The Leavenworth Case

  IX. A DISCOVERY

  “His rolling Eies did never rest in place, But walkte each where for feare of hid mischance, Holding a lattis still before his Pace, Through which he still did peep as forward he did pace.”

  Faerie Queene.

  MISS LEAVENWORTH, who appeared to have lingered from a vague terrorof everything and everybody in the house not under her immediateobservation, shrank from my side the moment she found herself leftcomparatively alone, and, retiring to a distant corner, gave herselfup to grief. Turning my attention, therefore, in the direction of Mr.Gryce, I found that person busily engaged in counting his own fingerswith a troubled expression upon his countenance, which may or may nothave been the result of that arduous employment. But, at my approach,satisfied perhaps that he possessed no more than the requisite number,he dropped his hands and greeted me with a faint smile which was,considering all things, too suggestive to be pleasant.

  “Well,” said I, taking my stand before him, “I cannot blame you. You hada right to do as you thought best; but how had you the heart? Was shenot sufficiently compromised without your bringing out that wretchedhandkerchief, which she may or may not have dropped in that room,but whose presence there, soiled though it was with pistol grease, iscertainly no proof that she herself was connected with this murder?”

  “Mr. Raymond,” he returned, “I have been detailed as police officer anddetective to look after this case, and I propose to do it.”

  “Of course,” I hastened to reply. “I am the last man to wish you toshirk your duty; but you cannot have the temerity to declare that thisyoung and tender creature can by any possibility be considered as at alllikely to be implicated in a crime so monstrous and unnatural. The mereassertion of another woman’s suspicions on the subject ought not----”

  But here Mr. Gryce interrupted me. “You talk when your attention shouldbe directed to more important matters. That other woman, as you arepleased to designate the fairest ornament of New York society, sits overthere in tears; go and comfort her.”

  Looking at him in amazement, I hesitated to comply; but, seeing he wasin earnest, crossed to Mary Leavenworth and sat down by her side.She was weeping, but in a slow, unconscious way, as if grief had beenmastered by fear. The fear was too undisguised and the grief too naturalfor me to doubt the genuineness of either.

  “Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “any attempt at consolation on the part of astranger must seem at a time like this the most bitter of mockeries; butdo try and consider that circumstantial evidence is not always absoluteproof.”

  Starting with surprise, she turned her eyes upon me with a slow,comprehensive gaze wonderful to see in orbs so tender and womanly.

  “No,” she repeated; “circumstantial evidence is not absolute proof, butEleanore does not know this. She is so intense; she cannot see but onething at a time. She has been running her head into a noose, and oh,--” Pausing, she clutched my arm with a passionate grasp: “Do you thinkthere is any danger? Will they--” She could not go on.

  “Miss Leavenworth,” I protested, with a warning look toward thedetective, “what do you mean?”

  Like a flash, her glance followed mine, an instant change taking placein her bearing.

  “Your cousin may be intense,” I went on, as if nothing had occurred;“but I do not know to what you refer when you say she has been runningher head into a noose.”

  “I mean this,” she firmly returned: “that, wittingly or unwittingly, shehas so parried and met the questions which have been put to her in thisroom that any one listening to her would give her the credit ofknowing more than she ought to of this horrible affair. She acts”--Marywhispered, but not so low but that every word could be distinctlyheard in all quarters of the room--“as if she were anxious to concealsomething. But she is not; I am sure she is not. Eleanore and I are notgood friends; but all the world can never make me believe she has anymore knowledge of this murder than I have. Won’t somebody tell her,then--won’t you--that her manner is a mistake; that it is calculated toarouse suspicion; that it has already done so? And oh, don’t forget toadd”--her voice sinking to a decided whisper now--“what you have justrepeated to me: that circumstantial evidence is not always absoluteproof.”

  I surveyed her with great astonishment. What an actress this woman was!

  “You request me to tell her this,” said I. “Wouldn’t it be better foryou to speak to her yourself?”

  “Eleanore and I hold little or no confidential communication,” shereplied.

  I could easily believe this, and yet I was puzzled. Indeed, there wassomething incomprehensible in her whole manner. Not knowing what elseto say, I remarked, “That is unfortunate. She ought to be told that thestraightforward course is the best by all means.”

  Mary Leavenworth only wept. “Oh, why has this awful trouble come to me,who have always been so happy before!”

  “Perhaps for the very reason that you have always been so happy.”

  “It was not enough for dear uncle to die in this horrible manner; butshe, my own cousin, had to----”

  I touched her arm, and the action seemed to recall her to herself.Stopping short, she bit her lip.

  “Miss Leavenworth,” I whispered, “you should hope for the best. Besides,I honestly believe you to be disturbing yourself unnecessarily. Ifnothing fresh transpires, a mere prevarication or so of your cousin’swill not suffice to injure her.”

  I said this to see if she had any reason to doubt the future. I wasamply rewarded.

  “Anything fresh? How could there be anything fresh, when she isperfectly innocent?”

  Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike her. Wheeling round in her seattill her lovely, perfumed wrapper brushed my knee, she asked: “Whydidn’t they ask me more questions? I could have told them Eleanore neverleft her room last night.”

  “You could?” What was I to think of this woman?

  “Yes; my room is nearer the head of the stairs than hers; if she hadpassed my door, I should have heard her, don’t you see?”

  Ah, that was all.

  “That does not follow,” I answered sadly. “Can you give no otherreason?”

  “I would say whatever was necessary,” she whispered.

  I started back. Yes, this woman would lie now to save her cousin; hadlied during the inquest. But then I felt grateful, and now I was simplyhorrified.

  “Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “nothing can justify one in violating thedictates of his own conscience, not even the safety of one we do notaltogether love.”

  “No?” she returned; and her lip took a tremulous curve, the lovely bosomheaved, and she softly looked away.

  If Eleanore’s beauty had made less of an impression on my fancy, or herfrightful situation awakened less anxiety in my breast, I should havebeen a lost man from that moment.

  “I did not mean to do anything very wrong,” Miss Leavenworth continued.“Do not think too badly of me.”

  “No, no,” said I; and there is not a man living who would not have saidthe same in my place.

  What more might have passed between us on this subject I cannot say, forjust then the door opened and a man entered whom I recognized as the onewho had followed Eleanore Leavenworth out, a short time before.

  “Mr. Gryce,” said he, pausing just inside the door; “a word if youplease.”

  The detective nodded, but did not hasten towards him; instead of that,he walked deliberately away to the other end of the room, where helifted the lid of an inkstand he saw there, muttered some unintelligiblewords into it, and speedily shut it again. Immediately the uncanny fancyseized me that if I should leap to that inkstand, open it and peer in,I should surprise and capture the bit of confidence he had intrustedto it. But I restrained my foolish impulse, and contented myself withnoting the subdued look of respect with which the gaunt subordinatewatched the approach of his superior.

  “Well?” inquired the latter as he reached him: “what now?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders,
and drew his principal through the opendoor. Once in the hall their voices sank to a whisper, and as theirbacks only were visible, I turned to look at my companion. She was palebut composed.

  “Has he come from Eleanore?”

  “I do not know; I fear so. Miss Leavenworth,” I proceeded, “can it bepossible that your cousin has anything in her possession she desires toconceal?”

  “Then you think she is trying to conceal something?”

  “I do not say so. But there was considerable talk about a paper----”

  “They will never find any paper or anything else suspicious inEleanore’s possession,” Mary interrupted. “In the first place, therewas no paper of importance enough”--I saw Mr. Gryce’s form suddenlystiffen--“for any one to attempt its abstraction and concealment.”

  “Can you be sure of that? May not your cousin be acquainted withsomething----”

  “There was nothing to be acquainted with, Mr. Raymond. We lived the mostmethodical and domestic of lives. I cannot understand, for my part, whyso much should be made out of this. My uncle undoubtedly came to hisdeath by the hand of some intended burglar. That nothing was stolen fromthe house is no proof that a burglar never entered it. As for the doorsand windows being locked, will you take the word of an Irish servantas infallible upon such an important point? I cannot. I believe theassassin to be one of a gang who make their living by breaking intohouses, and if you cannot honestly agree with me, do try and considersuch an explanation as possible; if not for the sake of the familycredit, why then”--and she turned her face with all its fair beauty uponmine, eyes, cheeks, mouth all so exquisite and winsome--“why then, formine.”

  Instantly Mr. Gryce turned towards us. “Mr. Raymond, will you be kindenough to step this way?”

  Glad to escape from my present position, I hastily obeyed.

  “What has happened?” I asked.

  “We propose to take you into our confidence,” was the easy response.“Mr. Raymond, Mr. Fobbs.”

  I bowed to the man I saw before me, and stood uneasily waiting. Anxiousas I was to know what we really had to fear, I still intuitively shrankfrom any communication with one whom I looked upon as a spy.

  “A matter of some importance,” resumed the detective. “It is notnecessary for me to remind you that it is in confidence, is it?”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. Mr. Fobbs you may proceed.”

  Instantly the whole appearance of the man Fobbs changed. Assuming anexpression of lofty importance, he laid his large hand outspread uponhis heart and commenced.

  “Detailed by Mr. Gryce to watch the movements of Miss EleanoreLeavenworth, I left this room upon her departure from it, and followedher and the two servants who conducted her up-stairs to her ownapartment. Once there---”

  Mr. Gryce interrupted him. “Once there? where?”

  “Her own room, sir.”

  “Where situated?”

  “At the head of the stairs.”

  “That is not her room. Go on.”

  “Not her room? Then it _was_ the fire she was after!” he cried, clappinghimself on the knee.

  “The fire?”

  “Excuse me; I am ahead of my story. She did not appear to notice memuch, though I was right behind her. It was not until she had reachedthe door of this room--which was not her room!” he interpolateddramatically, “and turned to dismiss her servants, that she seemedconscious of having been followed. Eying me then with an air ofgreat dignity, quickly eclipsed, however, by an expression of patientendurance, she walked in, leaving the door open behind her in acourteous way I cannot sufficiently commend.”

  I could not help frowning. Honest as the man appeared, this wasevidently anything but a sore subject with him. Observing me frown, hesoftened his manner.

  “Not seeing any other way of keeping her under my eye, except byentering the room, I followed her in, and took a seat in a remotecorner. She flashed one look at me as I did so, and commenced pacing thefloor in a restless kind of way I’m not altogether unused to. At lastshe stopped abruptly, right in the middle of the room. ‘Get me a glassof water!’ she gasped; ‘I’m faint again--quick! on the stand in thecorner.’ Now in order to get that glass of water it was necessary for meto pass behind a dressing mirror that reached almost to the ceiling;and I naturally hesitated. But she turned and looked at me, and--Well,gentlemen, I think either of you would have hastened to do what sheasked; or at least”--with a doubtful look at Mr. Gryce--“have givenyour two ears for the privilege, even if you didn’t succumb to thetemptation.”

  “Well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, impatiently.

  “I am going on,” said he. “I stepped out of sight, then, for a moment;but it seemed long enough for her purpose; for when I emerged, glass inhand, she was kneeling at the grate full five feet from the spot whereshe had been standing, and was fumbling with the waist of her dress ina way to convince me she had something concealed there which she wasanxious to dispose of. I eyed her pretty closely as I handed her theglass of water, but she was gazing into the grate, and didn’t appear tonotice. Drinking barely a drop, she gave it back, and in another momentwas holding out her hands over the fire. ‘Oh, I am so cold!’ she cried,‘so cold.’ And I verily believe she was. At any rate, she shivered mostnaturally. But there were a few dying embers in the grate, and whenI saw her thrust her hand again into the folds of her dress I becamedistrustful of her intentions and, drawing a step nearer, looked overher shoulder, when I distinctly saw her drop something into thegrate that clinked as it fell. Suspecting what it was, I was about tointerfere, when she sprang to her feet, seized the scuttle of coal thatwas upon the hearth, and with one move emptied the whole upon the dyingembers. ‘I want a fire,’ she cried, ‘a fire!’ ‘That is hardly the wayto make one,’ I returned, carefully taking the coal out with my hands,piece by piece, and putting it back into the scuttle, till--”

  “Till what?” I asked, seeing him and Mr. Gryce exchange a hurried look.

  “Till I found this!” opening his large hand, and showing me _abroken-handled key._