XVIII. ON THE STAIRS
“You cannot _say_ I did it.” Macbeth.
EXCITED, tremulous, filled with wonder at this unlooked-for event, Ipaused for a moment to collect my scattered senses, when the sound ofa low, monotonous voice breaking upon my ear from the direction of thelibrary, I approached and found Mr. Harwell reading aloud from his lateemployer’s manuscript. It would be difficult for me to describe theeffect which this simple discovery made upon me at this time. There,in that room of late death, withdrawn from the turmoil of the world, ahermit in his skeleton-lined cell, this man employed himself in readingand rereading, with passive interest, the words of the dead, while aboveand below, human beings agonized in doubt and shame. Listening, I heardthese words:
“By these means their native rulers will not only lose their jealousterror of our institutions, but acquire an actual curiosity in regard tothem.”
Opening the door I went in.
“Ah! you are late, sir,” was the greeting with which he rose and broughtforward a chair.
My reply was probably inaudible, for he added, as he passed to his ownseat:
“I am afraid you are not well.”
I roused myself.
“I am not ill.” And, pulling the papers towards me, I began looking themover. But the words danced before my eyes, and I was obliged to give upall attempt at work for that night.
“_I_ fear I am unable to assist you this evening, Mr. Harwell. The factis, I find it difficult to give proper attention to this business whilethe man who by a dastardly assassination has made it necessary goesunpunished.”
The secretary in his turn pushed the papers aside, as if moved by asudden distaste of them, but gave me no answer.
“You told me, when you first came to me with news of this fearfultragedy, that it was a mystery; but it is one which must be solved,Mr. Harwell; it is wearing out the lives of too many whom we love andrespect.”
The secretary gave me a look. “Miss Eleanore?” he murmured.
“And Miss Mary,” I went on; “myself, you, and many others.”
“You have manifested much interest in the matter from thebeginning,”--he said, methodically dipping his pen into the ink.
I stared at him in amazement.
“And you,” said I; “do you take no interest in that which involves notonly the safety, but the happiness and honor, of the family in which youhave dwelt so long?”
He looked at me with increased coldness. “I have no wish to discussthis subject. I believe I have before prayed you to spare me itsintroduction.” And he arose.
“But I cannot consider your wishes in this regard,” I persisted. “If youknow any facts, connected with this affair, which have not yet been madepublic, it is manifestly your duty to state them. The position whichMiss Eleanore occupies at this time is one which should arouse the senseof justice in every true breast; and if you----”
“If I knew anything which would serve to release her from her unhappyposition, Mr. Raymond, I should have spoken long ago.”
I bit my lip, weary of these continual bafflings, and rose also.
“If you have nothing more to say,” he went on, “and feel utterlydisinclined to work, why, I should be glad to excuse myself, as I havean engagement out.”
“Do not let me keep you,” I said, bitterly. “I can take care of myself.”
He turned upon me with a short stare, as if this display of feelingwas well nigh incomprehensible to him; and then, with a quiet, almostcompassionate bow left the room. I heard him go up-stairs, felt thejar when his room door closed, and sat down to enjoy my solitude. Butsolitude in that room was unbearable. By the time Mr. Harwell againdescended, I felt I could remain no longer, and, stepping into the hall,told him that if he had no objection I would accompany him for a shortstroll.
He bowed a stiff assent, and hastened before me down the stairs. By thetime I had closed the library door, he was half-way to the foot, and Iwas just remarking to myself upon the unpliability of his figure and theawkwardness of his carriage, as seen from my present standpoint, whensuddenly I saw him stop, clutch the banister at his side, and hang therewith a startled, deathly expression upon his half-turned countenance,which fixed me for an instant where I was in breathless astonishment,and then caused me to rush down to his side, catch him by the arm, andcry:
“What is it? what is the matter?”
But, thrusting out his hand, he pushed me upwards. “Go back!” hewhispered, in a voice shaking with intensest emotion, “go back.” Andcatching me by the arm, he literally pulled me up the stairs. Arrivedat the top, he loosened his grasp, and leaning, quivering from head tofoot, over the banisters, glared below.
“Who is that?” he cried. “Who is that man? What is his name?”
Startled in my turn, I bent beside him, and saw Henry Clavering come outof the reception room and cross the hall.
“That is Mr. Clavering,” I whispered, with all the self-possession Icould muster; “do you know him?”
Mr. Harwell fell back against the opposite wall. “Clavering, Clavering,” he murmured with quaking lips; then, suddenly bounding forward, clutchedthe railing before him, and fixing me with his eyes, from which all thestoic calmness had gone down forever in flame and frenzy, gurgled intomy ear: “You want to know who the assassin of Mr. Leavenworth is, doyou? Look there, then: that is the man, Clavering!” And with a leap, hebounded from my side, and, swaying like a drunken man, disappeared frommy gaze in the hall above.
My first impulse was to follow him. Rushing upstairs, I knocked at thedoor of his room, but no response came to my summons. I then calledhis name in the hall, but without avail; he was determined not to showhimself. Resolved that he should not thus escape me, I returned to thelibrary, and wrote him a short note, in which I asked for an explanationof his tremendous accusation, saying I would be in my rooms the nextevening at six, when I should expect to see him. This done I descendedto rejoin Mary.
But the evening was destined to be full of disappointments. She hadretired to her room while I was in the library, and I lost the interviewfrom which I expected so much. “The woman is slippery as an eel,” Iinwardly commented, pacing the hall in my chagrin. “Wrapped in mystery,she expects me to feel for her the respect due to one of frank and opennature.”
I was about to leave the house, when I saw Thomas descending the stairswith a letter in his hand.
“Miss Leavenworth’s compliments, sir, and she is too fatigued to remainbelow this evening.”
I moved aside to read the note he handed me, feeling a littleconscience-stricken as I traced the hurried, trembling handwritingthrough the following words:
“You ask more than I can give. Matters must be received as they are without explanation from me. It is the grief of my life to deny you; but I have no choice. God forgive us all and keep us from despair.
“M.”
And below:
“As we cannot meet now without embarrassment, it is better we should bear our burdens in silence and apart. Mr. Harwell will visit you. Farewell!”
As I was crossing Thirty-second Street, I heard a quick footstep behindme, and turning, saw Thomas at my side. “Excuse me, sir,” said he, “butI have something a little particular to say to you. When you asked methe other night what sort of a person the gentleman was who calledon Miss Eleanore the evening of the murder, I didn’t answer you as Ishould. The fact is, the detectives had been talking to me about thatvery thing, and I felt shy; but, sir, I know you are a friend of thefamily, and I want to tell you now that that same gentleman, whoeverhe was,--Mr. Robbins, he called himself then,--was at the house againtonight, sir, and the name he gave me this time to carry to MissLeavenworth was Clavering. Yes, sir,” he went on, seeing me start; “and,as I told Molly, he acts queer for a stranger. When he came the othernight, he hesitated a long time before asking for Miss Eleanore, andwhen I wanted his name, took out a card and wrote on it the one I toldyou of, sir, with a look on his face a lit
tle peculiar for a caller;besides----”
“Well?”
“Mr. Raymond,” the butler went on, in a low, excited voice, edging upvery closely to me in the darkness. “There is something I have nevertold any living being but Molly, sir, which may be of use to those aswishes to find out who committed this murder.”
“A fact or a suspicion?” I inquired.
“A fact, sir; which I beg your pardon for troubling you with at thistime; but Molly will give me no rest unless I speak of it to you or Mr.Gryce; her feelings being so worked up on Hannah’s account, whom we allknow is innocent, though folks do dare to say as how she must be guiltyjust because she is not to be found the minute they want her.”
“But this fact?” I urged.
“Well, the fact is this. You see--I would tell Mr. Gryce,” he resumed,unconscious of my anxiety, “but I have my fears of detectives, sir; theycatch you up so quick at times, and seem to think you know so much morethan you really do.”
“But this fact,” I again broke in.
“O yes, sir; the fact is, that that night, the one of the murder youknow, I saw Mr. Clavering, Robbins, or whatever his name is, enter thehouse, but neither I nor any one else saw him go out of it; nor do Iknow that he _did.”_
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sir, what I mean is this. When I came down from Miss Eleanore andtold Mr. Robbins, as he called himself at that time, that my mistresswas ill and unable to see him (the word she gave me, sir, to deliver)Mr. Robbins, instead of bowing and leaving the house like a gentleman,stepped into the reception room and sat down. He may have felt sick, helooked pale enough; at any rate, he asked me for a glass of water.Not knowing any reason then for suspicionating any one’s actions, Iimmediately went down to the kitchen for it, leaving him there in thereception room alone. But before I could get it, I heard the front doorclose. ‘What’s that?’ said Molly, who was helping me, sir. ‘I don’tknow,’ said I, ‘unless it’s the gentleman has got tired of waiting andgone.’ ‘If he’s gone, he won’t want the water,’ she said. So down I setthe pitcher, and up-stairs I come; and sure enough he was gone, or soI thought then. But who knows, sir, if he was not in that room or thedrawing-room, which was dark that night, all the time I was a-shuttingup of the house?”
I made no reply to this; I was more startled than I cared to reveal.
“You see, sir, I wouldn’t speak of such a thing about any person thatcomes to see the young ladies; but we all know some one who was in thehouse that night murdered my master, and as it was not Hannah----”
“You say that Miss Eleanore refused to see him,” I interrupted, in thehope that the simple suggestion would be enough to elicitate furtherdetails of his interview with Eleanore.
“Yes, sir. When she first looked at the card, she showed a littlehesitation; but in a moment she grew very flushed in the face, and bademe say what I told you. I should never have thought of it again if I hadnot seen him come blazoning and bold into the house this evening, witha new name on his tongue. Indeed, and I do not like to think any evil ofhim now; but Molly would have it I should speak to you, sir, and ease mymind,--and that is all, sir.”
When I arrived home that night, I entered into my memorandum-book anew list of suspicious circumstances, but this time they were under thecaption “C” instead of “E.”