CHAPTER XVII
ONE WOMAN EXONERATED
Atkins and I were still at breakfast when, to my surprise, the detectivewas announced.
Atkins started to his feet.
"Any news of my wife?" he inquired, anxiously.
"None, I regret to say," answered Merritt.
I was still very much annoyed with him for having been so indiscreet andtactless in his interview with May Derwent, but he looked so dejectedthat my anger melted a little.
Atkins left us almost immediately, and started on his weary search. Whenhe was gone, I motioned Merritt to take his place.
"Have you had any breakfast?"
"Well, not much, I confess. I was in such a hurry to hear whetheranything had been heard of Mrs. Atkins or not that I only gulped down acup of coffee before coming here."
"You must have something at once," I urged. "Here's some beefsteak andI'll ring for the boy to----"
"Hold on a moment. Are you very sure the hatchet is buried?" heinquired, with a quizzical smile.
"For the time being, certainly," I laughed. "But I reserve the right ofdigging it up again unless things turn out as I wish them to."
A sad look came over his face.
"Ah, Doctor, things so rarely do turn out just as one wishes them to!"
"And now, Merritt," I demanded, when, breakfast being over, we hadlighted our cigars, "will you kindly tell me what made you talk as youdid yesterday to Miss Derwent?"
"I had a purpose."
"What possible good could it do to remind Miss Derwent of an incidentwhich all her friends are most anxious to have her forget?"
"It may do no good."
"Do you think you have the right to harrow a delicate girlunnecessarily?"
"Have a little patience, Doctor; I am not a brute!"
"And to talk of Mrs. Atkins as you did! Don't you know that her husbandespecially wishes to keep her flight secret?"
"I know. But Miss Derwent is no gossip."
"How do you know?"
"Hold on, Doctor; I'm not in the witness box yet. Can't you wait a dayor two?"
A commotion in the hall put an end to our conversation. Merritt and Ilooked at each other. Could that be Atkins's voice which we heard?Indeed it was; and the next minute the man himself appeared, beamingwith happiness, and tenderly supporting his wife. Pale and dishevelled,staggering slightly as she walked, she was but the wreck of her formerself. Her husband laid her on a divan and, kneeling down beside her,murmured indistinguishable words of remorse and love. She lay quitestill, her eyes closed, her breath coming in short gasps. I rushed offfor some brandy, which I forced down her throat. That revived her, andshe looked about her. When her eyes fell on the detective, she criedaloud and tried to struggle to her feet, but her husband put his armaround her and pulled her down again.
"Don't be afraid of him. He's all right."
"Really?"
She seemed but half reassured.
"You can trust me, I promise you," said the detective. "We are all quitesure you had nothing to do with the man's death. Only we must find outwho he was, and when and how he left you. If you will tell us all thatoccurred, it may help us to discover the criminal."
"Did you know, Larrie, that the man came to the building to see me?"
Atkins nodded.
"And you are not angry?"
"No, indeed! Tell us all about it."
"Oh, I will, I will! I could never be real happy with a secret betweenus." She paused a moment. "Well, his name was Allan Brown, and years andyears ago, when I was nothing but a silly girl, I fancied myself in lovewith him, and--and--I married him."
Atkins started back, and I feared for a moment that he would say or dosomething which neither of them would ever be able to forget. But thepast two days had taught him a lesson; the agony he had been through wasstill fresh in his mind; so, after a short struggle with himself, hetook his wife's hand in his, and gently pressed it. The pretty blush,the happy smile, the evident relief with which she looked at him musthave amply repaid him for his self-control.
"He treated me just shamefully," she continued, "and after three weeksof perfect misery, I left him. Pa at once began proceedings for adivorce, and, as Allan didn't contest it, it was granted me veryshortly. I resumed my maiden name, and went back to live with my father.My experience of married life had been so terrible that I couldn't bearever to think or speak of it. Years went by without anything occurringto remind me of my former husband, and I had almost succeeded inforgetting that there was such a person, when I met you, Larrie. Theidea of marrying again had always been so abhorrent to me that I didnot at first realise where we were drifting to, and you were such animpetuous wooer that I found myself engaged to you without having hadany previous intention of becoming so. Of course, I ought then to havetold you that I had been married before; there was nothing disgracefulin the fact, and you had a right to know it. Only, somehow, I justcouldn't bear to let the memory of that hateful experience sully my newhappiness, even for a moment; so I kept putting off telling you fromday to day till the time went by when I could have done so, easily andnaturally. At last, I said to myself: Why need Larrie ever know? Only afew of my old friends heard of my unfortunate marriage, and they werelittle likely ever to refer to the fact before you. It was even doubtfulif you ever would meet any of them, as we were to live in New York. So Idecided to hold my tongue. And all went well till one morning, a littleover a fortnight ago. I was walking carelessly down Broadway, stoppingoccasionally to look in at some shop window, when a man suddenly haltedin front of me. It was Allan Brown. I knew him at once, although hehad altered very much for the worse. I remembered him a tall, athleticyoung man with fine, clear-cut features and a ruddy brown complexion. Hewas always so fussy about his clothes, that we used to call him 'Wales.'And now his coat was unbrushed, his boots were unblackened. He hadgrown fat; his features had become bloated, and his skin had a pasty,unhealthy look. I was so taken aback at his suddenly appearing like aghost from my dead past, that I stood perfectly still for a minute.Then, as I realised the full extent of his impudence in daring to stopme, I tried to brush past him.
"'Not so fast, my dear, not so fast; surely a husband and wife, meetingafter such a long separation, should at least exchange a few wordsbefore drifting apart again.'
"'You are no husband of mine,' I cried.
"'Really,' he exclaimed, lifting his eyebrows carelessly; 'since whenhave I ceased to be your husband, I should like to know?'
"That just took my breath away.
"'For ten years, thank God,' said I.
"'Well, it's always good to thank God,' and his wicked eyes smiledmaliciously at me; 'only in this case he is receiving what he has notearned.'
"'What do you mean?' I asked.
"'That I have never ceased to be your husband, my dear.'
"'It's a lie, it's a lie!' I cried, but my knees began to tremble; 'I'vebeen divorced from you for the last ten years, and don't you dare topretend you don't know it.'
"'I needn't pretend at all, as it happens, for this is the first I everhave heard of it; and so, my dear wife, be very careful not to makeanother man happy on the strength of that divorce, for if you do, youmay find yourself in a very awkward position, to say the least of it.'
"I looked at him. His manner had all the quiet assurance I remembered sowell. Could what he said be true? Was it possible that my divorce wasnot legal? Father had said it was all right, but he might be mistaken,and, in that case, what should I do? My perturbation must have beenwritten very plainly on my face, for, after watching me a minute insilence, he continued. 'Ah, I see that is what you have done--and who ismy unlucky successor, if I may ask?'
"Now, I knew that he was capable of any deviltry, and, if he found outthat I had married again, it would be just like him to go to you, andmake a scene, just for the pleasure of annoying us. Besides, as I hadnot told you of my first marriage, it would be dreadful if you shouldhear of it from Allan Brown, of all people. You would never f
orgive mein that case, I felt sure. So I lifted my head; 'I have no husband,'said I.
"But he only smiled sarcastically at me, as he calmly lit a cigarette.
"'Prevarication, my dear lady, is evidently not your forte. Out withit. What is the name of the unhappy man? I only call him unhappy (_bienentendu_) because he is about to lose you.'
"'I'm not married,' I repeated.
"'I know you are married, and I mean to find out who to, if I have tofollow you all day.'
"I had been walking rapidly along, hoping to shake him off, but he hadpersistently kept pace with me. Now I stopped. A policeman was comingtowards us. In my desperation, I decided to ask him to arrest Allanfor annoying me. The latter guessed my intention, and said: 'Oh, no;I wouldn't do that; I should inform him of the fact that you are mywife--an honour you seem hardly to appreciate, by the way--and youwould have to accompany me to the police station, where our conflictingstories would no doubt arouse much interest, and probably be consideredworthy of head-lines in the evening papers. Do you think the man you arenow living with would enjoy your acquiring notoriety in such a way? Eh?'
"'Well,' I cried, 'what is it you want?'
"'The opportunity of seeing you again, that is all; you must acknowledgethat I am very moderate in my demands. I do not brutally insist on myrights.'
"'But why--why do you wish to see me again?' I asked.
"'You are surprised that I should want to see my wife again? Really, youare so--so modern.'
"'Don't talk nonsense,' I said (for all this fooling made me mad). 'Whatdo you want? Tell me at once.'
"'Really, my dear lady, since you are so insistent, I will be quitefrank with you; I really don't know. I am enjoying this meetingextremely, and I think another may afford me equal pleasure.'
"'You devil!'
"'You never did appreciate me. Well, are you going to tell me what younow call yourself, or are we going to continue walking about togetherall day?'
"'I am Mrs. Henry Smith,' I said, at last.
"'H'm! Smith--not an unusual name, is it? Not much of an improvement onBrown, eh? And your address?'
"'The Waldorf,' I answered, naming the first place that came into myhead.
"'How convenient! I am staying there also; so, instead of discussingour little differences in the street, let us drive back to the hotel atonce,' and, before I realised what he was doing, he had hailed a cab. Istarted back.
"'Don't make a scene in public,' he commanded, and his manner becamesuddenly so fierce that I was fairly frightened, and obeyed himautomatically. A moment later I was being driven rapidly up town.
"'I don't live at the Waldorf,' I at last acknowledged, as we werenearing Thirty-third street.
"'Of course not, and your name isn't Smith; I know that; but where shallI tell the coachman to drive to?'
"There was no help for it; I had to give my real address.
"'And now let us decide when I shall call on you. I don't mind selectinga time when my rival is out. You see, I am very accommodating--atpresent,' he added, significantly.
"What was I to do? I dared not refuse him. I knew you would be out oftown the following evening, so agreed to see him then. He did not followme into the Rosemere, as I was afraid he might, but drove quickly off.I wrote and telegraphed at once to Pa, asking him to make sure that mydivorce was perfectly legal. I hoped that I might receive a reassuringanswer before the time set for my interview with Brown, in which caseI should simply refuse to receive him and confess to you my previousmarriage as soon as you returned. Then I should have nothing more todread from him. That day and the next, however, went by without a wordfrom Father. I couldn't understand his silence. It confirmed my worstfears. As the time when I expected my tormentor drew near, I becamemore and more nervous. I feared and hoped I knew not what from thismeeting. I told both my girls they might go out, as I did not wish themto know about my expected visitor, and then regretted I had left myselfso unprotected. So I got out my Smith & Wesson, and carefully loadedit. I can shoot pretty straight, and Allan was quite aware of thatfact, I am glad to say; so I felt happier. He was so very late for hisappointment, that I had begun to hope he was not coming at all, whenthe door-bell rang. As soon as I had let him in I saw that he had beendrinking. Strangely enough, that reassured me somewhat; I felt that Iand my pistol stood a better chance of being able to manage him in thatcondition than when that fiendish brain of his was in proper workingorder. He no longer indulged in gibes and sarcasms, but this time didnot hesitate to demand hush money.
"'What is your price?' I asked.
"'A thousand dollars.'
"Of course, I had no such sum, nor any way of obtaining it. I told himso.
"'What rot! Why, those rings you've got on are worth more than that.'
"'Those rings were given to me by my husband, and if I part with them hewill insist on knowing what has become of them.'
"'I don't care about that,' he said, settling himself deeper into hischair; 'either you give me that money or I stay here till your loverreturns.'
"I knew him to be capable of it.
"'Look here,' said I, 'I can't get you a thousand dollars, so that's allthere is about it; but if you'll take some jewelry that Pa gave me, andwhich I know is worth about that, I'll give it you on condition thatyou sign a paper, saying that you have blackmailed me, and that yourallegations are quite without foundation.'
"'I won't take your jewelry on any consideration,' he answered. 'Whatshould I do with it? if I sold it I could only get a trifle of what itis worth, besides running the risk of being supposed to have stolen it.No, no, my lady; it must be cash down or no deal.'
"After a great deal of further altercation, he agreed to waittwenty-four hours for his money. I was to employ this respite in tryingto sell my jewelry, but if by the following evening I had failedto raise a thousand dollars he swore he would sell my story to thenewspapers. He told me that he had an appointment in Boston the nextmorning, and that he had not enough money to pay his expenses. So hemade me give him all the cash there was in the house. Luckily, I hadvery little. Before leaving, he lurched into the dining-room and pouredhimself out a stiff drink of whiskey.
"'Now, mind that you have that money by to-morrow evening, do you hear?And don't think I shan't be back in time to keep my appointment withyou, for I shall. Never miss a date with a pretty woman, even if shedoes happen to be your wife, is my motto,' and with that final shot hedeparted. As the elevator had stopped running, I told him he would haveto walk down-stairs. I stood for a moment watching him reel from sideto side, and I wondered at the time if he would ever get down withoutbreaking his neck. Not that I cared much, I confess; and that was thelast I saw of him alive. The next day was spent in trying to raise thatthousand dollars. The pawn brokers offered me an absurdly small sumfor my jewelry, and wanted all sorts of proof that it was really myproperty. I tried to borrow from an acquaintance (I have no friendsin New York), but she refused, and intimated that your wife could notpossibly be in need of money except for an illegitimate purpose. She wasquite right, and I liked her no less for her distrust of me. At last Imade up my mind that it was impossible to raise the sum he demanded, andreturned home determined to brazen it out. Still, no news from Father.What could be the reason of his silence, I wondered; any answer would bebetter than no answer.
"I braced myself to meet Allan, hopeless but resigned. However, hourafter hour went by and still no sign of him. When eleven o'clock struckwithout his having put in an appearance, I knew that a respite had beenmercifully granted me. I was expecting you home very shortly, so thoughtI'd sit up for you. However, the fatigue and excitement of the last fewdays proved too much for me, and I fell asleep on the sofa. I had beenlonging for you all day, and fully intended to tell you the dreadfulnews as soon as I saw you. But somehow or other, when at last youdid arrive you seemed so distant and cold that I weakly put off myconfession till a more favourable moment."
Atkins hung his head.
"The next morning, when there wa
s still no news of my persecutor, Ibegan to breathe more freely. I was told that there had been an accidentin the building, but that Allan Brown was the victim never occurred tome. Imagine my horror and consternation when, on being shown the corpse,I recognised my first husband. A thousand wild conjectures as to thecause of his death flashed through my mind, and when I heard that he hadbeen murdered I feared for one awful moment that you might have met himand killed him either in anger or self-defence. When I learned that thecrime had been committed on Tuesday I was inexpressibly relieved. For onthat day you had not even been in New York. My next anxiety was lest thefact that the dead man had come to the building to see me should becomeknown. When asked if I recognised the corpse I lied instinctively,unthinkingly. It was a crazy thing for me to have done, for I shouldhave been instantly detected if it had not been for the surprisingcoincidence that Greywood (that's his name, isn't it), who had also beenin the building that evening, so closely resembled my visitor. But Iknew nothing of this, and had no intention of casting suspicion on anyone else when I so stoutly denied all knowledge of the man. TheCoroner's cross-questioning terrified me, for I was sure he suspected meof knowing more than I cared to say. But when that ordeal was over, andI was again within my own four walls, I could feel nothing but extremethankfulness that the evil genius of my life was removed from my pathat last. My only remaining fear was lest I should be suspected of hisdeath. I imagined that I was being shadowed, and fancied that a man wasstationed in the flat above the Doctor's, who watched this house nightand day. Was that so, Mr. Merritt?"
"Yes'm."
"As the days went by I only became more nervous. The mystery of thething preyed on my mind. The thought that I must be living under thesame roof with a murderer gave me the creeps. Therefore, you canunderstand what a relief the butler's arrest was to me. But my joy didnot last long. I met you, Doctor, and you let out that Mr. Merritt didnot believe the Frenchman guilty, but was sure that a young woman hadkilled Allan. These words revived all my fears for my own safety. Iwas convinced that my former relation to the murdered man had beendiscovered, and that I should be accused of his death. I could not bringsuch disgrace on you, Larrie, so determined to fly if possible before Iwas arrested. As you know, I left the house in the middle of the night,and I hid under a stoop in a neighbouring side-street till morning.All day long I wandered aimlessly about. I didn't dare to leave thecity, for I was sure the trains would be watched. I daresn't go toa hotel without luggage. Towards evening I got desperate. Seeing arespectable-looking woman toiling along, with a baby on one arm and aparcel in the other, I stopped her. I begged her to tell me of somequiet place where I could spend the night. Having assured her that Iwas not unprovided with money, she gladly consented to take me to herown home. All she had to offer was a sofa, but, my! how glad I was tolie down at all. But the heat, the smell, the shouting and cursing ofdrunken brutes, prevented me from sleeping, and this morning I felt soill I thought I should die. The desire to look once more at the housewhere I had been so happy grew stronger and stronger. At last Icouldn't resist it. So I came, although I knew all the time I should becaught."
"And were you sorry to be caught?" asked her husband.
"No--o--," she answered, as she looked at the detective, apprehensively."If I'm not to be imprisoned."
"Pray reassure yourself on that score, madam. The worst that willhappen to you is that you will have to repeat part of your story at theinquest. No one can suspect you of having killed the man. The body musthave been hidden somewhere for twenty-four hours, and in your apartmentthere is no place you could have done this, except possibly in the smallcoat closet under the stairs. But your waitress swears that she cleanedthat very closet on the morning after the murder. Neither were you ableas far as I can see to procure a key to the vacant apartment. No, madam,you will have absolutely no difficulty in clearing yourself."
"But the disgrace--the publicity----"
"There is no disgrace and hang the publicity," exclaimed Atkins.
"You forgive me?"
Atkins kissed her hand.
"But, darling, that divorce?" he asked, under his breath.
"Oh, I heard from Pa about a week ago. He had been travelling about andhadn't had his mail forwarded. That was the reason why I had had noanswer to my numerous telegrams and letters. He says, however, that mydivorce is O. K., so you can't get rid of me after all."