V. SUPERSTITION
I had gone up stairs for my wraps--my uncle having insisted on mywithdrawing from a scene where my very presence seemed in some degree tocompromise me.
Soon prepared for my departure, I was crossing the hall to the smalldoor communicating with the side staircase where my uncle had promisedto await me, when I felt myself seized by a desire to have another lookbelow before leaving the place in which were centered all my deepestinterests.
A wide landing, breaking up the main flight of stairs some few feet fromthe top, offered me an admirable point of view. With but little thoughtof possible consequences, and no thought at all of my poor, patientuncle, I slipped down to this landing, and, protected by the unusualheight of its balustrade, allowed myself a parting glance at the scenewith which my most poignant memories were henceforth to be connected.
Before me lay the large square of the central hall. Opening out fromthis was the corridor leading to the front door, and incidentally to thelibrary. As my glance ran down this corridor, I beheld, approaching fromthe room just mentioned, the tall figure of the Englishman.
He halted as he reached the main hall and stood gazing eagerly at agroup of men and women clustered near the fireplace--a group on which Ino sooner cast my own eye than my attention also became fixed.
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 suspiciouscircumstances. Young heads and old were meeting over it, and I wasstraining my ears to hear such comments as were audible above thegeneral hubbub, when Mr. Grey made a quick move and I looked his wayagain in time to mark his air of concern and the uncertainty he showedwhether to advance or retreat.
Unconscious of my watchful eye, and noting, no doubt, that most of thepersons in the group on which his own eye was leveled stood with theirbacks toward him, he made no effort to disguise his profound interestin the stone. His eye followed its passage from hand to hand with acovetous eagerness of which he may not have been aware, and I was notat all surprised when, after a short interval of troubled indecision, heimpulsively stepped forward and begged the privilege of handling the gemhimself.
Our host, who stood not far from the inspector, said something to thatgentleman which led to this request being complied with. The stone waspassed over to Mr. Grey, and I saw, possibly because my heart was in myeyes, 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 ofhis inspection when, on his turning to hold the jewel up to the light,something happened so abnormal and so strange that no one who wasfortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be present in the house at thatinstant will ever forget it.
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, sothrilling and so prolonged that it gripped not only my own nerveless andweakened heart, but those of the ten strong men congregated below me.The diamond dropped from Mr. Grey's hand, and neither he nor any oneelse moved to pick it up. Not till silence had come again--a silencealmost as unendurable to the sensitive ear as the cry which had precededit--did any one stir or think of the gem. Then one gentleman afteranother bent to look for it, but with no success, till one of thewaiters, who possibly had followed it with his eye or caught sight ofits sparkle on the edge of the rug, whither it had rolled, sprang andpicked it up and handed it back to Mr. Grey.
Instinctively the Englishman's hand closed on it, but it was veryevident to me, and I think to all, that his interest in it was gone. Ifhe looked at it he did not see it, for he stood like one stunned allthe time that agitated men and women were running hither and thither inunavailing efforts to locate the sound yet ringing in their ears. Nottill these various searchers had all come together again, in terror of amystery they could not solve, did he let his hand fall and himself awaketo the scene about him.
The words he at once gave utterance to were as remarkable as all therest.
"Gentlemen," said he, "you must pardon my agitation. This cry--you neednot seek its source--is one to which I am only too well accustomed. Ihave 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 havebut one child left, a daughter,--she is ill at the hotel. Do you wonderthat I shrink from this note of warning, and show myself something lessthan a man under its influence? I am going home; but, first, one wordabout this stone." Here he lifted it and bestowed, or appeared to bestowon it, an anxious scrutiny, putting on his glasses and examining itcarefully before passing it back to the inspector.
"I have heard," said he, with a change of tone which must have beennoticeable to every one, "that this stone was a very superior one, andquite 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 waswilling to commit murder for its possession. The stone, which you havejust been good enough to allow me to inspect, is no diamond, but acarefully manufactured bit of paste not worth the rich and elaboratesetting which has been given to it. I am sorry to be the one to saythis, but I have made a study of precious stones, and I can not letthis bare-faced imitation pass through my hands without a protest.Mr. Ramsdell," this to our host, "I beg you will allow me to utter myexcuses, and depart at once. My daughter is worse,--this I know, ascertainly as that I am standing here. The cry you have heard is the onesuperstition of our family. Pray God that I find her alive!"
After this, what could be said? Though no one who had heard him, noteven my own romantic self, showed any belief in this interpretation ofthe remarkable sound that had just gone thrilling through the house,yet, in face of his declared acceptance of it as a warning, and the factthat all efforts had failed to locate the sound, or even to determineits source, no other course seemed open but to let this distinguishedman depart with the suddenness his superstitious fears demanded.
That this was in opposition to the inspector's wishes was evidentenough. Naturally, he would have preferred Mr. Grey to remain, if onlyto make clear his surprising conclusions in regard to a diamond whichhad passed through the hands of some of the best judges in the country,without a doubt having been raised as to its genuineness.
With his departure the inspector's manner changed. He glanced at thestone in his hand, and slowly shook his head.
"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 hadbeen but little disturbed by the assertions of this renowned foreigner.
I have no distinct remembrance of how I finally left the house, or ofwhat passed between my uncle and myself on our way home. I was numb withthe shock, and neither my intelligence nor my feelings were any longeractive. I recall but one impression, and that was the effect made on meby my old home on our arrival there, as of something new and strange;so much had happened, and such changes had taken place in myselfsince leaving it five hours before. But nothing else is vivid in myremembrance till that early hour of the dreary morning, when, on wakingto the world with a cry, I beheld my uncle's anxious figure, bendingover me from the foot-board.
Instantly I found tongue, and question after question leaped from mylips. He did not answer them; he could not; but when I grew feverish andinsistent, he drew the morning paper from behind his back, and laid itquietly down within my reach. I felt calmed in an instant, and when,after a few affectionate words, he left me to myself, I seized onthe sheet and read what so many others were reading at that momentthroughout the city.
I spare you the account so far as it coincides with what I had myselfseen and heard the night before. A few particulars which had not reachedmy ears will interest you. The instrument of death found in the placedesignated by Mr. Durand was one of note to such as had any taste orknowledge of curios. It was a stiletto of the most delicate type, long,keen and slender. Not an American
product, not even of this century'smanufacture, but a relic of the days when deadly thrusts were given inthe corners and by-ways of medieval streets.
This made the first mystery.
The second was the as yet unexplainable presence, on the alcove floor,of two broken coffee-cups, which no waiter nor any other person, infact, admitted having carried there. The tray, which had fallen fromPeter Mooney's hand,--the waiter who had been the first to give thealarm 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 whichmust have been full, from the size of the coffee stain left on the rugwhere they had fallen.
In reading this I remembered that Mr. Durand had mentioned stepping onsome broken pieces of china in his escape from the fatal scene, and,struck with this confirmation of a theory which was slowly taking formin my own mind, I passed on to the next paragraph, with a sense ofexpectation.
The result was a surprise. Others may have been told, I was not, thatMrs. Fairbrother had received a communication from outside only a fewminutes previous to her death. A Mr. Fullerton, who had preceded Mr.Durand in his visit to the alcove, owned to having opened the window forher at some call or signal from outside, and taken in a small piece ofpaper which he saw lifted up from below on the end of a whip handle. Hecould not see who held the whip, but at Mrs. Fairbrother's entreaty heunpinned 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 timeto mark a figure rush from below toward the carriage drive. He did notrecognize the figure nor would he know it again. As to the nature of thecommunication itself he could say nothing, save that Mrs. Fairbrotherdid not seem to be affected favorably by it. She frowned and was lookingvery gloomy when he left the alcove. Asked if he had pulled the curtainstogether after closing the window, he said that he had not; that she hadnot requested him to do so.
This story, which was certainly a strange one, had been confirmed by thetestimony of the coachman who had lent his whip for the purpose. Thiscoachman, who was known to be a man of extreme good nature, had seen noharm in lending his whip to a poor devil who wished to give a telegramor some such hasty message to the lady sitting just above them in alighted window. The wind was fierce and the snow blinding, and itwas natural that the man should duck his head, but he remembered hisappearance well enough to say that he was either very cold or very muchdone up and that he wore a greatcoat with the collar pulled up about hisears. When he came back with the whip he seemed more cheerful than whenhe asked for it, but had no "thank you" for the favor done him, or if hehad, it was lost in his throat and the piercing gale.
The communication, which was regarded by the police as a matter of thehighest importance, had been found in her hand by the coroner. It was amere scrawl written in pencil on a small scrap of paper. The followingfacsimile of the scrawl was given to the public in the hope that someone would recognize the handwriting.
The first two lines overlapped and were confused, but the last onewas clear enough. Expect trouble if--If what? Hundreds were asking thequestion and at this very moment. I should soon be asking it, too, butfirst, I must make an effort to understand the situation,--a situationwhich up to now appeared to involve Mr. Durand, and Mr. Durand only, asthe suspected party.
This was no more than I expected, yet it came with a shock under thebroad glare of this wintry morning; so impossible did it seem in thelight of every-day life that guilt could be associated in any one's mindwith a man of such unblemished record and excellent standing. But theevidence adduced against him was of a kind to appeal to the commonmind--we all know that evidence--nor could I say, after reading the fullaccount, that I was myself unaffected by its seeming weight. Not that myfaith in his innocence was shaken. I had met his look of love and tendergratitude and my confidence in him had been restored, but I saw, withall the clearness of a mind trained by continuous study, how difficultit was going to be to counteract the prejudice induced, first, by hisown inconsiderate acts, especially by that unfortunate attempt of his tosecrete Mrs. Fairbrother's gloves in another woman's bag, and secondly,by his peculiar explanations--explanations which to many must seemforced and unnatural.
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 himmyself,--I, the little Rita, with no experience of law or courts orcrime, but with simply an unbounded faith in the man suspected and inthe keenness of my own insight,--an insight which had already served meso well and would serve me yet better, once I had mastered the detailswhich must be the prelude to all intelligent action.
The morning's report stopped with the explanations given by Mr. Durandof the appearances against him. Consequently no word appeared of theafter events which had made such an impression at the time on allthe persons present. Mr. Grey was mentioned, but simply as one of theguests, and to no one reading this early morning issue would any doubtcome as to the genuineness of the diamond which, to all appearance, hadbeen the leading motive in the commission of this great crime.
The effect on my own mind of this suppression was a curious one. I beganto wonder if the whole event had not been a chimera of my disturbedbrain--a nightmare which had visited me, and me alone, and not a fact tobe reckoned with. But a moment's further thought served to clear my mindof all such doubts, and I perceived that the police had only exercisedcommon prudence in withholding Mr. Grey's sensational opinion of thestone till it could be verified by experts.
The two columns of gossip devoted to the family differences which hadled to the separation of Mr. and Mrs. Fairbrother, I shall compress intoa few lines. They had been married three years before in the city ofBaltimore. He was a rich man then, but not the multimillionaire he isto-day. Plain-featured and without manner, lie was no mate for thissparkling coquette, whose charm was of the kind which grows withexercise. Though no actual scandal was ever associated with her name, hegrew tired of her caprices, and the conquests which she made no endeavorto hide either from him or from the world at large; and at some timeduring the previous year they had come to a friendly understandingwhich led to their living apart, each in grand style and with a certaindeference to the proprieties which retained them their friends and anenviable place in society. He was not often invited where she was, andshe never appeared in any assemblage where he was expected; but withthis exception, little feeling was shown; matters progressed smoothly,and to their credit, let it be said, no one ever heard either of themspeak otherwise than considerately of the other. He was at present outor town, having started some three weeks before for the southwest, butwould probably return on receipt of the telegram which had been senthim.
The comments made on the murder were necessarily hurried. It was calleda mystery, but it was evident enough that Mr. Durand's detention waslooked on as the almost certain prelude to his arrest on the charge ofmurder.
I had had some discipline in life. Although a favorite of my wealthyuncle, I had given up very early the prospects he held out to me of acontinued enjoyment of his bounty, and entered on duties which requiredself-denial and hard work. I did this because I enjoy having both mymind and heart occupied. To be necessary to some one, as a nurse is toa patient, seemed to me an enviable fate till I came under the influenceof Anson Durand. Then the craving of all women for the common lot oftheir sex became my craving also; a craving, however, to which I failedat first to yield, for I felt that it was unshared, and thus a token ofweakness. 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 greatsurprise of my life. Anson Durand expressed his love for me and I awoketo the fact that all my preparation had been for home joys and a woman'strue existence. One hour of ecstasy in the light of this new hope, thentragedy and something approaching chaos! Truly I had been through aschooling. But was it one to make me useful in the only way I couldbe useful now? I did not know; I did not care; I was determined on mycourse, fit or unfit, and, in the relief brou
ght by this appeal to myenergy, I rose and dressed and went about the duties of the day.
One of these was to determine whether Mr. Grey, on his return to hishotel, had found his daughter as ill as his fears had foreboded. Atelephone message or two satisfied me on this point. Miss Grey wasvery ill, but not considered dangerously so; indeed, if anything, hercondition was improved, and if nothing happened in the way of freshcomplications, the prospects were that she would be out in a fortnight.
I was not surprised. It was more than I had expected. The cry of thebanshee in an American house was past belief, even in an atmospheresurcharged with fear and all the horror surrounding a great crime; andin the secret reckoning I was making against a person I will not evenname at this juncture, I added it as another suspicious circumstance.