One of My Sons

  III

  WHAT A DOOR HID

  It was a startling declaration, and the horror it called up wasvisible on every face. But the surprise which should have accompaniedit was lacking, and however quickly the three nearest the deceasedman's heart strove to cover up their first instinctive acceptance of afact so suggestive of hidden troubles, I could not but see that theprosperous stockbroker had had griefs, anxieties, or hopes to whichthis sudden end seemed to those who knew him best, a natural sequence.

  I began to regret the chance which had brought me into such closerelations with this family, and felt the closed envelope in my pocketweighing on my breast like lead.

  Meanwhile, he whom they called Leighton was saying in a highlystrained tone, which he vainly endeavoured to make natural:

  "May not Dr. Bennett be mistaken? There is the chloral bottle on theshelf over the fireplace. We are not in the habit of seeing it here.Does not its presence in this room argue that father felt the need ofit. Prussic acid can only be obtained through a doctor, and I amconfident you never prescribed him such a dangerous drug, Dr.Bennett."

  "No, for it is totally inapplicable to his case. But you will findthat he died from taking it, Leighton; all his symptoms show it, andwe have only to determine now whether he took it in the chloral, inthe glass of wine he drank, or by means of some other agency not yetdiscovered. I regret to speak so unequivocally, but I never mincematters where my profession is concerned. And, besides, the coronerwould not show you this consideration even if I did. The fact is toopatent."

  They were now inside the study and I did not hear Leighton's reply,but when they all came out again, I saw that the latter had not onlyaccepted the situation, but that he had been informed of the part Ihad been called upon to play in this matter. This was apparent fromthe way he greeted me, and the questions he put concerning his child'sconduct during the last terrible moments of her grandfather's life.

  As he did this I had a fuller opportunity for studying his face. Itwas the most melancholy one I had ever seen, and what struck me asbeing worthy of remark was that this melancholy seemed a settled oneand quite apart from the present grief and disturbance. Yet he hadbeen heavily shaken by his father's sudden if not inexplicable death,or appeared to be, which possibly is not quite the same thing.

  "I do not understand why my father should have called anyone in fromthe street to witness his sufferings while he had sons in the house,"he courteously remarked; "but having felt this necessity and havingsucceeded in obtaining such help, I am glad that chance favoured himand us with a person of such apparent good feeling as yourself."

  I scarcely heeded him. I was pondering over the letter and whether Ishould pass it over to this man. But instinct withheld me, or rathermy lawyer-like habits which happily acted as a restraint upon mynatural impulse. I had received no intimation as yet that it wasintended for any of Mr. Gillespie's sons.

  "You will oblige us by waiting for the coroner?" he now went on. "Hehas telephoned that he will be here immediately."

  "I shall wait," I said. And it was by his invitation I now steppedinto the parlour.

  A quarter of an hour, a half-hour, passed before the front door bellrang again. From the hubbub which ensued, I knew that the man wewished for had arrived, but it was a long while before he entered theroom in which I sat, during which tedious interim I had to possess mysoul in patience. But at last I heard his step on the threshold, andlooking up, I beheld a spare, earnest man who approached me with greatseriousness, and sat down near enough to indulge in confidential talkwithout running the risk of being heard by anyone.

  "You are Mr. Outhwaite," he began. "I have heard of your firm and havemore than once seen Mr. Robinson. Had you any acquaintance with Mr.Gillespie or his family before to-night?"

  "No, sir; Mr. Gillespie was known to me only by reputation."

  "Then it was pure chance which led you to be a witness of his finalmoments?"

  "Pure chance, if we do not believe in Providence," I returned.

  He surveyed me quite intently.

  "Relate what passed."

  Now here was a dilemma. Did my duty exact a revelation of the factswhich I had hitherto felt obliged to keep even from the deceased man'ssons? It was a question not to be decided in a moment, so I made up mymind to be guided by developments, and confined my narration to arecapitulation of my former plain account of Mr. Gillespie's lastmoments. This narrative I made as simple as I could. When I hadfinished he asked if Mr. Gillespie's grandchild had been present atthe moment her grandfather expired.

  I answered that she had been clinging to him all the time he remainederect, but shrank back and ran out of the room the moment he gavesigns of falling to the floor.

  "Did he speak to her?"

  "Not that I heard."

  "Did he say anything?"

  "A few inarticulate words, no names."

  "He did not ask for his sons?"

  "No."

  "For none of them?"

  "No."

  "How came the alarm to be spread?"

  "I went up with the child and called the young men down."

  Coroner Frisbie stroked his chin, still looking at me intently.

  "Was there an empty phial or a piece of paper lying about on thestudy-table or on the floor when you went in?"

  I started.

  "Paper?" I repeated. "What kind of paper?"

  "Such as is used by druggists and physicians in rolling up theirprescriptions. The prussic acid which Mr. Gillespie has evidentlytaken must have been bought in liquid form. The bottle which held itshould be lying about and possibly the paper in which it was wrapped.That is, if this poison was swallowed intentionally by Mr. Gillespie."

  I recalled the exact look of the scrap of paper I had put into anenvelope at this gentleman's request. It was not such a one as is usedby druggists in wrapping up parcels, and I felt my breast grow lighterby a degree.

  "I did not see any such paper."

  "Where is the little girl?" he now queried. "I must see her."

  I had made up my mind to one thing. If the child said that I had beengiven a paper by her grandfather I would acknowledge it and producethe envelope. But if she had forgotten the fact or had been toofrightened to notice it, I would preserve silence in regard to it alittle longer, in the hope of being shown a way out of my difficulty.

  I was therefore not sorry to hear him ask for the little girl.

  "I take it that you are not anxious to remain here," he now remarked."If you will give me your address and hold yourself in readiness toobey my summons, I can excuse you for the night."

  For answer I held out my card, and seeing that I had no further excusefor lingering, was moving toward the door, when Dr. Bennett camehurriedly in.

  "I have found something--" he began, and then paused with a quickglance in my direction, as if questioning the propriety of proceedingfurther with his discovery in my presence.

  The coroner showed no such hesitation. Hastening to meet the oldfamily physician, he said:

  "You have found the bottle or only the paper in which the bottle waswrapped?"

  Dr. Bennett drew him aside, and I saw what looked like a small corkpass between them.

  "Was it in Mr. Gillespie's study you found this?" queried the coroner."I thought I had thoroughly searched the study."

  The answer was uttered in the lowest of low tones, but I had nodifficulty in catching the gist of what he said.

  "It was on the dining-room floor, under the edge of the rug. A verysuspicious fact, don't you think so? Mr. Gillespie would never havethrust it there. Some other person--don't know who--not say anythingyet--shrink from seeing the police in this house."

  The two doctors interchanged a look which I surprised in the largemirror opposite. But I gave no sign of having seen anythingextraordinary. I felt too keenly the delicacy of my own position. Nextminute we were all walking towards the hall.

  "Silence!" came in admonitory tones from the coroner as we paused fora moment on the
threshold. "Let us not disturb the young men anyfurther than is necessary to-night."

  At that moment we heard the cry:

  "Where is Miss Meredith? Has anyone seen Miss Meredith? I cannot findher in any of the rooms upstairs."

  "Hope! Hope! Where are you, Hope?" called out another voice, chargedwith feeling.

  Hope! Did my heart beat faster as this name, destined to play such apart in my future life, was sounded in my ears? I cannot say. Thatheart has beat often enough since at the utterance of this sweetmonosyllable, but at that time--well, I think I was too interested inthe alarm which this cry instantly raised, to note my personalsensations. From one end of the house to the other, men and womenrushed from room to room, and I heard not only this name called out,but that of the child, which it seems was Claire.

  "Cannot the child be found either?" I inquired impetuously of thecoroner who still lingered in the lower hall.

  "It seems not. Who is Miss Meredith?"

  It was the old butler who answered him.

  "She is the young gentlemen's cousin," said he. "She was a greatfavourite with Mr. Gillespie, and lived here like a daughter. Theywill find her somewhere upstairs."

  But the prophecy proved to be a false one. Slowly the servants camecreeping down whispering among themselves and looking very muchfrightened. Then we saw George descend shaking his head impatiently,and then Leighton, wild with an anxiety for which he had no name.

  "She must be here!" he cried, thinking only of his child. "Claire!Claire!" And he began running through the great drawing-room where weknew she could not be.

  Alfred had remained above.

  Suddenly I recalled a fact connected with my own visit upstairs.

  "Have they been up to the fourth floor?" I inquired of Dr. Bennett."When I was in Mr. Alfred Gillespie's room on the third floor, Iremember hearing someone rush through the hall. I supposed at thattime it was someone going below. But it may have been someone goinghigher up."

  "Let us go see!" the doctor suggested.

  I followed him without a thought. As we passed Alfred's door, we couldsee him standing in the middle of the room in a state of rage whichmade him oblivious of our approach. He was tearing into morsels apiece of paper which had the same appearance as the one he hadformerly thrust into the waste-paper basket, and as he tore, hemuttered words amongst which I caught the following:

  "Why should I write? If she loved me she would wait. She would not runaway now, unless he----"

  Dr. Bennett, with his finger on his lip, slid by. I hastened afterhim, and together we mounted the last flight.

  We were now in a portion of the building as new to the doctor as tomyself. When we reached the top of the stairs we found the whole placedark save for a little glimmer towards the front which proved to be agas-jet burning low in one of the attic rooms.

  Turning this up we looked around, opened a closet-door or two, thenwalked into the back, where the doctor struck a match. Two closeddoors met our eyes. One of these upon being opened disclosed awell-furnished room, similar in appearance to those in front, theother an unfinished garret half filled with trunks and boxes.

  "Well!" he ejaculated, as the match went out upon this scene. "This isa mystery."

  "Hark!" I urged; "our ears rather than our eyes must do service inthis emergency."

  He took the hint, and together we listened till some sound--was it thebreathing of a person concealed near us?--caused us both to start andthe doctor to light another match.

  This time we saw something, but the match went out before we coulddetermine what.

  Annoyed by these momentary flashes of light, I dashed back into one ofthe rooms we had left, and catching up a candle I had previously notedthere, lit it at the gas-jet, and proceeded back with it to thisgarret room.

  Instantly a sight full of the strangest interest revealed itself.

  Crouched against the farther wall, with wide-extended eyes fixed fullupon us, we perceived a woman, upon whose pallid face and risen locksterror or some other equally emphatic passion had so fixed its impressthat she looked like some affrighted creature balked in flight by somedreadful, some unprecedented sight which held her spell-bound. Thatshe was beautiful, in that touching, feminine way which goes to theheart, did not lessen the effect of her appearance, nor were weunmoved by the fact that the child for whom the house had just beenransacked lay curled up and asleep at her feet.

  "Who is it?" I asked. "Miss Meredith?"

  The doctor pressed my hand. "We must be careful," he whispered. "Sheseems on the verge of delirium."

  "The child shows no fear," I murmured.

  Meanwhile the doctor was approaching the new object of his care.

  "Why choose so cold a place?" he asked, smiling on the young girl whostill clung, as if fastened, to the wall against which she had drawnherself. "Claire will catch cold; had you not better come downstairs?"

  With a start she looked down at the little one resting at her feet,and her eyes showed a sudden intelligence.

  "How did she come here?" she asked. "I did not call her."

  "And how came you to be here?" he smiled. "Your white dress looks outof place in this garret."

  She lifted herself straight up, with her back to the wall. Claire, whowas thus dislodged from the place at her feet woke, and began to cry.

  "I heard that Mr. Gillespie was dead," came from lips so stiff withfright or some other deep emotion that I wondered they could form thewords. "I loved Mr. Gillespie, and I brought my grief here."

  "CROUCHED AGAINST THE FARTHER WALL, WITH WIDE-EXTENDEDEYES FIXED FULL UPON US"]

  She was still standing pressed against the wall, her hands behind her;and disguise the fact as I would, I could see that her teeth werechattering with something more than cold, or even such fear as mightfollow the sudden death of a near friend and benefactor.

  "Will you not come below?" urged the doctor, taking up Claire to hisfatherly breast.

  "Never!" her lips seemed to cry; but I heard no sound, and when thedoctor, giving me the child, threw his arm about her and drew heraway, she yielded pliantly enough, though with a steady look into hisface I did not understand then nor for a long time afterwards.

  At the stair-head we met Alfred. Perhaps he had heard us go up,perhaps he had simply thought of searching the attic himself. Hisrecoil and the exclamation he made were simultaneous.

  "You have found her!" was his cry, a cry which did not refer to thechild. Then in reproachful tones: "Hope, why should you give us such ascare? Had we not enough to face without having our hearts wrung withterror for you?"

  Her answer was a murmur. With the first moment of encounter with thisman her face had become a mask.