XXI. A PREJUDICE
“True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain Begot of nothing but vain phantasy.” --Romeo and Juliet.
FOR one moment I sat a prey to superstitious horror; then, my naturalincredulity asserting itself, I looked up and remarked:
“You say that all this took place the night previous to the actualoccurrence?”
He bowed his head. “For a warning,” he declared.
“But you did not seem to take it as such?”
“No; I am subject to horrible dreams. I thought but little of it in asuperstitious way till I looked next day upon Mr. Leavenworth’s deadbody.”
“I do not wonder you behaved strangely at the inquest.”
“Ah, sir,” he returned, with a slow, sad smile; “no one knows whatI suffered in my endeavors not to tell more than I actually knew,irrespective of my dream, of this murder and the manner of itsaccomplishment.”
“You believe, then, that your dream foreshadowed the manner of themurder as well as the fact?”
“I do.”
“It is a pity it did not go a little further, then, and tell us howthe assassin escaped from, if not how he entered, a house so securelyfastened.”
His face flushed. “That would have been convenient,” he repeated.“Also, if I had been informed where Hannah was, and why a stranger and agentleman should have stooped to the committal of such a crime.”
Seeing that he was nettled, I dropped my bantering vein. “Why do yousay a stranger?” I asked; “are you so well acquainted with all who visitthat house as to be able to say who are and who are not strangers to thefamily?
“I am well acquainted with the faces of their friends, and HenryClavering is not amongst the number; but----”
“Were you ever with Mr. Leavenworth,” I interrupted, “when he has beenaway from home; in the country, for instance, or upon his travels?”
“No.” But the negative came with some constraint.
“Yet I suppose he was in the habit of absenting himself from home?”
“Certainly.”
“Can you tell me where he was last July, he and the ladies?”
“Yes, sir; they went to R----. The famous watering-place, you know. Ah,” he cried, seeing a change in my face, “do you think he could have metthem there?”
I looked at him for a moment, then, rising in my turn, stood level withhim, and exclaimed:
“You are keeping something back, Mr. Harwell; you have more knowledge ofthis man than you have hitherto given me to understand. What is it?”
He seemed astonished at my penetration, but replied: “I know no moreof the man than I have already informed you; but”--and a burning flushcrossed his face, “if you are determined to pursue this matter--” and hepaused, with an inquiring look.
“I am resolved to find out all I can about Henry Clavering,” was mydecided answer.
“Then,” said he, “I can tell you this much. Henry Clavering wrote aletter to Mr. Leavenworth a few days before the murder, which I havesome reason to believe produced a marked effect upon the household.” And, folding his arms, the secretary stood quietly awaiting my nextquestion.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I opened it by mistake. I was in the habit of reading Mr. Leavenworth’sbusiness letters, and this, being from one unaccustomed to write to him,lacked the mark which usually distinguished those of a private nature.”
“And you saw the name of Clavering?”
“I did; Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
“Did you read the letter?” I was trembling now.
The secretary did not reply.
“Mr. Harwell,” I reiterated, “this is no time for false delicacy. Didyou read that letter?”
“I did; but hastily, and with an agitated conscience.”
“You can, however, recall its general drift?”
“It was some complaint in regard to the treatment received by him at thehand of one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces. I remember nothing more.”
“Which niece?”
“There were no names mentioned.”
“But you inferred----”
“No, sir; that is just what I did not do. I forced myself to forget thewhole thing.”
“And yet you say it produced an effect upon the family?”
“I can see now that it did. None of them have ever appeared quite thesame as before.”
“Mr. Harwell,” I gravely continued; “when you were questioned as to thereceipt of any letter by Mr. Leavenworth, which might seem in any mannerto be connected with this tragedy, you denied having seen any such; howwas that?”
“Mr. Raymond, you are a gentleman; have a chivalrous regard for theladies; do you think you could have brought yourself (even if in yoursecret heart you considered some such result possible, which I am notready to say I did) to mention, at such a time as that, the receipt ofa letter complaining of the treatment received from one of Mr.Leavenworth’s nieces, as a suspicious circumstance worthy to be takeninto account by a coroner’s jury?”
I shook my head. I could not but acknowledge the impossibility.
“What reason had I for thinking that letter was one of importance? Iknew of no Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
“And yet you seemed to think it was. I remember you hesitated beforereplying.”
“It is true; but not as I should hesitate now, if the question were putto me again.”
Silence followed these words, during which I took two or three turns upand down the room.
“This is all very fanciful,” I remarked, laughing in the vain endeavorto throw off the superstitious horror his words had awakened.
He bent his head in assent. “I know it,” said he. “I am practical myselfin broad daylight, and recognize the flimsiness of an accusation basedupon a poor, hardworking secretary’s dream, as plainly as you do. Thisis the reason I desired to keep from speaking at all; but, Mr. Raymond,” and his long, thin hand fell upon my arm with a nervous intensity whichgave me almost the sensation of an electrical shock, “if the murderer ofMr. Leavenworth is ever brought to confess his deed, mark my words, hewill prove to be the man of my dream.”
I drew a long breath. For a moment his belief was mine; and a mingledsensation of relief and exquisite pain swept over me as I thought of thepossibility of Eleanore being exonerated from crime only to be plungedinto fresh humiliation and deeper abysses of suffering.
“He stalks the streets in freedom now,” the secretary went on, as if tohimself; “even dares to enter the house he has so wofully desecrated;but justice is justice and, sooner or later, something will transpirewhich will prove to you that a premonition so wonderful as thatI received had its significance; that the voice calling ‘Trueman,Trueman,’ was something more than the empty utterances of an excitedbrain; that it was Justice itself, calling attention to the guilty.”
I looked at him in wonder. Did he know that the officers of justice werealready upon the track of this same Clavering? I judged not from hislook, but felt an inclination to make an effort and see.
“You speak with strange conviction,” I said; “but in all probabilityyou are doomed to be disappointed. So far as we know, Mr. Clavering is arespectable man.”
He lifted his hat from the table. “I do not propose to denounce him;I do not even propose to speak his name again. I am not a fool, Mr.Raymond. I have spoken thus plainly to you only in explanation of lastnight’s most unfortunate betrayal; and while I trust you will regardwhat I have told you as confidential, I also hope you will give mecredit for behaving, on the whole, as well as could be expected underthe circumstances.” And he held out his hand.
“Certainly,” I replied as I took it. Then, with a sudden impulse totest the accuracy of this story of his, inquired if he had any means ofverifying his statement of having had this dream at the time spoken of:that is, before the murder and not afterwards.
“No, sir; I know myself that I had it the night previous to that of Mr.Lea
venworth’s death; but I cannot prove the fact.”
“Did not speak of it next morning to any one?”
“O no, sir; I was scarcely in a position to do so.”
“Yet it must have had a great effect upon you, unfitting you forwork----”
“Nothing unfits me for work,” was his bitter reply.
“I believe you,” I returned, remembering his diligence for the last fewdays. “But you must at least have shown some traces of having passed anuncomfortable night. Have you no recollection of any one speaking to youin regard to your appearance the next morning?”
“Mr. Leavenworth may have done so; no one else would be likely tonotice.” There was sadness in the tone, and my own voice softened as Isaid:
“I shall not be at the house to-night, Mr. Harwell; nor do I know whenI shall return there. Personal considerations keep me from MissLeavenworth’s presence for a time, and I look to you to carry on thework we have undertaken without my assistance, unless you can bring ithere----”
“I can do that.”
“I shall expect you, then, to-morrow evening.”
“Very well, sir”; and he was going, when a sudden thought seemed tostrike him. “Sir,” he said, “as we do not wish to return to this subjectagain, and as I have a natural curiosity in regard to this man, wouldyou object to telling me what you know of him? You believe him to be arespectable man; are you acquainted with him, Mr. Raymond?”
“I know his name, and where he resides.”
“And where is that?”
“In London; he is an Englishman.”
“Ah!” he murmured, with a strange intonation.
“Why do you say that?”
He bit his lip, looked down, then up, finally fixed his eyes on mine,and returned, with marked emphasis: “I used an exclamation, sir, becauseI was startled.”
“Startled?”
“Yes; you say he is an Englishman. Mr. Leavenworth had the most bitterantagonism to the English. It was one of his marked peculiarities. Hewould never be introduced to one if he could help it.”
It was my turn to look thoughtful.
“You know,” continued the secretary, “that Mr. Leavenworth was a man whocarried his prejudices to the extreme. He had a hatred for the Englishrace amounting to mania. If he had known the letter I have mentioned wasfrom an Englishman, I doubt if he would have read it. He used to say hewould sooner see a daughter of his dead before him than married to anEnglishman.”
I turned hastily aside to hide the effect which this announcement madeupon me.
“You think I am exaggerating,” he said. “Ask Mr. Veeley.”
“No,” I replied. “I have no reason for thinking so.”
“He had doubtless some cause for hating the English with which we areunacquainted,” pursued the secretary. “He spent some time in Liverpoolwhen young, and had, of course, many opportunities for studying theirmanners and character.” And the secretary made another movement, as ifto leave.
But it was my turn to detain him now. “Mr. Harwell, you must excuse me.You have been on familiar terms with Mr. Leavenworth for so long. Do youthink that, in the case of one of his nieces, say, desiring to marry agentleman of that nationality, his prejudice was sufficient to cause himto absolutely forbid the match?”
“I do.”
I moved back. I had learned what I wished, and saw no further reason forprolonging the interview.