The Woman in the Alcove

  X. I ASTONISH THE INSPECTOR

  I was not the only one to tremble now. This man of infinite experienceand daily contact with crime had turned as pale as ever I myself haddone in face of a threatening calamity.

  "I shall see about this," he muttered, crumpling the paper in hishand. "But this is a very terrible business you are plunging me into. Isincerely hope that you are not heedlessly misleading me."

  "I am correct in my facts, if that is what you mean," said I. "Thestiletto is an English heirloom, and bears on its blade, among otherdevices, that of Mr. Grey's family on the female side. But that is notall I want to say. If the blow was struck to obtain the diamond, theshock 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 uponobtaining this stone. Your eye was not on him as mine was when youmade your appearance in the hall with the recovered jewel. He showedastonishment, eagerness, and a determination which finally led himforward, 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, didhe 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 traditionalone of his family proclaiming death? Is it likely, sir? Is itconceivable even that any such cry as we heard could, in this dayand generation, ring through such an assemblage, unless it came withventriloquial power from his own lips? You observed that he turned hisback; that his face was hidden from us. Discreet and reticent as we haveall been, and careful in our criticisms of so bizarre an event, therestill 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 avery 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, butI would not be true to the man whom I have unwittingly helped to placein his present unenviable position if I did not tell you that, in myjudgment, this cry was a spurious one, employed by the gentleman himselfas an excuse for dropping the stone."

  "And why should he wish to drop the stone?"

  "Because of the fraud he meditated. Because it offered him anopportunity for substituting a false stone for the real. Did you notnotice a change in the aspect of this jewel dating from this verymoment? Did it shine with as much brilliancy in your hand when youreceived it back as when you passed it over?"

  "Nonsense! I do not know; it is all too absurd for argument." Yet he didstop to argue, saying in the next breath: "You forget that the stonehas a setting. Would you claim that this gentleman of family, place andpolitical distinction had planned this hideous crime with sufficientpremeditation to have provided himself with the exact counterpart of abrooch which it is highly improbable he ever saw? You would make him outa Cagliostro or something worse. Miss Van Arsdale, I fear your theorywill topple over of its own weight."

  He was very patient with me; he did not show me the door.

  "Yet such a substitution took place, and took place that evening," Iinsisted. "The bit of paste shown us at the inquest was never the gemMrs. Fairbrother wore on entering the alcove. Besides, where all issensation, why cavil at one more improbability? Mr. Grey may have comeover to America for no other reason. He is known as a collector, andwhen a man has a passion for diamond-getting--"

  "He is known as a collector?"

  "In his own country."

  "I was not told that."

  "Nor I. But I found it out."

  "How, my dear child, how?"

  "By a cablegram or so."

  "You--cabled--his name--to England?"

  "No, Inspector; uncle has a code, and I made use of it to ask a friendin London for a list of the most noted diamond fanciers in the country.Mr. Grey's name was third on the list."

  He gave me a look in which admiration was strangely blended with doubtand apprehension.

  "You are making a brave struggle," said he, "but it is a hopeless one."

  "I have one more confidence to repose in you. The nurse who has chargeof Miss Grey was in my class in the hospital. We love each other, andto her I dared appeal on one point. Inspector--" here my voiceunconsciously fell as he impetuously drew nearer--"a note was sent fromthat sick chamber on the night of the ball,--a note surreptitiouslywritten by Miss Grey, while the nurse was in an adjoining room. Themessenger was Mr. Grey's valet, and its destination the house in whichher father was enjoying his position as chief guest. She says that itwas meant for him, but I have dared to think that the valet would tella different story. My friend did not see what her patient wrote, but sheacknowledged that if her patient wrote more than two words the resultmust have been an unintelligible scrawl, since she was too weak to holda pencil firmly, and so nearly blind that she would have had to feel herway over the paper."

  The inspector started, and, rising hastily, went to his desk, from whichhe presently brought the scrap of paper which had already figured in theinquest as the mysterious communication taken from Mrs. Fairbrother'shand by the coroner. Pressing it out flat, he took another look at it,then glanced up in visible discomposure.

  "It has always looked to us as if written in the dark, by an agitatedhand; but--"

  I said nothing; the broken and unfinished scrawl was sufficientlyeloquent.

  "Did your friend declare Miss Grey to have written with a pencil and ona small piece of unruled paper?"

  "Yes, the pencil was at her bedside; the paper was torn from a bookwhich 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 cometo her room for some final orders."

  "The nurse saw all this? Has she that book?"

  "No, it went out next morning, with the scraps. It was some pamphlet, Ibelieve."

  The inspector turned the morsel of paper over and over in his hand.

  "What is this nurse's name?"

  "Henrietta Pierson."

  "Does she share your doubts?"

  "I can not say."

  "You have seen her often?"

  "No, only the one time."

  "Is she discreet?"

  "Very. On this subject she will be like the grave unless forced by youto speak."

  "And Miss Grey?"

  "She is still ill, too ill to be disturbed by questions, especially onso delicate a topic. But she is getting well fast. Her father's fearsas we heard them expressed on one memorable occasion were ill founded,sir."

  Slowly the inspector inserted this scrap of paper between the foldsof his pocketbook. He did not give me another look, though I stoodtrembling before him. Was he in any way convinced or was he simplyseeking for the most considerate way in which to dismiss me andmy abominable theory? I could not gather his intentions from hisexpression, and was feeling very faint and heart-sick when he suddenlyturned upon me with the remark:

  "A girl as ill as you say Miss Grey was must have had some very pressingmatter on her mind to attempt to write and send a message under suchdifficulties. According to your idea, she had some notion of herfather's designs and wished to warn Mrs. Fairbrother against them. Butdon't you see that such conduct as this would be preposterous, nay,unparalleled in persons of their distinction? You must find some otherexplanation for Miss Grey's seemingly mysterious action, and I an agentof crime other than one of England's most reputable statesmen."

  "So that Mr. Durand is shown the same consideration, I am content," saidI. "It is the truth and the truth only I desire. I am willing to trustmy cause with you."

  He looked none too grateful for this confidence. Indeed, now that Ilook back on this scene, I do not wonder that he shrank from theresponsibility thus foisted upon him.

  "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

  "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 Ican myself to clear up the matter."

  "You?"

  There was apprehension, disapprobation, almost menace in his tone. Ibore it with as steady
and modest a glance as possible, saying, when Ithought he was about to speak again:

  "I will do nothing without your sanction. I realize the dangers of thisinquiry and the disgrace that would follow if our attempt was suspectedbefore proof reached a point sufficient to justify it. It is not an openattack I meditate, but one--"

  Here I whispered in his ear for several minutes, when I had finished hegave me a prolonged stare, then he laid his hand on my head.

  "You are a little wonder," he declared. "But your ideas are veryquixotic, very. However," he added, suddenly growing grave, "something,I must admit, may be excused a young girl who finds herself forced tochoose between the guilt of her lover and that of a man esteemedgreat by the world, but altogether removed from her and her naturalsympathies."

  "You acknowledge, then, that it lies between these two?"

  "I see no third," said he.

  I drew a breath of relief.

  "Don't deceive yourself, Miss Van Arsdale; it is not among thepossibilities that Mr. Grey has had any connection with this crime. Heis an eccentric man, that's all."

  "But--but--"

  "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 youagain and--"

  The change he saw in me frightened away the end of his sentence. Turningupon me with some severity, he declared: "There are nine hundred andninety-nine chances in a thousand that my next word to you will beto prepare yourself for Mr. Durand's arraignment and trial. But aninfinitesimal chance remains to the contrary. If you choose to trust toit, I can only admire your pluck and the great confidence you show inyour unfortunate lover."

  And with this half-hearted encouragement I was forced to be content, notonly for that day, but for many days, when--