PROBING A DEEP WOUND
Alden began with a stiff, quaint bow to his little audience. It was easy
to see that he had fallen into the mannerism of a court. "In making my
statement it is not necessary for me to tell from what source I obtained
any part of my information, or what is inference from information. I
will say exactly what I now suppose to have happened upon the morning of
the day on which Mr. Claxton was killed with unparalleled brutality, and
his wife shot."
Durgan felt rebellion in its keenest form at this beginning, but sat in
silence.
When Alden had once begun it was obvious that he felt the relief of open
speech. He told in detail how he believed 'Dolphus to have been sent to
Mr. Claxton's with a note announcing Beardsley's visit, which caused
Miss Hermione to send the maids and Miss Bertha out of the house.
"But how," asked Alden, "did Beardsley come to the house without
observation? I have found again and again that the thing that is hardest
to detect has been done in the simplest and most obvious way. Negative
evidence is often no evidence at all; and the thing done most openly
more often escapes remark than an attempt at secrecy. In this case two
neighbors saw the maids go out on their errand; one saw the dark-faced
boy enter. She swore he was an Italian music boy, while in fact he was a
mulatto. The servant of a neighbor said she saw the boy leave the house
again. They both agreed that he was long and lanky. Everyone else in the
neighborhood, with a chance of seeing, testified that no boy came or
went. I believe that Beardsley came, as the boy came, in an open way,
and was admitted by Miss Hermione. Again, one neighbor swears that she
saw the two maids go down the street together; another, that only one
went down alone while she was looking. Cross-examined, she could not be
sure whether the one maid she saw was the cook, or housemaid, or
charwoman, but only that she came out of the Claxton house. The other
neighbors had not seen any woman leave the house. This shows what such
evidence is worth. I believe Beardsley left the house disguised in the
clothes of the boy. The boy was almost grown, Beardsley not large. No
doubt, being in the habit of personating spirits and juggling, escape
would be no difficulty to him. I am still unable to suggest any motive
for the crime." Alden paused.
"Go on." The words were spoken breathlessly by Bertha.
Alden went on solemnly. "I think, Hermione, you knew the boy's message
to be from Beardsley. You must have admitted Beardsley to the house,
Hermione! In the night you helped the boy to escape. It is not possible
that you did not know that Beardsley had committed the crime. I am
convinced that you helped him also to escape. One possible explanation
of your action, and the subsequent concealment, is that he extracted
some oath of secrecy which you wrongly considered binding."
There was a breathless silence.
"But I think you have too much good sense to consider such a compulsory
promise binding. You have had another reason."
There was still silence.
"The fact that you did not denounce him points to the fact that you
helped Beardsley's escape. The fact that you sent the mulatto to Mrs.
Durgan's address proves that you knew where Beardsley had taken refuge.
Beardsley went to Mrs. Durgan's house, not to his former lodgings. She
must have known that some disaster had happened if he returned in
disguise; she must quickly have known from the papers the extent of his
guilt. She certainly had him in her house ill a week after--really very
ill, for Mr. Durgan, on one of his rare visits, found two hospital
nurses attending him. It was said to be a severe case of pleurisy with
complications; and he has been, or has pretended to be, more or less of
an invalid ever since. But before his illness he acted his part well. He
certainly held his séances regularly for a number of evenings after the
crime. I made very strict inquiry at the time of several members of this
circle as to its nature, because of the connection Mr. Claxton had with
it. Beardsley went into his trances, and spoke with strange tongues, and
what not, during that week. I knew this because several of his
disciples, who believed in his dealings with the unseen world, tried to
call up the spirits of Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, so unhappily departed, and
entreated for some information as to their murderer. The villain had not
the hardihood to personate his own victims."
Alden paused suddenly, and demanded of the sisters: "You remember
hearing of the incident?"
Bertha, her face flushed and excited, gave a hasty "Yes." Miss Claxton
made an indifferent motion of assent. She preserved a uniform
expression of great sadness. She seemed to take hardly any special
interest in anything said.
"This boy, 'Dolphus, went also straight to Mrs. Durgan's house. He has
been sheltered by Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan; he has been Beardsley's
valet ever since. Mrs. Durgan may have hid them both in the first
instance out of pity; or she, too, may have had another reason. She
would fear to send them away later lest her connivance in their hiding
should become known."
"Consider," said Durgan. "Do you think my wife, or any other woman,
would voluntarily live in daily terror of being killed by such a madman
as you describe?"
"Is there no adequate motive that you can suggest?" Alden returned.
"Love," said he. "But I am certain that my wife has not been in love."
Hermione Claxton looked at Durgan for a moment; a tinge of color and an
abatement of her sorrow were evident. Then she relapsed into her former
attitude.
Alden stood in front of her, watching her changing expression with
impassioned eagerness. "In the name of God, Hermione," he cried
solemnly, "why do you shield this man? Why do you still wish to shield
him? Why are you glad that Mr. Durgan should believe that love does not
exist between him and Mrs. Durgan?"
His sudden manner of agonized affection, and words that came like a cry
from the heart, brought a hush of trembling expectation. Bertha gazed
intently at her sister, unconscious of the tears of excitement that were
running over her own eyes. Durgan, who had never thought to see Alden so
moved, felt the utmost wonder. But the fragile, faded woman, to whom the
passionate question had been addressed, faced her questioner with no
other change in the calm front she bore than an added degree of sadness.
"Hermione," cried Alden again, "why did you conceal this man's guilt
from me at the time, and why do you still wish to conceal it?"
"Herbert," she replied very gently, "you have no evidence of his guilt."
"I have," he replied.
Durgan felt himself start nervously. Such a statement from this keen
legal mind was like a declaration of proof.
The effect of the words upon Miss Hermione was a visible shudder which
ran through her frame.
"Evidence?" she said, as if still doubting; but terror was written on
her face.
"Two days ago I went to Hilyard at the summons of the doctor and
constable. The colored prisoner, called Adolphus Courthope, was supposed
to be dying, and desired to see me. When I went, he asked me to take
down a confession and a statement, parts of which supplied links in the
story I have told you. The doctor was witness to the interview.
Courthope swore that Beardsley was the criminal."
Miss Claxton looked at him steadily. "What reason have you to assume
that what he said is true?"
"In all those parts where I can test its truth it appears to be true. He
referred me to Bertha for the fact that she aided his escape at night."
"Birdie will not corroborate that. She will tell you nothing."
"He would hardly have asked her to corroborate a lie," said Alden. "He
told me that when in New York he knew he was dying, his conscience
caused him to bring some documents which he believed to incriminate
Beardsley; that he gave them to you by appointment on the night of Eve's
death; that after giving them he discovered that Adam's wife had been
spying on the interview and had followed you up the hill. She showed him
a certain place where she saw you hide these letters. He added, in the
most matter-of-fact way, that he then killed Eve for her treachery to
you, and because she would only make mischief."
Bertha stood up in great wrath. "How can you say that my sister did such
things as this? No word of this is true. How can you believe a man who
is a murderer?"
Alden went on looking at Hermione. "I went to the tree of which he gave
me a rough drawing."
He took from his coat two packets of old letters, with their wrapping of
oil-silk, which he had unfastened.
"I have read them," he said. "I did not wish to do so without your
permission and that of Mr. Durgan, as they chiefly belong to his wife;
but it was necessary, and the fact that I found them there, and also
their contents, prove the most unlikely part of his tale to be
true--that you have trafficked secretly with such a man as he, and crept
out at night to meet him and hide documents which----" He paused
half-way through the sentence; his voice broke, and the tremor coming at
so strong a moment, brought all the little gracious ways of his long
friendship and service for Hermione to their minds. The strange scene
vibrated with a throb of sorrow.
"Herbert," she said falteringly, "you have indeed become my enemy,
concerting with this poor wretch to outwit me, spying upon my most
private actions."
"Nay, Hermione; I did not even ask the man for his evidence. I was
forced, in the name of common justice, and above all, of justice to you,
to hear it; and I am justified in what I have done since, because I have
done it to save you from yourself."
"I beg your pardon," said she. "For a moment I spoke unjustly; but,
whatever your motives, you have become my enemy. Those letters were
stolen by a servant to injure a master who, whatever else his faults,
had treated him with unvarying kindness. They were given to me under the
mistaken idea that I could use them for my own advantage. I cannot; nor
can you."
"I read them, Hermione, because, without suspicion and by mere accident,
I had read your telegram to Charlton Beardsley the other day."
She rose up now. There was a movement of her small clasped hands, as tho
she wrung them together.
"When I read it at the post-office, merely to aid in its transmission, I
saw its significance only too plainly. I withheld it for a day. Then I
had it sent by an agent whom I could trust, and whom I instructed to
watch the house of the recipient. I could not have connived at the man's
escape. Had he tried to get away after receiving your wire, I should
have been justified in his arrest."
"Did you have my message sent from Hilyard?" she asked suddenly.
"No. From New York. But it was the exact message."
She was white to the lips. "It had no significance coming from New
York." She lifted both hands with a gesture of despair.
Instinctively he chose quick words to comfort her. "No, you wanted to
warn him against coming here! But Beardsley had gone. I suppose he had
got some other warning. He had fled three days before. My men could gain
no information."
She was comforted. Some color returned to her face.
Alden spoke out once more. "In Heaven's name, what motive have you for
seeking this man's freedom? Why hide these letters? They are written
between Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan. What secret of yours can they
contain?"
She looked at him with unutterable pain in her face, but gave no word or
sound.
"Hermione!" he cried; "this trickster had only been a few months upon
this continent when this crime was committed; and during those few
months you gave me to understand that I was your dearest and only
intimate friend. We were together constantly; we were looking forward to
marriage. It cannot be possible that, at that same time, you contracted
a friendship--shall I say an affection?--for this man? You spoke of him
to me as a person whose pretensions you despised, whose slight
acquaintance with your father you deplored; and, beyond this, you told
me that you had never seen him. Am I to believe that, in spite of all
this, he was your lover?"
"My lover!" She repeated the word with white lips, and remained gazing
at him for some minutes as if paralyzed with surprise. Then with a
gesture of that dignity which only a mind innocent in thought and act
can command, she rose and turned away, with no further word, toward the
staircase that led from the room.
"You know that is not true," cried Bertha to Alden fiercely. She stood
up as a man would who was ready to make good the word with a blow. Then
she called: "Hermione! Hermione! Come back. Don't you see that Mr. Alden
has no choice but to give this Beardsley up to justice, and hand over
all the evidence he has in these letters to the police?"
Hermione turned to Alden again. "Is that true? Do not deceive me in the
hope of making me confess anything; but tell me truly, do not say you
have no choice."
But he could not abandon the point which gave him such unbounded
astonishment. "What motive have you for protecting him? Why do you love
him?--for you do love him, Hermione."
"I am asking you whether it is no longer in my power to protect him,
should I wish to do so."
"Oh, my dear; give me some notion why you want to save him."
The term of affection, if not used between them for the first time, was
certainly now first used before others. A slow flush mantled her faded,
sensitive face.
"Alas! Herbert, is it not clear now why I should have kept my secret
from you, if your conscience is such that you can concede no mercy to a
criminal? You may be right. You may have no choice but to wield the law,
and the law only. But if I had a choice, you cannot blame me for not
telling you, who admit you have none. Do you not know that I have loved
you--you only? Do you think I could have endured to be separated from
you for a slight or a low motive, for a whim, or for a duty about which
I felt the slightest doubt? And nothing has taken away the need for my
silence. I cannot tell you my motive, or give you any indication whether
the clue you now hold is true or false, or whether these letters will
help you to do justice or lead you astray, or why I went out to get them
at night, or why I put them where Bertha would not have found them in
the event of my death. I put these letters where I could find them
should a certain contingency arise in my life, and where, failing that,
they would be lost. I will not tell you more, or give you leave to use
them."
"Hermione!" cried Bertha, the energy of a long distress in her tone,
"for my sake, can you not help us to understand? I have tried to be
brave; and if you will not tell, I will stand by you in anything; but my
courage is all gone now. I cannot bear this mystery and disgrace."
The elder sister looked at her with tenderness and pity. It was a
lingering look that a mother might cast on a child doomed to a crippled
life. But she gave no answer, and went up the stairs.