STARTLING NEWS.
The curtain had fallen upon the happy marriage of Kathleen Mavourneen
and Comether O'Shaughnessy. The talented representatives of the two
characters had been called forward several times amidst huzzahs, and
most of the audience had quitted the theatre; and Miss Montressor had
retired to her dressing-room, where, throwing herself into a chair,
she fell into a reverie.
'What could be the meaning of that extraordinary resemblance between
the lady who had sat in the very seat which Bess had assured her had
been taken by Mrs. Griswold, and the portrait which Mr. Foster had
shown her on the terrace at Richmond, as that of his wife? There must
have been some mistake; Bess must have made a blunder about the exact
position in the circle, or Mrs. Griswold must have been unable to
obtain the seat on which she had first set her mind!' But then came
the identity of the costume the lady in the circle wore--the exact
dress which Bess had described as that which her mistress was about to
wear; the blue velvet and guipure lace, the plain gold ornaments, the
blue-and-gold fan--all were there. It was most astonishing--Miss
Montressor admitted that; but she could not understand why, as she
admitted it, a sombre presentiment, a sense of some impending
calamity, seemed to come across her.
She was roused by a knock at the door, following immediately on which
Mr. Bryan Duval put in his head.
'Clara, my clear,' said he, 'I will get dressed as quickly as
possible; I have got a room at Delmonico's.'
'Delmonico's!' echoed Miss Montressor. 'What's that?
'Something very nice,' said Mr. Duval; 'the best restaurant in the
world. The piece has been such a go, that I could not do less than ask
a few people to an improvised supper--Van Buren and two or three of
the press people, you know. Of course we must have you, and old Mrs.
Regan will come as chaperone. It will be remarkably jolly, and I
shouldn't wonder if there were a few lines about it in to-morrow
morning's paper, which will be quite worth the expense.'
Supper was a weakness with Miss Montressor. When she was acting she
didn't care particularly about dinner, invariably refused all
invitations to that meal, and ate sparingly at a comparatively early
hour; but supper had always been her favourite amusement. In the early
days of her stage apprenticeship, long before her Christian name was
Clara or her surname Montressor, when she was a struggling, raw-boned,
weak-eyed girl, playing chambermaids and general utility in a
provincial theatre, with a salary of eighteen shillings a week, she
used to devote a portion of that modest sum to the purchase of pigs'
pettitoes and polonies, on which, with a pint of very flat porter, she
used to regale herself in her wretched garret after her return from
the theatre. After she had established herself, and made a success in
later life, she kept up the same practice, the Brompton villa being
substituted for the garret, boned turkeys, _pâté de foie gras_, and
cold game for the delicacies above mentioned, and the society of
pleasant Bohemians for the cruel solitude. So Miss Montressor
intimated to Bryan Duval her acceptance of his invitation, and made
all possible haste to get ready for the scene of action.
As soon as she was dressed she joined Mr. Duval and Mrs. Regan, and
the three drove off in a carriage together.
Miss Montressor thought there was an air of comfort as she stepped
across the little garden and entered the bright cheery hall at
Delmonico's, with its bureau immediately fronting the street, its
glimpse of well-dressed men and women, attentive waiters, steaming
dishes, and silver-necked flasks lolling out of ice-pails, in the
large room on the left, and its broad staircase, up and down which the
nimble attendants were flitting. But when she found herself on the
first floor, in the room furnished with extravagant richness, but in
perfect French taste, and looked through the open folding-doors into
another room, where the round table for a dozen convives was already
spread, and shimmering with its accumulation of plate and glass, she
could not resist clapping and giving a little scream of delight.
'Welcome to the star of the evening,' cried Mr. Van Buren, his hair
poodled up into a magnificent curling crop, his moustache lacquered
and pointed in the latest fashion, advancing to do homage. 'I have to
thank you, my dear young lady, for your performance to-night.'
'If you were pleased,' said Miss Montressor, with a sweet smile, which
went straight to the heart of the inflammable manager, 'I have every
reason to be satisfied.'
'Pleased!' cried he. 'I not merely look upon the success as certain,
but I regard this as the first of a series of visits which you shall
pay to this country, and by which I shall be enabled to help you to
realise a fortune; and there is something selfish in the thought,' he
added, 'for it will not merely give me the assurance of seeing you
constantly, but enable me to support your absence with the certain
idea of your return.'
Miss Montressor smiled upon him again, and Mr. Van Buren immediately
began to calculate how he could dispose of the thirty-fourth Mrs. Van
Buren, who was at that moment on his hands, and substitute the new
favourite for her.
'Now,' said Mr. Duval, bustling about, 'let us get to table as soon as
possible. Those who have not been introduced to Miss Montressor
already had better come to me, and I will perform the ceremony. My
dear Clara, I think you already know Mr. Willy Webster of the
_Democrat_' he added, pushing forward a dirty little man with soiled
shirt, and clothes shining with grease--'not clean, perhaps, but
decidedly clever,' said Bryan, dropping his voice; 'and you must shake
hands with him.'
Mr. Looby of the _Scarifier_ and Mr. O'Gog of the _Growl_, came
forward and made their obeisance; Henry P. Remington and Samuel D.
Silliman, two young men about town, who had more money than brains,
and less manners than either; a gray-headed man, with a thin keen
face, who seemed to know everything and every one, and who was
universally addressed as Uncle William, completed the party.
'Now are we all here?' said Bryan Duval, who had seated Miss Montressor
between himself and Mr. Van Buren, and who was compelled to stand up
to look round the table, so large and luxurious was the basket of
flowers in the centre--'are we all here?'
'No,' said Willy Webster from the other side of the table. 'Here, next
me, is a chair for our good friend Banquo.'
'Who is our good friend Banquo on this occasion? Let me see,' said
Bryan Duval. 'Looby, O'Gog--'pon my word, I can't recollect.'
'I thought you told me you had sent round to the _Globe_ office to
tell Brighthurst to come up?' said Van Buren.
'To be sure,' cried Bryan. 'Brighthurst is Banquo. Why on earth is he
not here?'
'I sincerely hope he will come,' said Willy Webster.
'And I--and I!' cried several others.
'Mr. Brighthurst seems to be a general favourite,' said Miss
Montressor to her neighbour--'what are his particular attractions?'
'I am sure I don't know,' said Mr. Van Buren, a little piqued; 'he is
a good sort of fellow, I believe.'
'Brighthurst, my dear,' said Duval, 'is one of the cleverest men on
the press of this or any other country. He has written everything in
his time--five-act plays, political pamphlets, orthodox sermons, and
hymns which would draw tears from a hard-shell Baptist--then he's very
good-looking and capital talk. I shall be sincerely disappointed if he
doesn't come soon. I am sure you and he would get on well together.'
'Do you think he would be horrified at seeing me eating these enormous
oysters?' said Miss Montressor, with a little playfulness, turning to
her other neighbour.
'I don't know whether _he_ would, but I am not,' said Mr. Van Buren.
'Everything you do is done with a grace possessed by no other woman in
the world.'
'O, Mr. Van Buren,' said the actress with an upward glance, 'that
compliment is even more difficult to swallow than the large oysters.'
'Now, boys,' cried Bryan Duval, as the first crack of the champagne
corks was heard, 'there must be an exception to the general rule in
America to-night--we will have no speech-making.'
'We must have one toast,' cried Willy Webster. 'You won't refuse to
drink this--Success to the _Cruiskeen Lawn_.'
'Stay!' cried Van Buren, holding up his hand; 'add this to it--And all
our thanks to the lovely Kathleen!'
The men rose to their feet to drink the toast, and had not resumed
their seats when the door opened, and a tall middle-aged man, with a
bald head, aquiline nose, and large grizzled whiskers, entered the
room. He made straight for Duval, and shook hands with him warmly.
'My dear Brighthurst,' cried the host, 'I am delighted to see you. We
were all just now regretting your absence, and if you had not been so
erratic a being, should have wondered at its cause. However, here you
are--let me present you to Miss Montressor.'
After his introduction, Mr. Brighthurst took the vacant seat, and
bending over to the young actress, said:
'You must not fully believe all these gentlemen say about my
Bohemianism and erratic propensities, Miss Montressor; living in
crystal palaces themselves, they should be the last to throw stones.
They cannot understand, these frivolous butterflies, that I am a
steady man, and that I was prevented from coming here by attention to
my duty.'
'No, we certainly cannot understand that,' said Mr. Looby.
'No, indeed, bedad,' said Mr. O'Gog; 'that is not your usual form,
Brighthurst, anyhow!'
'It may not be my usual form, sweet flower of Erin,' said Mr.
Brighthurst; 'but what I say happens to be correct as regards
to-night. I was detained at the office to write a short editorial upon
some news which just came in.'
'News!' cried Willy Webster. 'And what was it, pray? Has Tweed been
nominated for the Presidency, or has A.T. Stewart proved to be nothing
but a dead head? Has the Commodore issued a new lot of central stock,
or has John Morrissy joined the Particular Baptists? Speak the word,
Brighthurst, and ease our impatient minds.'
'What I speak of is English news from the latest files of London
papers, which were delivered this evening, my dear Willy,' said
Brighthurst quietly.
'European news!' cried Webster. 'Has Queen Victoria sent for Sam Ward
at last, or is the Prince Imperial going to be united to Queen
Isabella, and thus consolidate the two thrones?'
'The news does not treat of any such important personages or
subjects,' said Brighthurst; 'it simply sends us details of the
English murder, information of which was cabled some days ago.'
'A murder!' cried Bryan Duval. 'You cannot possibly have the joyful
news for me that the victim was a tailor living in the neighbourhood
of Bond-street?'
'No,' said Brighthurst with a slight smile; 'nor was the crime
committed in London. The victim was an American gentleman of the name
of Foster.'
Miss Montressor turned deadly pale, and set down untasted the glass
she was in the act of raising to her lips.
'What name did you say, Brighthurst?' said Duval, turning quickly to
him. 'Foster, an American? Where was the murder committed?'
'In Liverpool,' said Brighthurst. 'He had been staying at the Adelphi
Hotel.'
'Great Heavens,' cried Duval, 'this is most terrific!'
Miss Montressor buried her face in her handkerchief, and sobbed
silently.
'What is the meaning of this?' asked Mr. Van Buren, while a look of
inquiry passed round the table.
'The meaning is simply that this unfortunate gentleman was well known
to me and all my party. He took a great interest in theatricals, and
actually accompanied us to Liverpool to see the last of us before we
sailed. It must have been about that time that his murder took place.'
'It was within a day or two of your sailing,' said Mr. Brighthurst.
'But what was the name of the assassin? What was the motive for his
crime? For God's sake, my dear fellow, tell us more about it!' cried
Bryan.
'I am very sorry, my dear Duval, that I cannot give you any
particulars of your poor friend's fate,' said Brighthurst. 'The
coroner's jury have returned a verdict of wilful murder against some
person or persons unknown, and no trace of the assassin had been
discovered up to the time of the papers going to press. I know this
much, for I made it the text of my editorial, that the English police
do not seem more active in discovering the perpetrators of great
crimes than our detectives here. I shall, however, be able to let you
know all about it in a few minutes, as I instructed a boy to bring a
proof of my article here, and with it a copy of the London _Times_,
containing the account of the coroner's inquest, which I proposed
reading in bed tonight.'
'I shall await it with the greatest anxiety,' said Bryan. Then turning
to Miss Montressor, whose face was still buried in her handkerchief,
and dropping his voice, he said: 'There is no occasion yet, at all
events, to be so overwhelmed, my dear Clara. Foster is by no means an
uncommon American name. Liverpool is even more frequented by Americans
than London, and all of them who visit Liverpool of course go to the
Adelphi. The victim in this awful case may not be our poor friend,
after all.'
'But the date,' whispered poor Miss Montressor; 'the date of the
murder concurs just with the time when he would be at Liverpool;
though, by the way, he told me he intended to return to London on the
evening of our departure. Something, however, may have detained him;
and, besides, I have a kind of presentiment--something which I cannot
shake off--that we shall discover it was our friend Mr. Foster, and no
one else.'
'I confess I feel very uncomfortable and desponding about it myself,'
said Bryan; 'and I should not be surprised if-- What is this?' he
cried, as the waiter entered, bringing a packet for Mr. Brighthurst.
'O, the newspaper at last!'
'Pray take it, my dear Duval, and satisfy yourself at once,' said
Brighthurst, handing the paper across to Bryan; 'I can fully apprehend
your anxiety.'
Bryan took the journal, and, in the midst of a sympathetic silence,
turned it over until he came upon the spot which he was seeking--a
description of the proceedings at the coroner's inquest. In a broken
voice he read out certain details with which the readers of this story
are already familiar: the finding of the body on the landing-place of
the warehouse, the evidence of the outdoor clerk, the two policemen,
and the various persons present at the scene, the fly-driver, who
recognised the victim as one of his customers, and the manager of the
Adelphi, who gave evidence that the body was that of Mr. Foster, who
had been staying at the hotel.
'There is no doubt at all about it,' said Bryan Duval, laying down the
paper for a minute, his eyes filling with tears. 'It was poor Foster;
it was our poor friend!'
'It is too dreadful to think of,' said Miss Montressor, giving way to
her grief.
'Who can the murderer be? What can have been the motive for such a
deed?' cried Duval, after reading a little farther. 'Foster was the
kindest, gentlest soul in the world--a man who could not possibly have
had an enemy; besides, he knew but few people in England, and none, I
should have thought, in Liverpool.'
'Perhaps he was in the habit of sporting his money,' said Mr. O'Gog;
'there are terrible thieves in them Liverpool taverns.'
'No, that could not have been,' said Bryan, pointing to a passage in
the paper; 'for it says here that though no papers, cards, or letters
were found upon the body, his purse, containing several sovereigns and
some silver, keys, penknife, and pencil, were found in the pockets
untouched.'
'That's a strange circumstance,' said Mr. Brighthurst, looking at it
with the professional eye of an editorial writer. 'My experience leads
me to believe that there are two principal motives which lead to the
commission of murder--lust of gain or desire for vengeance. By the
finding of the purse, the first motive is wanting in this instance;
and as regards the second, you tell me he had very few acquaintances
in England, and was the last man in the world likely to have any
enemies, much less one fierce and implacable enough to do such a deed
as this.'
'He was the kindest-hearted man in the world,' sobbed Miss Montressor;
'always willing to do everybody a service, and more like a woman than
a man in the soft sweetness of his disposition.'
'Stay,' said Bryan, who had again taken up the paper; 'here are some
farther particulars. The manager of the hotel deposed that, on
examining the room occupied by the deceased, he found a small American
valise, containing a suit of clothes, some linen, and the usual
dressing apparatus; a valuable gold watch had been left on the
dressing-table, which, at the request of the jury, was handed to them.
Here,' continued Bryan, still reading the newspaper, 'a curious
incident occurred. One of the jury was our well-known townsman, Mr.
Hand, the watch and clock maker, who served his time in America. On
examining this watch, Mr. Hand declared, without hesitation, that a
certain portion of its works was made under the patent of the
celebrated house of Tiffany, in New York. All possible search and
inquiry seems to have been made by the police and others concerned,
but without any effect. The conclusion of the story is to be found in
the verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown,
so we must wait and see what time will bring forth. Poor Foster--poor
fellow!'
'Poor dear Mr. Foster!' sobbed Miss Montressor, in great agitation. 'I
declare it is one of the most horrible things I ever knew. What will
his poor wife say, when she hears the news?'
'Has he a wife?' asked Mr. Brighthurst.
'O dear yes; a sweetly pretty woman, with one young child.'
'It's pretty rough on her, poor thing,' said Mr. Brighthurst, a shadow
stealing over his handsome features.
'Yes; and the most awful part of it is, that even now she must be in
complete ignorance of what has happened, for I saw her this very night
at the theatre.'
'At the theatre?' cried several.
'At the theatre, not two hours since,' cried Miss Montressor. 'I have
most excellent reasons for believing that the lady I saw was Mrs.
Foster.'
'My dear Miss Montressor,' said Mr. Brighthurst, leaning forward, 'I
think, I trust, you are mistaken. The news that an American gentleman
named Foster had been found murdered in Liverpool was received here by
cable, without any particulars, several days since, and was published
in all the newspapers. It would have been impossible that Mrs. Foster,
or some of her family or friends, should not have seen it.'
'It may be that I am mistaken,' said Miss Montressor. 'I trust I am,
for it is an awful thing to think of that pretty creature amusing
herself at the theatre with this awful thunder-cloud ready to break
over her head.' And Miss Montressor's tears again began to flow.
Bryan Duval, who had been listening silently but most attentively to
this colloquy, then roused himself.
'I think, my dear Clara, you had better retire for a few minutes, and
endeavour to compose yourself. Gentlemen, I am sure you will excuse
Miss Montressor for a time; this news has been too much for her. We
will rejoin you later.'
All rose as he spoke, and Bryan Duval, taking the actress by the arm,
led her through the folding-doors into the adjoining apartment, and
carefully closed the doors behind him.
'Try to quiet yourself,' said Bryan Duval, as he placed her in a chair
beside an open window, and, seating himself alongside of her, assumed
a perfectly tranquil air. 'This is a very serious business, and I want
to speak to you about it without delay, and out of hearing of these
people. It is better they should not get hold of such facts as may be
hidden under the surface of this horrible event prematurely. Will you
tell me as quietly as you can exactly what you mean about the lady
whom you saw at the theatre to-night? That's right; you are quieter
now; don't speak for a minute, until you can do so without sobbing;
try to recollect every circumstance, and to be perfectly exact.'
The purpose-like composure of his manner had its due effect upon the
excitable but not foolish woman to whom he spoke. She made a steady
effort, and subdued the rising hysterical agitation, and after a
minute or two was quite able to speak plainly.
'You remember,' she said, 'the dinner Mr. Foster gave us at Richmond,
and that I had a good deal of talk with him both down at Richmond and
in the carriage as we came home?'
Bryan Duval nodded.
'He told me a good deal about himself, and spoke much of his wife, to
whom he seemed to be quite unusually attached. He said he would
introduce me to her, as he knew she would like me; that she was very
fond of the stage, had a passion for artistes' society, and a great
many other things of the same kind. Of course I asked him what she was
like, and he gave me a great description of her beauty and grace. I
suppose I did not keep down a smile of something like incredulity, or
at least of a suspicion of some exaggeration, in this description, for
he said, "You shall see for yourself, Miss Montressor, whether I am
exaggerating like an absent lover my Helen's charms;" and he took out
a watch--one of a very peculiar construction; I had never seen one
like it--and opened it by touching a spring so carefully concealed
that, when he put it into my hands afterwards, and told me to try if I
could open it, I could not even perceive where the spring lay. The
cover flew back and disclosed a miniature of a woman who was certainly
very pretty, and had the kind of face which one does not forget. I
looked at it for a good while: held it in my hand--for Mr. Foster had
taken it off his watch-chain--as we walked up and down on the terrace,
and made myself perfectly familiar with the features; the arrangement
of the hair particularly struck me, and I remarked to him how well it
suited the face. He said yes, he had always thought so; that his wife
had very good taste, and was her own hairdresser. You will see
presently why I tell you these particulars.'
'I especially wish you to tell me every particular you can recollect,'
said Bryan Duval.
'I do not think there was anything remarkable except that in what he
said to me,' said Miss Montressor. 'The subject was again referred to
during our drive home, and he told me the watch containing the
portrait was a parting gift from his wife. She had given it to him on
the very evening before he had left New York, and he had promised
always to wear it. I thought it a little unusual for a man to speak so
frankly and so freely of a thing of the kind, and I suppose I said it
or looked it. I do not remember that, but I do recollect his saying,
"Out of the fulness of the heart, you know. Miss Montressor, the mouth
speaketh," when neither a lack of sympathy nor ridicule was to be
apprehended. I thought him a man of considerable feeling, and that he
found his sojourn in England very wearisome, so that he was relieved
by finding any one, even a stranger, to whom he might talk of his
home.'
'He was not a reticent man,' said Bryan Duval, 'as I have good reason
to know; a reason which I shall tell you presently if, as I fear,
there is more in this matter than meets the eye, and I have to ask
your help in a painful duty that may fall to my share. But pray go on,
and tell me what is the connection between Mr. Foster's confidence to
you and the lady whom you saw tonight.'
Miss Montressor hesitated for just one moment. Could she explain
herself fully without the revelation of the family secret she had
strongly desired to preserve? Not if Bryan Duval were to question her
very closely on material issues. 'Never mind,' she thought, 'I must
risk it. I won't tell it unless I am forced, but I cannot hold my
tongue here--it is too serious.'
'I have a friend in New York,' she said, 'who came to see me
yesterday, and in the course of some gossip about this place and the
people in it she happened to mention a certain Mrs. Griswold, who
holds a high position here, and who is a great admirer of the drama.
My friend told me that Mrs. Griswold had been particularly anxious to
see me in one of my best parts, and had taken places for our first
appearance. This Mrs. Griswold, it appears, was very handsome, very
charming, and altogether a somebody. I fancied I should like to
recognise her, if possible, among the audience; and as my friend knew
where she was going to sit, she gave me a description of her
appearance and dress, which would have enabled me to recognise her,
had this lady occupied the place my friend knew she had taken. The
description was--brown hair, worn plain, without flowers or jewels,
brown eyes, pale blue velvet dress, gold ornaments, and a
blue-and-gold fan. Not very distinct, after all, when you come to
think of it, now that pale blue velvet is so fashionable; but true
enough, when I looked at the place my friend had directed my attention
to--the last seat but two, dress circle, right-hand side--I saw a lady
who was watching the play intently, and whose appearance and dress
entirely coincided with my friend's description--but the lady was not
Mrs. Griswold.'
'Not Mrs. Griswold!' exclaimed Bryan Duval. 'How do you know?'
'Because,' returned Miss Montressor impressively, 'the face was the
face of Mr. Foster's wife, as I saw it in the miniature enclosed in
the watch-cover; the hair and the eyes were quite unmistakable. That
she was the woman who had sat for that miniature I cannot entertain
the smallest doubt. It is Mrs. Foster, and therefore _not_ Mrs.
Griswold!'
Bryan Duval had listened to the latter part of Miss Montressor's
narrative with intense, even painful, eagerness. It was evident that
he attached immense importance to the apparently insignificant mistake
made by Miss Montressor; a mistake easily to be explained on the
theory that her friend had given her an erroneous indication of Mrs.
Griswold's place in the house. Not so did Bryan Duval interpret it.
'You are quite sure,' he repeated, 'that you looked at the place where
you were told to look for Mrs. Griswold?'
'I am quite sure.'
'You are quite sure that the lady you saw in that place bore a close
resemblance to the miniature likeness of Mr. Foster's wife?'
'I am perfectly certain of it,' returned Miss Montressor; 'every
feature and line was identical, and the peculiar unornamented mode in
which the hair was dressed was a conclusive proof to my mind. Stay a
moment,' she said, with a start like one catching at a suddenly
suggested point, and laying her hand upon his arm, 'there is a curious
coincidence in this. My friend told me that Mrs. Griswold had
beautiful brown hair, in which she never wore any ornament.'
Bryan Duval rose, walked slowly up and down the room twice, and then
returned to Miss Montressor's side. His face was very pale, and his
voice sounded hoarsely, as he said to her:
'There is far more than ordinary villany in this atrocious murder, and
perhaps the only way by which it can be exposed rests with you and
with me. I think you will be discreet, and if it be necessary to ask
you to take any part in this terrible matter, I think you will consent
to do so, and to act under orders.'
'Certainly,' replied Miss Montressor, looking considerably frightened.
'I wish you would explain what you mean, and what part in it can
possibly fall to me.'
'I will explain,' said Bryan Duval. 'I fear I shall soon have to
violate a dead man's confidence more extensively than by telling the
story to you. Foster took, as you know, a great fancy to me, and even
before that day when we went down to Richmond he had told me a great
deal about himself; but his confidences with me took a different form
from those in which he indulged on that day with you--they chiefly
related to business matters. He told me what was the object of his
journey to London--with which I need not trouble you, it has no
immediate bearing on the case: he told me how unexpectedly and rapidly
successful he had been in the accomplishment of that object, and that
he had good hopes of being able to return to New York at a much
earlier date than that fixed at his departure. I remember that he did
say he hadn't as yet announced to his wife that such a prospect had
opened up to him, preferring to make quite sure rather than run the
risk of keeping her in suspense, which might possibly end in
disappointment. The details were rather complicated, and it struck me
at the time that there was a good deal, not only of fair business
competition, but of equivocal manoeuvring to be apprehended in the
carrying through of the enterprise. That it was by no means smooth
sailing for Foster was particularly borne in upon me by one fact,
which he communicated to me in the strictest confidence, now unhappily
dispersed. It was this'--Bryan Duval now spoke in a whisper, and with
great intentness--'he had come to England under a false name.'
Miss Montressor looked up wonderingly. 'Under a false name?' she
repeated. 'His name was not Foster? What was it, then?'
'I do not know,' returned Bryan Duval. 'But an awful surmise as to what
it might have been came to me with your first words, when this horrid
news was conveyed to us just now.'
'I don't understand you,' said Miss Montressor, with a somewhat
confused and wondering look. She had not caught at the chain of
probabilities which had presented itself to Bryan Duval.
'I have a horrible conviction,' said he, 'that Foster's name really
was Griswold.'
'My God,' exclaimed Miss Montressor, moved to the exclamation by more
feelings than the one which could be easily interpreted by her hearer,
'can it be?'
'It struck me in an instant, and every word that you have spoken has
confirmed the suspicion. He told me that his wife had no notion that
he had been obliged to assume a false name; he spoke of her to me only
casually--with great affection it is true--but my only distinct
recollection of any quality which he assigned to her was a negative
one: that she knew nothing about business, and that, therefore, he
could not have told her that the assumption of a name not his own was
a necessary precaution without alarming her. He had, not very wisely I
thought at the time, kept her in ignorance of this detail, and
arranged for her letters to him passing through the hands of a friend,
who was to redirect them to him under his assumed appellation, known
only to this friend. How well I recollect that the whole story struck
me as the sort of thing which, had it occurred in a play or a book,
would have been pronounced rather unnatural, and likely to involve so
much confusion of detail as to hamper rather than aid business
operations! How little I dreamt of such a complication as that which
has arisen now! I do not think you see it?'
'I confess I do not,' said Miss Montressor.
'Well, it is simply this: the lady you saw in the theatre to-night was
Mrs. Griswold, but none the less was she the original of the miniature
which Mr. Foster showed you as that of his wife. The unhappy woman has
no conception that the news with which all New York is ringing
concerns her--that the murdered man is her husband.'
'I see it now, I see it now!' said Miss Montressor.
'You do not see it all even yet,' resumed Bryan Duval impressively.
'You don't see how it touches us. We two are the only people in this
city who know the truth--we two are the only people on whom the task
of making the truth known can possibly devolve, except, indeed, the
friend through whom Foster received his wife's letters; and I know
neither his name, his address, nor his business--I have, indeed, no
clue whatever to him. The position of this unfortunate man's wife is
one of the most terrible and tragic that can be conceived. What is to
be done?'
'What, indeed!' said Miss Montressor, whose mind, however, glanced
rapidly towards her sister. 'I suppose you must communicate with the
authorities.'
'Of course, of course!' said Bryan Duval. 'But I am not thinking so
much of the public and official steps to be taken in this horrible
affair; it is the wife, whose position, poor unconscious creature, is
so very awful.'
To this Miss Montressor assented with ready sympathy, but it was
agreed between them, as at that late hour nothing whatever could be
done until the morning, there was nothing for it but that they should
keep their own counsel. Bryan Duval impressed upon Miss Montressor the
absolute necessity of appearing to be totally unconcerned in the
matter, lest she should expose herself to indiscreet questioning by
any member of the party, which it had now become necessary they should
rejoin.
'If I could avoid seeing them at all,' she said, 'it would be better,
and, indeed, I hardly feel equal to the exertion. I cannot forget the
face I saw to-night, so full of interest and delight, beaming with
youth, beauty, and happiness; I cannot forget the pride and pleasure
with which that poor fellow showed me its miniature presentment in the
watch, which was his wife's parting gift. The two pictures will haunt
me all night, and when the morn comes, what shall we do?'
'I do not know,' said Bryan Duval, 'what my part may have to be; I
must be well advised in that matter: but one grand object would be to
secure access to Mrs. Griswold. How well I remember poor Foster
talking of the pleasure it would give his wife to make our
acquaintance, and telling me that he could not give me a letter of
introduction to her, because it might lead to the leaking out, through
some other members of the company, of the fact that they had known him
as Mr. Foster. If the poor fellow had only made his confidence in me
complete, if he had told me what was the real name which he had hidden
under a false one, it might be easier for me now to help in this
terrible calamity. There is no way of getting at Mrs. Griswold without
startling her, if, indeed, we must be the persons to reveal the
truth.'
'Perhaps we may devise one,' said Miss Montressor; 'but we must break
up now. I am quite worn out.'
'Do not return to the supper-room at all,' said Bryan Duval; 'here is
a side door by which you can get away. I will apologise for you,
though, indeed, no apology is needed.'
During the conversation the hum of voices in the next room had been
distinctly audible. The English actors had suddenly found themselves
invested with a new importance and interest in New York; the very
latest intelligence of the murdered man was to be had from them; and
when Bryan Duval returned, he found his companions the centre of an
eager group, who were all listening with absorbed avidity to every
detail which could be furnished by the party concerning their
acquaintance with Mr. Foster. The telegraph had given accurate
particulars of the place and time at which the murder had been
committed, which had so immediately followed the farewell scene on
board the Cuba, that every utterance of Mr. Foster's which could be
retailed by his companions on that occasion was regarded and noted
with all the impressiveness due to last words.