A TORTURED CONSCIENCE
"Did you see the prisoners?" asked Durgan.
He assumed that Alden would visit Adam as a blind.
"Ah--I saw the doctor. It occurred to me to see him first."
"How long will 'Dolphus live?" asked Durgan, eagerly. Again he felt that
he could not let this man die without extracting whatever clue he held.
"Impossible to make any forecast. The doctor has had the glass removed
from his window--in short, the proper steps are being taken. Absolute
quiet is ordered."
"Then you _could_ not see him?"
"No."
After a minute Alden sat down wearily on a fallen tree. The wood was
close upon them on all sides. The crescent moon, like a golden boat
sailing westward, was seen through chinks in the leafy roof.
"I sent him a message to say that if there was anything he wished done,
he might trust me to do it. I made sure that the doctor, honest man,
would impress on him the fact that I, too, am honest."
"That doctor _is_ a man to be relied on. It's wonderful how one comes
across an honest man once in a while."
"Mr. Durgan, when I first related to you my clients' unfortunate story,
you were kind enough to express your faith and reverence for such a
woman as Miss Claxton, and your willingness to serve her. I felt very
grateful to you. I should like to speak to you in confidence, and take
counsel with you now."
Durgan sat still, suspecting that he might be subjected to the subtle
cross-questioning for which Alden was celebrated.
Alden continued: "I naturally asked the clerk to read Miss Claxton's
telegrams to see if he understood them. There are so often errors of
transcription."
"There were two, then?"
"One was, as I had supposed, about the supplies. I did not send the
other. It is about that I wish to consult you. The address of Mrs.
Durgan is----?"
Durgan gave a number on Fifth Avenue.
"I supposed as much. The message was addressed quite openly to Charlton
Beardsley at that address. It said, 'Lost article being traced. Reward
likely to be claimed.' It was not signed. Why is this man kept under
your wife's roof?"
"As a sort of adviser in occult matters--as one might say, a spiritual
director."
"There is only one reward with which the Claxtons have any interest.
That is offered for information concerning the murderer."
"I thought it was offered for the missing boy."
"It's all the same. Whoever can be proved to have been in the house at
the time, having hidden himself afterwards, must have been in some way
concerned with the murder. The laws of chance preclude the idea of there
being two mysteries in one house at one time. I now ask you, would you
have advised me to send this telegram without further information? It
goes to a house over which you have at least some legal control."
Durgan perceived that it was any information he might possess, rather
than advice, that Alden really sought; but determined only to give
advice. His thoughts and passions had been wavering this way and that
for twenty-four hours; now he knew his mind, and answered Alden's
question. "It lies in a nutshell," said he. "Are you able to trust Miss
Claxton's goodness against all evidence to the contrary, or are you not?
You have assured me that no one who knew her could mistrust her; and
you, of all people, not only know her best, but, pardon me, love her. If
you trust her you should have sent the telegram and asked no questions.
If not, set your detectives to work, for I don't believe you will learn
anything further from Miss Claxton."
Alden turned on him fiercely. "You know more than you say in this
matter. You are trying to shield your wife."
"As far as I know, my wife has done nothing wrong. As to Miss Claxton, I
have known her only a few months, and that slightly. I see clearly, as
you do, that facts point to some underhand dealing on her part. Further,
I have been taught from my childhood to distrust anyone who uses
hackneyed religious phrases as she does. In spite of all this I believe
in her. I cannot conceive of any circumstance that could justify her
secrecy and double-dealing; but I believe there is a justification. Is
not that about what you feel, too?"
"You speak somewhat evasively, Mr. Durgan. You can surely tell me more
about your wife than about Miss Claxton. It was not until I read this
message that I knew--what I never could have supposed--that any member
of your household could be guilty of any connection with that crime. You
must see that it now becomes my positive duty to make the strictest
inquiry."
"Why--if Miss Claxton does not wish it? If she was, through your
exertions, acquitted, she has, as you know, suffered the penalty of the
crime ten times over. If she prefers to continue that pain and ignominy
rather than allow you to again open the inquiry, what right have you, as
her friend and agent, to reopen it?"
"I owe a higher allegiance--to the law of my country, and the law of my
God."
"And when these laws conflict, I presume you would wish to obey the
latter? My notion is that Miss Claxton's conduct indicates such a
conflict." Durgan's voice was still hard and cold.
"I should need to be assured of such contradiction."
"Are you not willing to give her the benefit of the presumption?"
There is not a man on earth who is content to be alone. Durgan, recently
horror-stricken at the thought of the part his wife might have played,
realized how little reason he had to feel such blind confidence in
anyone whom he had the right to love, and envied Alden his opportunity
for faith. Nothing like starvation to give a man a clear sight of
another's luxuries and corresponding duties.
"In the war," he added, "we Southerners had to learn to trust out and
out whom we trusted at all."
"That Miss Claxton is doing what she conceives to be right, I have no
doubt," said Alden, stiffly.
Even in the dim light there was a visible improvement of attitude; some
heart for life appeared to return to him with this declaration, which a
moment before would have been a lie. Durgan could almost have laughed
out in irony.
"What she supposes to be right," repeated the reviving lover, "but I
cannot approve."
"She is a reasonable woman; you ought to trust her reason. As you don't
know what she is doing, you don't know whether you approve or not."
"_You_ know what she is doing, Mr. Durgan. You have information from
Mrs. Durgan or Beardsley that I have not."
"No; if my wife is in it, I have been as completely hoodwinked as you. I
cannot even yet imagine how my wife could be inculpated in any way. And
this Beardsley--I know nothing more of him than I told you; and the only
explanation I can suggest as to the message you hold is merely the
crudest imagination: supposing him to be the guilty person, Miss
Claxton must have been in love with him to shield him as she did--as she
does. You cannot wish that made public."
Alden rose up, his back stiff with indignation. "Sir! that is at least a
contingency which is entirely impossible. Are you aware that, before her
father's death, Hermione Claxton had consented to marry me? We were
about to make the engagement public. I had asked Mr. Claxton to accord
me an interview. He was a confirmed hypochondriac; it was difficult to
see him. I was waiting his pleasure when the tragedy----. Ah! it is
impossible to explain how this tragedy has wrecked our lives, for, with
an unparalleled strength of will and sensitive honor, Miss Claxton at
once, and ever since, has refused to link her name with mine. But one
thing, at least, this relation gives me reason to assure you: before
this crime Miss Claxton had not a serious thought that she did not
confide to me. There was no one on earth that she would wish to shield
in the way you suggest; I know there was not. Her father, and her
anxiety concerning the state of irreligion in which he lived; her
sister, whom she loved with a mother's love; her mission work, which
with her was done as under a direct command from our Lord--these, and
the friendship she felt for my unworthy self, made up her life. I am
certain of that, sir. As for this Beardsley, she not only despised him
as a common impostor, but she abhorred him for the hold he had over her
father."
"Your view, then, coincides with that of her sister," Durgan pondered,
as he spoke.
The lawyer's eyelids flickered at this use of Bertha's name.
"So," continued Durgan, "to come to the point; what do you suppose this
intercepted message means?"
"The mulatto, you tell me, expected a large sum of money to be expended
on his defence. Our first supposition to account for this was that he
might be one of a gang, and his fellows would buy him off. I judge now,
rather, that he must have information that would enable him to claim the
reward in the Claxton case. It must have been the possession of this
information that brought him round this neighborhood. This telegram
seems to show that what you told Miss Claxton yesterday led her to
believe he was about to claim it. As I read it, she wishes, through
Beardsley, to warn someone on whom she believes the suspicion likely to
fall."
"But you say there can be no one whom Miss Claxton would wish to
shield."
The lawyer's whole manner faltered. "I could not have believed it," he
said. "I may say I cannot believe it now."
"My suspicions center on Beardsley himself," Durgan said, "and I cannot
understand why, at the time of the trial, the clue afforded by the note
brought by the missing boy was not closely followed up. Beardsley, I
happen to know, was seriously ill shortly after the crime, for he was at
my wife's house; but, as he sent the boy, he must have been able to give
some suggestion as to where he came from or went to. I cannot understand
when you sought for the boy why he was not cross-questioned."
Alden got up, and they began to ascend the road.
"I am interested in the result of any mature reflection of yours, Mr.
Durgan. I notice that your observations are astute." He walked, his head
slightly bent, in an attitude of attention.
"I can't understand," said Durgan, "why it was assumed at the trial that
this note was merely a begging letter. My belief is that it gave a
warning of someone's visit."
Alden put in: "It is true Miss Claxton said at the inquest that she had
not seen its contents."
Durgan spoke with increasing eagerness. "But she said at the same time
that she knew it came from Charlton Beardsley. Her very words were,
'From that impostor Beardsley.'"
"Your memory is evidently good. And this might have suggested to you, at
any rate, that she could have no affection for Beardsley. But I have
been thinking that perhaps you are right; the clue of the note was not
followed up as it ought to have been."
"You must have seen Beardsley. How did he convince you that he could
throw no light on the whereabouts of the missing boy? What did he say
was in the note?" Durgan turned upon his companion almost angrily, and
saw the little gray-haired man walking steadily on with abstracted mien.
But there was a peculiar aspect of attention about his shoulders, his
neck; it seemed to alter the very shape of his ears. Durgan felt himself
warned of some unseen pitfall. "You must consider my crude way of
dealing with a problem to which you have brought your highly trained
mind somewhat absurd," he said.
"By no means. I am only surprised at your able handling of the matter,
and--ah--a little surprised, perhaps, at some omissions which seem to
have occurred in my conduct of the case. May I ask you, Mr. Durgan, if
you have had any corroboration of the idea that this note came from
Beardsley, either from him or from your wife?"
"No. Certainly not. I only know what Miss Claxton said before the
coroner."
"Miss Claxton never gave that evidence. Until you told me a moment ago I
never heard the note came from Beardsley. I am shocked and surprised."
Durgan started. "Surely I am quoting the verbatim report."
"I can see, Mr. Durgan, that you believe Miss Claxton did say this; and
as it was not given publicly, someone must have told you in private. I
will not ask you again the source of your information, which I now
suppose to have been Miss Bertha."
"I have made a mistake," said Durgan.
"But only in telling me what you would have withheld, and what, it would
appear, those for whom I have done everything have long withheld--the
one thing that it most behooved me to know." The lawyer stopped in his
walk, and spoke, shaken with distress. "I will admit to you, Mr. Durgan,
that for years I have been aware that my clients withheld something from
me; I may say 'bitterly aware,' for, the trial being over, I could not
with delicacy renew my questions. But I believed in their integrity,
and have assured myself that their secret must be unimportant. You can
estimate how acute is my present distress when I perceive that this
concealment has covered what was the vital point, the clue to the
murderer."
"I had no intention of telling you anything they did not tell you, Mr.
Alden. At the same time, no one would be more glad than myself if they
could emerge from the shadow of this mystery. But I think, as I said to
you at the beginning, that unless you obtain Miss Claxton's permission
to act further, you ought to leave the matter in her hands. You must
trust to her good sense and good feeling."
Durgan had paused at his own turning; Alden went a few steps further and
faced round, hat in hand. Under the trees, in the glimmer of the summer
night, his jaded attitude and unkempt hair were just seen and no more.
He looked, indeed, like a storm-tossed soul, already in the shades of
some nether world. Even then he summoned up all that he might of his
precise manner:
"My dear sir--my dear sir! I have had more experience of such matters
than you, and much more knowledge of this most distressing and
mysterious case. I thank you for your advice. I thank you. I must act
according to my own conscience."