantern, instead of after the +escape of the criminal, and the entrance of another man? +</p> + +<p> +But the mystery of the broken coffee-cups! For that no explanation seemed to be +forthcoming. +</p> + +<p> +And the still unsolved one of the written warning found in the murdered woman’s +hand—a warning which had been deciphered to read: “Be warned! He means to +be at the ball! Expect trouble if—” Was that to be looked upon as +directed against a man who, from the nature of his projected attempt, would +take no one into his confidence? +</p> + +<p> +Then the stiletto—a photographic reproduction of which was in all the +papers—was that the kind of instrument which a plain New York gentleman +would be likely to use In a crime of this nature? It was a marked and unique +article, capable, as one would think, of being easily traced to its owner. Had +it been claimed by Mr. Ramsdell, had it been recognized as one of the many +works of art scattered about the highly-decorated alcove, its employment as a +means of death would have gone only to prove the possibly unpremeditated nature +of the crime, and so been valueless as the basis of an argument in favor of Mr. +Durand’s innocence. But Mr. Ramsdell had disclaimed from the first all +knowledge of it, consequently one could but feel justified in asking whether a +man of Mr. Durand’s judgment would choose such an extraordinary weapon in +meditating so startling a crime which from its nature and circumstance could +not fail to attract the attention of the whole civilized world. +</p> + +<p> +Another argument, advanced by himself and subscribed to by all his friends, was +this: That a dealer in precious stones would be the last man to seek by any +unlawful means to possess so conspicuous a jewel. For he, better than any one +else, would know the impossibility of disposing of a gem of this distinction in +any market short of the Orient. To which the unanswerable reply was made that +no one attributed to him any such folly; that if he had planned to possess +himself of this great diamond, it was for the purpose of eliminating it from +competition with the one he had procured for Mr. Smythe; an argument, +certainly, which drove us back on the only plea we had at our command—his +hitherto unblemished reputation and the confidence which was felt In him by +those who knew him. +</p> + +<p> +But the one circumstance which affected me most at the time, and which +undoubtedly was the source of the greatest confusion to all minds, whether +official or otherwise, was the unexpected confirmation by experts of Mr. Grey’s +opinion in regard to the diamond. His name was not used, indeed it had been +kept out of the papers with the greatest unanimity, but the hint he had given +the inspector at Mr. Ramsdell’s ball had been acted upon and, the proper tests +having been made, the stone, for which so many believed a life to have been +risked and another taken, was declared to be an imitation, fine and successful +beyond all parallel, but still an imitation, of the great and renowned gem +which had passed through Tiffany’s hands a twelve-month before: a decision +which fell like a thunderbolt on all such as had seen the diamond blazing in +unapproachable brilliancy on the breast of the unhappy Mrs. Fairbrother only an +hour or two before her death. +</p> + +<p> +On me the effect was such that for days I lived in a dream, a condition that, +nevertheless, did not prevent me from starting a certain little inquiry of my +own, of which more hereafter. +</p> + +<p> +Here let me say that I did not share the general confusion on this topic. I had +my own theory, both as to the cause of this substitution and the moment when it +was made. But the time had not yet come for me to advance it. I could only +stand back and listen to the suppositions aired by the press, suppositions +which fomented so much private discussion that ere long the one question most +frequently heard in this connection was not who struck the blow which killed +Mrs. Fairbrother (this was a question which some seemed to think settled), but +whose juggling hand had palmed off the paste for the diamond, and how and when +and where had the jugglery taken place? +</p> + +<p> +Opinions on this point were, as I have said, many and various. Some fixed upon +the moment of exchange as that very critical and hardly appreciable one +elapsing between the murder and Mr. Durand’s appearance upon the scene. This +theory, I need not say, was advanced by such as believed that while he was not +guilty of Mrs. Fairbrother’s murder, he had been guilty of taking advantage of +the same to rob the body of what, in the terror and excitement of the moment, +he evidently took to be her great gem. To others, among whom were many +eyewitnesses of the event, it appeared to be a conceded fact that this +substitution had been made prior to the ball and with Mrs. Fairbrother’s full +cognizance. The effectual way in which she had wielded her fan between the +glittering ornament on her breast and the inquisitive glances constantly +leveled upon it might at the time have been due to coquetry, but to them it +looked much more like an expression of fear lest the deception in which she was +indulging should be discovered. No one fixed the time where I did; but then, no +one but myself had watched the scene with the eyes of love; besides, and this +must be remembered, most people, among whom I ventured to count the police +officials, were mainly interested in proving Mr. Durand guilty, while I, with +contrary mind, was bent on establishing such facts as confirmed the +explanations he had been pleased to give us, explanations which necessitated a +conviction, on Mrs. Fairbrother’s part, of the great value of the jewel she +wore, and the consequent advisability of ridding herself of it temporarily, if, +as so many believed, the full letter of the warning should read: “Be warned, he +means to be at the ball. Expect trouble if you are found wearing the great +diamond.” +</p> + +<p> +True, she may herself have been deceived concerning it. Unconsciously to +herself, she may have been the victim of a daring fraud on the part of some +hanger-on who had access to her jewels, but, as no such evidence had yet come +to life, as she had no recognized, or, so far as could be learned, secret lover +or dishonest dependent; and, moreover, as no gem of such unusual value was +known to have been offered within the year, here or abroad, in public or +private market, I could not bring myself to credit this assumption; possibly +because I was so ignorant as to credit another, and a different one,—one +which you have already seen growing in my mind, and which, presumptuous as it +was, kept my courage from failing through all those dreadful days of enforced +waiting and suspense. For I was determined not to intrude my suggestions, +valuable as I considered them, till all hope was gone of his being righted by +the judgment of those who would not lightly endure the interference of such an +insignificant mote in the great scheme of justice as myself. +</p> + +<p> +The inquest, which might be trusted to bring out all these doubtful points, had +been delayed in anticipation of Mr. Fairbrother’s return. His testimony could +not but prove valuable, if not in fixing the criminal, at least in settling the +moot point as to whether the stone, which the estranged wife had carried away +with her on leaving the house, had been the genuine one returned to him from +Tiffany’s or the well-known imitation now in the hands of the police. He had +been located somewhere in the mountains of lower Colorado, but, strange to say, +It had been found impossible to enter into direct communication with him; nor +was it known whether he was aware as yet of his wife’s tragic death. So affairs +went slowly in New York and the case seemed to come to a standstill, when +public opinion was suddenly reawakened and a more definite turn given to the +whole matter by a despatch from Santa Fe to the Associated Press. This despatch +was to the effect that Abner Fairbrother had passed through that city some +three days before on his way to his new mining camp, the Placide; that he then +showed symptoms of pneumonia, and from advices since received might be regarded +as a very sick man. +</p> + +<p> +Ill,—well, that explained matters. His silence, which many had taken for +indifference, was that of a man physically disabled and unfit for exertion of +any kind. Ill,—a tragic circumstance which roused endless conjecture. Was +he aware, or was he not aware, of his wife’s death? Had he been taken ill +before or after he left Colorado for New Mexico? Was he suffering mainly from +shock, or, as would appear from his complaint, from a too rapid change of +climate? +</p> + +<p> +The whole country seethed with excitement, and my poor little unthought-of, +insignificant self burned with impatience, which only those who have been +subjected to a like suspense can properly estimate. Would the proceedings which +were awaited with so much anxiety be further delayed? Would Mr. Durand remain +indefinitely in durance and under such a cloud of disgrace as would kill some +men and might kill him? Should I be called upon to endure still longer the +suffering which this entailed upon me, when I thought I knew? +</p> + +<p> +But fortune was less obdurate than I feared. Next morning a telegraphic +statement from Santa Fe settled one of the points of this great dispute, a +statement which you will find detailed at more length in the following +communication, which appeared a few days later in one of our most enterprising +journals. +</p> + +<p> +It was from a resident correspondent in New Mexico, and was written, as the +editor was careful to say, for his own eyes and not for the public. He had +ventured, however, to give It in full, knowing the great interest which this +whole subject had for his readers. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0007"></a> +VII.<br/> +NIGHT AND A VOICE</h2> + +<p> +Not to be outdone by the editor, I insert the article here with all its +details, the importance of which I trust I have anticipated. +</p> + +<p> +SANTA FE, N.M., April—. +</p> + +<p> +Arrived in Santa Fe, I inquired where Abner Fairbrother could be found. I was +told that he was at his mine, sick. +</p> + +<p> +Upon inquiring as to the location of the Placide, I was informed that it was +fifteen miles or so distant in the mountains, and upon my expressing an +intention of going there immediately, I was given what I thought very +unnecessary advice and then directed to a certain livery stable, where I was +told I could get the right kind of a horse and such equipment as I stood in +need of. +</p> + +<p> +I thought I was equipped all right as it was, but I said nothing and went on to +the livery stable. Here I was shown a horse which I took to at once and was +about to mount, when a pair of leggings was brought to me. +</p> + +<p> +“You will need these for your journey,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Journey!” I repeated. “Fifteen miles!” +</p> + +<p> +The livery stable keeper—a half-breed with a peculiarly pleasant +smile—cocked up his shoulders with the remark: +</p> + +<p> +“Three men as willing but as inexperienced as yourself have attempted the same +journey during the last week and they all came back before they reached the +divide. You will probably come back, too; but I shall give you as fair a start +as if I knew you were going straight through.” +</p> + +<p> +“But a woman has done it,” said I; “a nurse from the hospital went up that very +road last week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, women! they can do anything—women who are nurses. But they don’t +start off alone. You are going alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I remarked grimly. “Newspaper correspondents make their journeys singly +when they can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you are a newspaper correspondent! Why do so many men from the papers want +to see that sick old man? Because he’s so rich?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +He did not seem to. +</p> + +<p> +I wondered at his ignorance but did not enlighten him. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow the trail and ask your way from time to time. All the goatherds know +where the Placide mine is.” +</p> + +<p> +Such were his simple instructions as he headed my horse toward the canyon. But +as I drew off, he shouted out: +</p> + +<p> +“If you get stuck, leave it to the horse. He knows more about it than you do.” +</p> + +<p> +With a vague gesture toward the northwest, he turned away, leaving me in +contemplation of the grandest scenery I had yet come upon in all my travels. +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen miles! but those miles lay through the very heart of the mountains, +ranging anywhere from six to seven thousand feet high. In ten minutes the city +and all signs of city life were out of sight. In five more I was seemingly as +far removed from all civilization as if I had gone a hundred miles into the +wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +As my horse settled down to work, picking his way, now here and now there, +sometimes over the brown earth, hard and baked as in a thousand furnaces, and +sometimes over the stunted grass whose needle-like stalks seemed never to have +known moisture, I let my eyes roam to such peaks as were not cut off from view +by the nearer hillsides, and wondered whether the snow which capped them was +whiter than any other or the blue of the sky bluer, that the two together had +the effect upon me of cameo work on a huge and unapproachable scale. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly the effect of these grand mountains, into which you leap without any +preparation from the streets and market-places of America’s oldest city, is +such as is not easily described. +</p> + +<p> +We struck water now and then,—narrow water—courses which my horse +followed in mid stream, and, more interesting yet, goatherds with their flocks, +Mexicans all, who seemed to understand no English, but were picturesque enough +to look at and a welcome break in the extreme lonesomeness of the way. +</p> + +<p> +I had been told that they would serve me as guides if I felt at all doubtful of +the trail, and in one or two instances they proved to be of decided help. They +could gesticulate, if they could not speak English, and when I tried them with +the one word Placide they would nod and point out which of the many side +canyons I was to follow. But they always looked up as they did so, up, up, till +I took to looking up, too, and when, after miles multiplied indefinitely by the +winding of the trail, I came out upon a ledge from which a full view of the +opposite range could be had, and saw fronting me, from the side of one of its +tremendous peaks, the gap of a vast hole not two hundred feet from the +snowline, I knew that, inaccessible as it looked, I was gazing up at the +opening of Abner Fairbrother’s new mine, the Placide. +</p> + +<p> +The experience was a strange one. The two ranges approached so nearly that it +seemed as if a ball might be tossed from one to the other. But the chasm +between was stupendous. I grew dizzy as I looked downward and saw the endless +zigzags yet to be traversed step by step before the bottom of the canyon could +be reached, and then the equally interminable zigzags up the acclivity beyond, +all of which I must trace, still step by step, before I could hope to arrive at +the camp which, from where I stood, looked to be almost within hail of my +voice. +</p> + +<p> +I have described the mine as a hole. That was all I saw at first—a great +black hole in the dark brown earth of the mountain-side, from which ran down a +still darker streak into the waste places far below it. But as I looked longer +I saw that it was faced by a ledge cut out of the friable soil, on which I was +now able to descry the pronounced white of two or three tent-tops and some +other signs of life, encouraging enough to the eye of one whose lot it was to +crawl like a fly up that tremendous mountain-side. +</p> + +<p> +Truly I could understand why those three men, probably newspaper correspondents +like myself, had turned back to Santa Fe, after a glance from my present +outlook. But though I understood I did not mean to duplicate their retreat. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of those tents, the thought of what one of them contained, inspired +me with new courage, and, releasing my grip upon the rein, I allowed my patient +horse to proceed. Shortly after this I passed the divide—that is where +the water sheds both ways—then the descent began. It was zigzag, just as +the climb had been, but I preferred the climb. I did not have the unfathomable +spaces so constantly before me, nor was my imagination so active. It was fixed +on heights to be attained rather than on valleys to roll into. However, I did +not roll. +</p> + +<p> +The Mexican saddle held me securely at whatever angle I was poised, and once +the bottom was reached I found that I could face, with considerable equanimity, +the corresponding ascent. Only, as I saw how steep the climb bade fair to be, I +did not see how I was ever to come down again. Going up was possible, but the +descent— +</p> + +<p> +However, as what goes up must in the course of nature come down, I put this +question aside and gave my horse his head, after encouraging him with a few +blades of grass, which he seemed to find edible enough, though they had the +look and something of the feel of spun glass. +</p> + +<p> +How we got there you must ask this good animal, who took all the responsibility +and did all the work. I merely clung and balanced, and at times, when he +rounded the end of a zigzag, for instance, I even shut my eyes, though the +prospect was magnificent. At last even his patience seemed to give out, and he +stopped and trembled. But before I could open my eyes on the abyss beneath he +made another effort. I felt the brush of tree branches across my face, and, +looking up, saw before me the ledge or platform dotted with tents, at which I +had looked with such longing from the opposite hillsides. +</p> + +<p> +Simultaneously I heard voices, and saw approaching a bronzed and bearded man +with strongly-marked Scotch features and a determined air. +</p> + +<p> +“The doctor!” I involuntarily exclaimed, with a glance at the small and curious +tent before which he stood guard. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the doctor,” he answered in unexpectedly good English. “And who are you? +Have you brought the mail and those medicines I sent for?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I replied with as propitiatory a smile as I could muster up in face of +his brusk forbidding expression. “I came on my own errand. I am a +representative of the New York—and I hope you will not deny me a word +with Mr. Fairbrother.” +</p> + +<p> +With a gesture I hardly knew how to interpret he took my horse by the rein and +led us on a few steps toward another large tent, where he motioned me to +descend. Then he laid his hand on my shoulder and, forcing me to meet his eye, +said: +</p> + +<p> +“You have made this journey—I believe you said from New York—to see +Mr. Fairbrother. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because Mr. Fairbrother is at present the most sought-for man in America,” I +returned boldly. “His wife—you know about his wife—” +</p> + +<p> +“No. How should I know about his wife? I know what his temperature is and what +his respiration is—but his wife? What about his wife? He don’t know +anything about her now himself; he is not allowed to read letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you read the papers. You must have known, before you left Santa Fe, of +Mrs. Fairbrother’s foul and most mysterious murder in New York. It has been the +theme of two continents for the last ten days.” +</p> + +<p> +He shrugged his shoulders, which might mean anything, and confined his reply to +a repetition of my own words. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Fairbrother murdered!” he exclaimed, but in a suppressed voice, to which +point was given by the cautious look he cast behind him at the tent which had +drawn my attention. “He must not know it, man. I could not answer for his life +if he received the least shock in his present critical condition. Murdered? +When?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten days ago, at a ball in New York. It was after Mr. Fairbrother left the +city. He was expected to return, after hearing the news, but he seems to have +kept straight on to his destination. He was not very fond of his +wife,—that is, they have not been living together for the last year. But +he could not help feeling the shock of her death which he must have heard of +somewhere along the route.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has said nothing in his delirium to show that he knew it. It is possible, +just possible, that he didn’t read the papers. He could not have been well for +days before he reached Santa Fe.” +</p> + +<p> +“When were you called in to attend him?” +</p> + +<p> +“The very night after he reached this place. It was thought he wouldn’t live to +reach the camp. But he is a man of great pluck. He held up till his foot +touched this platform. Then he succumbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he was as sick as that,” I muttered, “why did he leave Santa Fe? He must +have known what it would mean to be sick here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think he did. This is his first visit to the mine. He evidently knew +nothing of the difficulties of the road. But he would not stop. He was +determined to reach the camp, even after he had been given a sight of it from +the opposite mountain. He told them that he had once crossed the Sierras in +midwinter. But he wasn’t a sick man then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor, they don’t know who killed his wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, but under such circumstances every fact bearing on the event is of +immense importance. There is one which Mr. Fairbrother only can make clear. It +can be said in a word—” +</p> + +<p> +The grim doctor’s eye flashed angrily and I stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you a detective from the district attorney’s office in New York, sent on +with special powers to examine him, I should still say what I am going to say +now. While Mr. Fairbrother’s temperature and pulse remain where they now are, +no one shall see him and no one shall talk to him save myself and his nurse.” +</p> + +<p> +I turned with a sick look of disappointment toward the road up which I had so +lately come. “Have I panted, sweltered, trembled, for three mortal hours on the +worst trail a man ever traversed to go back with nothing for my journey? That +seems to me hard lines. Where is the manager of this mine?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor pointed toward a man bending over the edge of the great hole from +which, at that moment, a line of Mexicans was issuing, each with a sack on his +back which he flung down before what looked like a furnace built of clay. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s he. Mr. Haines, of Philadelphia. What do you want of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Permission to stay the night. Mr. Fairbrother may be better to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t allow it and I am master here, so far as my patient is concerned. You +couldn’t stay here without talking, and talking makes excitement, and +excitement is just what he can not stand. A week from now I will see about +it—that is, if my patient continues to improve. I am not sure that he +will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me spend that week here. I’ll not talk any more than the dead. Maybe the +manager will let me carry sacks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said the doctor, edging me farther and farther away from the tent +he hardly let out of his sight for a moment. “You’re a canny lad, and shall +have your bite and something to drink before you take your way back. But back +you go before sunset and with this message: No man from any paper north or +south will be received here till I hang out a blue flag. I say blue, for that +is the color of my bandana. When my patient is in a condition to discuss murder +I’ll hoist it from his tent-top. It can be seen from the divide, and if you +want to camp there on the lookout, well and good. As for the police, that’s +another matter. I will see them if they come, but they need not expect to talk +to my patient. You may say so down there. It will save scrambling up this trail +to no purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may count on me,” said I; “trust a New York correspondent to do the right +thing at the right time to head off the boys. But I doubt if they will believe +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case I shall have a barricade thrown up fifty feet down the +mountain-side,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“But the mail and your supplies?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the burros can make their way up. We shan’t suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are certainly master,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +All this time I had been using my eyes. There was not much to see, but what +there was was romantically interesting. Aside from the furnace and what was +going on there, there was little else but a sleeping-tent, a cooking-tent, and +the small one I had come on first, which, without the least doubt, contained +the sick man. This last tent was of a peculiar construction and showed the +primitive nature of everything at this height. It consisted simply of a cloth +thrown over a thing like a trapeze. This cloth did not even come to the ground +on either side, but stopped short a foot or so from the flat mound of adobe +which serves as a base or floor for hut or tent in New Mexico. The rear of the +simple tent abutted on the mountain-side; the opening was toward the valley. I +felt an intense desire to look into this opening,—so intense that I +thought I would venture on an attempt to gratify it. Scrutinizing the resolute +face of the man before me and flattering myself that I detected signs of humor +underlying his professional bruskness, I asked, somewhat mournfully, if he +would let me go away without so much as a glance at the man I had come so far +to see. A glimpse would satisfy me I assured him, as the hint of a twinkle +flashed in his eye. “Surely there will be no harm in that. I’ll take it instead +of supper.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, but not encouragingly, and I was feeling very despondent, indeed, +when the canvas on which our eyes were fixed suddenly shook and the calm figure +of a woman stepped out before us, clad in the simplest garb, but showing in +every line of face and form a character of mingled kindness and shrewdness. She +was evidently on the lookout for the doctor, for she made a sign as she saw him +and returned instantly into the tent. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fairbrother has just fallen asleep,” he explained. “It isn’t discipline +and I shall have to apologize to Miss Serra, but if you will promise not to +speak nor make the least disturbance I will let you take the one peep you +prefer to supper.” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +Leading the way to the opening, he whispered a word to the nurse, then motioned +me to look in. The sight was a simple one, but to me very impressive. The owner +of palaces, a man to whom millions were as thousands to such poor devils as +myself, lay on an improvised bed of evergreens, wrapped in a horse blanket and +with nothing better than another of these rolled up under his head. At his side +sat his nurse on what looked like the uneven stump of a tree. Close to her hand +was a tolerably flat stone, on which I saw arranged a number of bottles and +such other comforts as were absolutely necessary to a proper care of the +sufferer. +</p> + +<p> +That was all. In these few words I have told the whole story. To be sure, this +simple tent, perched seven thousand feet and more above sea-level, had one +advantage which even his great house in New York could not offer. This was the +out look. Lying as he did facing the valley, he had only to open his eyes to +catch a full view of the panorama of sky and mountain stretched out before him. +It was glorious; whether seen at morning, noon or night, glorious. But I doubt +if he would not gladly have exchanged it for a sight of his home walls. +</p> + +<p> +As I started to go, a stir took place in the blanket wrapped about his chin, +and I caught a glimpse of the iron-gray head and hollow cheeks of the great +financier. He was a very sick man. Even I could see that. Had I obtained the +permission I sought and been allowed to ask him one of the many questions +burning on my tongue, I should have received only delirium for reply. There was +no reaching that clouded intelligence now, and I felt grateful to the doctor +for convincing me of it. +</p> + +<p> +I told him so and thanked him quite warmly when we were well away from the +tent, and his answer was almost kindly, though he made no effort to hide his +impatience and anxiety to see me go. The looks he cast at the sun were +significant, and, having no wish to antagonize him and every wish to visit the +spot again, I moved toward my horse with the intention of untying him. +</p> + +<p> +To my surprise the doctor held me back. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t go to-night,” said he, “your horse has hurt himself.” +</p> + +<p> +It was true. There was something the matter with the animal’s left forefoot. As +the doctor lifted it, the manager came up. He agreed with the doctor. I could +not make the descent to Santa Fe on that horse that night. Did I feel elated? +Rather. I had no wish to descend. Yet I was far from foreseeing what the night +was to bring me. +</p> + +<p> +I was turned over to the manager, but not without a final injunction from the +doctor. “Not a word to any one about your errand! Not a word about the New York +tragedy, as you value Mr. Fairbrother’s life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +Then he left me. +</p> + +<p> +To see the sun go down and the moon come up from a ledge hung, as it were, in +mid air! The experience was novel—but I refrain. I have more important +matters to relate. +</p> + +<p> +I was given a bunk at the extreme end of the long sleeping-tent, and turned in +with the rest. I expected to sleep, but on finding that I could catch a sight +of the sick tent from under the canvas, I experienced such fascination in +watching this forbidden spot that midnight came before I had closed my eyes. +Then all desire to sleep left me, for the patient began to moan and presently +to talk, and, the stillness of the solitary height being something abnormal, I +could sometimes catch the very words. Devoid as they were of all rational +meaning, they excited my curiosity to the burning point; for who could tell if +he might not say something bearing on the mystery? +</p> + +<p> +But that fevered mind had recurred to early scenes and the babble which came to +my ears was all of mining camps in the Rockies and the dicker of horses. +Perhaps the uneasy movement of my horse pulling at the end of his tether had +disturbed him. Perhaps— +</p> + +<p> +But at the inner utterance of the second “perhaps” I found myself up on my +elbow listening with all my ears, and staring with wide-stretched eyes at the +thicket of stunted trees where the road debouched on the platform. Something +was astir there besides my horse. I could catch sounds of an unmistakable +nature. A rider was coming up the trail. +</p> + +<p> +Slipping back into my place, I turned toward the doctor, who lay some two or +three bunks nearer the opening. He had started up, too, and in a moment was out +of the tent. I do not think he had observed my action, for it was very dark +where I lay and his back had been turned toward me. As for the others, they +slept like the dead, only they made more noise. +</p> + +<p> +Interested—everything is interesting at such a height—I brought my +eye to bear on the ledge, and soon saw by the limpid light of a full moon the +stiff, short branches of the trees, on which my gaze was fixed, give way to an +advancing horse and rider. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloo!” saluted the doctor in a whisper, which was in itself a warning. “Easy +there! We have sickness in this camp and it’s a late hour for visitors.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know?” +</p> + +<p> +The answer was subdued, but earnest. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the magistrate of this district. I’ve a question to ask this sick man, on +behalf of the New York Chief of Police, who is a personal friend of mine. It is +connected with—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor had seized him by the arm and turned his face away from the sick +tent. Then the two heads came together and an argument began. +</p> + +<p> +I could not hear a word of it, but their motions were eloquent. My sympathy was +with the magistrate, of course, and I watched eagerly while he passed a letter +over to the doctor, who vainly strove to read it by the light of the moon. +Finding this impossible, he was about to return it, when the other struck a +match and lit a lantern hanging from the horn of his saddle. The two heads came +together again, but as quickly separated with every appearance of +irreconcilement, and I was settling back with sensations of great +disappointment, when a sound fell on the night so unexpected to all concerned +that with a common impulse each eye sought the sick tent. +</p> + +<p> +“Water! will some one give me water?” a voice had cried, quietly and with none +of the delirium which had hitherto rendered it unnatural. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor started for the tent. There was the quickness of surprise in his +movement and the gesture he made to the magistrate, as he passed in, reawakened +an expectation in my breast which made me doubly watchful. +</p> + +<p> +Providence was intervening in our favor, and I was not surprised to see him +presently reissue with the nurse, whom he drew into the shadow of the trees, +where they had a short conference. If she returned alone into the tent after +this conference I should know that the matter was at an end and that the doctor +had decided to maintain his authority against that of the magistrate. But she +remained outside and the magistrate was invited to join their council; when +they again left the shadow of the trees it was to approach the tent. +</p> + +<p> +The magistrate, who was in the rear, could not have more than passed the +opening, but I thought him far enough inside not to detect any movement on my +part, so I took advantage of the situation to worm myself out of my corner and +across the ledge to where the tent made a shadow in the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +Crouching close, and laying my ear against the canvas, I listened. +</p> + +<p> +The nurse was speaking in a gently persuasive tone. I imagined her kneeling by +the head of the patient and breathing words into his ear. These were what I +heard: +</p> + +<p> +“You love diamonds. I have often noticed that; you look so long at the ring on +your hand. That is why I have let it stay there, though at times I have feared +it would drop off and roll away over the adobe down the mountain-side. Was I +right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes.” The words came with difficulty, but they were clear enough. “It’s +of small value. I like it because—” +</p> + +<p> +He appeared to be too weak to finish. +</p> + +<p> +A pause, during which she seemed to edge nearer to him. +</p> + +<p> +“We all have some pet keepsake,” said she. “But I should never have supposed +this stone of yours an inexpensive one. But I forget that you are the owner of +a very large and remarkable diamond, a diamond that is spoken of sometimes in +the papers. Of course, if you have a gem like that, this one must appear very +small and valueless to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, this is nothing, nothing.” And he appeared to turn away his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fairbrother! Pardon me, but I want to tell you something about that big +diamond of yours. You have been in and have not been able to read your letters, +so do not know that your wife has had some trouble with that diamond. People +have said that it is not a real stone, but a well-executed imitation. May I +write to her that this is a mistake, that it is all you have ever claimed for +it—that is, an unusually large diamond of the first water?” +</p> + +<p> +I listened in amazement. Surely, this was an insidious way to get at the +truth,—a woman’s way, but who would say it was not a wise one, the +wisest, perhaps, which could be taken under the circumstances? What would his +reply be? Would it show that he was as ignorant of his wife’s death as was +generally believed, both by those about him here and those who knew him well in +New York? Or would the question convey nothing further to him than the +doubt—in itself an insult of the genuineness of that great stone which +had been his pride? +</p> + +<p> +A murmur—that was all it could be called—broke from his fever-dried +lips and died away in an inarticulate gasp. Then, suddenly, sharply, a cry +broke from him, an intelligible cry, and we heard him say: +</p> + +<p> +“No imitation! no imitation! It was a sun! a glory! No other like it! It lit +the air! it blazed, it burned! I see it now! I see—” +</p> + +<p> +There the passion succumbed, the strength failed; another murmur, another, and +the great void of night which stretched over—I might almost say under +us—was no more quiet or seemingly impenetrable than the silence of that +moon-enveloped tent. +</p> + +<p> +Would he speak again? I did not think so. Would she even try to make him? I did +not think this, either. But I did not know the woman. +</p> + +<p> +Softly her voice rose again. There was a dominating insistence in her tones, +gentle as they were; the insistence of a healthy mind which seeks to control a +weakened one. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not know of any imitation, then? It was the real stone you gave her. +You are sure of it; you would be ready to swear to it if—say just yes or +no,” she finished in gentle urgency. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently he was sinking again into unconsciousness, and she was just holding +him back long enough for the necessary word. +</p> + +<p> +It came slowly and with a dragging intonation, but there was no mistaking the +ring of truth with which he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +When I heard the doctor’s voice and felt a movement in the canvas against which +I leaned, I took the warning and stole back hurriedly to my quarters. +</p> + +<p> +I was scarcely settled, when the same group of three I had before watched +silhouetted itself again against the moonlight. There was some talk, a mingling +and separating of shadows; then the nurse glided back to her duties and the two +men went toward the clump of trees where the horse had been tethered. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes and the doctor was back in his bunk. Was it imagination, or did I +feel his hand on my shoulder before he finally lay down and composed himself to +sleep? I can not say; I only know that I gave no sign, and that soon all stir +ceased in his direction and I was left to enjoy my triumph and to listen with +anxious interest to the strange and unintelligible sounds which accompanied the +descent of the horseman down the face of the cliff, and finally to watch with a +fascination, which drew me to my knees, the passage of that sparkling star of +light hanging from his saddle. It crept to and fro across the side of the +opposite mountain as he threaded its endless zigzags and finally disappeared +over the brow into the invisible canyons beyond. +</p> + +<p> +With the disappearance of this beacon came lassitude and sleep, through whose +hazy atmosphere floated wild sentences from the sick tent, which showed that +the patient was back again in Nevada, quarreling over the price of a horse +which was to carry him beyond the reach of some threatening avalanche. +</p> + +<p> +When next morning I came to depart, the doctor took me by both hands and looked +me straight in the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell a satisfied man when I see him,” he growled, throwing down my hands +with that same humorous twinkle in his eyes which had encouraged me from the +first. +</p> + +<p> +I made no answer, but I shall remember the lesson. +</p> + +<p> +One detail more. When I stared on my own descent I found why the leggings, with +which I had been provided, were so indispensable. I was not allowed to ride; +indeed, riding down those steep declivities was impossible. No horse could +preserve his balance with a rider on his back. I slid, so did my horse, and +only in the valley beneath did we come together again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0008"></a> +VIII.<br/> +ARREST</h2> + +<p> +The success of this interview provoked other attempts on the part of the +reporters who now flocked into the Southwest. Ere long particulars began to +pour in of Mr. Fairbrother’s painful journey south, after his illness set in. +The clerk of the hotel in El Moro, where the great mine-owner’s name was found +registered at the time of the murder, told a story which made very good reading +for those who were more interested in the sufferings and experiences of the +millionaire husband of the murdered lady than in those of the unhappy but +comparatively insignificant man upon whom public opinion had cast the odium of +her death. +</p> + +<p> +It seems that when the first news came of the great crime which had taken place +in New York, Mr. Fairbrother was absent from the hotel on a prospecting tour +through the adjacent mountains. Couriers had been sent after him, and it was +one of these who finally brought him into town. He had been found wandering +alone on horseback among the defiles of an untraveled region, sick and almost +incoherent from fever. Indeed, his condition was such that neither the courier +nor such others as saw him had the heart to tell him the dreadful news from New +York, or even to show him the papers. To their great relief, he betrayed no +curiosity in them. All he wanted was a berth in the first train going south, +and this was an easy way for them out of a great responsibility. They listened +to his wishes and saw him safely aboard, with such alacrity and with so many +precautions against his being disturbed that they have never doubted that he +left El Moro in total ignorance, not only of the circumstances of his great +bereavement, but of the bereavement itself. +</p> + +<p> +This ignorance, which he appeared to have carried with him to the Placide, was +regarded by those who knew him best as proving the truth of the affirmation +elicited from him in the pauses of his delirium of the genuineness of the stone +which had passed from his hands to those of his wife at the time of their +separation; and, further despatches coming in, some private and some official, +but all insisting upon the fact that it would be weeks before he would be in a +condition to submit to any sort of examination on a subject so painful, the +authorities in New York decided to wait no longer for his testimony, but to +proceed at once with the inquest. +</p> + +<p> +Great as is the temptation to give a detailed account of proceedings which were +of such moment to myself, and to every word of which I listened with the +eagerness of a novice and the anguish of a woman who sees her lover’s +reputation at the mercy of a verdict which may stigmatize him as a possible +criminal, I see no reason for encumbering my narrative with what, for the most +part, would be a mere repetition of facts already known to you. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Durand’s intimate and suggestive connection with this crime, the +explanations he had to give of this connection, frequently bizarre and, I must +acknowledge, not always convincing,—nothing could alter these nor change +the fact of the undoubted cowardice he displayed in hiding Mrs. Fairbrother’s +gloves in my unfortunate little bag. +</p> + +<p> +As for the mystery of the warning, it remained as much of a mystery as ever. +Nor did any better success follow an attempt to fix the ownership of the +stiletto, though a half-day was exhausted in an endeavor to show that the +latter might have come into Mr. Durand’s possession in some of the many visits +he was shown to have made of late to various curio-shops in and out of New York +City.* +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Mr. Durand’s visits to the curio-shops, as explained by him, were made with a +view of finding a casket in which to place his diamond. This explanation was +looked upon with as much doubt as the others he had offered where the situation +seemed to be of a compromising character. +</p> + +<p> +I had expected all this, just as I had expected Mr. Grey to be absent from the +proceedings and his testimony ignored. But this expectation did not make the +ordeal any easier, and when I noticed the effect of witness after witness +leaving the stand without having improved Mr. Durand’s position by a jot or +offering any new clue capable of turning suspicion into other directions, I +felt my spirit harden and my purpose strengthen till I hardly knew myself. I +must have frightened my uncle, for his hand was always on my arm and his +chiding voice in my ear, bidding me beware, not only for my own sake and his, +but for that of Mr. Durand, whose eye was seldom away from my face. +</p> + +<p> +The verdict, however, was not the one I had so deeply dreaded. While it did not +exonerate Mr. Durand, it did not openly accuse him, and I was on the point of +giving him a smile of congratulation and renewed hope when I saw my little +detective—the one who had spied the gloves in my bag at the +ball—advance and place his hand upon his arm. +</p> + +<p> +The police had gone a step further than the coroner’s jury, and Mr. Durand was +arrested, before my eyes, on a charge of murder. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0009"></a> +IX.<br/> +THE MOUSE NIBBLES AT THE NET</h2> + +<p> +The next day saw me at police headquarters begging an interview from the +inspector, with the intention of confiding to him a theory which must either +cost me his sympathy or open the way to a new inquiry, which I felt sure would +lead to Mr. Durand’s complete exoneration. +</p> + +<p> +I chose this gentleman for my confidant, from among all those with whom I had +been brought in contact by my position as witness in a case of this magnitude, +first, because he had been present at the most tragic moment of my life, and +secondly, because I was conscious of a sympathetic bond between us which would +insure me a kind hearing. However ridiculous my idea might appear to him, I was +assured that he would treat me with consideration and not visit whatever folly +I might be guilty of on the head of him for whom I risked my reputation for +good sense. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was I disappointed in this. Inspector Dalzell’s air was fatherly and his +tone altogether gentle as, in reply to my excuses for troubling him with my +opinions, he told me that in a case of such importance he was glad to receive +the impressions even of such a prejudiced little partizan as myself. The word +fired me, and I spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You consider Mr. Durand guilty, and so do many others, I fear, in spite of his +long record for honesty and uprightness. And why? Because you will not admit +the possibility of another person’s guilt,—a person standing so high in +private and public estimation that the very idea seems preposterous and little +short of insulting to the country of which he is an acknowledged ornament.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear!” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector had actually risen. His expression and whole attitude showed +shock. But I did not quail; I only subdued my manner and spoke with quieter +conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“I am aware,” said I, “how words so daring must impress you. But listen, sir; +listen to what I have to say before you utterly condemn me. I acknowledge that +it is the frightful position into which I threw Mr. Durand by my officious +attempt to right him which has driven me to make this second effort to fix the +crime on the only other man who had possible access to Mrs. Fairbrother at the +fatal moment. How could I live in inaction? How could you expect me to weigh +for a moment this foreigner’s reputation against that of my own lover? If I +have reasons—” +</p> + +<p> +“Reasons!” +</p> + +<p> +“—reasons which would appeal to all; if instead of this person’s having +an international reputation at his back he had been a simple gentleman like Mr. +Durand,—would you not consider me entitled to speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no confidence in my reasons, Inspector; they may not weigh against +that splash of blood on Mr. Durand’s shirt-front, but such as they are I must +give them. But first, it will be necessary for you to accept for the nonce Mr. +Durand’s statements as true. Are you willing to do this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, a harder thing yet,—to put some confidence in my judgment. I saw +the man and did not like him long before any intimation of the evening’s +tragedy had turned suspicion on any one. I watched him as I watched others. I +saw that he had not come to the ball to please Mr. Ramsdell or for any pleasure +he himself hoped to reap from social intercourse, but for some purpose much +more important, and that this purpose was connected with Mrs. Fairbrother’s +diamond. Indifferent, almost morose before she came upon the scene, he +brightened to a surprising extent the moment he found himself in her presence. +Not because she was a beautiful woman, for he scarcely honored her face or even +her superb figure with a look. All his glances were centered on her large fan, +which, in swaying to and fro, alternately hid and revealed the splendor on her +breast; and when by chance it hung suspended for a moment in her forgetful hand +and he caught a full glimpse of the great gem, I perceived such a change in his +face that, if nothing more had occurred that night to give prominence to this +woman and her diamond, I should have carried home the conviction that interests +of no common import lay behind a feeling so extraordinarily displayed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fanciful, my dear Miss Van Arsdale! Interesting, but fanciful.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. I have not yet touched on fact. But facts are coming, Inspector.” +</p> + +<p> +He stared. Evidently he was not accustomed to hear the law laid down in this +fashion by a midget of my proportions. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said he; “happily, I have no clerk here to listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not speak if you had. These are words for but one ear as yet. Not even +my uncle suspects the direction of my thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed,” he again enjoined. +</p> + +<p> +Upon which I plunged into my subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Fairbrother wore the real diamond, and no imitation, to the ball. Of this +I feel sure. The bit of glass or paste displayed to the coroner’s jury was +bright enough, but it was not the star of light I saw burning on her breast as +she passed me on her way to the alcove.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Van Arsdale!” +</p> + +<p> +“The interest which Mr. Durand displayed in it, the marked excitement into +which he was thrown by his first view of its size and splendor, confirm in my +mind the evidence which he gave on oath (and he is a well-known diamond expert, +you know, and must have been very well aware that he would injure rather than +help his cause by this admission) that at that time he believed the stone to be +real and of immense value. Wearing such a gem, then, she entered the fatal +alcove, and, with a smile on her face, prepared to employ her fascinations on +whoever chanced to come within their reach. But now something happened. Please +let me tell it my own way. A shout from the driveway, or a bit of snow thrown +against the window, drew her attention to a man standing below, holding up a +note fastened to the end of a whip-handle. I do not know whether or not you +have found that man. If you have—” The inspector made no sign. “I judge +that you have not, so I may go on with my suppositions. Mrs. Fairbrother took +in this note. She may have expected it and for this reason chose the alcove to +sit in, or it may have been a surprise to her. Probably we shall never know the +whole truth about it; but what we can know and do, if you are still holding to +our compact and viewing this crime in the light of Mr. Durand’s explanations, +is that it made a change in her and made her anxious to rid herself of the +diamond. It has been decided that the hurried scrawl should read, ‘Take +warning. He means to be at the ball. Expect trouble if you do not give him the +diamond,’ or something to that effect. But why was it passed up to her +unfinished? Was the haste too great? I hardly think so. I believe in another +explanation, which points with startling directness to the possibility that the +person referred to in this broken communication was not Mr. Durand, but one +whom I need not name; and that the reason you have failed to find the +messenger, of whose appearance you have received definite information, is that +you have not looked among the servants of a certain distinguished visitor in +town. Oh,” I burst forth with feverish volubility, as I saw the inspector’s +lips open in what could not fail to be a sarcastic utterance, “I know what you +feel tempted to reply. Why should a servant deliver a warning against his own +master? If you will be patient with me you will soon see; but first I wish to +make it clear that Mrs. Fairbrother, having received this warning just before +Mr. Durand appeared in the alcove,—reckless, scheming woman that she +was!—sought to rid herself of the object against which it was directed in +the way we have temporarily accepted as true. Relying on her arts, and possibly +misconceiving the nature of Mr. Durand’s interest in her, she hands over the +diamond hidden in her rolled-up gloves, which he, without suspicion, carries +away with him, thus linking himself indissolubly to a great crime of which +another was the perpetrator. That other, or so I believe from my very heart of +hearts, was the man I saw leaning against the wall at the foot of the alcove a +few minutes before I passed into the supper-room.” +</p> + +<p> +I stopped with a gasp, hardly able to meet the stern and forbidding look with +which the inspector sought to restrain what he evidently considered the +senseless ravings of a child. But I had come there to speak, and I hastily +proceeded before the rebuke thus expressed could formulate itself into words. +</p> + +<p> +“I have some excuse for a declaration so monstrous. Perhaps I am the only +person who can satisfy you in regard to a certain fact about which you have +expressed some curiosity. Inspector, have you ever solved the mystery of the +two broken coffee-cups found amongst the debris at Mrs. Fairbrother’s feet? It +did not come out in the inquest, I noticed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet,” he cried, “but—you can not tell me anything about them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly not. But I can tell you this: When I reached the supper-room door +that evening I looked back and, providentially or otherwise—only the +future can determine that—detected Mr. Grey in the act of lifting two +cups from a tray left by some waiter on a table standing just outside the +reception-room door. I did not see where he carried them; I only saw his face +turned toward the alcove; and as there was no other lady there, or anywhere +near there, I have dared to think—” +</p> + +<p> +Here the inspector found speech. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw Mr. Grey lift two cups and turn toward the alcove at a moment we all +know to have been critical? You should have told me this before. He may be a +possible witness.” +</p> + +<p> +I scarcely listened. I was too full of my own argument. +</p> + +<p> +“There were other people in the hall, especially at my end of it. A perfect +throng was coming from the billiard-room, where the dancing had been, and it +might easily be that he could both enter and leave that secluded spot without +attracting attention. He had shown too early and much too unmistakably his lack +of interest in the general company for his every movement to be watched as at +his first arrival. But this is simple conjecture; what I have to say next is +evidence. The stiletto—have you studied it, sir? I have, from the +pictures. It is very quaint; and among the devices on the handle is one that +especially attracted my attention. See! This is what I mean.” And I handed him +a drawing which I had made with some care in expectation of this very +interview. +</p> + +<p> +He surveyed it with some astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” I pursued in trembling tones, for I was much affected by my own +daring, “that no one has so far succeeded in tracing this weapon to its owner. +Why didn’t your experts study heraldry and the devices of great houses? They +would have found that this one is not unknown in England. I can tell you on +whose blazon it can often be seen, and so could—Mr. Grey.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0010"></a> +X.<br/> +I ASTONISH THE INSPECTOR</h2> + +<p> +I was not the only one to tremble now. This man of infinite experience and +daily contact with crime had turned as pale as ever I myself had done in face +of a threatening calamity. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall see about this,” he muttered, crumpling the paper in his hand. “But +this is a very terrible business you are plunging me into. I sincerely hope +that you are not heedlessly misleading me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am correct in my facts, if that is what you mean,” said I. “The stiletto is +an English heirloom, and bears on its blade, among other devices, that of Mr. +Grey’s family on the female side. But that is not all I want to say. If the +blow was struck to obtain the diamond, the shock of not finding it on his +victim must have been terrible. Now Mr. Grey’s heart, if my whole theory is not +utterly false, was set upon obtaining this stone. Your eye was not on him as +mine was when you made your appearance in the hall with the recovered jewel. He +showed astonishment, eagerness, and a determination which finally led him +forward, as you know, with the request to take the diamond in his hand. Why did +he want to take it in his hand? And why, having taken it, did he drop +it—a diamond supposed to be worth an ordinary man’s fortune? Because he +was startled by a cry he chose to consider the traditional one of his family +proclaiming death? Is it likely, sir? Is it conceivable even that any such cry +as we heard could, in this day and generation, ring through such an assemblage, +unless it came with ventriloquial power from his own lips? You observed that he +turned his back; that his face was hidden from us. Discreet and reticent as we +have all been, and careful in our criticisms of so bizarre an event, there +still must be many to question the reality of such superstitious fears, and +some to ask if such a sound could be without human agency, and a very guilty +agency, too. Inspector, I am but a child in your estimation, and I feel my +position in this matter much more keenly than you do, but I would not be true +to the man whom I have unwittingly helped to place in his present unenviable +position if I did not tell you that, in my judgment, this cry was a spurious +one, employed by the gentleman himself as an excuse for dropping the stone.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why should he wish to drop the stone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of the fraud he meditated. Because it offered him an opportunity for +substituting a false stone for the real. Did you not notice a change in the +aspect of this jewel dating from this very moment? Did it shine with as much +brilliancy in your hand when you received it back as when you passed it over?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! I do not know; it is all too absurd for argument.” Yet he did stop +to argue, saying in the next breath: “You forget that the stone has a setting. +Would you claim that this gentleman of family, place and political distinction +had planned this hideous crime with sufficient premeditation to have provided +himself with the exact counterpart of a brooch which it is highly improbable he +ever saw? You would make him out a Cagliostro or something worse. Miss Van +Arsdale, I fear your theory will topple over of its own weight.” +</p> + +<p> +He was very patient with me; he did not show me the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet such a substitution took place, and took place that evening,” I insisted. +“The bit of paste shown us at the inquest was never the gem Mrs. Fairbrother +wore on entering the alcove. Besides, where all is sensation, why cavil at one +more improbability? Mr. Grey may have come over to America for no other reason. +He is known as a collector, and when a man has a passion for +diamond-getting—” +</p> + +<p> +“He is known as a collector?” +</p> + +<p> +“In his own country.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was not told that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I. But I found it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“How, my dear child, how?” +</p> + +<p> +“By a cablegram or so.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—cabled—his name—to England?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Inspector; uncle has a code, and I made use of it to ask a friend in +London for a list of the most noted diamond fanciers in the country. Mr. Grey’s +name was third on the list.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave me a look in which admiration was strangely blended with doubt and +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“You are making a brave struggle,” said he, “but it is a hopeless one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have one more confidence to repose in you. The nurse who has charge of Miss +Grey was in my class in the hospital. We love each other, and to her I dared +appeal on one point. Inspector—” here my voice unconsciously fell as he +impetuously drew nearer—“a note was sent from that sick chamber on the +night of the ball,—a note surreptitiously written by Miss Grey, while the +nurse was in an adjoining room. The messenger was Mr. Grey’s valet, and its +destination the house in which her father was enjoying his position as chief +guest. She says that it was meant for him, but I have dared to think that the +valet would tell a different story. My friend did not see what her patient +wrote, but she acknowledged that if her patient wrote more than two words the +result must have been an unintelligible scrawl, since she was too weak to hold +a pencil firmly, and so nearly blind that she would have had to feel her way +over the paper.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector started, and, rising hastily, went to his desk, from which he +presently brought the scrap of paper which had already figured in the inquest +as the mysterious communication taken from Mrs. Fairbrother’s hand by the +coroner. Pressing it out flat, he took another look at it, then glanced up in +visible discomposure. +</p> + +<p> +“It has always looked to us as if written in the dark, by an agitated hand; +but—” +</p> + +<p> +I said nothing; the broken and unfinished scrawl was sufficiently eloquent. +</p> + +<p> +“Did your friend declare Miss Grey to have written with a pencil and on a small +piece of unruled paper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the pencil was at her bedside; the paper was torn from a book which lay +there. She did not put the note when written in an envelope, but gave it to the +valet just as it was. He is an old man and had come to her room for some final +orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“The nurse saw all this? Has she that book?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it went out next morning, with the scraps. It was some pamphlet, I +believe.” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector turned the morsel of paper over and over in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this nurse’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta Pierson.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she share your doubts?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can not say.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have seen her often?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, only the one time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she discreet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very. On this subject she will be like the grave unless forced by you to +speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Miss Grey?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is still ill, too ill to be disturbed by questions, especially on so +delicate a topic. But she is getting well fast. Her father’s fears as we heard +them expressed on one memorable occasion were ill founded, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the inspector inserted this scrap of paper between the folds of his +pocketbook. He did not give me another look, though I stood trembling before +him. Was he in any way convinced or was he simply seeking for the most +considerate way in which to dismiss me and my abominable theory? I could not +gather his intentions from his expression, and was feeling very faint and +heart-sick when he suddenly turned upon me with the remark: +</p> + +<p> +“A girl as ill as you say Miss Grey was must have had some very pressing matter +on her mind to attempt to write and send a message under such difficulties. +According to your idea, she had some notion of her father’s designs and wished +to warn Mrs. Fairbrother against them. But don’t you see that such conduct as +this would be preposterous, nay, unparalleled in persons of their distinction? +You must find some other explanation for Miss Grey’s seemingly mysterious +action, and I an agent of crime other than one of England’s most reputable +statesmen.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that Mr. Durand is shown the same consideration, I am content,” said I. “It +is the truth and the truth only I desire. I am willing to trust my cause with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked none too grateful for this confidence. Indeed, now that I look back +on this scene, I do not wonder that he shrank from the responsibility thus +foisted upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want me to do?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Prove something. Prove that I am altogether wrong or altogether right. Or if +proof is not possible, pray allow me the privilege of doing what I can myself +to clear up the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“You?” +</p> + +<p> +There was apprehension, disapprobation, almost menace in his tone. I bore it +with as steady and modest a glance as possible, saying, when I thought he was +about to speak again: +</p> + +<p> +“I will do nothing without your sanction. I realize the dangers of this inquiry +and the disgrace that would follow if our attempt was suspected before proof +reached a point sufficient to justify it. It is not an open attack I meditate, +but one—” +</p> + +<p> +Here I whispered in his ear for several minutes, when I had finished he gave me +a prolonged stare, then he laid his hand on my head. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a little wonder,” he declared. “But your ideas are very quixotic, +very. However,” he added, suddenly growing grave, “something, I must admit, may +be excused a young girl who finds herself forced to choose between the guilt of +her lover and that of a man esteemed great by the world, but altogether removed +from her and her natural sympathies.” +</p> + +<p> +“You acknowledge, then, that it lies between these two?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see no third,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +I drew a breath of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t deceive yourself, Miss Van Arsdale; it is not among the possibilities +that Mr. Grey has had any connection with this crime. He is an eccentric man, +that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—but—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall do my duty. I shall satisfy you and myself on certain points, and +if—” I hardly breathed “—there is the least doubt, I will see you +again and—” +</p> + +<p> +The change he saw in me frightened away the end of his sentence. Turning upon +me with some severity, he declared: “There are nine hundred and ninety-nine +chances in a thousand that my next word to you will be to prepare yourself for +Mr. Durand’s arraignment and trial. But an infinitesimal chance remains to the +contrary. If you choose to trust to it, I can only admire your pluck and the +great confidence you show in your unfortunate lover.” +</p> + +<p> +And with this half-hearted encouragement I was forced to be content, not only +for that day, but for many days, when— +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0011"></a> +XI.<br/> +THE INSPECTOR ASTONISHES ME</h2> + +<p> +But before I proceed to relate what happened at the end of those two weeks, I +must say a word or two in regard to what happened during them. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing happened to improve Mr. Durand’s position, and nothing openly to +compromise Mr. Grey’s. Mr. Fairbrother, from whose testimony many of us hoped +something would yet be gleaned calculated to give a turn to the suspicion now +centered on one man, continued ill in New Mexico; and all that could be learned +from him of any importance was contained in a short letter dictated from his +bed, in which he affirmed that the diamond, when it left him, was in a unique +setting procured by himself in France; that he knew of no other jewel similarly +mounted, and that if the false gem was set according to his own description, +the probabilities were that the imitation stone had been put in place of the +real one under his wife’s direction and in some workshop in New York, as she +was not the woman to take the trouble to send abroad for anything she could get +done in this country. The description followed. It coincided with the one we +all knew. +</p> + +<p> +This was something of a blow to me. Public opinion would naturally reflect that +of the husband, and it would require very strong evidence indeed to combat a +logical supposition of this kind with one so forced and seemingly extravagant +as that upon which my own theory was based. Yet truth often transcends +imagination, and, having confidence in the inspector’s integrity, I subdued my +impatience for a week, almost for two, when my suspense and rapidly culminating +dread of some action being taken against Mr. Durand were suddenly cut short by +a message from the inspector, followed by his speedy presence in my uncle’s +house. +</p> + +<p> +We have a little room on our parlor floor, very snug and secluded, and in this +room I received him. Seldom have I dreaded a meeting more and seldom have I +been met with greater kindness and consideration. He was so kind that I feared +he had only disappointing news to communicate, but his first words reassured +me. He said: +</p> + +<p> +“I have come to you on a matter of importance. We have found enough truth in +the suppositions you advanced at our last interview to warrant us in the +attempt you yourself proposed for the elucidation of this mystery. That this is +the most risky and altogether the most unpleasant duty which I have encountered +during my several years of service, I am willing to acknowledge to one so +sensible and at the same time of so much modesty as yourself. This English +gentleman has a reputation which lifts him far above any unworthy suspicion, +and were it not for the favorable impression made upon us by Mr. Durand in a +long talk we had with him last night, I would sooner resign my place than +pursue this matter against him. Success would create a horror on both sides the +water unprecedented during my career, while failure would bring down ridicule +on us which would destroy the prestige of the whole force. Do you see my +difficulty, Miss Van Arsdale? We can not even approach this haughty and highly +reputable Englishman with questions without calling down on us the wrath of the +whole English nation. We must be sure before we make a move, and for us to be +sure where the evidence is all circumstantial, I know of no better plan than +the one you were pleased to suggest, which, at the time, I was pleased to call +quixotic.” +</p> + +<p> +Drawing a long breath I surveyed him timidly. Never had I so realized my +presumption or experienced such a thrill of joy in my frightened yet elated +heart. They believed in Anson’s innocence and they trusted me. Insignificant as +I was, it was to my exertions this great result was due. As I realized this, I +felt my heart swell and my throat close. In despair of speaking I held out my +hands. He took them kindly and seemed to be quite satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“Such a little, trembling, tear-filled Amazon!” he cried. “Shall you have +courage to undertake the task before you? If not—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but I have,” said I. “It is your goodness and the surprise of it all which +unnerves me. I can go through what we have planned if you think the secret of +my personality and interest in Mr. Durand can be kept from the people I go +among.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can if you will follow our advice implicitly. You say that you know the +doctor and that he stands ready to recommend you in case Miss Pierson withdraws +her services.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he is eager to give me a chance. He was a college mate of my father’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“How will you explain to him your wish to enter upon your duties under another +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very simply. I have already told him that the publicity given my name in the +late proceedings has made me very uncomfortable; that my first case of nursing +would require all my self-possession and that if he did not think it wrong I +should like to go to it under my mother’s name. He made no dissent and I think +I can persuade him that I would do much better work as Miss Ayers than as the +too well-known Miss Van Arsdale.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have great powers of persuasion. But may you not meet people at the hotel +who know you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall try to avoid people; and, if my identity is discovered, its effect or +non-effect upon one we find it difficult to mention will give us our clue. If +he has no guilty interest in the crime, my connection with it as a witness will +not disturb him. Besides, two days of unsuspicious acceptance of me as Miss +Grey’s nurse are all I want. I shall take immediate opportunity, I assure you, +to make the test I mentioned. But how much confidence you will have to repose +in me! I comprehend all the importance of my undertaking, and shall work as if +my honor, as well as yours, were at stake.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure you will.” Then for the first time in my life I was glad that I was +small and plain rather than tall and fascinating like so many of my friends, +for he said: “If you had been a triumphant beauty, depending on your charms as +a woman to win people to your will, we should never have listened to your +proposition or risked our reputation in your hands. It is your wit, your +earnestness and your quiet determination which have impressed us. You see I +speak plainly. I do so because I respect you. And now to business.” +</p> + +<p> +Details followed. After these were well understood between us, I ventured to +say: “Do you object—would it be asking too much—if I requested some +enlightenment as to what facts you have discovered about Mr. Grey which go to +substantiate my theory? I might work more intelligently.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miss Van Arsdale, you would not work more intelligently, and you know it. +But you have the natural curiosity of one whose very heart is bound up in this +business. I could deny you what you ask but I won’t, for I want you to work +with quiet confidence, which you would not do if your mind were taken up with +doubts and questions. Miss Van Arsdale, one surmise of yours was correct. A man +was sent that night to the Ramsdell house with a note from Miss Grey. We know +this because he boasted of it to one of the bell-boys before he went out, +saying that he was going to have a glimpse of one of the swellest parties of +the season. It is also true that this man was Mr. Grey’s valet, an old servant +who came over with him from England. But what adds weight to all this and makes +us regard the whole affair with suspicion, is the additional fact that this man +received his dismissal the following morning and has not been seen since by any +one we could reach. This looks bad to begin with, like the suppression of +evidence, you know. Then Mr. Grey has not been the same man since that night. +He is full of care and this care is not entirely in connection with his +daughter, who is doing very well and bids fair to be up in a few days. But all +this would be nothing if we had not received advices from England which prove +that Mr. Grey’s visit here has an element of mystery in it. There was every +reason for his remaining in his own country, where a political crisis is +approaching, yet he crossed the water, bringing his sickly daughter with him. +The explanation as volunteered by one who knew him well was this: That only his +desire to see or acquire some precious object for his collection could have +taken him across the ocean at this time, nothing else rivaling his interest in +governmental affairs. Still this would be nothing if a stiletto similar to the +one employed in this crime had not once formed part of a collection of curios +belonging to a cousin of his whom he often visited. This stiletto has been +missing for some time, stolen, as the owner declared, by some unknown person. +All this looks bad enough, but when I tell you that a week before the fatal +ball at Mr. Ramsdell’s, Mr. Grey made a tour of the jewelers on Broadway and, +with the pretext of buying a diamond for his daughter, entered into a talk +about famous stones, ending always with some question about the Fairbrother +gem, you will see that his interest in that stone is established and that it +only remains for us to discover if that interest is a guilty one. I can not +believe this possible, but you have our leave to make your experiment and see. +Only do not count too much on his superstition. If he is the deep-dyed criminal +you imagine, the cry which startled us all at a certain critical instant was +raised by himself and for the purpose you suggested. None of the sensitiveness +often shown by a man who has been surprised into crime will be his. Relying on +his reputation and the prestige of his great name, he will, if he thinks +himself under fire, face every shock unmoved.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see; I understand. He must believe himself all alone; then, the natural man +may appear. I thank you, Inspector. That idea is of inestimable value to me, +and I shall act on it. I do not say immediately; not on the first day, and +possibly not on the second, but as soon as opportunity offers for my doing what +I have planned with any chance of success. And now, advise me how to circumvent +my uncle and aunt, who must never know to what an undertaking I have committed +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Dalzell spared me another fifteen minutes, and this last detail was +arranged. Then he rose to go. As he turned from me he said: +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +And I answered with a full heart, but a voice clear as my purpose: +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0012"></a> +XII.<br/> +ALMOST</h2> + +<p> +“This is your patient. Your new nurse, my dear. What did you say your name is? +Miss Ayers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Grey, Alice Ayers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a sweet name!” +</p> + +<p> +This expressive greeting, from the patient herself, was the first heart-sting I +received,—a sting which brought a flush into my cheek which I would fain +have kept down. +</p> + +<p> +“Since a change of nurses was necessary, I am glad they sent me one like you,” +the feeble, but musical voice went on, and I saw a wasted but eager hand +stretched out. +</p> + +<p> +In a whirl of strong feeling I advanced to take it. I had not counted on such a +reception. I had not expected any bond of congeniality to spring up between +this high-feeling English girl and myself to make my purpose hateful to me. +Yet, as I stood there looking down at her bright if wasted face, I felt that it +would be very easy to love so gentle and cordial a being, and dreaded raising +my eyes to the gentleman at my side lest I should see something in him to +hamper me, and make this attempt, which I had undertaken in such loyalty of +spirit, a misery to myself and ineffectual to the man I had hoped to save by +it. When I did look up and catch the first beams of Mr. Grey’s keen blue eyes +fixed inquiringly on me, I neither knew what to think nor how to act. He was +tall and firmly knit, and had an intellectual aspect altogether. I was +conscious of regarding him with a decided feeling of awe, and found myself +forgetting why I had come there, and what my suspicions were,—suspicions +which had carried hope with them, hope for myself and hope for my lover, who +would never escape the opprobrium, even if he did the punishment, of this great +crime, were this, the only other person who could possibly be associated with +it, found to be the fine, clear-souled man he appeared to be in this my first +interview with him. +</p> + +<p> +Perceiving very soon that his apprehensions in my regard were limited to a fear +lest I should not feel at ease in my new home under the restraint of a presence +more accustomed to intimidate than attract strangers, I threw aside all doubts +of myself and met the advances of both father and daughter with that quiet +confidence which my position there demanded. +</p> + +<p> +The result both gratified and grieved me. As a nurse entering on her first case +I was happy; as a woman with an ulterior object in view verging on the +audacious and unspeakable, I was wretched and regretful and just a little +shaken in the conviction which had hitherto upheld me. +</p> + +<p> +I was therefore but poorly prepared to meet the ordeal which awaited me, when, +a little later in the day, Mr. Grey called me into the adjoining room, and, +after saying that it would afford him great relief to go out for an hour or so, +asked if I were afraid to be left alone with my patient. +</p> + +<p> +“O no, sir—” I began, but stopped in secret dismay. I was afraid, but not +on account of her condition; rather on account of my own. What if I should be +led into betraying my feelings on finding myself under no other eye than her +own! What if the temptation to probe her poor sick mind should prove stronger +than my duty toward her as a nurse! +</p> + +<p> +My tones were hesitating but Mr. Grey paid little heed; his mind was too fixed +on what he wished to say himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Before I go,” said he, “I have a request to make—I may as well say a +caution to give you. Do not, I pray, either now or at any future time, carry or +allow any one else to carry newspapers into Miss Grey’s room. They are just now +too alarming. There has been, as you know, a dreadful murder in this city. If +she caught one glimpse of the headlines, or saw so much as the name of +Fairbrother—which—which is a name she knows, the result might be +very hurtful to her. She is not only extremely sensitive from illness but from +temperament. Will you be careful?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +It was such an effort for me to say these words, to say anything in the state +of mind into which I had been thrown by his unexpected allusion to this +subject, that I unfortunately drew his attention to myself and it was with what +I felt to be a glance of doubt that he added with decided emphasis: +</p> + +<p> +“You must consider this whole subject as a forbidden one in this family. Only +cheerful topics are suitable for the sick-room. If Miss Grey attempts to +introduce any other, stop her. Do not let her talk about anything which will +not be conducive to her speedy recovery. These are the only instructions I have +to give you; all others must come from her physician.” +</p> + +<p> +I made some reply with as little show of emotion as possible. It seemed to +satisfy him, for his face cleared as he kindly observed: +</p> + +<p> +“You have a very trustworthy look for one so young. I shall rest easy while you +are with her, and I shall expect you to be always with her when I am not. Every +moment, mind. She is never to be left alone with gossiping servants. If a word +is mentioned in her hearing about this crime which seems to be in everybody’s +mouth, I shall feel forced, greatly as I should regret the fad, to blame you.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a heart-stroke, but I kept up bravely, changing color perhaps, but not +to such a marked degree as to arouse any deeper suspicion in his mind than that +I had been wounded in my amour propre. +</p> + +<p> +“She shall be well guarded,” said I. “You may trust me to keep from her all +avoidable knowledge of this crime.” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed and I was about to leave his presence, when he detained me by +remarking with the air of one who felt that some explanation was necessary: +</p> + +<p> +“I was at the ball where this crime took place. Naturally it has made a deep +impression on me and would on her if she heard of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly,” I murmured, wondering if he would say more and how I should have +the courage to stand there and listen if he did. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the first time I have ever come in contact with crime,” he went on with +what, in one of his reserved nature, seemed a hardly natural insistence. “I +could well have been spared the experience. A tragedy with which one has been +even thus remotely connected produces a lasting effect upon the mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, oh yes!” I murmured, edging involuntarily toward the door. Did I not +know? Had I not been there, too; I, little I, whom he stood gazing down upon +from such a height, little realizing the fatality which united us and, what was +even a more overwhelming thought to me at the moment, the fact that of all +persons in the world the shrinking little being, into whose eyes he was then +looking, was, perhaps, his greatest enemy and the one person, great or small, +from whom he had the most to fear. +</p> + +<p> +But I was no enemy to his gentle daughter and the relief I felt at finding +myself thus cut off by my own promise from even the remotest communication with +her on this forbidden subject was genuine and sincere. +</p> + +<p> +But the father! What was I to think of the father? Alas! I could have but one +thought, admirable as he appeared in all lights save the one in which his too +evident connection with this crime had placed him. I spent the hours of the +afternoon in alternately watching the sleeping face of my patient, too sweetly +calm in its repose, or so it seemed, for the mind beneath to harbor such doubts +as were shown in the warning I had ascribed to her, and vain efforts to explain +by any other hypothesis than that of guilt, the extraordinary evidence which +linked this man of great affairs and the loftiest repute to a crime involving +both theft and murder. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did the struggle end that night. It was renewed with still greater +positiveness the next day, as I witnessed the glances which from time to time +passed between this father and daughter,—glances full of doubt and +question on both sides, but not exactly such doubt or such question as my +suspicions called for. Or so I thought, and spent another day or two hesitating +very much over my duty, when, coming unexpectedly upon Mr. Grey one evening, I +felt all my doubts revive in view of the extraordinary expression of +dread—I might with still greater truth say fear—which informed his +features and made them, to my unaccustomed eyes, almost unrecognizable. +</p> + +<p> +He was sitting at his desk in reverie over some papers which he seemed not to +have touched for hours, and when, at some movement I made, he started up and +met my eye, I could swear that his cheek was pale, the firm carriage of his +body shaken, and the whole man a victim to some strong and secret apprehension +he vainly sought to hide, when I ventured to tell him what I wanted, he made an +effort and pulled himself together, but I had seen him with his mask off, and +his usually calm visage and self-possessed mien could not again deceive me. +</p> + +<p> +My duties kept me mainly at Miss Grey’s bedside, but I had been provided with a +little room across the hall, and to this room I retired very soon after this, +for rest and a necessary understanding with myself. +</p> + +<p> +For, in spite of this experience and my now settled convictions, my purpose +required whetting. The indescribable charm, the extreme refinement and nobility +of manner observable in both Mr. Grey and his daughter were producing their +effect. I felt guilty; constrained. whatever my convictions, the impetus to act +was leaving me. How could I recover it? By thinking of Anson Durand and his +present disgraceful position. +</p> + +<p> +Anson Durand! Oh, how the feeling surged up in my breast as that name slipped +from my lips on crossing the threshold of my little room! Anson Durand, whom I +believed innocent, whom I loved, but whom I was betraying with every moment of +hesitation in which I allowed myself to indulge! what if the Honorable Mr. Grey +is an eminent statesman, a dignified, scholarly, and to all appearance, +high-minded man? what if my patient is sweet, dove-eyed and affectionate? Had +not Anson qualities as excellent in their way, rights as certain, and a hold +upon myself superior to any claims which another might advance? Drawing a +much-crumpled little note from my pocket, I eagerly read it. It was the only +one I had of his writing, the only letter he had ever written me. I had already +re-read it a hundred times, but as I once more repeated to myself its +well-known lines, I felt my heart grow strong and fixed in the determination +which had brought me into this family. +</p> + +<p> +Restoring the letter to its place, I opened my gripsack and from its inmost +recesses drew forth an object which I had no sooner in hand than a natural +sense of disquietude led me to glance apprehensively, first at the door, then +at the window, though I had locked the one and shaded the other. It seemed as +if some other eye besides my own must be gazing at what I held so gingerly in +hand; that the walls were watching me, if nothing else, and the sensation this +produced was so exactly like that of guilt (or what I imagined to be guilt), +that I was forced to repeat once more to myself that it was not a good man’s +overthrow I sought, or even a bad man’s immunity from punishment, but the +truth, the absolute truth. No shame could equal that which I should feel if, by +any over-delicacy now, I failed to save the man who trusted me. +</p> + +<p> +The article which I held—have you guessed it?—was the stiletto with +which Mrs. Fairbrother had been killed. It had been intrusted to me by the +police for a definite purpose. The time for testing that purpose had come, or +so nearly come, that I felt I must be thinking about the necessary ways and +means. +</p> + +<p> +Unwinding the folds of tissue paper in which the stiletto was wrapped, I +scrutinized the weapon very carefully. Hitherto, I had seen only pictures of +it, now, I had the article itself in my hand. It was not a natural one for a +young woman to hold, a woman whose taste ran more toward healing than +inflicting wounds, but I forced myself to forget why the end of its blade was +rusty, and looked mainly at the devices which ornamented the handle. I had not +been mistaken in them. They belonged to the house of Grey, and to none other. +It was a legitimate inquiry I had undertaken. However the matter ended, I +should always have these historic devices for my excuse. +</p> + +<p> +My plan was to lay this dagger on Mr. Grey’s desk at a moment when he would be +sure to see it and I to see him. If he betrayed a guilty knowledge of this +fatal steel; if, unconscious of my presence, he showed surprise and +apprehension,—then we should know how to proceed; justice would be loosed +from constraint and the police feel at liberty to approach him. It was a +delicate task, this. I realized how delicate, when I had thrust the stiletto +out of sight under my nurse’s apron and started to cross the hall. Should I +find the library clear? Would the opportunity be given me to approach his desk, +or should I have to carry this guilty witness of a world-famous crime on into +Miss Grey’s room, and with its unholy outline pressing a semblance of itself +upon my breast, sit at that innocent pillow, meet those innocent eyes, and +answer the gentle inquiries which now and then fell from the sweetest lips I +have ever seen smile into the face of a lonely, preoccupied stranger? +</p> + +<p> +The arrangement of the rooms was such as made it necessary for me to pass +through this sitting-room in order to reach my patient’s bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +With careful tread, so timed as not to appear stealthy, I accordingly advanced +and pushed open the door. The room was empty. Mr. Grey was still with his +daughter and I could cross the floor without fear. But never had I entered upon +a task requiring more courage or one more obnoxious to my natural instincts. I +hated each step I took, but I loved the man for whom I took those steps, and +moved resolutely on. Only, as I reached the chair in which Mr. Grey was +accustomed to sit, I found that it was easier to plan an action than to carry +it out. Home life and the domestic virtues had always appealed to me more than +a man’s greatness. The position which this man held in his own country, his +usefulness there, even his prestige as statesman and scholar, were facts, but +very dreamy facts, to me, while his feelings as a father, the place he held in +his daughter’s heart—these were real to me, these I could understand; and +it was of these and not of his place as a man, that this his favorite seat +spoke to me. How often had I beheld him sit by the hour with his eye on the +door behind which his one darling lay ill! Even now, it was easy for me to +recall his face as I had sometimes caught a glimpse of it through the crack of +the suddenly opened door, and I felt my breast heave and my hand falter as I +drew forth the stiletto and moved to place it where his eye would fall upon it +on his leaving his daughter’s bedside. +</p> + +<p> +But my hand returned quickly to my breast and fell hack again empty. A pile of +letters lay before me on the open lid of the desk. The top one was addressed to +me with the word “Important” written in the corner. I did not know the writing, +but I felt that I should open and read this letter before committing myself or +those who stood back of me to this desperate undertaking. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing behind me and seeing that the door into Miss Grey’s room was ajar, I +caught up this letter and rushed with it back into my own room. As I surmised, +it was from the inspector, and as I read it I realized that I had received it +not one moment too soon. In language purposely non-committal, but of a meaning +not to be mistaken, it advised me that some unforeseen facts had come to light +which altered all former suspicions and made the little surprise I had planned +no longer necessary. +</p> + +<p> +There was no allusion to Mr. Durand but the final sentence ran: +</p> + +<p> +“Drop all care and give your undivided attention to your patient.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0013"></a> +XIII.<br/> +THE MISSING RECOMMENDATION</h2> + +<p> +My patient slept that night, but I did not. The shock given by this sudden cry +of Halt! at the very moment I was about to make my great move, the uncertainty +as to what it meant and my doubt of its effect upon Mr. Durand’s position, put +me on the anxious seat and kept my thoughts fully occupied till morning. +</p> + +<p> +I was very tired and must have shown it, when, with the first rays of a very +meager sun, Miss Grey softly unclosed her eyes and found me looking at her, for +her smile had a sweet compassion in it, and she said as she pressed my hand: +</p> + +<p> +“You must have watched me all night. I never saw any one look so +tired,—or so good,” she softly finished. +</p> + +<p> +I had rather she had not uttered that last phrase. It did not fit me at the +moment,—did not fit me, perhaps, at any time. Good! I! when my thoughts +had not been with her, but with Mr. Durand; when the dominating feeling in my +breast was not that of relief, but a vague regret that I had not been allowed +to make my great test and so establish, to my own satisfaction, at least, the +perfect innocence of my lover even at the cost of untold anguish to this +confiding girl upon whose gentle spirit the very thought of crime would cast a +deadly blight. +</p> + +<p> +I must have flushed; certainly I showed some embarrassment, for her eyes +brightened with shy laughter as she whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“You do not like to be praised,—another of your virtues. You have too +many. I have only one—I love my friends.” +</p> + +<p> +She did. One could see that love was life to her. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant I trembled. How near I had been to wrecking this gentle soul! +Was she safe yet? I was not sure. My own doubts were not satisfied. I awaited +the papers with feverish impatience. They should contain news. News of what? +Ah, that was the question! +</p> + +<p> +“You will let me see my mail this morning, will you not?” she asked, as I +busied myself about her. +</p> + +<p> +“That is for the doctor to say,” I smiled. “You are certainly better this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so hard for me not to be able to read his letters, or to write a word to +relieve his anxiety.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus she told me her heart’s secret, and unconsciously added another burden to +my already too heavy load. +</p> + +<p> +I was on my way to give some orders about my patient’s breakfast, when Mr. Grey +came into the sitting-room and met me face to face. He had a newspaper in his +hand and my heart stood still as I noted his altered looks and disturbed +manner. Were these due to anything he had found in those columns? It was with +difficulty that I kept my eyes from the paper which he held in such a manner as +to disclose its glaring head-lines. These I dared not read with his eyes fixed +on mine. +</p> + +<p> +“How is Miss Grey? How is my daughter?” he asked in great haste and uneasiness. +“Is she better this morning, or—worse?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better,” I assured him, and was greatly astonished to see his brow instantly +clear. +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” he asked. “You really consider her better? The doctors say so’ but I +have not very much faith in doctors in a case like this,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen no reason to distrust them,” I protested. “Miss Grey’s illness, +while severe, does not appear to be of an alarming nature. But then I have had +very little experience out of the hospital. I am young yet, Mr. Grey.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked as if he quite agreed with me in this estimate of myself, and, with a +brow still clouded, passed into his daughter’s room, the paper in his hand. +Before I joined them I found and scanned another journal. Expecting great +things, I was both surprised and disappointed to find only a small paragraph +devoted to the Fairbrother case. In this it was stated that the authorities +hoped for new light on this mystery as soon as they had located a certain +witness, whose connection with the crime they had just discovered. No more, no +less than was contained in Inspector Dalzell’s letter. How could I bear +it,—the suspense, the doubt,—and do my duty to my patient! Happily, +I had no choice. I had been adjudged equal to this business and I must prove +myself to be so. Perhaps my courage would revive after I had had my breakfast; +perhaps then I should be able to fix upon the identity of the new +witness,—something which I found myself incapable of at this moment. +</p> + +<p> +These thoughts were on my mind as I crossed the rooms on my way back to Miss +Grey’s bedside. By the time I reached her door I was outwardly calm, as her +first words showed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the cheerful smile! It makes me feel better in spite of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +If she could have seen into my heart! +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey, who was leaning over the foot of the bed, cast me a quick glance +which was not without its suspicion. Had he detected me playing a part, or were +such doubts as he displayed the product simply of his own uneasiness? I was not +able to decide, and, with this unanswered question added to the number already +troubling me, I was forced to face the day which, for aught I knew, might be +the precursor of many others equally trying and unsatisfactory. +</p> + +<p> +But help was near. Before noon I received a message from my uncle to the effect +that if I could be spared he would be glad to see me at his home as near three +o’clock as possible. What could he want of me? I could not guess, and it was +with great inner perturbation that, having won Mr. Grey’s permission, I +responded to his summons. +</p> + +<p> +I found my uncle awaiting me in a carriage before his own door, and I took my +seat at his side without the least idea of his purpose. I supposed that he had +planned this ride that he might talk to me unreservedly and without fear of +interruption. But I soon saw that he had some very different object in view, +for not only did he start down town instead of up, but his conversation, such +as it was, confined itself to generalities and studiously avoided the one topic +of supreme interest to us both. +</p> + +<p> +At last, as we turned into Bleecker Street, I let my astonishment and +perplexity appear. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we bound?” I asked. “It can not be that you are taking me to see Mr. +Durand?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he, and said no more. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Police Headquarters!” I faltered as the carriage made another turn and +drew up before a building I had reason to remember. “Uncle, what am I to do +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“See a friend,” he answered, as he helped me to alight. Then as I followed him +in some bewilderment, he whispered in my ear: “Inspector Dalzell. He wants a +few minutes conversation with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, the weight which fell from my shoulders at these words! I was to hear, +then, what had intervened between me and my purpose. The wearing night I had +anticipated was to be lightened with some small spark of knowledge. I had +confidence enough in the kind-hearted inspector to be sure of that. I caught at +my uncle’s arm and squeezed it delightedly, quite oblivious of the curious +glances I must have received from the various officials we passed on our way to +the inspector’s office. +</p> + +<p> +We found him waiting for us, and I experienced such pleasure at sight of his +kind and earnest face that I hardly noticed uncle’s sly retreat till the door +closed behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Inspector, what has happened?” I impetuously exclaimed in answer to his +greeting. “Something that will help Mr. Durand without disturbing Mr. +Grey—have you as good news for me as that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hardly,” he answered, moving up a chair and seating me in it with a fatherly +air which, under the circumstances, was more discouraging than consolatory. “We +have simply heard of a new witness, or rather a fact has come to light which +has turned our inquiries into a new direction.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—and—you can not tell me what this fact is?” I faltered as he +showed no intention of adding anything to this very unsatisfactory explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“I should not, but you were willing to do so much for us I must set aside my +principles a little and do something for you. After all, it is only +forestalling the reporters by a day. Miss Van Arsdale, this is the story: +Yesterday morning a man was shown into this room, and said that he had +information to give which might possibly prove to have some bearing on the +Fairbrother case. I had seen the man before and recognized him at the first +glance as one of the witnesses who made the inquest unnecessarily tedious. Do +you remember Jones, the caterer, who had only two or three facts to give and +yet who used up the whole afternoon in trying to state those facts?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, indeed,” I answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he was the man, and I own that I was none too delighted to see him. But +he was more at his ease with me than I expected, and I soon learned what he had +to tell. It was this: One of his men had suddenly left him, one of his very +best men, one of those who had been with him in the capacity of waiter at the +Ramsdell ball. It was not uncommon for his men to leave him, but they usually +gave notice. This man gave no notice; he simply did not show up at the usual +hour. This was a week or two ago. Jones, having a liking for the man, who was +an excellent waiter, sent a messenger to his lodging-house to see if he were +ill. But he had left his lodgings with as little ceremony as he had left the +caterer. +</p> + +<p> +“This, under ordinary circumstances, would have ended the business, but there +being some great function in prospect, Jones did not feel like losing so good a +man without making an effort to recover him, so he looked up his references in +the hope of obtaining some clue to his present whereabouts. +</p> + +<p> +“He kept all such matters in a special book and expected to have no trouble in +finding the man’s name, James Wellgood, or that of his former employer. But +when he came to consult this book, he was astonished to find that nothing was +recorded against this man’s name but the date of his first +employment—March 15. +</p> + +<p> +“Had he hired him without a recommendation? He would not be likely to, yet the +page was clear of all reference; only the name and the date. But the date! You +have already noted its significance, and later he did, too. The day of the +Ramsdell ball! The day of the great murder! As he recalled the incidents of +that day he understood why the record of Wellgood’s name was unaccompanied by +the usual reference. It had been a difficult day all round. The function was an +important one, and the weather bad. There was, besides, an unusual shortage in +his number of assistants. Two men had that very morning been laid up with +sickness, and when this able-looking, self-confident Wellgood presented himself +for immediate employment, he took him out of hand with the merest glance at +what looked like a very satisfactory reference. Later, he had intended to look +up this reference, which he had been careful to preserve by sticking it, along +with other papers, on his spike-file. But in the distractions following the +untoward events of the evening, he had neglected to do so, feeling perfectly +satisfied with the man’s work and general behavior. Now it was a different +thing. The man had left him summarily, and he felt impelled to hunt up the +person who had recommended him and see whether this was the first time that +Wellgood had repaid good treatment with bad. Running through the papers with +which his file was now full, he found that the one he sought was not there. +This roused him in good earnest, for he was certain that he had not removed it +himself and there was no one else who had the right to do so. He suspected the +culprit,—a young lad who occasionally had access to his desk. But this +boy was no longer in the office. He had dismissed him for some petty fault the +previous week, and it took him several days to find him again. Meantime his +anger grew and when he finally came face to face with the lad, he accused him +of the suspected trick with so much vehemence that the inevitable happened, and +the boy confessed. This is what he acknowledged. He had taken the reference off +the file, but only to give it to Wellgood himself, who had offered him money +for it. When asked how much money, the boy admitted that the sum was ten +dollars,—an extraordinary amount from a poor man for so simple a service, +if the man merely wished to secure his reference for future use; so +extraordinary that Mr. Jones grew more and more pertinent in his inquiries, +eliciting finally what he surely could not have hoped for in the +beginning,—the exact address of the party referred to in the paper he had +stolen, and which, for some reason, the boy remembered. It was an uptown +address, and, as soon as the caterer could leave his business, he took the +elevated and proceeded to the specified street and number. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Van Arsdale, a surprise awaited him, and awaited us when he told the +result of his search. The name attached to the recommendation had +been—‘Hiram Sears, Steward.’ He did not know of any such +man—perhaps you do—but when he reached the house from which the +recommendation was dated, he saw that it was one of the great houses of New +York, though he could not at the instant remember who lived there. But he soon +found out. The first passer-by told him. Miss Van Arsdale, perhaps you can do +the same. The number was—Eighty-sixth Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“—!” I repeated, quite aghast. “Why, Mr. Fairbrother himself! The husband +of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly so, and Hiram Sears, whose name you may have heard mentioned at the +inquest, though for a very good reason he was not there in person, is his +steward and general factotum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! and it was he who recommended Wellgood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did Mr. Jones see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. The house, you remember, is closed. Mr. Fairbrother, on leaving town, gave +his servants a vacation. His steward he took with him,—that is, they +started together. But we hear no mention made of him in our telegrams from +Santa Fe. He does not seem to have followed Mr. Fairbrother into the +mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say that in a peculiar way,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it has struck us peculiarly. Where is Sears now? And why did he not go +on with Mr. Fairbrother when he left home with every apparent intention of +accompanying him to the Placide mine? Miss Van Arsdale, we were impressed with +this fact when we heard of Mr. Fairbrother’s lonely trip from where he was +taken ill to his mine outside of Santa Fe; but we have only given it its due +importance since hearing what has come to us to-day. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Van Arsdale,” continued the inspector, as I looked up quickly, “I am +going to show great confidence in you. I am going to tell you what our men have +learned about this Sears. As I have said before, it is but forestalling the +reporters by a day, and it may help you to understand why I sent you such +peremptory orders to stop, when your whole heart was fixed on an attempt by +which you hoped to right Mr. Durand. We can not afford to disturb so +distinguished a person as the one you have under your eye, while the least hope +remains of fixing this crime elsewhere. And we have such hope. This man, this +Sears, is by no means the simple character one would expect from his position. +Considering the short time we have had (it was only yesterday that Jones found +his way into this office), we have unearthed some very interesting facts in his +regard. His devotion to Mr. Fairbrother was never any secret, and we knew as +much about that the day after the murder as we do now. But the feelings with +which he regarded Mrs. Fairbrother—well, that is another thing—and +it was not till last night we heard that the attachment which bound him to her +was of the sort which takes no account of youth or age, fitness or unfitness. +He was no Adonis, and old enough, we are told, to be her father; but for all +that we have already found several persons who can tell strange stories of the +persistence with which his eager old eyes would follow her whenever chance +threw them together during the time she remained under her husband’s roof; and +others who relate, with even more avidity, how, after her removal to apartments +of her own, he used to spend hours in the adjoining park just to catch a +glimpse of her figure as she crossed the sidewalk on her way to and from her +carriage. Indeed, his senseless, almost senile passion for this magnificent +beauty became a by-word in some mouths, and it only escaped being mentioned at +the inquest from respect to Mr. Fairbrother, who had never recognized this +weakness in his steward, and from its lack of visible connection with her +horrible death and the stealing of her great jewel. Nevertheless, we have a +witness now—it is astonishing how many witnesses we can scare up by a +little effort, who never thought of coming forward themselves—who can +swear to having seen him one night shaking his fist at her retreating figure as +she stepped haughtily by him into her apartment house. This witness is sure +that the man he saw thus gesticulating was Sears, and he is sure the woman was +Mrs. Fairbrother. The only thing he is not sure of is how his own wife will +feel when she hears that he was in that particular neighborhood on that +particular evening, when he was evidently supposed to be somewhere else.” And +the inspector laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the steward’s disposition a bad one.” I asked, “that this display of +feeling should impress you so much?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say about that yet. Opinions differ on this point. His +friends speak of him as the mildest kind of a man who, without native executive +skill, could not manage the great household he has in charge. His enemies, and +we have unearthed a few, say, on the contrary, that they have never had any +confidence in his quiet ways; that these were not in keeping with the fact or +his having been a California miner in the early fifties. +</p> + +<p> +“You can see I am putting you very nearly where we are ourselves. Nor do I see +why I should not add that this passion of the seemingly subdued but really +hot-headed steward for a woman, who never showed him anything but what he might +call an insulting indifference, struck us as a clue to be worked up, especially +after we received this answer to a telegram we sent late last night to the +nurse who is caring for Mr. Fairbrother in New Mexico.” +</p> + +<p> +He handed me a small yellow slip and I read: +</p> + +<p> +“The steward left Mr. Fairbrother at El Moro. He has not heard from him since. +</p> + +<p> +“ANNETTA LA SERRA +</p> + +<p> +“For Abner Fairbrother.” +</p> + +<p> +“At El Moro?” I cried. “Why, that was long enough ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“For him to have reached New York before the murder. Exactly so, if he took +advantage of every close connection.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0014"></a> +XIV.<br/> +TRAPPED</h2> + +<p> +I caught my breath sharply. I did not say anything. I felt that I did not +understand the inspector sufficiently yet to speak. He seemed to be pleased +with my reticence. At all events, his manner grew even kinder as he said: +</p> + +<p> +“This Sears is a witness we must have. He is being looked for now, high and +low, and we hope to get some clue to his whereabouts before night. That is, if +he is in this city. Meanwhile, we are all glad—I am sure you are +also—to spare so distinguished a gentleman as Mr. Grey the slightest +annoyance.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Durand? What of him in this interim?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will have to await developments. I see no other way, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +It was kindly said, but my head drooped. This waiting was what was killing him +and killing me. The inspector saw and gently patted my hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said he, “you have head enough to see that it is never wise to force +matters.” Then, possibly with an intention of rousing me, he remarked: “There +is another small fact which may interest you. It concerns the waiter, Wellgood, +recommended, as you will remember, by this Sears. In my talk with Jones it +leaked out as a matter of small moment, and so it was to him, that this +Wellgood was the waiter who ran and picked up the diamond after it fell from +Mr. Grey’s hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +“This may mean nothing—it meant nothing to Jones—but I inform you +of it because there is a question I want to put to you in this connection. You +smile.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I?” I meekly answered. “I do not know why.” +</p> + +<p> +This was not true. I had been waiting to see why the inspector had so honored +me with all these disclosures, almost with his thoughts. Now I saw. He desired +something in return. +</p> + +<p> +“You were on the scene at this very moment,” he proceeded, after a brief +contemplation of my face, “and you must have seen this man when he lifted the +jewel and handed it back to Mr. Grey. Did you remark his features?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir; I was too far off; besides, my eyes were on Mr. Grey.” “That is a +pity. I was in hopes you could satisfy me on a very important point.” +</p> + +<p> +“What point is that, Inspector Dalzell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whether he answered the following description.” And, taking up another paper, +he was about to read it aloud to me, when an interruption occurred. A man +showed himself at the door, whom the inspector no sooner recognized than he +seemed to forget me in his eagerness to interrogate him. Perhaps the appearance +of the latter had something to do with it; he looked as if he had been running, +or had been the victim of some extraordinary adventure. At all events, the +inspector arose as he entered, and was about to question him when he remembered +me, and, casting about for some means of ridding himself of my presence without +injury to my feelings, he suddenly pushed open the door of an adjoining room +and requested me to step inside while he talked a moment with this man. +</p> + +<p> +Of course I went, but I cast him an appealing look as I did so. It evidently +had its effect, for his expression changed as his hand fell on the doorknob. +Would he snap the lock tight, and so shut me out from what concerned me as much +as it did any one in the whole world? Or would he recognize my +anxiety—the necessity I was under of knowing just the ground I was +standing on—and let me hear what this man had to report? +</p> + +<p> +I watched the door. It closed slowly, too slowly to latch. Would he catch it +anew by the knob? No; he left it thus, and, while the crack was hardly +perceptible, I felt confident that the least shake of the floor would widen it +and give me the opportunity I sought. But I did not have to wait for this. The +two men in the office I had just left began to speak, and to my unbounded +relief were sufficiently intelligible, even now, to warrant me in giving them +my fullest attention. +</p> + +<p> +After some expressions of astonishment on the part of the inspector as to the +plight in which the other presented himself, the latter broke out: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just escaped death! I’ll tell you about that later. What I want to tell +you now is that the man we want is in town. I saw him last night, or his +shadow, which is the same thing. It was in the house in Eighty-sixth +Street,—the house they all think closed. He came in with a key +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait! You have him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. It’s a long story, sir—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell it!” +</p> + +<p> +The tone was dry. The inspector was evidently disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t blame me till you hear,” said the other. “He is no common crook. This is +how it was: You wanted the suspect’s photograph and a specimen of his writing. +I knew no better place to look for them than in his own room in Mr. +Fairbrother’s house. I accordingly got the necessary warrant and late last +evening undertook the job. I went alone I was always an egotistical chap, +more’s the pity—and with no further precaution than a passing explanation +to the officer I met at the corner, I hastened up the block to the rear +entrance on Eighty-seventh Street. There are three doors to the Fairbrother +house, as you probably know. Two on Eighty-sixth Street (the large front one +and a small one connecting directly with the turret stairs), and one on +Eighty-seventh Street. It was to the latter I had a key. I do not think any one +saw me go in. It was raining, and such people as went by were more concerned in +keeping their umbrellas properly over their heads than in watching men skulking +about in doorways. +</p> + +<p> +“I got in, then, all right, and, being careful to close the door behind me, +went up the first short flight of steps to what I knew must be the main hall. I +had been given a plan of the interior, and I had studied it more or less before +starting out, but I knew that I should get lost if I did not keep to the rear +staircase, at the top of which I expected to find the steward’s room. There was +a faint light in the house, in spite of its closed shutters and tightly-drawn +shades; and, having a certain dread of using my torch, knowing my weakness for +pretty things and how hard it would be for me to pass so many fine rooms +without looking in, I made my way up stairs, with no other guide than the +hand-rail. When I had reached what I took to be the third floor I stopped. +Finding it very dark, I first listened—a natural instinct with +us—then I lit up and looked about me. +</p> + +<p> +“I was in a large hall, empty as a vault and almost as desolate. Blank doors +met my eyes in all directions, with here and there an open passageway. I felt +myself in a maze. I had no idea which was the door I sought, and it is not +pleasant to turn unaccustomed knobs in a shut-up house at midnight, with the +rain pouring in torrents and the wind making pandemonium in a half-dozen great +chimneys. +</p> + +<p> +“But it had to be done, and I went at it in regular order till I came to a +little narrow one opening on the turret-stair. This gave me my bearings. Sears’ +room adjoined the staircase. There was no difficulty in spotting the exact door +now and, merely stopping to close the opening I had made to this little +staircase, I crossed to this door and flung it open. I had been right in my +calculations. It was the steward’s room, and I made at once for the desk.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you found—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mostly locked drawers. But a key on my bunch opened some of these and my knife +the rest. Here are the specimens of his handwriting which I collected. I doubt +if you will get much out of them. I saw nothing compromising in the whole room, +but then I hadn’t time to go through his trunks, and one of them looked very +interesting,—old as the hills and—” +</p> + +<p> +“You hadn’t time? Why hadn’t you time? What happened to cut it short?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I’ll tell you.” The tone in which this was said roused me if it did +not the inspector. “I had just come from the desk which had disappointed me, +and was casting a look about the room, which was as bare as my hand of +everything like ornament—I might almost say comfort—when I heard a +noise which was not that of swishing rain or even gusty wind—these had +not been absent from my ears for a moment. I didn’t like that noise; it had a +sneakish sound, and I shut my light off in a hurry. After that I crept hastily +out of the room, for I don’t like a set-to in a trap. +</p> + +<p> +“It was darker than ever now in the hall, or so it seemed, and as I backed away +I came upon a jog in the wall, behind which I crept. For the sound I had heard +was no fancy. Some one besides myself was in the house, and that some one was +coming up the little turret-stair, striking matches as he approached. Who could +it be? A detective from the district attorney’s office? I hardly thought so. He +would have been provided with something better than matches to light his way. A +burglar? No, not on the third floor of a house as rich as this. Some fellow on +the force, then, who had seen me come in and, by some trick of his own, had +managed to follow me? I would see. Meantime I kept my place behind the jog and +watched, not knowing which way the intruder would go. +</p> + +<p> +“Whoever he was, he was evidently astonished to see the turret door ajar, for +he lit another match as he threw it open and, though I failed to get a glimpse +of his figure, I succeeded in getting a very good one of his shadow. It was one +to arouse a detective’s instinct at once. I did not say to myself, this is the +man I want, but I did say, this is nobody from headquarters, and I steadied +myself for whatever might turn up. +</p> + +<p> +“The first thing that happened was the sudden going out of the match which had +made this shadow visible. The intruder did not light another. I heard him move +across the floor with the rapid step of one who knows his way well, and the +next minute a gas-jet flared up in the steward’s room, and I knew that the man +the whole force was looking for had trapped himself. +</p> + +<p> +“You will agree that it was not my duty to take him then and there without +seeing what he was after. He was thought to be in the eastern states, or south +or west, and he was here; but why here? That is what I knew you would want to +know, and it was just what I wanted to know myself. So I kept my place, which +was good enough, and just listened, for I could not see. +</p> + +<p> +“What was his errand? What did he want in this empty house at midnight? Papers +first, and then clothes. I heard him at his desk, I heard him in the closet, +and afterward pottering in the old trunk I had been so anxious to look into +myself. He must have brought the key with him, for it was no time before I +heard him throwing out the contents in a wild search for something he wanted in +a great hurry. He found it sooner than you would believe, and began throwing +the things back, when something happened. Expectedly or unexpectedly, his eye +fell on some object which roused all his passions, and he broke into loud +exclamations ending in groans. Finally he fell to kissing this object with a +fervor suggesting rage, and a rage suggesting tenderness carried to the point +of agony. I have never heard the like; my curiosity was so aroused that I was +on the point of risking everything for a look, when he gave a sudden snarl and +cried out, loud enough for me to hear: ‘Kiss what I’ve hated? That is as bad as +to kill what I’ve loved.’ Those were the words. I am sure he said kiss and I am +sure he said kill.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is very interesting. Go on with your story. Why didn’t you collar him +while he was in this mood? You would have won by the surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I had no pistol, sir, and he had. I heard him cock it. I thought he was going +to take his own life, and held my breath for the report. But nothing like that +was in his mind. Instead, he laid the pistol down and deliberately tore in two +the object of his anger. Then with a smothered curse he made for the door and +turret staircase. +</p> + +<p> +“I was for following, but not till I had seen what he had destroyed in such an +excess of feeling. I thought I knew, but I wanted to feel sure. So, before +risking myself in the turret, I crept to the room he had left and felt about on +the floor till I came upon these.” +</p> + +<p> +“A torn photograph! Mrs. Fairbrother’s!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Have you not heard how he loved her? A foolish passion, but evidently +sincere and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind comments, Sweetwater. Stick to facts.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, sir. They are interesting enough. After I had picked up these scraps I +stole back to the turret staircase. And here I made my first break. I stumbled +in the darkness, and the man below heard me, for the pistol clicked again. I +did not like this, and had some thoughts of backing out of my job. But I +didn’t. I merely waited till I heard his step again; then I followed. +</p> + +<p> +“But very warily this time. It was not an agreeable venture. It was like +descending into a well with possible death at the bottom. I could see nothing +and presently could hear nothing but the almost imperceptible sliding of my own +fingers down the curve of the wall, which was all I had to guide me. Had he +stopped midway, and would my first intimation of his presence be the touch of +cold steel or the flinging around me of two murderous arms? I had met with no +break in the smooth surface of the wall, so could not have reached the second +story. When I should get there the question would be whether to leave the +staircase and seek him in the mazes of its great rooms, or to keep on down to +the parlor floor and so to the street, whither he was possibly bound. I own +that I was almost tempted to turn on my light and have done with it, but I +remembered of how little use I should be to you lying in this well of a +stairway with a bullet in me, and so I managed to compose myself and go on as I +had begun. Next instant my fingers slipped round the edge of an opening, and I +knew that the moment of decision had come. Realizing that no one can move so +softly that he will not give away his presence in some way, I paused for the +sound which I knew must come, and when a click rose from the depths of the hall +before me I plunged into that hall and thus into the house proper. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it was not so dark; yet I could make out none of the objects I now and +then ran against. I passed a mirror (I hardly know how I knew it to be such), +and in that mirror I seemed to see the ghost of a ghost flit by and vanish. It +was too much. I muttered a suppressed oath and plunged forward, when I struck +against a closing door. It flew open again and I rushed in, turning on my light +in my extreme desperation, when, instead of hearing the sharp report of a +pistol, as I expected, I saw a second door fall to before me, this time with a +sound like the snap of a spring lock. Finding that this was so, and that all +advance was barred that way, I wheeled hurriedly back toward the door by which +I had entered the place, to find that that had fallen to simultaneously with +the other, a single spring acting for both. I was trapped—a prisoner in +the strangest sort of passageway or closet; and, as a speedy look about +presently assured me, a prisoner with very little hope of immediate escape, for +the doors were not only immovable, without even locks to pick or panels to +break in, but the place was bare of windows, and the only communication which +it could be said to have with the outside world at all was a shaft rising from +the ceiling almost to the top of the house. Whether this served as a +ventilator, or a means of lighting up the hole when both doors were shut, it +was much too inaccessible to offer any apparent way of escape. +</p> + +<p> +“Never was a man more thoroughly boxed in. As I realized how little chance +there was of any outside interference, how my captor, even if he was seen +leaving the house by the officer on duty, would be taken for myself and so +allowed to escape, I own that I felt my position a hopeless one. But anger is a +powerful stimulant, and I was mortally angry, not only with Sears, but with +myself. So when I was done swearing I took another look around, and, finding +that there was no getting through the walls, turned my attention wholly to the +shaft, which would certainly lead me out of the place if I could only find +means to mount it. +</p> + +<p> +“And how do you think I managed to do this at last? A look at my bedraggled, +lime-covered clothes may give you some idea. I cut a passage for myself up +those perpendicular walls as the boy did up the face of the natural bridge in +Virginia. Do you remember that old story in the Reader? It came to me like an +inspiration as I stood looking up from below, and though I knew that I should +have to work most of the way in perfect darkness, I decided that a man’s life +was worth some risk, and that I had rather fall and break my neck while doing +something than to spend hours in maddening inactivity, only to face death at +last from slow starvation. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a knife, an exceedingly good knife, in my pocket—and for the first +few steps I should have the light of my electric torch. The difficulty (that +is, the first difficulty) was to reach the shaft from the floor where I stood. +There was but one article of furniture in the room, and that was something +between a table and a desk. No chairs, and the desk was not high enough to +enable me to reach the mouth of the shaft. If I could turn it on end there +might be some hope. But this did not look feasible. However, I threw off my +coat and went at the thing with a vengeance, and whether I was given superhuman +power or whether the clumsy thing was not as heavy as it looked, I did finally +succeed in turning it on its end close under the opening from which the shaft +rose. The next thing was to get on its top. That seemed about as impossible as +climbing the bare wall itself, but presently I bethought me of the drawers, +and, though they were locked, I did succeed by the aid of my keys to get enough +of them open to make for myself a very good pair of stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“I could now see my way to the mouth of the shaft, but after that! Taking out +my knife, I felt the edge. It was a good one, so was the point, but was it good +enough to work holes in plaster? It depended somewhat upon the plaster. Had the +masons, in finishing that shaft, any thought of the poor wretch who one day +would have to pit his life against the hardness of the final covering? My first +dig at it would tell. I own I trembled violently at the prospect of what that +first test would mean to me, and wondered if the perspiration which I felt +starting at every pore was the result of the effort I had been engaged in or +just plain fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector, I do not intend to have you live with me through the five mortal +hours which followed. I was enabled to pierce that plaster with my knife, and +even to penetrate deep enough to afford a place for the tips of my fingers and +afterward for the point of my toes, digging, prying, sweating, panting, +listening, first for a sudden opening of the doors beneath, then for some shout +or wicked interference from above as I worked my way up inch by inch, foot by +foot, to what might not be safety after it was attained. +</p> + +<p> +“Five hours—six. Then I struck something which proved to be a window; and +when I realized this and knew that with but one more effort I should breathe +freely again, I came as near falling as I had at any time before I began this +terrible climb. +</p> + +<p> +“Happily, I had some premonition of my danger, and threw myself into a position +which held me till the dizzy minute passed. Then I went calmly on with my work, +and in another half-hour had reached the window, which, fortunately for me, not +only opened inward, but was off the latch. It was with a sense of inexpressible +relief that I clambered through this window and for a brief moment breathed in +the pungent odor of cedar. But it could have been only for a moment. It was +three o’clock in the afternoon before I found myself again in the outer air. +The only way I can account for the lapse of time is that the strain to which +both body and nerve had been subjected was too much for even my hardy body and +that I fell to the floor of the cedar closet and from a faint went into a sleep +that lasted until two. I can easily account for the last hour because it took +me that long to cut the thick paneling from the door of the closet. However, I +am here now, sir, and in very much the same condition in which I left that +house. I thought my first duty was to tell you that I had seen Hiram Sears in +that house last night and put you on his track.” +</p> + +<p> +I drew a long breath,—I think the inspector did. I had been almost rigid +from excitement, and I don’t believe he was quite free from it either. But his +voice was calmer than I expected when he finally said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll remember this. It was a good night’s work.” Then the inspector put to him +some questions, which seemed to fix the fact that Sears had left the house +before Sweetwater did, after which he bade him send certain men to him and then +go and fix himself up. +</p> + +<p> +I believe he had forgotten me. I had almost forgotten myself. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0015"></a> +XV.<br/> +SEARS OR WELLGOOD</h2> + +<p> +Not till the inspector had given several orders was I again summoned into his +presence. He smiled as our eyes met, but did not allude, any more than I did, +to what had just passed. Nevertheless, we understood each other. +</p> + +<p> +When I was again seated, he took up the conversation where we had left it. +</p> + +<p> +“The description I was just about to read to you,” he went on; “will you listen +to it now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gladly,” said I; “it is Wellgood’s, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not answer save by a curious glance from under his brows, but, taking +the paper again from his desk, went on reading: +</p> + +<p> +“A man of fifty-five looking like one of sixty. Medium height, insignificant +features, head bald save for a ring of scanty dark hair. No beard, a heavy +nose, long mouth and sleepy half-shut eyes capable of shooting strange glances. +Nothing distinctive in face or figure save the depth of his wrinkles and a +scarcely observable stoop in his right shoulder. Do you see Wellgood in that?” +he suddenly asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have only the faintest recollection of his appearance,” was my doubtful +reply. “But the impression I get from this description is not exactly the one I +received of that waiter in the momentary glimpse I got of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“So others have told me before;” he remarked, looking very disappointed. “The +description is of Sears given me by a man who knew him well, and if we could +fit the description of the one to that of the other, we should have it easy. +But the few persons who have seen Wellgood differ greatly in their remembrance +of his features, and even of his coloring. It is astonishing how superficially +most people see a man, even when they are thrown into daily contact with him. +Mr. Jones says the man’s eyes are gray, his hair a wig and dark, his nose +pudgy, and his face without much expression. His land-lady, that his eyes are +blue, his hair, whether wig or not, a dusty auburn, and his look quick and +piercing,—a look which always made her afraid. His nose she don’t +remember. Both agree, or rather all agree, that he wore no beard—Sears +did, but a beard can be easily taken off—and all of them declare that +they would know him instantly if they saw him. And so the matter stands. Even +you can give me no definite description,—one, I mean, as satisfactory or +unsatisfactory as this of Sears.” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. Like the others, I felt that I should know him if I saw him, +but I could go no further than that. There seemed to be so little that was +distinctive about the man. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector, hoping, perhaps, that all this would serve to rouse my memory, +shrugged his shoulders and put the best face he could on the matter. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said he, “we shall have to be patient. A day may make all the +difference possible in our outlook. If we can lay hands on either of these +men—” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to realize he had said a word too much, for he instantly changed the +subject by asking if I had succeeded in getting a sample of Miss Grey’s +writing. I was forced to say no; that everything had been very carefully put +away. “But I do not know what moment I may come upon it,” I added. “I do not +forget its importance in this investigation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Those lines handed up to Mrs. Fairbrother from the walk outside are +the second most valuable clue we possess.” +</p> + +<p> +I did not ask him what the first was. I knew. It was the stiletto. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange that no one has testified to that handwriting,” I remarked. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty persons have sent in samples of writing which they think like it,” he +observed. “Often of persons who never heard of the Fairbrothers. We have been +bothered greatly with the business. You know little of the difficulties the +police labor under.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know too much,” I sighed. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled and patted me on the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Go back to your patient,” he said. “Forget every other duty but that of your +calling until you get some definite word from me. I shall not keep you in +suspense one minute longer than is absolutely necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +He had risen. I rose too. But I was not satisfied. I could not leave the room +with my ideas (I might say with my convictions) in such a turmoil. +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector,” said I, “you will think me very obstinate, but all you have told +me about Sears, all I have heard about him, in fact,”—this I +emphasized,—“does not convince me of the entire folly of my own +suspicions. Indeed, I am afraid that, if anything, they are strengthened. This +steward, who is a doubtful character, I acknowledge, may have had his reasons +for wishing Mrs. Fairbrother’s death, may even have had a hand in the matter; +but what evidence have you to show that he, himself, entered the alcove, struck +the blow or stole the diamond? I have listened eagerly for some such evidence, +but I have listened in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” he murmured, “I know. But it will come; at least I think so.” +</p> + +<p> +This should have reassured me, no doubt, and sent me away quiet and happy. But +something—the tenacity of a deep conviction, possibly—kept me +lingering before the inspector and finally gave me the courage to say: +</p> + +<p> +“I know I ought not to speak another word; that I am putting myself at a +disadvantage in doing so; but I can not help it, Inspector; I can not help it +when I see you laying such stress upon the few indirect clues connecting the +suspicious Sears with this crime, and ignoring the direct clues we have against +one whom we need not name.” +</p> + +<p> +Had I gone too far? Had my presumption transgressed all bounds and would he +show a very natural anger? No, he smiled instead, an enigmatical smile, no +doubt, which I found it difficult to understand, but yet a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean,” he suggested, “that Sears’ possible connection with the crime can +not eliminate Mr. Grey’s very positive one; nor can the fact that Wellgood’s +hand came in contact with Mr. Grey’s, at or near the time of the exchange of +the false stone with the real, make it any less evident who was the guilty +author of this exchange?” +</p> + +<p> +The inspector’s hand was on the door-knob, but he dropped it at this, and +surveying me very quietly said: +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that a few days spent at the bedside of Miss Grey in the society of +so renowned and cultured a gentleman as her father would disabuse you of these +damaging suspicions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wonder that you thought so,” I burst out. “You would think so all the +more, if you knew how kind he can be and what solicitude he shows for all about +him. But I can not get over the facts. They all point, it seems to me, straight +in one direction.” +</p> + +<p> +“All? You heard what was said in this room—I saw it in your eye—how +the man, who surprised the steward in his own room last night, heard him +talking of love and death in connection with Mrs. Fairbrother. ‘To kiss what I +hate! It is almost as bad as to kill what I love’—he said something like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I heard that. But did he mean that he had been her actual slayer? Could +you convict him on those words?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we shall find out. Then, as to Wellgood’s part in the little business, +you choose to consider that it took place at the time the stone fell from Mr. +Grey’s hand. What proof have you that the substitution you believe in was not +made by him? He could easily have done it while crossing the room to Mr. Grey’s +side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector!” Then hotly, as the absurdity of the suggestion struck me with full +force: “He do this! A waiter, or as you think, Mr. Fairbrother’s steward, to be +provided with so hard-to-come-by an article as this counterpart of a great +stone? Isn’t that almost as incredible a supposition as any I have myself +presumed to advance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly, but the affair is full of incredibilities, the greatest of which, to +my mind, is the persistence with which you, a kind-hearted enough little woman, +persevere in ascribing the deepest guilt to one you profess to admire and +certainly would be glad to find innocent of any complicity with a great crime.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt that I must justify myself. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Durand has had no such consideration shown him,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“I know, my child, I know; but the cases differ. Wouldn’t it be well for you to +see this and be satisfied with the turn which things have taken, without +continuing to insist upon involving Mr. Grey in your suspicions?” +</p> + +<p> +A smile took off the edge of this rebuke, yet I felt it keenly; and only the +confidence I had in his fairness as a man and public official enabled me to +say: +</p> + +<p> +“But I am talking quite confidentially. And you have been so good to me, so +willing to listen to all I had to say, that I can not help but speak my whole +mind. It is my only safety valve. Remember how I have to sit in the presence of +this man with my thoughts all choked up. It is killing me. But I think I should +go back content if you will listen to one more suggestion I have to make. It is +my last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say it I am nothing if not indulgent.” +</p> + +<p> +He had spoken the word. Indulgent, that was it. He let me speak, probably had +let me speak from the first, from pure kindness. He did not believe one little +bit in my good sense or logic. But I was not to be deterred. I would empty my +mind of the ugly thing that lay there. I would leave there no miserable dregs +of doubt to ferment and work their evil way with me in the dead watches of the +night, which I had yet to face. So I took him at his word. +</p> + +<p> +“I only want to ask this. In case Sears is innocent of the crime, who wrote the +warning and where did the assassin get the stiletto with the Grey arms chased +into its handle? And the diamond? Still the diamond! You hint that he stole +that, too. That with some idea of its proving useful to him on this gala +occasion, he had provided himself with an imitation stone, setting and +all,—he who has never shown, so far as we have heard, any interest in +Mrs. Fairbrother’s diamond, only in Mrs. Fairbrother herself. If Wellgood is +Sears and Sears the medium by which the false stone was exchanged for the real, +then he made this exchange in Mr. Grey’s interests and not his own. But I don’t +believe he had anything to do with it. I think everything goes to show that the +exchange was made by Mr. Grey himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“A second Daniel,” muttered the inspector lightly. “Go on, little lawyer!” But +for all this attempt at banter on his part, I imagined that I saw the beginning +of a very natural anxiety to close the conversation. I therefore hastened with +what I had yet to say, cutting my words short and almost stammering in my +eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember the perfection of that imitation stone, a copy so exact that it +extends to the setting. That shows plan—forgive me if I repeat +myself—preparation, a knowledge of stones, a particular knowledge of this +one. Mr. Fairbrother’s steward may have had the knowledge, but he would have +been a fool to have used his knowledge to secure for himself a valuable he +could never have found a purchaser for in any market. But a fancier—one +who has his pleasure in the mere possession of a unique and invaluable +gem—ah! that is different! He might risk a crime—history tells us +of several.” +</p> + +<p> +Here I paused to take breath, which gave the inspector chance to say: +</p> + +<p> +“In other words, this is what you think. The Englishman, desirous of covering +up his tracks, conceived the idea of having this imitation on hand, in case it +might be of use in the daring and disgraceful undertaking you ascribe to him. +Recognizing his own inability to do this himself, he delegated the task to one +who in some way, he had been led to think, cherished a secret grudge against +its present possessor—a man who had had some opportunity for seeing the +stone and studying the setting. The copy thus procured, Mr. Grey went to the +ball, and, relying on his own seemingly unassailable position, attacked Mrs. +Fairbrother in the alcove and would have carried off the diamond, if he had +found it where he had seen it earlier blazing on her breast. But it was not +there. The warning received by her—a warning you ascribe to his daughter, +a fact which is yet to be proved—had led her to rid herself of the jewel +in the way Mr. Durand describes, and he found himself burdened with a dastardly +crime and with nothing to show for it. Later, however, to his intense surprise +and possible satisfaction, he saw that diamond in my hands, and, recognizing an +opportunity, as he thought, of yet securing it, he asked to see it, held it for +an instant, and then, making use of an almost incredible expedient for +distracting attention, dropped, not the real stone but the false one, retaining +the real one in his hand. This, in plain English, as I take it, is your present +idea of the situation.” +</p> + +<p> +Astonished at the clearness with which he read my mind, I answered: “Yes, +Inspector, that is what was in my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! then it is just as well that it is out. Your mind is now free and you +can give it entirely to your duties.” Then, as he laid his hand on the +door-knob, he added: “In studying so intently your own point of view, you seem +to have forgotten that the last thing which Mr. Grey would be likely to do, +under those circumstances, would be to call attention to the falsity of the gem +upon whose similarity to the real stone he was depending. Not even his +confidence in his own position, as an honored and highly-esteemed guest, would +lead him to do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if he were a well-known connoisseur,” I faltered, “with the pride of one +who has handled the best gems? He would know that the deception would be soon +discovered and that it would not do for him to fail to recognize it for what it +was, when the make-believe was in his hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forced, my dear child, forced; and as chimerical as all the rest. It can not +stand putting into words. I will go further,—you are a good girl and can +bear to hear the truth from me. I don’t believe in your theory; I can’t. I have +not been able to from the first, nor have any of my men; but if your ideas are +true and Mr. Grey is involved in this matter, you will find that there has been +more of a hitch about that diamond than you, in your simplicity, believe. If +Mr. Grey were in actual possession of this valuable, he would show less care +than you say he does. So would he if it were in Wellgood’s hands with his +consent and a good prospect of its coming to him in the near future. But if it +is in Wellgood’s hands without his consent, or any near prospect of his +regaining it, then we can easily understand his present apprehensions and the +growing uneasiness he betrays.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” I murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“If, then,” the inspector pursued, giving me a parting glance not without its +humor, probably not without something really serious underlying its humor, “we +should find, in following up our present clue, that Mr. Grey has had dealings +with this Wellgood or this Sears; or if you, with your advantages for learning +the fact, should discover that he shows any extraordinary interest in either of +them, the matter will take on a different aspect. But we have not got that far +yet. At present our task is to find one or the other of these men. If we are +lucky, we shall discover that the waiter and the steward are identical, in +spite of their seemingly different appearance. A rogue, such as this Sears has +shown himself to be, would be an adept at disguise.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right,” I acknowledged. “He has certainly the heart of a criminal. If +he had no hand in Mrs. Fairbrother’s murder, he came near having one in that of +your detective. You know what I mean. I could not help hearing, Inspector.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, looked me steadfastly in the face for a moment, and then bowed me +out. +</p> + +<p> +The inspector told me afterward that, in spite of the cavalier manner with +which he had treated my suggestions, he spent a very serious half-hour, head to +head with the district attorney. The result was the following order to +Sweetwater, the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to go to the St. Regis; make yourself solid there, and gradually, as +you can manage it, work yourself into a position for knowing all that goes on +in Room ——. If the gentleman (mind you, the gentleman; we care +nothing about the women) should go out, you are to follow him if it takes you +to—. We want to know his secret; but he must never know our interest in +it and you are to be as silent in this matter as if possessed of neither ear +nor tongue. I will add memory, for if you find this secret to be one in which +we have no lawful interest, you are to forget it absolutely and for ever. You +will understand why when you consult the St Regis register.” +</p> + +<p> +But they expected nothing from it; absolutely nothing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0016"></a> +XVI.<br/> +DOUBT</h2> + +<p> +I prayed uncle that we might be driven home by the way of Eighty-sixth Street. +I wanted to look at the Fairbrother house. I had seen it many times, but I felt +that I should see it with new eyes after the story I had just heard in the +inspector’s office. That an adventure of this nature could take place in a New +York house taxed my credulity. I might have believed it of Paris, wicked, +mysterious Paris, the home of intrigue and every redoubtable crime, but of our +own homely, commonplace metropolis—the house must be seen for me to be +convinced of the fact related. +</p> + +<p> +Many of you know the building. It is usually spoken of with a shrug, the sole +reason for which seems to be that there is no other just like it in the city. I +myself have always considered it imposing and majestic; but to the average man +it is too suggestive of Old-World feudal life to be pleasing. On this +afternoon—a dull, depressing one—it looked undeniably heavy as we +approached it; but interesting in a very new way to me, because of the great +turret at one angle, the scene of that midnight descent of two men, each in +deadly fear of the other, yet quailing not in their purpose,—the one of +flight, the other of pursuit. +</p> + +<p> +There was no railing in front of the house. It may have seemed an unnecessary +safeguard to the audacious owner. Consequently, the small door in the turret +opened directly upon the street, making entrance and exit easy enough for any +one who had the key. But the shaft and the small room at the bottom—where +were they? Naturally in the center of the great mass, the room being without +windows. +</p> + +<p> +It was, therefore, useless to look for it, and yet my eye ran along the peaks +and pinnacles of the roof, searching for the skylight in which it undoubtedly +ended. At last I espied it, and, my curiosity satisfied on this score, I let my +eyes run over the side and face of the building for an open window or a lifted +shade. But all were tightly closed and gave no more sign of life than did the +boarded-up door. But I was not deceived by this. As we drove away, I thought +how on the morrow there would be a regular procession passing through this +street to see just the little I had seen to-day. The detective’s adventure was +like to make the house notorious. For several minutes after I had left its +neighborhood my imagination pictured room after room shut up from the light of +day, but bearing within them the impalpable aura of those two shadows flitting +through them like the ghosts of ghosts, as the detective had tellingly put it. +</p> + +<p> +The heart has its strange surprises. Through my whole ride and the indulgence +in these thoughts I was conscious of a great inner revulsion against all I had +intimated and even honestly felt while talking with the inspector. Perhaps this +is what this wise old official expected. He had let me talk, and the inevitable +reaction followed. I could now see only Mr. Grey’s goodness and claims to +respect, and began to hate myself that I had not been immediately impressed by +the inspector’s views, and shown myself more willing to drop every suspicion +against the august personage I had presumed to associate with crime. What had +given me the strength to persist? Loyalty to my lover? His innocence had not +been involved. Indeed, every word uttered in the inspector’s office had gone to +prove that he no longer occupied a leading place in police calculations: that +their eyes were turned elsewhere, and that I had only to be patient to see Mr. +Durand quite cleared in their minds. +</p> + +<p> +But was this really so? Was he as safe as that? What if this new clue failed? +What if they failed to find Sears or lay hands on the doubtful Wellgood? Would +Mr. Durand be released without a trial? Should we hear nothing more of the +strange and to many the suspicious circumstances which linked him to this +crime? It would be expecting too much from either police or official +discrimination. +</p> + +<p> +No; Mr. Durand would never be completely exonerated till the true culprit was +found and all explanations made. I had therefore been simply fighting his +battles when I pointed out what I thought to be the weak place in their present +theory, and, sore as I felt in contemplation of my seemingly heartless action, +I was not the unimpressionable, addle-pated nonentity I must have seemed to the +inspector. +</p> + +<p> +Yet my comfort was small and the effort it took to face Mr. Grey and my young +patient was much greater than I had anticipated. I blushed as I approached to +take my place at Miss Grey’s bedside, and, had her father been as suspicious of +me at that moment as I was of him, I am sure that I should have fared badly in +his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +But he was not on the watch for my emotions. He was simply relieved to see me +back. I noticed this immediately, also that something had occurred during my +absence which absorbed his thought and filled him with anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +A Western Union envelope lay at his feet,—proof that he had just received +a telegram. This, under ordinary circumstances, would not have occasioned me a +second thought, such a man being naturally the recipient of all sorts of +communications from all parts of the world; but at this crisis, with the worm +of a half-stifled doubt still gnawing at my heart, everything that occurred to +him took on importance and roused questions. +</p> + +<p> +When he had left the room, Miss Grey nestled up to me with the seemingly +ingenuous remark: +</p> + +<p> +“Poor papa! something disturbs him. He will not tell me what. I suppose he +thinks I am not strong enough to share his troubles. But I shall be soon. Don’t +you see I am gaining every day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I do,” was my hearty response. In face of such a sweet confidence and +open affection doubt vanished and I was able to give all my thoughts to her. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish papa felt as sure of this as you do,” she said. “For some reason he +does not seem to take any comfort from my improvement. When Doctor Freligh +says, ‘Well, well! we are getting on finely to-day,’ I notice that he does not +look less anxious, nor does he even meet these encouraging words with a smile. +Haven’t you noticed it? He looks as care-worn and troubled about me now as he +did the first day I was taken sick. Why should he? Is it because he has lost so +many children he can not believe in his good fortune at having the most +insignificant of all left to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know your father very well,” I protested; “and can not judge what is +going on in his mind. But he must see that you are quite a different girl from +what you were a week ago, and that, if nothing unforeseen happens, your +recovery will only be a matter of a week or two longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how I love to hear you say that! To be well again! To read letters!” she +murmured, “and to write them!” And I saw the delicate hand falter up to pinch +the precious packet awaiting that happy hour. I did not like to discuss her +father with her, so took this opportunity to turn the conversation aside into +safer channels. But we had not proceeded far before Mr. Grey returned and, +taking his stand at the foot of the bed, remarked, after a moment’s gloomy +contemplation of his daughter’s face: +</p> + +<p> +“You are better today, the doctor says,—I have just been telephoning to +him. But do you feel well enough for me to leave you for a few days? There is a +man I must see—must go to, if you have no dread of being left alone with +your good nurse and the doctor’s constant attendance.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Grey looked startled. Doubtless she found it difficult to understand what +man in this strange country could interest her father enough to induce him to +leave her while he was yet laboring under such solicitude. But a smile speedily +took the place of her look of surprised inquiry and she affectionately +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I haven’t the least dread in the world, not now. See, I can hold up my +arms. Go, papa, go; it will give me a chance to surprise you with my good looks +when you come back.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned abruptly away. He was suffering from an emotion deeper than he cared +to acknowledge. But he gained control over himself speedily and, coming back, +announced with forced decision: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to go to-night. I have no choice. Promise me that you will not go +back in my absence; that you will strive to get well; that you will put all +your mind into striving to get well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I will,” she answered, a little frightened by the feeling he showed. +“Don’t worry so much. I have more than one reason for living, papa.” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head and went immediately to make his preparations for departure. +His daughter gave one sob, then caught me by the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You look dumfounded,” said she. “But never mind, we shall get on very well +together. I have the most perfect confidence in you.” +</p> + +<p> +Was it my duty to let the inspector know that Mr. Grey anticipated absenting +himself from the city for a few days? I decided that I would only be impressing +my own doubts upon him after a rebuke which should have allayed them. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, when Mr. Grey came to take his departure I wished that the inspector might +have been a witness to his emotion, if only to give me one of his very +excellent explanations. The parting was more like that of one who sees no +immediate promise of return than of a traveler who intends to limit his stay to +a few days. He looked her in the eyes and kissed her a dozen times, each time +with an air of heartbreak which was good neither for her nor for himself, and +when he finally tore himself away it was to look back at her from the door with +an expression I was glad she did not see, or it would certainly have interfered +with the promise she had made to concentrate all her energies on getting well. +</p> + +<p> +What was at the root of his extreme grief at leaving her? Did he fear the +person he was going to meet, or were his plans such as involved a much longer +stay than he had mentioned? Did he even mean to return at all? +</p> + +<p> +Ah, that was the question! Did he intend to return, or had I been the +unconscious witness of a flight? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0017"></a> +XVII.<br/> +SWEETWATER IN A NEW ROLE</h2> + +<p> +A few days later three men were closeted in the district attorney’s office. Two +of them were officials—the district attorney himself, and our old friend, +the inspector. The third was the detective, Sweetwater, chosen by them to keep +watch on Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater had just come to town,—this was evident from the gripsack he +had set down in a corner on entering, also from a certain tousled appearance +which bespoke hasty rising and but few facilities for proper attention to his +person. These details counted little, however, in the astonishment created by +his manner. For a hardy chap he looked strangely nervous and indisposed, so +much so that, after the first short greeting, the inspector asked him what was +up, and if he had had another Fairbrother-house experience. +</p> + +<p> +He replied with a decided no; that it was not his adventure which had upset +him, but the news he had to bring. +</p> + +<p> +Here he glanced at every door and window; and then, leaning forward over the +table at which the two officials sat, he brought his head as nearly to them as +possible and whispered five words. +</p> + +<p> +They produced a most unhappy sensation. Both the men, hardened as they were by +duties which soon sap the sensibilities, started and turned as pale as the +speaker himself. Then the district attorney, with one glance at the inspector, +rose and locked the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was a prelude to this tale which I give, not as it came from his mouth, but +as it was afterward related to me. The language, I fear, is mostly my own. +</p> + +<p> +The detective had just been with Mr. Grey to the coast of Maine. Why there, +will presently appear. His task had been to follow this gentleman, and follow +him he did. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey was a very stately man, difficult of approach, and was absorbed, +besides, by some overwhelming care. But this fellow was one in a thousand and +somehow, during the trip, he managed to do him some little service, which drew +the attention of the great man to himself. This done, he so improved his +opportunity that the two were soon on the best of terms, and he learned that +the Englishman was without a valet, and, being unaccustomed to move about +without one, felt the awkwardness of his position very much. This gave +Sweetwater his cue, and when he found that the services of such a man were +wanted only during the present trip and for the handling of affairs quite apart +from personal tendance upon the gentleman himself, he showed such an honest +desire to fill the place, and made out to give such a good account of himself, +that he found himself engaged for the work before reaching C—. +</p> + +<p> +This was a great stroke of luck, he thought, but he little knew how big a +stroke or into what a series of adventures it was going to lead him. +</p> + +<p> +Once on the platform of the small station at which Mr. Grey had bidden him to +stop, he noticed two things: the utter helplessness of the man in all practical +matters, and his extreme anxiety to see all that was going on about him without +being himself seen. There was method in this curiosity, too much method. Women +did not interest him in the least. They could pass and repass without arousing +his attention, but the moment a man stepped his way, he shrank from him only to +betray the greatest curiosity concerning him the moment he felt it safe to turn +and observe him. All of which convinced Sweetwater that the Englishman’s errand +was in connection with a man whom he equally dreaded and desired to meet. +</p> + +<p> +Of this he was made absolutely certain a little later. As they were leaving the +depot with the rest of the arrivals, Mr. Grey said: +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to get me a room at a very quiet hotel. This done, you are to hunt +up the man whose name you will find written in this paper, and when you have +found him, make up your mind how it will be possible for me to get a good look +at him without his getting any sort of a look at me. Do this and you will earn +a week’s salary in one day.” +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater, with his head in air and his heart on fire—for matters were +looking very promising indeed—took the paper and put it in his pocket; +then he began to hunt for a hotel. Not till he had found what he wished, and +installed the Englishman in his room, did he venture to open the precious +memorandum and read the name he had been speculating over for an hour. It was +not the one he had anticipated, but it came near to it. It was that of James +Wellgood. +</p> + +<p> +Satisfied now that he had a ticklish matter to handle, he prepared for it, with +his usual enthusiasm and circumspection. +</p> + +<p> +Sauntering out into the street, he strolled first toward the post-office. The +train on which he had just come had been a mail-train, and he calculated that +he would find half the town there. +</p> + +<p> +His calculation was a correct one. The store was crowded with people. Taking +his place in the line drawn up before the post-office window, he awaited his +turn, and when it came shouted out the name which was his one +talisman—James Wellgood. +</p> + +<p> +The man behind the boxes was used to the name and reached out a hand toward a +box unusually well stacked, but stopped half-way there and gave Sweetwater a +sharp look. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A stranger,” that young man put in volubly, “looking for James Wellgood. I +thought, perhaps, you could tell me where to find him. I see that his letters +pass through this office.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re taking up another man’s time,” complained the postmaster. He probably +alluded to the man whose elbow Sweetwater felt boring into his back. “Ask Dick +over there; he knows him.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective was glad enough to escape and ask Dick. But he was better pleased +yet when Dick—a fellow with a squint whose hand was always in the +sugar—told him that Mr. Wellgood would probably be in for his mail in a +few moments. “That is his buggy standing before the drug-store on the opposite +side of the way.” +</p> + +<p> +So! he had netted Jones’ quondam waiter at the first cast! “Lucky!” was what he +said to himself, “still lucky!” +</p> + +<p> +Sauntering to the door, he watched for the owner of that buggy. He had learned, +as such fellows do, that there was a secret hue and cry after this very man by +the New York police; that he was supposed by some to be Sears himself. In this +way he would soon be looking upon the very man whose steps he had followed +through the Fairbrother house a few nights before, and through whose resolute +action he had very nearly run the risk of a lingering death from starvation. +</p> + +<p> +“A dangerous customer,” thought he. “I wonder if my instinct will go so far as +to make me recognize his presence. I shouldn’t wonder. It has served me almost +as well as that many times before.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared to serve him now, for when the man finally showed himself on the +cross-walk separating the two buildings he experienced a sudden indecision not +unlike that of dread, and there being nothing in the man’s appearance to +warrant apprehension, he took it for the instinctive recognition it undoubtedly +was. +</p> + +<p> +He therefore watched him narrowly and succeeded in getting one glance from his +eye. It was enough. The man was commonplace,—commonplace in feature, +dress and manner, but his eye gave him away. There was nothing commonplace in +that. It was an eye to beware of. +</p> + +<p> +He had taken in Sweetwater as he passed, but Sweetwater was of a commonplace +type, too, and woke no corresponding dread in the other’s mind; for he went +whistling into the store, from which he presently reissued with a bundle of +mail in his hand. The detective’s first instinct was to take him into custody +as a suspect much wanted by the New York police; but reason assured him that he +not only had no warrant for this, but that he would better serve the ends of +justice by following out his present task of bringing this man and the +Englishman together and watching the result. But how, with the conditions laid +on him by Mr. Grey, was this to be done? He knew nothing of the man’s +circumstances or of his position in the town. How, then, go to work to secure +his cooperation in a scheme possibly as mysterious to him as it was to himself? +He could stop this stranger in mid-street, with some plausible excuse, but it +did not follow that he would succeed in luring him to the hotel where Mr. Grey +could see him. Wellgood, or, as he believed, Sears, knew too much of life to be +beguiled by any open clap-trap, and Sweetwater was obliged to see him drive off +without having made the least advance in the purpose engrossing him. +</p> + +<p> +But that was nothing. He had all the evening before him, and reentering the +store, he took up his stand near the sugar barrel. He had perceived that in the +pauses of weighing and tasting, Dick talked; if he were guided with suitable +discretion, why should he not talk of Wellgood? +</p> + +<p> +He was guided, and he did talk and to some effect. That is, he gave information +of the man which surprised Sweetwater. If in the past and in New York he had +been known as a waiter, or should I say steward, he was known here as a +manufacturer of patent medicine designed to rejuvenate the human race. He had +not been long in town and was somewhat of a stranger yet, but he wouldn’t be so +long. He was going to make things hum, he was. Money for this, money for that, +a horse where another man would walk, and mail—well, that alone would +make this post-office worth while. Then the drugs ordered by wholesale. Those +boxes over there were his, ready to be carted out to his manufactory. Count +them, some one, and think of the bottles and bottles of stuff they stand for. +If it sells as he says it will—then he will soon be rich: and so on, till +Sweetwater brought the garrulous Dick to a standstill by asking whether +Wellgood had been away for any purpose since he first came to town. He received +the reply that he had just come home from New York, where he had been for some +articles needed in his manufactory. Sweetwater felt all his convictions +confirmed, and ended the colloquy with the final question: +</p> + +<p> +“And where is his manufactory? Might be worth visiting, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +The other made a gesture, said something about northwest and rushed to help a +customer. Sweetwater took the opportunity to slide away. More explicit +directions could easily be got elsewhere, and he felt anxious to return to Mr. +Grey and discover, if possible, whether it would prove as much a matter of +surprise to him as to Sweetwater himself that the man who answered to the name +of Wellgood was the owner of a manufactory and a barrel or two of drugs, out of +which he proposed to make a compound that would rob the doctors of their +business and make himself and this little village rich. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater made only one stop on his way to Mr. Grey’s hotel rooms, and that +was at the stables. Here he learned whatever else there was to know, and, armed +with definite information, he appeared before Mr. Grey, who, to his +astonishment, was dining in his own room. +</p> + +<p> +He had dismissed the waiter and was rather brooding than eating. He looked up +eagerly, however, when Sweetwater entered, and asked what news. +</p> + +<p> +The detective, with some semblance of respect, answered that he had seen +Wellgood, but that he had been unable to detain him or bring him within his +employer’s observation. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a patent-medicine man,” he then explained, “and manufactures his own +concoctions in a house he has rented here on a lonely road some half-mile out +of town.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wellgood does? the man named Wellgood?” Mr. Grey exclaimed with all the +astonishment the other secretly expected. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; Wellgood, James Wellgood. There is no other in town.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long has this man been here?” the statesman inquired, after a moment of +apparently great discomfiture. +</p> + +<p> +“Just twenty-four hours, this time. He was here once before, when he rented the +house and made all his plans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey rose precipitately. His manner had changed. +</p> + +<p> +“I must see him. What you tell me makes it all the more necessary for me to see +him. How can you bring it about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Without his seeing you?” Sweetwater asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes; certainly without his seeing me. Couldn’t you rap him up at his own +door, and hold him in talk a minute, while I looked on from the carriage or +whatever vehicle we can get to carry us there? The least glimpse of his face +would satisfy me. That is, to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try,” said Sweetwater, not very sanguine as to the probable result of +this effort. +</p> + +<p> +Returning to the stables, he ordered the team. With the last ray of the sun +they set out, the reins in Sweetwater’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +They headed for the coast-road. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0018"></a> +XVIII.<br/> +THE CLOSED DOOR</h2> + +<p> +The road was once the highway, but the tide having played so many tricks with +its numberless bridges a new one had been built farther up the cliff, carrying +with it the life and business of the small town. Many old landmarks still +remained—shops, warehouses and even a few scattered dwellings. But most +of these were deserted, and those that were still in use showed such neglect +that it was very evident the whole region would soon be given up to the +encroaching sea and such interests as are inseparable from it. +</p> + +<p> +The hour was that mysterious one of late twilight, when outlines lose their +distinctness and sea and shore melt into one mass of uniform gray. There was no +wind and the waves came in with a soft plash, but so near to the level of the +road that it was evident, even to these strangers, that the tide was at its +height and would presently begin to ebb. +</p> + +<p> +Soon they had passed the last forsaken dwelling, and the town proper lay behind +them. Sand and a few rocks were all that lay between them now and the open +stretch of the ocean, which, at this point, approached the land in a small bay, +well-guarded on either side by embracing rocky heads. This was what made the +harbor at C—. +</p> + +<p> +It was very still. They passed one team and only one. Sweetwater looked very +sharply at this team and at its driver, but saw nothing to arouse suspicion. +They were now a half-mile from C—, and, seemingly, in a perfectly +desolate region. +</p> + +<p> +“A manufactory here!” exclaimed Mr. Grey. It was the first word he had uttered +since starting. +</p> + +<p> +“Not far from here,” was Sweetwater’s equally laconic reply; and, the road +taking a turn almost at the moment of his speaking, he leaned forward and +pointed out a building standing on the right-hand side of the road, with its +feet in the water. “That’s it.” said he. “They described it well enough for me +to know it when I see it. Looks like a robber’s hole at this time of night,” he +laughed; “but what can you expect from a manufactory of patent medicine?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey was silent. He was looking very earnestly at the building. +</p> + +<p> +“It is larger than I expected,” he remarked at last. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater himself was surprised, but as they advanced and their point of view +changed they found it to be really an insignificant structure, and Mr. +Wellgood’s portion of it more insignificant still. +</p> + +<p> +In reality it was a collection of three stores under one roof: two of them were +shut up and evidently unoccupied, the third showed a lighted window. This was +the manufactory. It occupied the middle place and presented a tolerably decent +appearance. It showed, besides the lighted lamp I have mentioned, such signs of +life as a few packing-boxes tumbled out on the small platform in front, and a +whinnying horse attached to an empty buggy, tied to a post on the opposite side +of the road. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to see the lamp,” muttered Sweetwater. “Now, what shall we do? Is it +light enough for you to see his face, if I can manage to bring him to the +door?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey seemed startled. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s darker than I thought,” said he. “But call the man and if I can not see +him plainly, I’ll shout to the horse to stand, which you will take as a signal +to bring this Wellgood nearer. But do not be surprised if I ride off before he +reaches the buggy. I’ll come back again and take you up farther down the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir,” answered Sweetwater, with a side glance at the speaker’s +inscrutable features. “It’s a go!” And leaping to the ground he advanced to the +manufactory door and knocked loudly. +</p> + +<p> +No one appeared. +</p> + +<p> +He tried the latch; it lifted, but the door did not open; it was fastened from +within. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange!” he muttered, casting a glance at the waiting horse and buggy, then +at the lighted window, which was on the second floor directly over his head. +“Guess I’ll sing out.” +</p> + +<p> +Here he shouted the man’s name. “Wellgood! I say, Wellgood!” +</p> + +<p> +No response to this either. +</p> + +<p> +“Looks bad!” he acknowledged to himself; and, taking a step back, he looked up +at the window. +</p> + +<p> +It was closed, but there was neither shade nor curtain to obstruct the view. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see anything?” he inquired of Mr. Grey, who sat with his eye at the +small window in the buggy top. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“No movement in the room above? No shadow at the window?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s confounded strange!” And he went back, still calling Wellgood. +</p> + +<p> +The tied-up horse whinnied, and the waves gave a soft splash and that was +all,—if I except Sweetwater’s muttered oath. +</p> + +<p> +Coming back, he looked again at the window, then, with a gesture toward Mr. +Grey, turned the corner of the building and began to edge himself along its +side in an endeavor to reach the rear and see what it offered. But he came to a +sudden standstill. He found himself on the edge of the bank before he had taken +twenty steps. Yet the building projected on, and he saw why it had looked so +large from a certain point of the approach. Its rear was built out on piles, +making its depth even greater than the united width of the three stores. At low +tide this might be accessible from below, but just now the water was almost on +a level with the top of the piles, making all approach impossible save by boat. +</p> + +<p> +Disgusted with his failure, Sweetwater returned to the front, and, finding the +situation unchanged, took a new resolve. After measuring with his eye the +height of the first story, he coolly walked over to the strange horse, and, +slipping his bridle, brought it back and cast it over a projection of the door; +by its aid he succeeded in climbing up to the window, which was the sole eye to +the interior. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey sat far back in his buggy, watching every movement. +</p> + +<p> +There were no shades at the window, as I have before said, and, once +Sweetwater’s eye had reached the level of the sill, he could see the interior +without the least difficulty. There was nobody there. The lamp burned on a +great table littered with papers, but the rude cane-chair before it was empty, +and so was the room. He could see into every corner of it and there was not +even a hiding-place where anybody could remain concealed. Sweetwater was still +looking, when the lamp, which had been burning with considerable smoke, flared +up and went out. Sweetwater uttered an ejaculation, and, finding himself face +to face with utter darkness, slid from his perch to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Approaching Mr. Grey for the second time, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I can not understand it. The fellow is either lying low, or he’s gone out, +leaving his lamp to go out, too. But whose is the horse—just excuse me +while I tie him up again. It looks like the one he was driving to-day. It is +the one. Well, he won’t leave him here all night. Shall we lie low and wait for +him to come and unhitch this animal? Or do you prefer to return to the hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey was slow in answering. Finally he said: +</p> + +<p> +“The man may suspect our intention. You can never tell anything about such +fellows as he. He may have caught some unexpected glimpse of me or simply heard +that I was in town. If he’s the man I think him, he has reasons for avoiding me +which I can very well understand. Let us go back,—not to the hotel, I +must see this adventure through tonight,—but far enough for him to think +we have given up all idea of routing him out to-night. Perhaps that is all he +is waiting for. You can steal back—” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Sweetwater, “but I know a better dodge than that. We’ll +circumvent him. We passed a boat-house on our way down here. I’ll just drive +you up, procure a boat, and bring you back here by water. I don’t believe that +he will expect that, and if he is in the house we shall see him or his light.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meanwhile he can escape by the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“Escape? Do you think he is planning to escape?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective spoke with becoming surprise and Mr. Grey answered without +apparent suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“It is possible if he suspects my presence in the neighborhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to stop him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I remember. Well, sir, we will drive on,—that is, after a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing. You said you wanted to see the man before he escaped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“And that he might escape by the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was just making that a little bit impracticable. A small pebble in the +keyhole and—why, see now, his horse is walking off! Gee! I must have +fastened him badly. I shouldn’t wonder if he trotted all the way to town. But +it can’t be helped. I can not be supposed to race after him. Are you ready now, +sir? I’ll give another shout, then I’ll get in.” And once more the lonely +region about echoed with the cry: “Wellgood! I say, Wellgood!” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer, and the young detective, masking for the nonce as Mr. +Grey’s confidential servant, jumped into the buggy, and turned the horse’s head +toward C—. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0019"></a> +XIX.<br/> +THE FACE</h2> + +<p> +The moon was well up when the small boat in which our young detective was +seated with Mr. Grey appeared in the bay approaching the so-called manufactory +of Wellgood. The looked-for light on the waterside was not there. All was dark +except where the windows reflected the light of the moon. +</p> + +<p> +This was a decided disappointment to Sweetwater, if not to Mr. Grey. He had +expected to detect signs of life in this quarter, and this additional proof of +Wellgood’s absence from home made it look as if they had come out on a fool’s +errand and might much better have stuck to the road. +</p> + +<p> +“No promise there,” came in a mutter from his lips. “Shall I row in, sir, and +try to make a landing?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may row nearer. I should like a closer view. I don’t think we shall +attract any attention. There are more boats than ours on the water.” +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater was startled. Looking round, he saw a launch, or some such small +steamer, riding at anchor not far from the mouth of the bay. But that was not +all. Between it and them was a rowboat like their own, resting quietly in the +wake of the moon. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like so much company,” he muttered. “Something’s brewing; something in +which we may not want to take a part.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” answered Mr. Grey grimly. “But we must not be deterred—not +till I have seen—” the rest Sweetwater did not hear. Mr. Grey seemed to +remember himself. “Row nearer,” he now bade. “Get under the shadow of the rocks +if you can. If the boat is for him, he will show himself. Yet I hardly see how +he can board from that bank.” +</p> + +<p> +It did not look feasible. Nevertheless, they waited and watched with much +patience for several long minutes. The boat behind them did not advance, nor +was any movement discernible in the direction of the manufactory. Another short +period, then suddenly a light flashed from a window high up in the central +gable, sparkled for an instant and was gone. Sweetwater took it for a signal +and, with a slight motion of the wrist, began to work his way in toward shore +till they lay almost at the edge of the piles. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Sweetwater who spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Both listened, Mr. Grey with his head turned toward the launch and Sweetwater +with his eye on the cavernous space, sharply outlined by the piles, which the +falling tide now disclosed under each contiguous building. Goods had been +directly shipped from these stores in the old days. This he had learned in the +village. How shipped he had not been able to understand from his previous +survey of the building. But he thought he could see now. At low tide, or +better, at half-tide, access could be got to the floor of the extension and, if +this floor held a trap, the mystery would be explainable. So would be the +hovering boat—the signal-light and—yes! this sound overheard of +steps on a rattling planking. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear nothing,” whispered Mr. Grey from the other end. “The boat is still +there, but not a man has dipped an oar.” +</p> + +<p> +“They will soon,” returned Sweetwater as a smothered sound of clanking iron +reached his ears from the hollow spaces before him. “Duck your head, sir; I’m +going to row in under this portion of the house.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey would have protested and with very good reason. There was scarcely a +space of three feet between them and the boards overhead. But Sweetwater had so +immediately suited action to word that he had no choice. +</p> + +<p> +They were now in utter darkness, and Mr. Grey’s thoughts must have been +peculiar as he crouched over the stern, hardly knowing what to expect or +whether this sudden launch into darkness was for the purpose of flight or +pursuit. But enlightenment came soon. The sound of a man’s tread in the +building above was every moment becoming more perceptible, and while wondering, +possibly, at his position, Mr. Grey naturally turned his head as nearly as he +could in the direction of these sounds, and was staring with blank eyes into +the darkness, when Sweetwater, leaning toward him, whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“Look up! There’s a trap. In a minute he’ll open it. Mark him, but don’t +breathe a word, and I’ll get you out of this all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey attempted some answer, but it was lost in the prolonged creak of +slowly-moving hinges somewhere over their heads. Spaces, which had looked dark, +suddenly looked darker; hearing was satisfied, but not the eye. A man’s breath +panting with exertion testified to a near-by presence; but that man was working +without a light in a room with shuttered windows, and Mr. Grey probably felt +that he knew very little more than before, when suddenly, most unexpectedly, to +him at least, a face started out of that overhead darkness; a face so white, +with every feature made so startlingly distinct by the strong light Sweetwater +had thrown upon it, that it seemed the only thing in the world to the two men +beneath. In another moment it had vanished, or rather the light which had +revealed it. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that? Are you there?” came down from above in hoarse and none too +encouraging tones. +</p> + +<p> +There was none to answer; Sweetwater, with a quick pull on the oars, had +already shot the boat out of its dangerous harbor. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0020"></a> +XX.<br/> +MOONLIGHT—AND A CLUE</h2> + +<p> +“Are you satisfied? Have you got what you wanted?” asked Sweetwater, when they +were well away from the shore and the voice they had heard calling at intervals +from the chasm they had left. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. You’re a good fellow. It could not have been better managed.” Then, after +a pause too prolonged and thoughtful to please Sweetwater, who was burning with +curiosity if not with some deeper feeling: “What was that light you burned? A +match?” +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater did not answer. He dared not. How speak of the electric torch he as +a detective carried in his pocket? That would be to give himself away. He +therefore let this question slip by and put in one of his own. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready to go back now, sir? Are we all done here?” This with his ear +turned and his eye bent forward; for the adventure they had interrupted was not +at an end, whether their part in it was or not. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey hesitated, his glances following those of Sweetwater. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us wait,” said he, in a tone which surprised Sweetwater. “If he is +meditating an escape, I must speak to him before he reaches the launch. At all +hazards,” he added after another moment’s thought. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir—How do you propose—” +</p> + +<p> +His words were interrupted by a shrill whistle from the direction of the bank. +Promptly, and as if awaiting this signal, the two men in the rowboat before +them dipped their oars and pulled for the shore, taking the direction of the +manufactory. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater said nothing, but held himself in readiness. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey was equally silent, but the lines of his face seemed to deepen in the +moonlight as the boat, gliding rapidly through the water, passed them within a +dozen boat-lengths and slipped into the opening under the manufactory building. +</p> + +<p> +“Now row!” he cried. “Make for the launch. We’ll intercept them on their +return.” +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater, glowing with anticipation, bent to his work. The boat beneath them +gave a bound and in a few minutes they were far out on the waters of the bay. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re coming!” he whispered eagerly, as he saw Mr. Grey looking anxiously +back. “How much farther shall I go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just within hailing distance of the launch,” was Mr. Grey’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater, gaging the distance with a glance, stopped at the proper point and +rested on his oars. But his thoughts did not rest. He realized that he was +about to witness an interview whose importance he easily recognized. How much +of it would he hear? What would be the upshot and what was his full duty in the +case? He knew that this man Wellgood was wanted by the New York police, but he +was possessed with no authority to arrest him, even if he had the power. +</p> + +<p> +“Something more than I bargained for,” he inwardly commented. “But I wanted +excitement, and now I have got it. If only I can keep my head level, I may get +something out of this, if not all I could wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the second boat was very nearly on them. He could mark the three +figures and pick out Wellgood’s head from among the rest. It had a resolute +air; the face on which, to his evident discomfiture, the moon shone, wore a +look which convinced the detective that this was no patent-medicine +manufacturer, nor even a caterer’s assistant, but a man of nerve and resources, +the same, indeed, whom he had encountered in Mr. Fairbrother’s house, with such +disastrous, almost fatal, results to himself. +</p> + +<p> +The discovery, though an unexpected one, did not lessen his sense of the +extreme helplessness of his own position. He could witness, but he could not +act; follow Mr. Grey’s orders, but indulge in none of his own. The detective +must continue to be lost in the valet, though it came hard and woke a sense of +shame in his ambitious breast. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Wellgood had seen them and ordered his men to cease rowing. +</p> + +<p> +“Give way, there,” he shouted. “We’re for the launch and in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s some one here who wants to speak to you, Mr. Wellgood,” Sweetwater +called out, as respectfully as he could. “Shall I mention your name?” he asked +of Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will do that myself.” And raising his voice, he accosted the other with +these words: “I am the man, Percival Grey, of Darlington Manor, England. I +should like to say a word to you before you embark.” +</p> + +<p> +A change, quick as lightning and almost as dangerous, passed over the face +Sweetwater was watching with such painful anxiety; but as the other added +nothing to his words and seemed to be merely waiting, he shrugged his shoulders +and muttered an order to his rowers to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +In another moment the sterns of the two small craft swung together, but in such +a way that, by dint of a little skilful manipulation on the part of Wellgood’s +men, the latter’s back was toward the moon. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey leaned toward Wellgood, and his face fell into shadow also. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” thought the detective, “I should have managed that myself. But if I can +not see I shall at least hear.” +</p> + +<p> +But he deceived himself in this. The two men spoke in such low whispers that +only their intensity was manifest. Not a word came to Sweetwater’s ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” he thought again, “this is bad.” +</p> + +<p> +But he had to swallow his disappointment, and more. For presently the two men, +so different in culture, station and appearance, came, as it seemed, to an +understanding, and Wellgood, taking his hand from his breast, fumbled in one of +his pockets and drew out something which he handed to Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +This made Sweetwater start and peer with still greater anxiety at every +movement, when to his surprise both bent forward, each over his own knee, doing +something so mysterious he could get no clue to its nature till they again +stretched forth their hands to each other and he caught the gleam of paper and +realized that they were exchanging memoranda or notes. +</p> + +<p> +These must have been important, for each made an immediate endeavor to read his +slip by turning it toward the moon’s rays. That both were satisfied was shown +by their after movements. Wellgood put his slip into his pocket, and without +further word to Mr. Grey motioned his men to row away. They did so with a will, +leaving a line of silver in their wake. Mr. Grey, on the contrary, gave no +orders. He still held his slip and seemed to be dreaming. But his eye was on +the shore, and he did not even turn when sounds from the launch denoted that +she was under way. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater; looking at this morsel of paper with greedy eyes, dipped his oars +and began pulling softly toward that portion of the beach where a small and +twinkling light defined the boat-house. He hoped Mr. Grey would speak, hoped +that in some way, by some means, he might obtain a clue to his patron’s +thoughts. But the English gentleman sat like an image and did not move till a +slight but sudden breeze, blowing in-shore, seized the paper in his hand and +carried it away, past Sweetwater, who vainly sought to catch it as it went +fluttering by, into the water ahead, where it shone for a moment, then softly +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater uttered a cry, so did Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it anything you wanted?” called out the former, leaning over the bow of the +boat and making a dive at the paper with his oar. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but if it’s gone, it’s gone,” returned the other with some feeling. +“Careless of me, very careless,—but I was thinking of—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped; he was greatly agitated, but he did not encourage Sweetwater in any +further attempts to recover the lost memorandum. Indeed, such an effort would +have been fruitless; the paper was gone, and there was nothing left for them +but to continue their way. As they did so it would have been hard to tell in +which breast chagrin mounted higher. Sweetwater had lost a clue in a thousand, +and Mr. Grey—well, no one knew what he had lost. He said nothing and +plainly showed by his changed manner that he was in haste to land now and be +done with this doubtful adventure. +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the boat-house Mr. Grey left Sweetwater to pay for the boat +and started at once for the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +The man in charge had the bow of the boat in hand, preparatory to pulling it up +on the boards. As Sweetwater turned toward him he caught sight of the side of +the boat, shining brightly in the moonlight. He gave a start and, with a +muttered ejaculation, darted forward and picked off a small piece of paper from +the dripping keel. It separated in his hand and a part of it escaped him, but +the rest he managed to keep by secreting it in his palm, where it still clung, +wet and possibly illegible, when he came upon Mr. Grey again in the hotel +office. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s your pay,” said that gentleman, giving him a bill. “I am very glad I +met you. You have served me remarkably well.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an anxiety in his face and a hurry in his movements which struck +Sweetwater. +</p> + +<p> +“Does this mean that you are through with me?” asked Sweetwater. “That you have +no further call for my services?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” said the gentleman. “I’m going to take the train to-night. I find +that I still have time.” +</p> + +<p> +Sweetwater began to look alive. +</p> + +<p> +Uttering hasty thanks, he rushed away to his own room and, turning on the gas, +peeled off the morsel of paper which had begun to dry on his hand. If it should +prove to be the blank end! If the written part were the one which had floated +off! Such disappointments had fallen to his lot! He was not unused to them. +</p> + +<p> +But he was destined to better luck this time. The written end had indeed +disappeared, but there was one word left, which he had no sooner read than he +gave a low cry and prepared to leave for New York on the same train as Mr. +Grey. +</p> + +<p> +The word was—diamond. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0021"></a> +XXI.<br/> +GRIZEL! GRIZEL!</h2> + +<p> +I indulged in some very serious thoughts after Mr. Grey’s departure. A fact was +borne in upon me to which I had hitherto closed my prejudiced eyes, but which I +could no longer ignore, whatever confusion it brought or however it caused me +to change my mind on a subject which had formed one of the strongest bases to +the argument by which I had sought to save Mr. Durand. Miss Grey cherished no +such distrust of her father as I, in my ignorance of their relations, had +imputed to her in the early hours of my ministrations. This you have already +seen in my account of their parting. Whatever his dread, fear or remorse, there +was no evidence that she felt toward him anything but love and confidence: but +love and confidence from her to him were in direct contradiction to the doubts +I had believed her to have expressed in the half-written note handed to Mrs. +Fairbrother in the alcove. Had I been wrong, then, in attributing this scrawl +to her? It began to look so. Though forbidden to allow her to speak on the one +tabooed subject, I had wit enough to know that nothing would keep her from it, +if the fate of Mrs. Fairbrother occupied any real place in her thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Yet when the opportunity was given me one morning of settling this fact beyond +all doubt, I own that my main feeling was one of dread. I feared to see this +article in my creed destroyed, lest I should lose confidence in the whole. Yet +conscience bade me face the matter boldly, for had I not boasted to myself that +my one desire was the truth? +</p> + +<p> +I allude to the disposition which Miss Grey showed on the morning of the third +day to do a little surreptitious writing. You remember that a specimen of her +handwriting had been asked for by the inspector, and once had been earnestly +desired by myself. Now I seemed likely to have it, if I did not open my eyes +too widely to the meaning of her seemingly chance requests. A little pencil +dangled at the end of my watch-chain. Would I let her see it, let her hold it +in her hand for a minute? it was so like one she used to have. Of course I took +it off, of course I let her retain it a little while in her hand. But the +pencil was not enough. A few minutes later she asked for a book to look +at—I sometimes let her look at pictures. But the book bothered +her—she would look at it later; would I give her something to mark the +place—that postal over there. I gave her the postal. She put it in the +book and I, who understood her thoroughly, wondered what excuse she would now +find for sending me into the other room. She found one very soon, and with a +heavily-beating heart I left her with that pencil and postal. A soft laugh from +her lips drew me back. She was holding up the postal. +</p> + +<p> +“See! I have written a line to him! Oh, you good, good nurse, to let me! You +needn’t look so alarmed. It hasn’t hurt me one bit.” +</p> + +<p> +I knew that it had not; knew that such an exertion was likely to be more +beneficial than hurtful to her, or I should have found some excuse for +deterring her. I endeavored to make my face more natural. As she seemed to want +me to take the postal in my hand I drew near and took it. +</p> + +<p> +“The address looks very shaky,” she laughed. “I think you will have to put it +in an envelope.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at it,—I could not help it,—her eye was on me, and I could +not even prepare my mind for the shock of seeing it like or totally unlike the +writing of the warning. It was totally unlike; so distinctly unlike that it was +no longer possible to attribute those lines to her which, according to Mr. +Durand’s story, had caused Mrs. Fairbrother to take off her diamond. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, why!” she cried. “You actually look pale. Are you afraid the doctor will +scold us? It hasn’t hurt me nearly so much as lying here and knowing what he +would give for one word from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, and I am foolish,” I answered with all the spirit left in me. +“I should be glad—I am glad that you have written these words. I will +copy the address on an envelope and send it out in the first mail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” she murmured, giving me back my pencil with a sly smile. “Now I +can sleep. I must have roses in my cheeks when papa comes home.” +</p> + +<p> +And she bade fair to have ruddier roses than myself, for conscience was working +havoc in my breast. The theory I had built up with such care, the theory I had +persisted in urging upon the inspector in spite of his rebuke, was slowly +crumbling to pieces in my mind with the falling of one of its main pillars. +With the warning unaccounted for in the manner I have stated, there was a +weakness in my argument which nothing could make good. How could I tell the +inspector, if ever I should be so happy or so miserable as to meet his eye +again? Humiliated to the dust, I could see no worth now in any of the arguments +I had advanced. I flew from one extreme to the other, and was imputing perfect +probity to Mr. Grey and an honorable if mysterious reason for all his acts, +when the door opened and he came in. Instantly my last doubt vanished. I had +not expected him to return so soon. +</p> + +<p> +He was glad to be back; that I could see, but there was no other gladness in +him. I had looked for some change in his manner and appearance,—that is, +if he returned at all,—but the one I saw was not a cheerful one, even +after he had approached his daughter’s bedside and found her greatly improved. +She noticed this and scrutinized him strangely. He dropped his eyes and turned +to leave the room, but was stopped by her loving cry; he came back and leaned +over her. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, father? You are fatigued, worried—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, quite well,” he hastily assured her. “But you! are you as well as you +seem?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, yes. I am gaining every day. See! see! I shall soon be able to sit up. +Yesterday I read a few words.” +</p> + +<p> +He started, with a side glance at me which took in a table near by on which a +little book was lying. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a book?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and—and Arthur’s letters.” +</p> + +<p> +The father flushed, lifted himself, patted her arm tenderly and hastened into +another room. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Grey’s eyes followed him longingly, and I heard her give utterance to a +soft sigh. A few hours before, this would have conveyed to my suspicious mind +deep and mysterious meanings; but I was seeing everything now in a different +light, and I found myself no longer inclined either to exaggerate or to +misinterpret these little marks of filial solicitude. Trying to rejoice over +the present condition of my mind, I was searching in the hidden depths of my +nature for the patience of which I stood in such need, when every thought and +feeling were again thrown into confusion by the receipt of another +communication from the inspector, in which he stated that something had +occurred to bring the authorities round to my way of thinking and that the test +with the stiletto was to be made at once. +</p> + +<p> +Could the irony of fate go further! I dropped the letter half read, querying if +it were my duty to let the inspector know of the flaw I had discovered in my +own theory, before I proceeded with the attempt I had suggested when I believed +in its complete soundness. I had not settled the question when I took the +letter up again. Re-reading its opening sentence, I was caught by the word +“something.” It was a very indefinite one, yet was capable of covering a large +field. It must cover a large field, or it could not have produced such a change +in the minds of these men, conservative from principle and in this instance +from discretion. I would be satisfied with that word something and quit further +thinking. I was weary of it. The inspector was now taking the initiative, and I +was satisfied to be his simple instrument and no more. Arrived at this +conclusion, however, I read the rest of the letter. The test was to go on, but +under different conditions. It was no longer to be made at my own discretion +and in the up-stairs room; it was to be made at luncheon hour and in Mr. Grey’s +private dining-room, where, if by any chance Mr. Grey found himself outraged by +the placing of this notorious weapon beside his plate, the blame could be laid +on the waiter, who, mistaking his directions, had placed it on Mr. Grey’s table +when it was meant for Inspector Dalzell’s, who was lunching in the adjoining +room. It was I, however, who was to do the placing. With what precautions and +under what circumstances will presently appear. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, the hour set was very near. Otherwise I do not know how I could +have endured the continued strain of gazing on my patient’s sweet face, looking +up at me from her pillow, with a shadow over its beauty which had not been +there before her father’s return. +</p> + +<p> +And that father! I could hear him pacing the library floor with a restlessness +that struck me as being strangely akin to my own inward anguish of impatience +and doubt. What was he dreading? What was it I had seen darkening his face and +disturbing his manner, when from time to time he pushed open the communicating +door and cast an anxious glance our way, only to withdraw again without +uttering a word. Did he realize that a crisis was approaching, that danger +menaced him, and from me? No, not the latter, for his glance never strayed to +me, but rested solely on his daughter. I was, therefore, not connected with the +disturbance in his thoughts. As far as that was concerned I could proceed +fearlessly; I had not him to dread, only the event. That I did dread, as any +one must who saw Miss Grey’s face during these painful moments and heard that +restless tramp in the room beyond. +</p> + +<p> +At last the hour struck,—the hour at which Mr. Grey always descended to +lunch. He was punctuality itself, and under ordinary circumstances I could +depend upon his leaving the room within five minutes of the stroke of one. But +would he be as prompt to-day? Was he in the mood for luncheon? Would he go down +stairs at all? Yes, for the tramp, tramp stopped; I heard him approaching his +daughter’s door for a last look in and managed to escape just in time to +procure what I wanted and reach the room below before he came. +</p> + +<p> +My opportunity was short, but I had time to see two things: first, that the +location of his seat had been changed so that his back was to the door leading +into the adjoining room; secondly, that this door was ajar. The usual waiter +was in the room and showed no surprise at my appearance, I having been careful +to have it understood that hereafter Miss Grey’s appetite was to be encouraged +by having her soup served from her father’s table by her father’s own hands, +and that I should be there to receive it. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Grey is coming,” said I, approaching the waiter and handing him the +stiletto loosely wrapped in tissue paper. “Will you be kind enough to place +this at his plate, just as it is? A man gave it to me for Mr. Grey; said we +were to place it there.” +</p> + +<p> +The waiter, suspecting nothing, did as he was bidden, and I had hardly time to +catch up the tray laden with dishes, which I saw awaiting me on a side-table, +when Mr. Grey came in and was ushered to his seat. +</p> + +<p> +The soup was not there, but I advanced with my tray and stood waiting; not too +near, lest the violent beating of my heart should betray me. As I did so the +waiter disappeared and the door behind us opened. Though Mr. Grey’s eye had +fallen on the package, and I saw him start, I darted one glance at the room +thus disclosed, and saw that it held two tables. At one, the inspector and some +one I did not know sat eating; at the other a man alone, whose back was to us +all, and who seemingly was entirely disconnected with the interests of this +tragic moment. All this I saw in an instant,—the next my eyes were fixed +on Mr. Grey’s face. +</p> + +<p> +He had reached out his hand to the package and his features showed an emotion I +hardly understood. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this?” he murmured, feeling it with wonder, I should almost say anger. +Suddenly he pulled off the wrapper, and my heart stood still in expectancy. If +he quailed—and how could he help doing so if guilty—what a doubt +would be removed from my own breast, what an impediment from police action! But +he did not quail; he simply uttered an exclamation of intense anger, and laid +the weapon back on the table without even taking the precaution of covering it +up. I think he muttered an oath, but there was no fear in it, not a particle. +</p> + +<p> +My disappointment was so great, my humiliation so unbounded, that, forgetting +myself in my dismay, I staggered back and let the tray with all its contents +slip from my hands. The crash that followed stopped Mr. Grey in the act of +rising. But it did something more. It awoke a cry from the adjoining room which +I shall never forget. While we both started and turned to see from whom this +grievous sound had sprung, a man came stumbling toward us with his hands before +his eyes and this name wild on his lips: +</p> + +<p> +“Grizel! Grizel!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fairbrother’s name! and the man— +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0022"></a> +XXII.<br/> +GUILT</h2> + +<p> +Was he Wellgood? Sears? Who? A lover of the woman certainly; that was borne in +on us by the passion of his cry: +</p> + +<p> +“Grizel! Grizel!” +</p> + +<p> +But how here? and why such fury in Mr. Grey’s face and such amazement in that +of the inspector? +</p> + +<p> +This question was not to be answered offhand. Mr. Grey, advancing, laid a +finger on the man’s shoulder. “Come,” said he, “we will have our conversation +in another room.” +</p> + +<p> +The man, who, in dress and appearance looked oddly out of place in those +gorgeous rooms, shook off the stupor into which he had fallen and started to +follow the Englishman. A waiter crossed their track with the soup for our +table. Mr. Grey motioned him aside. +</p> + +<p> +“Take that back,” said he. “I have some business to transact with this +gentleman before I eat. I’ll ring when I want you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they entered where I was. As the door closed I caught sight of the +inspector’s face turned earnestly toward me. In his eyes I read my duty, and +girded up my heart, as it were, to meet—what? In that moment it was +impossible to tell. +</p> + +<p> +The next enlightened me. With a total ignoring of my presence, due probably to +his great excitement, Mr. Grey turned on his companion the moment he had closed +the door and, seizing him by the collar, cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Fairbrother, you villain, why have you called on your wife like this? Are you +murderer as well as thief?” +</p> + +<p> +Fairbrother! this man? Then who was he who was being nursed back to life on the +mountains beyond Santa Fe? Sears? Anything seemed possible in that moment. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, dropping his hand from the other’s throat as suddenly as he had +seized it, Mr. Grey caught up the stiletto from the table where he had flung +it, crying: “Do you recognize this?” +</p> + +<p> +Ah, then I saw guilt! +</p> + +<p> +In a silence worse than any cry, this so-called husband of the murdered woman, +the man on whom no suspicion had fallen, the man whom all had thought a +thousand miles away at the time of the deed, stared at the weapon thrust under +his eyes, while over his face passed all those expressions of fear, abhorrence +and detected guilt which, fool that I was, I had expected to see reflected in +response to the same test in Mr. Grey’s equable countenance. +</p> + +<p> +The surprise and wonder of it held me chained to the spot. I was in a state of +stupefaction, so that I scarcely noted the broken fragments at my feet. But the +intruder noticed them. Wrenching his gaze from the stiletto which Mr. Grey +continued to hold out, he pointed to the broken cup and saucer, muttering: +</p> + +<p> +“That is what startled me into this betrayal—the noise of breaking china. +I can not bear it since—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, bit his lip and looked around him with an air of sudden bravado. +</p> + +<p> +“Since you dropped the cups at your wife’s feet in Mr. Ramsdell’s alcove,” +finished Mr. Grey with admirable self-possession. +</p> + +<p> +“I see that explanations from myself are not in order,” was the grim retort, +launched with the bitterest sarcasm. Then as the full weight of his position +crushed in on him, his face assumed an aspect startling to my unaccustomed +eyes, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket he drew forth a small box which +he placed in Mr. Grey’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +“The Great Mogul,” he declared simply. +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time I had heard this diamond so named. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word that gentleman opened the box, took one look at the contents, +assumed a satisfied air, and carefully deposited the recovered gem in his own +pocket. As his eyes returned to the man before him, all the passion of the +latter burst forth. +</p> + +<p> +“It was not for that I killed her!” cried he. “It was because she defied me and +flaunted her disobedience in my very face. I would do it again, yet—” +</p> + +<p> +Here his voice broke and it was in a different tone and with a total change of +manner he added: “You stand appalled at my depravity. You have not lived my +life.” Then quickly and with a touch of sullenness: “You suspected me because +of the stiletto. It was a mistake, using that stiletto. Otherwise, the plan was +good. I doubt if you know now how I found my way into the alcove, possibly +under your very eyes; certainly, under the eyes of many who knew me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not. It is enough that you entered it; that you confess your guilt.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Mr. Grey stretched his hand toward the electric button. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it is not enough.” The tone was fierce, authoritative. “Do not ring the +bell, not yet. I have a fancy to tell you how I managed that little affair.” +</p> + +<p> +Glancing about, he caught up from a near-by table a small brass tray. Emptying +it of its contents, he turned on us with drawn-down features and an obsequious +air so opposed to his natural manner that it was as if another man stood before +us. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon my black tie,” he muttered, holding out the tray toward Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +Wellgood! +</p> + +<p> +The room turned with me. It was he, then, the great financier, the +multimillionaire, the husband of the magnificent Grizel, who had entered Mr. +Ramsdell’s house as a waiter! +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey did not show surprise, but he made a gesture, when instantly the tray +was thrown aside and the man resumed his ordinary aspect. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you understand me,” he cried. “I who have played host at many a ball, +passed myself off that night as one of the waiters. I came and went and no one +noticed me. It is such a natural sight to see a waiter passing ices that my +going in and out of the alcove did not attract the least attention. I never +look at waiters when I attend balls. I never look higher than their trays. No +one looked at me higher than my tray. I held the stiletto under the tray and +when I struck her she threw up her hands and they hit the tray and the cups +fell. I have never been able to bear the sound of breaking china since. I loved +her—” +</p> + +<p> +A gasp and he recovered himself. +</p> + +<p> +“That is neither here nor there,” he muttered. “You summoned me under threat to +present myself at your door to-day. I have done so. I meant to restore you your +diamond, simply. It has become worthless to me. But fate exacted more. Surprise +forced my secret from me. That young lady with her damnable awkwardness has put +my head in a noose. But do not think to hold it there. I did not risk this +interview without precautions, I assure you, and when I leave this hotel it +will be as a free man.” +</p> + +<p> +With one of his rapid changes, wonderful and inexplicable to me at the moment, +he turned toward me with a bow, saying courteously enough: +</p> + +<p> +“We will excuse the young lady.” +</p> + +<p> +Next moment the barrel of a pistol gleamed in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +The moment was critical. Mr. Grey stood directly in the line of fire, and the +audacious man who thus held him at his mercy was scarcely a foot from the door +leading into the hall. Marking the desperation of his look and the steadiness +of his finger on the trigger, I expected to see Mr. Grey recoil and the man +escape. But Mr. Grey held his own, though he made no move, and did not venture +to speak. Nerved by his courage, I summoned up all my own. This man must not +escape, nor must Mr. Grey suffer. The pistol directed against him must be +diverted to myself. Such amends were due one whose good name I had so deeply if +secretly insulted. I had but to scream, to call out for the inspector, but a +remembrance of the necessity we were now under of preserving our secret, of +keeping from Mr. Grey the fact that he had been under surveillance, was even at +that moment surrounded by the police, deterred me, and I threw myself toward +the bell instead, crying out that I would raise the house if he moved, and laid +my finger on the button. +</p> + +<p> +The pistol swerved my way. The face above it smiled. I watched that smile. +Before it broadened to its full extent, I pressed the button. +</p> + +<p> +Fairbrother stared, dropped his pistol, and burst forth with these two words: +</p> + +<p> +“Brave girl!” +</p> + +<p> +The tone I can never convey. +</p> + +<p> +Then he made for the door. +</p> + +<p> +As he laid his hand on the knob, he called back: +</p> + +<p> +“I have been in worse straits than this!” +</p> + +<p> +But he never had; when he opened the door, he found himself face to face with +the inspector. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0023"></a> +XXIII.<br/> +THE GREAT MOGUL</h2> + +<p> +Later, it was all explained. Mr. Grey, looking like another man, came into the +room where I was endeavoring to soothe his startled daughter and devour in +secret my own joy. Taking the sweet girl in his arms, he said, with a calm +ignoring of my presence, at which I secretly smiled: +</p> + +<p> +“This is the happiest moment of my existence, Helen. I feel as if I had +recovered you from the brink of the grave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me? Why, I have never been so ill as that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know; but I have felt as if you were doomed ever since I heard, or thought I +heard, in this city, and under no ordinary circumstances, the peculiar cry +which haunts our house on the eve of any great misfortune. I shall not +apologize for my fears; you know that I have good cause for them, but to-day, +only to-day, I have heard from the lips of the most arrant knave I have ever +known, that this cry sprang from himself with intent to deceive me. He knew my +weakness; knew the cry; he was in Darlington Manor when Cecilia died; and, +wishing to startle me into dropping something which I held, made use of his +ventriloquial powers (he had been a mountebank once, poor wretch!) and with +such effect, that I have not been a happy man since, in spite of your daily +improvement and continued promise of recovery. But I am happy now, relieved and +joyful; and this miserable being,—would you like to hear his story? Are +you strong enough for anything so tragic? He is a thief and a murderer, but he +has feelings, and his life has been a curious one, and strangely interwoven +with ours. Do you care to hear about it? He is the man who stole our diamond.” +</p> + +<p> +My patient uttered a little cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, tell me,” she entreated, excited, but not unhealthfully; while I was in an +anguish of curiosity I could with difficulty conceal. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey turned with courtesy toward me and asked if a few family details would +bore me. I smiled and assured him to the contrary. At which he settled himself +in the chair he liked best and began a tale which I will permit myself to +present to you complete and from other points of view than his own. +</p> + +<p> +Some five years before, one of the great diamonds of the world was offered for +sale in an Eastern market. Mr. Grey, who stopped at no expense in the +gratification of his taste in this direction, immediately sent his agent to +Egypt to examine this stone. If the agent discovered it to be all that was +claimed for it, and within the reach of a wealthy commoner’s purse, he was to +buy it. Upon inspection, it was found to be all that was claimed, with one +exception. In the center of one of the facets was a flaw, but, as this was +considered to mark the diamond, and rather add to than detract from its value +as a traditional stone with many historical associations, it was finally +purchased by Mr. Grey and placed among his treasures in his manor-house in +Kent. Never a suspicious man, he took delight in exhibiting this acquisition to +such of his friends and acquaintances as were likely to feel any interest in +it, and it was not an uncommon thing for him to allow it to pass from hand to +hand while he pottered over his other treasures and displayed this and that to +such as had no eyes for the diamond. +</p> + +<p> +It was after one such occasion that he found, on taking the stone in his hand +to replace it in the safe he had had built for it in one of his cabinets, that +it did not strike his eye with its usual force and brilliancy, and, on +examining it closely, he discovered the absence of the telltale flaw. Struck +with dismay, he submitted it to a still more rigid inspection, when he found +that what he held was not even a diamond, but a worthless bit of glass, which +had been substituted by some cunning knave for his invaluable gem. +</p> + +<p> +For the moment his humiliation almost equaled his sense of loss; he had been so +often warned of the danger he ran in letting so priceless an object pass around +under all eyes but his own. His wife and friends had prophesied some such loss +as this, not once, but many times, and he had always laughed at their fears, +saying that he knew his friends, and there was not a scamp amongst them. But +now he saw it proved that even the intuition of a man well-versed in human +nature is not always infallible, and, ashamed of his past laxness and more +ashamed yet of the doubts which this experience called up in regard to all his +friends, he shut up the false stone with his usual care and buried his loss in +his own bosom, till he could sift his impressions and recall with some degree +of probability the circumstances under which this exchange could have been +made. +</p> + +<p> +It had not been made that evening. Of this he was positive. The only persons +present on this occasion were friends of such standing and repute that +suspicion in their regard was simply monstrous. When and to whom, then, had he +shown the diamond last? Alas, it had been a long month since he had shown the +jewel. Cecilia, his youngest daughter, had died in the interim; therefore his +mind had not been on jewels. A month! time for his precious diamond to have +been carried back to the East! Time for it to have been recut! Surely it was +lost to him for ever, unless he could immediately locate the person who had +robbed him of it. +</p> + +<p> +But this promised difficulties. He could not remember just what persons he had +entertained on that especial day in his little hall of cabinets, and, when he +did succeed in getting a list of them from his butler, he was by no means sure +that it included the full number of his guests. His own memory was execrable, +and, in short, he had but few facts to offer to the discreet agent sent up from +Scotland Yard one morning to hear his complaint and act secretly in his +interests. He could give him carte blanche to carry on his inquiries in the +diamond market, but little else. And while this seemed to satisfy the agent, it +did not lead to any gratifying result to himself, and he had thoroughly made up +his mind to swallow his loss and say nothing about it, when one day a young +cousin of his, living in great style in an adjoining county, informed him that +in some mysterious way he had lost from his collection of arms a unique and +highly-prized stiletto of Italian workmanship. +</p> + +<p> +Startled by this coincidence, Mr. Grey ventured upon a question or two, which +led to his cousin’s confiding to him the fact that this article had disappeared +after a large supper given by him to a number of friends and gentlemen from +London. This piece of knowledge, still further coinciding with his own +experience, caused Mr. Grey to ask for a list of his guests, in the hope of +finding among them one who had been in his own house. +</p> + +<p> +His cousin, quite unsuspicious of the motives underlying this request, hastened +to write out this list, and together they pored over the names, crossing out +such as were absolutely above suspicion. When they had reached the end of the +list, but two names remained uncrossed. One was that of a rattle-pated youth +who had come in the wake of a highly reputed connection of theirs, and the +other that of an American tourist who gave all the evidences of great wealth +and had presented letters to leading men in London which had insured him +attentions not usually accorded to foreigners. This man’s name was Fairbrother, +and, the moment Mr. Grey heard it, he recalled the fact that an American with a +peculiar name, but with a reputation for wealth, had been among his guests on +the suspected evening. +</p> + +<p> +Hiding the effect produced upon him by this discovery, he placed his finger on +this name and begged his cousin to look up its owner’s antecedents and present +reputation in America; but, not content with this, he sent his own agent over +to New York—whither, as he soon learned, this gentleman had returned. The +result was an apparent vindication of the suspected American. He was found to +be a well-known citizen of the great metropolis, moving in the highest circles +and with a reputation for wealth won by an extraordinary business instinct. +</p> + +<p> +To be sure, he had not always enjoyed these distinctions. Like many another +self-made man, he had risen from a menial position in a Western mining camp, to +be the owner of a mine himself, and so up through the various gradations of a +successful life to a position among the foremost business men of New York. In +all these changes he had maintained a name for honest, if not generous, +dealing. He lived in great style, had married and was known to have but one +extravagant fancy. This was for the unique and curious in art,—a taste +which, if report spoke true, cost him many thousands each year. +</p> + +<p> +This last was the only clause in the report which pointed in any way toward +this man being the possible abstractor of the Great Mogul, as Mr. Grey’s famous +diamond was called, and the latter was too just a man and too much of a fancier +in this line himself to let a fact of this kind weigh against the favorable +nature of the rest. So he recalled his agent, double-locked his cabinets and +continued to confine his display of valuables to articles which did not suggest +jewels. Thus three years passed, when one day he heard mention made of a +wonderful diamond which had been seen in New York. From its description he +gathered that it must be the one surreptitiously abstracted from his cabinet, +and when, after some careful inquiries, he learned that the name of its +possessor was Fairbrother, he awoke to his old suspicions and determined to +probe this matter to the bottom. But secretly. He still had too much +consideration to attack a man in high position without full proof. +</p> + +<p> +Knowing of no one he could trust with so delicate an inquiry as this had now +become, he decided to undertake it himself, and for this purpose embraced the +first opportunity to cross the water. He took his daughter with him because he +had resolved never to let his one remaining child out of his sight. But she +knew nothing of his plans or reason for travel. No one did. Indeed, only his +lawyer and the police were aware of the loss of his diamond. +</p> + +<p> +His first surprise on landing was to learn that Mr. Fairbrother, of whose +marriage he had heard, had quarreled with his wife and that, in the separation +which had occurred, the diamond had fallen to her share and was consequently in +her possession at the present moment. +</p> + +<p> +This changed matters, and Mr. Grey’s only thought now was to surprise her with +the diamond on her person and by one glance assure himself that it was indeed +the Great Mogul. Since Mrs. Fairbrother was reported to be a beautiful woman +and a great society belle, he saw no reason why he should not meet her +publicly, and that very soon. He therefore accepted invitations and attended +theaters and balls, though his daughter had suffered from her voyage and was +not able to accompany him. But alas! he soon learned that Mrs. Fairbrother was +never seen with her diamond and, one evening after an introduction at the +opera, that she never talked about it. So there he was, balked on the very +threshold of his enterprise, and, recognizing the fact, was preparing to take +his now seriously ailing daughter south, when he received an invitation to a +ball of such a select character that he decided to remain for it, in the hope +that Mrs. Fairbrother would be tempted to put on all her splendor for so +magnificent a function and thus gratify him with a sight of his own diamond. +During the days that intervened he saw her several times and very soon decided +that, in spite of her reticence in regard to this gem, she was not sufficiently +in her husband’s confidence to know the secret of its real ownership. This +encouraged him to attempt piquing her into wearing the diamond on this +occasion. He talked of precious stones and finally of his own, declaring that +he had a connoisseur’s eye for a fine diamond, but had seen none as yet in +America to compete with a specimen or two he had in his own cabinets. Her eye +flashed at this and, though she said nothing, he felt sure that her presence at +Mr. Ramsdell’s house would be enlivened by her great jewel. +</p> + +<p> +So much for Mr. Grey’s attitude in this matter up to the night of the ball. It +is interesting enough, but that of Abner Fairbrother is more interesting still +and much more serious. +</p> + +<p> +His was indeed the hand which had abstracted the diamond from Mr. Grey’s +collection. Under ordinary conditions he was an honest man. He prized his good +name and would not willingly risk it, but he had little real conscience, and +once his passions were aroused nothing short of the object desired would +content him. At once forceful and subtle, he had at his command infinite +resources which his wandering and eventful life had heightened almost to the +point of genius. He saw this stone, and at once felt an inordinate desire to +possess it. He had coveted other men’s treasures before, but not as he coveted +this. What had been longing in other cases was mania in this. There was a woman +in America whom he loved. She was beautiful and she was splendor-loving. To see +her with this glory on her breast would be worth almost any risk which his +imagination could picture at the moment. Before the diamond had left his hand +he had made up his mind to have it for his own. He knew that it could not be +bought, so he set about obtaining it by an act he did not hesitate to +acknowledge to himself as criminal. But he did not act without precautions. +Having a keen eye and a proper sense or size and color, he carried away from +his first view of it a true image of the stone, and when he was next admitted +to Mr. Grey’s cabinet room he had provided the means for deceiving the owner +whose character he had sounded. +</p> + +<p> +He might have failed in his daring attempt if he had not been favored by a +circumstance no one could have foreseen. A daughter of the house, Cecilia by +name, lay critically ill at the time, and Mr. Grey’s attention was more or less +distracted. Still the probabilities are that he would have noticed something +amiss with the stone when he came to restore it to its place, if, just as he +took it in his hand, there had not risen in the air outside a weird and wailing +cry which at once seized upon the imagination of the dozen gentlemen present, +and so nearly prostrated their host that he thrust the box he held unopened +into the safe and fell upon his knees, a totally unnerved man, crying: +</p> + +<p> +“The banshee! the banshee! My daughter will die!” +</p> + +<p> +Another hand than his locked the safe and dropped the key into the distracted +father’s pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Thus a superhuman daring conjoined with a special intervention of fate had made +the enterprise a successful one; and Fairbrother, believing more than ever in +his star, carried this invaluable jewel back with him to New York. The +stiletto—well, the taking of that was a folly, for which he had never +ceased to blush. He had not stolen it; he would not steal so inconsiderable an +object. He had merely put it in his pocket when he saw it forgotten, passed +over, given to him, as it were. That the risk, contrary to that involved in the +taking of the diamond, was far in excess of the gratification obtained, he +realized almost immediately, but, having made the break, and acquired the +curio, he spared himself all further thought or the consequences, and presently +resumed his old life in New York, none the worse, to all appearances, for these +escapades from virtue and his usual course of fair and open dealing. +</p> + +<p> +But he was soon the worse from jealousy of the wife which his new possession +had possibly won for him. She had answered all his expectations as mistress of +his home and the exponent of his wealth; and for a year, nay, for two, he had +been perfectly happy. Indeed, he had been more than that; he had been +triumphant, especially on that memorable evening when, after a cautious delay +of months, he had dared to pin that unapproachable sparkler to her breast and +present her thus bedecked to the smart set—her whom his talents, and +especially his far-reaching business talents, had made his own. +</p> + +<p> +Recalling the old days of barter and sale across the pine counter in Colorado, +he felt that his star rode high, and for a time was satisfied with his wife’s +magnificence and the prestige she gave his establishment. But pride is not all, +even to a man of his daring ambition. Gradually he began to realize, first, +that she was indifferent to him, next, that she despised him, and, lastly, that +she hated him. She had dozens at her feet, any of whom was more agreeable to +her than her own husband; and, though he could not put his finger on any +definite fault, he soon wearied of a beauty that only glowed for others, and +made up his mind to part with her rather than let his heart be eaten out by +unappeasable longing for what his own good sense told him would never be his. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, being naturally generous, he was satisfied with a separation, and, finding +it impossible to think of her as other than extravagantly fed, waited on and +clothed, he allowed her a good share of his fortune with the one proviso, that +she should not disgrace him. But the diamond she stole, or rather carried off +in her naturally high-handed manner with the rest of her jewels. He had never +given it to her. She knew the value he set on it, but not how he came by it, +and would have worn it quite freely if he had not very soon given her to +understand that the pleasure of doing so ceased when she left his house. As she +could not be seen with it without occasioning public remark, she was forced, +though much against her will, to heed his wishes, and enjoy its brilliancy in +private. But once, when he was out of town, she dared to appear with this +fortune on her breast, and again while on a visit West,—and her husband +heard of it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fairbrother had had the jewel set to suit him, not in Florence, as Sears +had said, but by a skilful workman he had picked up in great poverty in a +remote corner of Williamsburg. Always in dread of some complication, he had +provided himself with a second facsimile in paste, this time of an astonishing +brightness, and this facsimile he had had set precisely like the true stone. +Then he gave the workman a thousand dollars and sent him back to Switzerland. +This imitation in paste he showed nobody, but he kept it always in his pocket; +why, he hardly knew. Meantime, he had one confidant, not of his crime, but of +his sentiments toward his wife, and the determination he had secretly made to +proceed to extremities if she continued to disobey him. +</p> + +<p> +This was a man of his own age or older, who had known him in his early days, +and had followed all his fortunes. He had been the master of Fairbrother then, +but he was his servant now, and as devoted to his interests as if they were his +own,—which, in a way, they were. For eighteen years he had stood at the +latter’s right hand, satisfied to look no further, but, for the last three, his +glances had strayed a foot or two beyond his master, and taken in his master’s +wife. +</p> + +<p> +The feelings which this man had for Mrs. Fairbrother were peculiar. She was a +mere adjunct to her great lord, but she was a very gorgeous one, and, while he +could not imagine himself doing anything to thwart him whose bread he ate, and +to whose rise he had himself contributed, yet if he could remain true to him +without injuring he; he would account himself happy. The day came when he had +to decide between them, and, against all chances, against his own preconceived +notion of what he would do under these circumstances, he chose to consider her. +</p> + +<p> +This day came when, in the midst of growing complacency and an intense interest +in some new scheme which demanded all his powers, Abner Fairbrother learned +from the papers that Mr. Grey, of English Parliamentary fame, had arrived in +New York on an indefinite visit. As no cause was assigned for the visit beyond +a natural desire on the part of this eminent statesman to see this great +country, Mr. Fairbrother’s fears reached a sudden climax, and he saw himself +ruined and for ever disgraced if the diamond now so unhappily out of his hands +should fall under the eyes of its owner, whose seeming quiet under its loss had +not for a moment deceived him. Waiting only long enough to make sure that the +distinguished foreigner was likely to accept social attentions, and so in all +probability would be brought in contact with Mrs. Fairbrother, he sent her by +his devoted servant a peremptory message, in which he demanded back his +diamond; and, upon her refusing to heed this, followed it up by another, in +which he expressly stated that if she took it out of the safe deposit in which +he had been told she was wise enough to keep it, or wore it so much as once +during the next three months, she would pay for her presumption with her life. +</p> + +<p> +This was no idle threat, though she chose to regard it as such, laughing in the +old servant’s face and declaring that she would run the risk if the notion +seized her. But the notion did not seem to seize her at once, and her husband +was beginning to take heart, when he heard of the great ball about to be given +by the Ramsdells and realized that if she were going to be tempted to wear the +diamond at all, it would be at this brilliant function given in honor of the +one man he had most cause to fear in the whole world. +</p> + +<p> +Sears, seeing the emotion he was under, watched him closely. They had both been +on the point of starting for New Mexico to visit a mine in which Mr. +Fairbrother was interested, and he waited with inconceivable anxiety to see if +his master would change his plans. It was while he was in this condition of +mind that he was seen to shake his fist at Mrs. Fairbrother’s passing figure; a +menace naturally interpreted as directed against her, but which, if we know the +man, was rather the expression of his anger against the husband who could +rebuke and threaten so beautiful a creature. Meanwhile, Mr. Fairbrother’s +preparations went on and, three weeks before the ball, they started. Mr. +Fairbrother had business in Chicago and business in Denver. It was two weeks +and more before he reached La Junta. Sears counted the days. At La Junta they +had a long conversation; or rather Mr. Fairbrother talked and Sears listened. +The sum of what he said was this: He had made up his mind to have back his +diamond. He was going to New York to get it. He was going alone, and as he +wished no one to know that he had gone or that his plans had been in any way +interrupted, the other was to continue on to El Moro, and, passing himself off +as Fairbrother, hire a room at the hotel and shut himself up in it for ten days +on any plea his ingenuity might suggest. If at the end of that time Fairbrother +should rejoin him, well and good. They would go on together to Santa Fe. But if +for any reason the former should delay his return, then Sears was to exercise +his own judgment as to the length of time he should retain his borrowed +personality; also as to the advisability of pushing on to the mine and entering +on the work there, as had been planned between them. +</p> + +<p> +Sears knew what all this meant. He understood what was in his master’s mind, as +well as if he had been taken into his full confidence, and openly accepted his +part of the business with seeming alacrity, even to the point of supplying +Fairbrother with suitable references as to the ability of one James Wellgood to +fill a waiter’s place at fashionable functions. It was not the first he had +given him. Seventeen years before he had written the same, minus the last +phrase. That was when he was the master and Fairbrother the man. But he did not +mean to play the part laid out for him, for all his apparent acquiescence. He +began by following the other’s instructions. He exchanged clothes with him and +other necessaries, and took the train for La Junta at or near the time that +Fairbrother started east. But once at El Moro—once registered there as +Abner Fairbrother from New York—he took a different course from the one +laid out for him,—a course which finally brought him into his master’s +wake and landed him at the same hour in New York. +</p> + +<p> +This is what he did. Instead of shutting himself up in his room he expressed an +immediate desire to visit some neighboring mines, and, procuring a good horse, +started off at the first available moment. He rode north, lost himself in the +mountains, and wandered till he found a guide intelligent enough to lend +himself to his plans. To this guide he confided his horse for the few days he +intended to be gone, paying him well and promising him additional money if, +during his absence, he succeeded in circulating the report that he, Abner +Fairbrother, had gone deep into the mountains, bound for such and such a camp. +</p> + +<p> +Having thus provided an alibi, not only for himself, but for his master, too, +in case he should need it, he took the direct road to the nearest railway +station, and started on his long ride east. He did not expect to overtake the +man he had been personating, but fortune was kinder than is usual in such +cases, and, owing to a delay caused by some accident to a freight train, he +arrived in Chicago within a couple of hours of Mr. Fairbrother, and started out +of that city on the same train. But not on the same car. Sears had caught a +glimpse of Fairbrother on the platform, and was careful to keep out of his +sight. This was easy enough. He bought a compartment in the sleeper and stayed +in it till they arrived at the Grand Central Station. Then he hastened out and, +fortune favoring him with another glimpse of the man in whose movements he was +so interested, followed him into the streets. +</p> + +<p> +Fairbrother had shaved off his beard before leaving El Moro. Sears had shaved +his off on the train. Both were changed, the former the more, owing to a +peculiarity of his mouth which up till now he had always thought best to cover. +Sears, therefore, walked behind him without fear, and was almost at his heels +when this owner of one of New York’s most notable mansions, entered, with a +spruce air, the doors of a prominent caterer. +</p> + +<p> +Understanding the plot now, and having everything to fear for his mistress, he +walked the streets for some hours in a state of great indecision. Then he went +up to her apartment. But he had no sooner come within sight of it than a sense +of disloyalty struck him and he slunk away, only to come sidling back when it +was too late and she had started for the ball. +</p> + +<p> +Trembling with apprehension, but still strangely divided in his impulses, +wishing to serve master and mistress both, without disloyalty to the one or +injury to the other, he hesitated and argued with himself, till his fears for +the latter drove him to Mr. Ramsdell’s house. +</p> + +<p> +The night was a stormy one. The heaviest snow of the season was falling with a +high gale blowing down the Sound. As he approached the house, which, as we +know, is one of the modern ones in the Riverside district, he felt his heart +fail him. But as he came nearer and got the full effect of glancing lights, +seductive music, and the cheery bustle of crowding carriages, he saw in his +mind’s eye such a picture of his beautiful mistress, threatened, unknown to +herself, in a quarter she little realized, that he lost all sense of what had +hitherto deterred him. Making then and there his great choice, he looked about +for the entrance, with the full intention of seeing and warning her. +</p> + +<p> +But this, he presently perceived, was totally impracticable. He could neither +go to her nor expect her to come to him; meanwhile, time was passing, and if +his master was there—The thought made his head dizzy, and, situated as he +was, among the carriages, he might have been run over in his confusion if his +eyes had not suddenly fallen on a lighted window, the shade of which had been +inadvertently left up. +</p> + +<p> +Within this window, which was only a few feet above his head, stood the glowing +image of a woman clad in pink and sparkling with jewels. Her face was turned +from him, but he recognized her splendor as that of the one woman who could +never be too gorgeous for his taste; and, alive to this unexpected opportunity, +he made for this window with the intention of shouting up to her and so +attracting her attention. +</p> + +<p> +But this proved futile, and, driven at last to the end of his resources, he +tore out a slip of paper from his note-book and, in the dark and with the +blinding snow in his eyes, wrote the few broken sentences which he thought +would best warn her, without compromising his master. The means he took to +reach her with this note I have already related. As soon as he saw it in her +hands he fled the place and took the first train west. He was in a pitiable +condition, when, three days later, he reached the small station from which he +had originally set out. The haste, the exposure, the horror of the crime he had +failed to avert, had undermined his hitherto excellent constitution, and the +symptoms of a serious illness were beginning to make themselves manifest. But +he, like his indomitable master, possessed a great fund of energy and +willpower. He saw that if he was to save Abner Fairbrother (and now that Mrs. +Fairbrother was dead, his old master was all the world to him) he must make +Fairbrother’s alibi good by carrying on the deception as planned by the latter, +and getting as soon as possible to his camp in the New Mexico mountains. He +knew that he would have strength to do this and he went about it without +sparing himself. +</p> + +<p> +Making his way into the mountains, he found the guide and his horse at the +place agreed upon and, paying the guide enough for his services to insure a +quiet tongue, rode back toward El Moro where he was met and sent on to Santa Fe +as already related. +</p> + +<p> +Such is the real explanation of the well-nigh unintelligible scrawl found in +Mrs. Fairbrother’s hand after her death. As to the one which left Miss Grey’s +bedside for this same house, it was, alike in the writing and sending, the +loving freak of a very sick but tender-hearted girl. She had noted the look +with which Mr. Grey had left her, and, in her delirious state, thought that a +line in her own hand would convince him of her good condition and make it +possible for him to enjoy the evening. She was, however, too much afraid of her +nurse to write it openly, and though we never found that scrawl, it was +doubtless not very different in appearance from the one with which I had +confounded it. The man to whom it was intrusted stopped for too many warming +drinks on his way for it ever to reach Mr. Ramsdell’s house. He did not even +return home that night, and when he did put in an appearance the next morning, +he was dismissed. +</p> + +<p> +This takes me back to the ball and Mrs. Fairbrother. She had never had much +fear of her husband till she received his old servant’s note in the peculiar +manner already mentioned. This, coming through the night and the wet and with +all the marks of hurry upon it, did impress her greatly and led her to take the +first means which offered of ridding herself of her dangerous ornament. The +story of this we know. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, a burning heart and a scheming brain were keeping up their deadly +work a few paces off under the impassive aspect and active movements of the +caterer’s newly-hired waiter. Abner Fairbrother, whose real character no one +had ever been able to sound, unless it was the man who had known him in his +days of struggle, was one of those dangerous men who can conceal under a still +brow and a noiseless manner the most violent passions and the most desperate +resolves. He was angry with his wife, who was deliberately jeopardizing his +good name, and he had come there to kill her if he found her flaunting the +diamond in Mr. Grey’s eyes; and though no one could have detected any change in +his look and manner as he passed through the room where these two were +standing, the doom of that fair woman was struck when he saw the eager scrutiny +and indescribable air of recognition with which this long-defrauded gentleman +eyed his own diamond. +</p> + +<p> +He had meant to attack her openly, seize the diamond, fling it at Mr. Grey’s +feet, and then kill himself. That had been his plan. But when he found, after a +round or two among the guests, that nobody looked at him, and nobody recognized +the well-known millionaire in the automaton-like figure with the +formally-arranged whiskers and sleekly-combed hair, colder purposes intervened, +and he asked himself if it would not be possible to come upon her alone, strike +his blow, possess himself of the diamond, and make for parts unknown before his +identity could be discovered. He loved life even without the charm cast over it +by this woman. Its struggles and its hard-bought luxuries fascinated him. If +Mr. Grey suspected him, why, Mr. Grey was English, and he a resourceful +American. If it came to an issue, the subtle American would win if Mr. Grey +were not able to point to the flaw which marked this diamond as his own. And +this, Fairbrother had provided against, and would succeed in if he could hold +his passions in check and be ready with all his wit when matters reached a +climax. +</p> + +<p> +Such were the thoughts and such the plans of the quiet, attentive man who, with +his tray laden with coffee and ices, came and went an unnoticed unit among +twenty other units similarly quiet and similarly attentive. He waited on lady +after lady, and when, on the reissuing of Mr. Durand from the alcove, he passed +in there with his tray and his two cups of coffee, nobody heeded and nobody +remembered. +</p> + +<p> +It was all over in a minute, and he came out, still unnoted, and went to the +supper-room for more cups of coffee. But that minute had set its seal on his +heart for ever. She was sitting there alone with her side to the entrance, so +that he had to pass around in order to face her. Her elegance and a certain air +she had of remoteness from the scene of which she was the glowing center when +she smiled, awed him and made his hand loosen a little on the slender stiletto +he held close against the bottom of the tray. But such resolution does not +easily yield, and his fingers soon tightened again, this time with a deadly +grip. +</p> + +<p> +He had expected to meet the flash of the diamond as he bent over her, and +dreaded doing so for fear it would attract his eye from her face and so cost +him the sight of that startled recognition which would give the desired point +to his revenge. But the tray, as he held it, shielded her breast from view, and +when he lowered it to strike his blow, he thought of nothing but aiming so +truly as to need no second blow. He had had his experience in those old years +in a mining camp, and he did not fear failure in this. What he did fear was her +utterance of some cry,—possibly his name. But she was stunned with +horror, and did not shriek,—horror of him whose eyes she met with her +glassy and staring ones as he slowly drew forth the weapon. +</p> + +<p> +Why he drew it forth instead of leaving it in her breast he could not say. +Possibly because it gave him his moment of gloating revenge. When in another +instant, her hands flew up, and the tray tipped, and the china fell, the +revulsion came, and his eyes opened to two facts: the instrument of death was +still in his grasp, and the diamond, on whose possession he counted, was gone +from his wife’s breast. +</p> + +<p> +It was a horrible moment. Voices could be heard approaching the +alcove,—laughing voices that in an instant would take on the note of +horror. And the music,—ah! how low it had sunk, as if to give place to +the dying murmur he now heard issuing from her lips. But he was a man of iron. +Thrusting the stiletto into the first place that offered, he drew the curtains +over the staring windows, then slid out with his tray, calm, speckless and +attentive as ever, dead to thought, dead to feeling, but aware, quite aware in +the secret depths of his being that something besides his wife had been killed +that night, and that sleep and peace of mind and all pleasure in the past were +gone for ever. +</p> + +<p> +It was not he I saw enter the alcove and come out with news of the crime. He +left this role to one whose antecedents could better bear investigation. His +part was to play, with just the proper display of horror and curiosity, the +ordinary menial brought face to face with a crime in high life. He could do +this. He could even sustain his share in the gossip, and for this purpose kept +near the other waiters. The absence of the diamond was all that troubled him. +That brought him at times to the point of vertigo. Had Mr. Grey recognized and +claimed it? If so, he, Abner Fairbrother, must remain James Wellgood, the +waiter, indefinitely. This would require more belief in his star than ever he +had had yet. But as the moments passed, and no contradiction was given to the +universally-received impression that the same hand which had struck the blow +had taken the diamond, even this cause of anxiety left his breast and he faced +people with more and more courage till the moment when he suddenly heard that +the diamond had been found in the possession of a man perfectly strange to him, +and saw the inspector pass it over into the hands of Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly he realized that the crisis of his fate was on him. If Mr. Grey were +given time to identify this stone, he, Abner Fairbrother, was lost and the +diamond as well. Could he prevent this? There was but one way, and that way he +took. Making use of his ventriloquial powers—he had spent a year on the +public stage in those early days, playing just such tricks as these—he +raised the one cry which he knew would startle Mr. Grey more than any other in +the world, and when the diamond fell from his hand, as he knew it would, he +rushed forward and, in the act of picking it up, made that exchange which not +only baffled the suspicions of the statesman, but restored to him the diamond, +for whose possession he was now ready to barter half his remaining days. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Mr. Grey had had his own anxieties. During this whole long evening, +he had been sustained by the conviction that the diamond of which he had caught +but one passing glimpse was the Great Mogul of his once famous collection. So +sure was he of this, that at one moment he found himself tempted to enter the +alcove, demand a closer sight of the diamond and settle the question then and +there. He even went so far as to take in his hands the two cups of coffee which +should serve as his excuse for this intrusion, but his naturally chivalrous +instincts again intervened, and he set the cups down again—this I did not +see—and turned his steps toward the library with the intention of writing +her a note instead. But though he found paper and pen to hand, he could find no +words for so daring a request, and he came back into the hall, only to hear +that the woman he had contemplated addressing had just been murdered and her +great jewel stolen. +</p> + +<p> +The shock was too much, and as there was no leaving the house then, he +retreated again to the library where he devoured his anxieties in silence till +hope revived again at sight of the diamond in the inspector’s hand, only to +vanish under the machinations of one he did not even recognize when he took the +false jewel from his hand. +</p> + +<p> +The American had outwitted the Englishman and the triumph of evil was complete. +</p> + +<p> +Or so it seemed. But if the Englishman is slow, he is sure. Thrown off the +track for the time being, Mr. Grey had only to see a picture of the stiletto in +the papers, to feel again that, despite all appearances, Fairbrother was really +not only at the bottom of the thefts from which his cousin and himself had +suffered, but of this frightful murder as well. He made no open move—he +was a stranger in a strange land and much disturbed, besides, by his fears for +his daughter—but he started a secret inquiry through his old valet, whom +he ran across in the street, and whose peculiar adaptability for this kind of +work he well knew. +</p> + +<p> +The aim of these inquiries was to determine if the person, whom two physicians +and three assistants were endeavoring to nurse back to health on the top of a +wild plateau in a remote district of New Mexico, was the man he had once +entertained at his own board in England, and the adventures thus incurred would +make a story in itself. But the result seemed to justify them. Word came after +innumerable delays, very trying to Mr. Grey, that he was not the same, though +he bore the name of Fairbrother, and was considered by every one around there +to be Fairbrother. Mr. Grey, ignorant of the relations between the millionaire +master and his man which sometimes led to the latter’s personifying the former, +was confident of his own mistake and bitterly ashamed of his own suspicions. +</p> + +<p> +But a second message set him right. A deception was being practised down in New +Mexico, and this was how his spy had found it out. Certain letters which went +into the sick tent were sent away again, and always to one address. He had +learned the address. It was that of James Wellgood, C—, Maine. If Mr. +Grey would look up this Wellgood he would doubtless learn something of the man +he was so interested in. +</p> + +<p> +This gave Mr. Grey personally something to do, for he would trust no second +party with a message involving the honor of a possibly innocent man. As the +place was accessible by railroad and his duty clear, he took the journey +involved and succeeded in getting a glimpse in the manner we know of the man +James Wellgood. This time he recognized Fairbrother and, satisfied from the +circumstances of the moment that he would be making no mistake in accusing him +of having taken the Great Mogul, he intercepted him in his flight, as you have +already read, and demanded the immediate return of his great diamond. +</p> + +<p> +And Fairbrother? We shall have to go back a little to bring his history up to +this critical instant. +</p> + +<p> +When he realized the trend of public opinion; when he saw a perfectly innocent +man committed to the Tombs for his crime, he was first astonished and then +amused at what he continued to regard as the triumph of his star. But he did +not start for El Moro, wise as he felt it would be to do so. Something of the +fascination usual with criminals kept him near the scene of his +crime,—that, and an anxiety to see how Sears would conduct himself in the +Southwest. That Sears had followed him to New York, knew his crime, and was the +strongest witness against him, was as far from his thoughts as that he owed him +the warning which had all but balked him of his revenge. When therefore he read +in the papers that “Abner Fairbrother” had been found sick in his camp at Santa +Fe, he felt that nothing now stood in the way of his entering on the plans he +had framed for ultimate escape. On his departure from El Moro he had taken the +precaution of giving Sears the name of a certain small town on the coast of +Maine where his mail was to be sent in case of a great emergency. He had chosen +this town for two reasons. First, because he knew all about it, having had a +young man from there in his employ; secondly, because of its neighborhood to +the inlet where an old launch of his had been docked for the winter. Always +astute, always precautionary, he had given orders to have this launch floated +and provisioned, so that now he had only to send word to the captain, to have +at his command the best possible means of escape. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, he must make good his position in C—. He did it in the way we +know. Satisfied that the only danger he need fear was the discovery of the +fraud practised in New Mexico, he had confidence enough in Sears, even in his +present disabled state, to take his time and make himself solid with the people +of C—while waiting for the ice to disappear from the harbor. This +accomplished and cruising made possible, he took a flying trip to New York to +secure such papers and valuables as he wished to carry out of the country with +him. They were in safe deposit, but that safe deposit was in his strong room in +the center of his house in Eighty-sixth Street (a room which you will remember +in connection with Sweetwater’s adventure). To enter his own door with his own +latch-key, in the security and darkness of a stormy night, seemed to this +self-confident man a matter of no great risk. Nor did he find it so. He reached +his strong room, procured his securities and was leaving the house, without +having suffered an alarm, when some instinct of self-preservation suggested to +him the advisability of arming himself with a pistol. His own was in Maine, but +he remembered where Sears kept his; he had seen it often enough in that old +trunk he had brought with him from the Sierras. He accordingly went up stairs +to the steward’s room, found the pistol and became from that instant +invincible. But in restoring the articles he had pulled out he came across a +photograph of his wife and lost himself over it and went mad, as we have heard +the detective tell. That later, he should succeed in trapping this detective +and should leave the house without a qualm as to his fate shows what sort of +man he was in moments of extreme danger. I doubt, from what I have heard of him +since, if he ever gave two thoughts to the man after he had sprung the double +lock on him; which, considering his extreme ignorance of who his victim was or +what relation he bore to his own fate, was certainly remarkable. +</p> + +<p> +Back again in C—, he made his final preparations for departure. He had +already communicated with the captain of the launch, who may or may not have +known his passenger’s real name. He says that he supposed him to be some agent +of Mr. Fairbrother’s; that among the first orders he received from that +gentleman was one to the effect that he was to follow the instructions of one +Wellgood as if they came from himself; that he had done so, and not till he had +Mr. Fairbrother on board had he known whom he was expected to carry into other +waters. However, there are many who do not believe the captain. Fairbrother had +a genius for rousing devotion in the men who worked for him, and probably this +man was another Sears. +</p> + +<p> +To leave speculation, all was in train, then, and freedom but a quarter of a +mile away, when the boat he was in was stopped by another and he heard Mr. +Grey’s voice demanding the jewel. +</p> + +<p> +The shock was severe and he had need of all the nerve which had hitherto made +his career so prosperous, to sustain the encounter with the calmness which +alone could carry off the situation. Declaring that the diamond was in New +York, he promised to restore it if the other would make the sacrifice worth +while by continuing to preserve his hitherto admirable silence concerning him: +Mr. Grey responded by granting him just twenty-four hours; and when Fairbrother +said the time was not long enough and allowed his hand to steal ominously to +his breast, he repeated still more decisively, “Twenty-four hours.” +</p> + +<p> +The ex-miner honored bravery. Withdrawing his hand from his breast, he brought +out a note-book instead of a pistol and, in a tone fully as determined, +replied: “The diamond is in a place inaccessible to any one but myself. If you +will put your name to a promise not to betray me for the thirty-six hours I +ask, I will sign one to restore you the diamond before one-thirty o’clock on +Friday.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said Mr. Grey. +</p> + +<p> +So the promises were written and duly exchanged. Mr. Grey returned to New York +and Fairbrother boarded his launch. +</p> + +<p> +The diamond really was in New York, and to him it seemed more politic to use it +as a means of securing Mr. Grey’s permanent silence than to fly the country, +leaving a man behind him who knew his secret and could precipitate his doom +with a word. He would, therefore, go to New York, play his last great card and, +if he lost, be no worse off than he was now. He did not mean to lose. +</p> + +<p> +But he had not calculated on any inherent weakness in himself,—had not +calculated on Providence. A dish tumbled and with it fell into chaos the fair +structure of his dreams. With the cry of “Grizel! Grizel!” he gave up his +secret, his hopes and his life. There was no retrieval possible after that. The +star of Abner Fairbrother had set. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Grey and his daughter learned very soon of my relations to Mr. Durand, but +through the precautions of the inspector and my own powers of self-control, no +suspicion has ever crossed their minds of the part I once played in the matter +of the stiletto. +</p> + +<p> +This was amply proved by the invitation Mr. Durand and I have just received to +spend our honeymoon at Darlington Manor. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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