Persons Unknown

  CHAPTER II

  CORPSE CANDLES IN THE NIGHT: MRS. DEUTCH'S STORY

  The monstrous hope died almost in the pang that gave it birth. The ladywho leaned out to him from the cab, putting aside her heavy veil, showedhim the troubled countenance of Henrietta Deutch.

  It came to him even then that he had arrived at the turning of a corner.So that he was surprised when she said to him, "Oh, sir, where have youbeen? Sir, sir, have you any news?"

  She had none, then!

  "Hours have I waited and waited at your rooms! There the young Inghamsends me word that you are here. We have hoped always you might be withher! Oh, dear heaven! You know nothing, young sir? Nothing at all?"

  "Nothing."

  She drew back. "Tell me only this. Are you--for her, Mr. Herrick? Or_rid_ of her?"

  Herrick replied, "Well, what do you think?"

  She, whom grief somehow became and illumined like her native andrevealing element, peered into his haggard face, worn and soiled andsharpened and grim. "Then, young gentleman, I am asked by Mrs. Hope ifof her daughter you have any word or trace, do not give it to thepolice."

  What? Herrick felt something cold breaking about the roots of his hair.Then this clinging, this devoted mother did not want her daughterfound!--"She said nothing more than this?"

  "Nothing more."

  He digested it in silence and it was with a heavy gathering dread thatwhen she asked him to drive home with her he put himself in her hands.Then, in what seemed a single convulsion of the storm, the taxi rockedto a standstill before the Deutch apartment.

  As Mrs. Deutch sprung on the light their eyes vainly quested for someenvelope beneath the door; she went out again to the mail-box, to theelevator, inquiring for a message. Then the woman and the young man, notknowing where to turn next, sat down amid the emptiness of those wallswhich had so often held Christina. Here, more than ever, everythingsaid, "She must be just round the corner! Where is she? Where can shebe?" And still Herrick knew that Mrs. Hope's message was but a part ofwhat he had to hear and that his hostess still groped for terms in whichto tell the rest.

  The pause lay heavy between them. Then, "Young gentleman," said Mrs.Deutch, "you love my Christina, is it not so?"

  "Don't make me laugh!" Herrick desolately replied.

  She rose. "Then I will say to you what I have long had on my heart." Sheopened the door. The halls were empty. She turned the key in the lock,and glanced at the closed windows; sitting close to him again she laid akind hand on his. "Mr. Herrick, there is something wrong with HermannDeutch. There is something in his mind to make him crazy. And in thelast days--say it is two or three--it makes him crazier all the while.Yes, this is so. It is fear. And something that he will not tell. Heknows something, and it makes him afraid. It has been so since he wentup to the room of Mr. Ingham on _that_ night."

  Herrick looked down at her hand and then he put his other hand atop ofboth and gave hers a little pressure. "Mrs. Deutch, what is it that youknow about that night? Don't be afraid of me. Don't be afraid for me.What is it?"

  "Oh, my young sir, I am ready to tell you. Yesterday, no. But to-day,when all the world has seen the shadow-picture, yes--why not? On thatnight till very late I was away. For I had a friend with a sick baby,and nurses one can not always pay. When I came to the basement gatethere was in our flat no lights. But when I went in there was myhusband, with his coat over his shirt, standing, listening, in the dark.And he said, 'Christina is upstairs!'--very cross and ugly. I said, 'AtIngham's? Why, what for?--Why,' I said, before he could tell it to me,'are you out of your mind that you should let her go up there with thatman at midnight?' He said, 'Tell me the one thing. How would you haveprevented her from going up?'"

  They smiled at one another, ruefully, as at an evocation of Christina.

  "'Oh, my God!' he cries out. 'There is going to be trouble! Mr. Denny,he has found out why she quarreled with that Ingham, yesterday. She sayshe will kill him. She wants that Ingham should go away.'"

  "Do you know why they did quarrel?"

  "No, neither of us. Never at all.--But then, I started to go up to her,by the freight elevator as he had taken her. Down that back hall we didnot hear the shot. But the telephone made us halt. Joe told us."

  The clasp of Herrick's hand lent her its reassurance and she went on.

  "My husband was all at once like a man in a fit. He seemed to have nohead. He is not to say fearful, but he is the way men are. 'Go!' I said,'Hasten! It may be that it is he who himself shot!' And this gave himheart to go upstairs. Then comes to me Christina, slipping along fromthe back. I saw her white dress in the dark. And then she came into alittle patch of light and put her finger to her lips. I ran and pulledher in and shut the door. And I took her in my arms to warm her, forshe was made all of ice. 'Is he dead?' I asked her. And she shiveredout, 'Oh, a doctor! Get a doctor! Go up to him, Tante Deutch! Andhurry!' she would say, 'Hurry!' But, indeed, I thought there was enoughwith him. I asked her the one thing: 'Who did it?' She looked at me withher lips all wide apart. But not a name would she breathe out. Neitherthen nor to this day. And by that I knew it was Mr. Denny. For no manbut him would she be so still. Or not then, when you she did not yetknow."

  The color rushed into Herrick's face. But he could not speak and Mrs.Deutch went on. "I asked her not one thing more. I held her and tried togive her comfort, and at first she clung to me. She did not cry, but byand by she would sit alone, waiting, listening, and her nostrils madethemselves large. But at last it was only my husband who came, andChristina flew up and looked at him. And her eyes were big and wild withquestions, but still speak she would not. But my husband's face, Mr.Herrick, it was the face of him who has been struck, who has beenstabbed. Not then nor now do I know why that look he has. But it is notgone, it grows worse. He said only to Christina, looking straight ather, 'You left your scarf!' and his voice had in it a sound that washard. She looked at him a long time, and she said, 'Very well, then. Ishall know what to do!' At that moment, see you, she said to herself,'Me they will suspect, and not him!' And oh, my brave heart, her mindshe made up: 'So be it!' We kept her there till just before dawn. Andthen, because of her white lace dress, we put upon her my old black coatand hat, and both of us went home with her that she might be the lesslooked at. She let herself in, and all the rest you know. Only--"

  "Only that Deutch knows something more!"

  "And in all our life the one with the other, it is to me the one thinghe has not told. He is not a secret man. Mr. Herrick, here is whatmakes my heart heavy. This thing--it is something not good for ourlittle girl or he would have told it long ago! But to-day when shevanishes like that other girl who was her friend, he tells it to themother of Christina!"

  So, that was why! Herrick rose. No hour seemed too late, no scene toostrange. "Mrs. Hope will have to tell me!" he said.

  Henrietta Deutch rose, too, and put her hands on his two shoulders, asif at once to comfort and control. She said, "She is not here!"

  "Not where?"

  "Not in New York. She is gone. She has fled away that she need not tellat all. A train to some other city where there are boats for Europe--hesays it is best I know no more. He has gone West somewhere. You see, hemust have thought Christina, too, has fled. And what he told her mother,it has made them not dare to stay. My poor boy!" said Mrs. Deutch,tightening her hold of Herrick, "my poor boy!"

  "It's all right!" Herrick said, "It's all right! They're wrong, that'sall! They're wrong!"

  He moved up and down the room with long, excited strides. False lightsof misery--horrible corpse candles, leading their lying way toward thatwhich was bitterer than a new-made grave!--"Why, Denny did it! We allknow that! You've just said so, yourself!"

  "Ah, yes, truly. Surely! But--yet--"

  "What could Deutch have seen that we didn't see? We were all there--heonly went in with us. He may guess something--he can't know. What are weall afraid of?"

  "And yet," said Mrs. Deutch, "we are all afraid!"

  The
re was a brisk knock on the door. The newcomer smiled grimly at themfrom under a dripping hat brim. "I hope I'm welcome," he said. It wasthe District Attorney.

  He seemed to take his own appearance quite naturally and perhaps he wasnot averse to their being stunned by it. Standing with his back againstthe door he removed his hat and rubbed his hand over the wet mark acrosshis forehead. "Mrs. Deutch? As soon as my assistants get here I want totry an experiment in the Ingham apartment. You're rather anexceptional--janitress, madam! I think I'm going to ask you at once ifthere isn't some story connected with your marriage to Hermann Deutch.It looks as though there must have been scandal of some sort to accountfor it."

  The wife's glow of indignation maintained in silence an unruffleddignity. After awhile she said very slowly, "It is true. There was ascandal. It did make our marriage."

  Herrick's defensive frown faltered over a sense of something comingtrue. He knew, now, that he had always felt in that rich simplicity ofHenrietta Deutch a superiority somehow mysterious. Yes, he had alwaysseen that figure of domestic tranquillity as not wholly detached from adense background, somehow somber and mysterious.

  "Before you commit yourself on that point, just tell me who or whatenforces obedience with a triangular knife?--Let her alone!"

  For Mrs. Deutch had uttered a dreadful cry. It was low, but full ofincredible pain.

  Kane grinned triumphantly at Herrick. "Great heaven!" Herrick begged."What is it? What do you know?"

  "Here! Let's sit down and get at this! Mrs. Deutch, this is nearer thanyou think to our young lady. Best help me!"

  "Wait! A moment! No, what I know it is far from Christina. It happenedbefore she was born. But I will tell it. You shall judge."

  A long painful breath labored from her bosom. Then she spoke.

  "The scandal was this. My father died in prison. He was imprisoned forhis life. He was accused that he had killed a child."

  "Yes. Well, go on."

  "It begins long before, with my home in Germany. My father was amerchant of wines there, and he had in business relations with aNeapolitan family named Gabrielli. Their son, Emile, was my brother'sfriend.----Emile Gabrielli, Herrick's Italian lawyer, who had suggestedhis novel!"

  "I had but the one brother; for my mother was never strong and of herchildren only two grew up. We were very old fashioned; we lived incomfort but we had neither the new thoughts nor the new manners. Only mybrother was very advanced. He was so modern that when he looked upon us,even, it gave him exasperation. His friend was not of his faith. Butthat was so old-fashioned a thought it could not be at all mentionedbefore him. Well, then, I--too--for one thing perhaps we are all enoughadvanced! I came to love Emile. He loved me, too. And no one waspleased--not even my brother! But, after a long time, when they began tothink I, too, was falling ill like all the rest who died, we werebetrothed. And my father sold his business out and bought a vineyard inSicily, near to the estate of Emile's father, taking there my mother,whose health failed." Yes, with the bewildered indifference of his ownemotion, Herrick remembered the miniature of which the parents of thatsentimental gentleman had not been able to deprive him and recognizedthe changed original in Henrietta Deutch.

  "And one morning, walking far before breakfast, my father came upon adead little boy under a bush among some rocks. He brought it to our homein his arms; it was the baby of a poor farmer. It had been stabbedbetween the little shoulders. And there was a strange, three-corneredwound."

  She stopped and her hands stirred in her lap. But she clasped them andwent on. "My father was accused. Witnesses appeared against him withstrange tales. How could we make ourselves believed. I have told you howhe fared.

  "Do you think my brother could rest? He left his law in Germany; he cameto Sicily to fight, to hunt, to turn every stone. He was found like thechild. There was the same three-cornered mark."

  Kane gave a low whistle.

  "My mother and I, we were all alone." She smoothed out a little fold inher dress. "We had but the one message from the family of mybetrothed--that they withdrew the word of their son."

  Kane looked up quickly. "Yes?" he urged. "And then?"

  "Then came to us Hermann Deutch, who in the old days sold our wine. Hegave us escort to Naples, for my mother could go no farther, andreturned to attend our property. It was all in a ruin. The house hadburned. The cattle were gone. The laborers, too, nor would any return.The land none would buy. It was a place accursed. Our money was soon allgone." She paused, struggling with a sudden sob. "Hermann Deutch, tostay on he had lost his position, and he took one that was poor but inNaples, to be near me. He was all that came near us, who had word ordealing with us, while my mother grew too weak to live. When she, too,died, I married him. There was the scandal, sir, to account for mymarriage."

  She looked with deep, mild scorn at Kane. He remained imperturbable,while Herrick blushed for him.

  "There was one thing more. Mr. Deutch had spent much for us and beforehe could take me from Naples he must save something from what work hehad. One month came upon another in that terrible city and we had notgone. So the time came when I, like other women, thought to have achild. One night there were fire-works at the seashore and, to liven mymind, he made me go. As we came home there was a lonely bit of beach,though toward the cars. Out of the dark a voice called some words at usand something fell--it rang on a stone at our feet. They had thrown akind of dagger. Sirs," said Mrs. Deutch, "it was a triangular knife."

  Kane gave a cry with a strange note of satisfaction.

  But the tears were running down Mrs. Deutch's face. "The shock and thefear, they were too much for me. I never bore my child. God has nevergiven me a child to love except Christina. Tell me what all this can beto her?"

  "Do you know what aphasia is, Mrs. Deutch? And doesn't Mr. Deutchsuffer, occasionally, from a confusion of words?"

  "Not so much that it could be called by a name. Except that one time.Mr. Deutch has been all his life an excited man. And when that knifefell at my feet he was like one crazed. Then he forgot language, sir,and could not speak well for days. English and German he ran together,and what of French he knows with what Italian. Though he knew well whathe wished to say. And there is yet a smear in his brain where the wordsmay sometimes a little mix together. But--Christina?"

  "Mrs. Deutch, what did all this suggest to you? Of what did you thinkyou were the victims?"

  "Imagine yourselves that it was in a time of one of those outcriesagainst Jewish people which come like stupid fever as though nations,ignorantly, have eaten too much in strong sun. They needed to blame someone and, just then, in blaming us they could blame as they would."

  "H'm!--Do either of you know what happened at the Tombs this afternoon?"

  "The papers say that Mr. Denny has tried to kill himself."

  "Well, and very obliging of them. But, for a desperate man, he gavehimself rather queer wounds--scratches in the shoulder and arm. Theguard ran for the doctor and seems to be running yet. But where was oursuicide really cut to the bone? On the insides of his hands!"

  He had produced his sensation.

  "The guard was one of the new Italian contingent. And the blow aimed byan Italian, then, at the prisoner's heart and caught by his arm, wasgiven with a triangular knife!"

  They were all three on their feet.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Deutch, for my opening gallery play with you. I didn'tknow the tragedy I was running into. And our friend Herrick, here, andthe excellent Wheeler both tried to hoodwink me to-night when I askedthem straight questions. You're going to tell me the truth, I know, fornow I'm telling it to you. We got hold of your husband at thePennsylvania Station. Our intelligent police tried to frighten him withthe stab of Denny's triangular prick and they succeeded in putting himclean out of the game with aphasia--sensory aphasia. Wordblindness--speech or writing--heavens, what a gag! But don't be alarmed;fortunately it goes with a perfectly clear mind and it's only temporary.Only--time's everything! Well, it gave me the cue to come up here anddig
for some three-cornered mystery, blackmailing if procurable, inDeutch's life. Every District-Attorney his own detective! Yes--when it'sthis District-Attorney and this crime--Amen! Amen!--What is it?"

  "Oh, sir, the Italian!"

  "Yes?"

  "All morning one hung about the house of Mrs. Hope. Not coming near, butwatching, watching. A little, slim, soft, pretty man, in gentleman'sclothes. And it made her afraid."

  "Ah!"

  "Look here, the fellow in the park--the one with the message--he was anItalian! They all were!"

  "Exactly! Now--Mrs. Deutch, what was that old secret in the life of theHopes which turned the daughter into a cynic and a hater of socialconventions? Ah, come, please!"

  "Oh, sir, that was not a great thing!"

  "What was it?"

  "The sister of Mr. Hope found letters from him--old letters whenChristina was fourteen--written to her who was afterwards his wife. Themarriage had been so long forbidden, they were driven to see each otherso seldom, secretly, alone, and in strange places. Sir, they were inlove and they were very young."

  "This was not known till Christina was fourteen?"

  "No, sir."

  "Then her birth was, of course, legitimate."

  "Oh, of a surety!"

  "And this was all?"

  "All!"

  Herrick found himself listening with a strange excitement. He could nothave told why he had a sudden sense of having touched a spring. Thatbrief revelation of rash love--what was there in that? Such a thingmight loom large in a society novel; in the vast, mixed, multitudinouslife of men and women it was small enough. How could it arrest hisattention at a time like this? As though some small, mysterious,irrelevant key had been slipped into his hand! By the fleeing figure ofMrs. Hope? That amiable, vacant, and correct lady, how could any youngand long-dead folly of hers, reaching across a generation, strike downIngham and shatter a little world? "The little pitted speck"--What wasthat? What was he remembering now? "The wages of sin are more sinning!"Why, that was the motto he had taken for his novel? Sin? Nonsense! "Thelittle pitted speck in garnered fruit that, rotting inward,--"

  He woke himself roughly to hear Mrs. Deutch adding, "But they lived withthat hard woman, she and her mother, in poverty. And to have it naggedat and flaunted at the mother, it made her a morbid child. No more. Butnow, sir, the Italians?"

  "The Italians, indeed! Mrs. Deutch, as you owe them such a grief, as youbelieve in justice and the protection of the weak, as you have hadenough of government by the triangular knife, give me the name of yourChristina's Italian host!"