THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.
"Come," said my cicerone, "we are already very late."
A rapid walk of a few minutes brought us to the entrance of a handsome
house, having the appearance of a private residence, and standing on a
fashionable street.
"Why," said I, inclined to draw back, as he ascended the steps, "you
surely would not think of disturbing the people here at this hour of
the night? There is not a light to be seen, even in the chambers."
Mr. Burton's low laugh made me blush at my own "greenness." His ring at
the bell was followed by a knock, which I was quick-witted enough, in
spite of my verdancy, to perceive had something significant about it.
The door immediately swung a little open, my friend said a few words
which had the effect to unclose the mysterious portals still wider, and
we entered a modest hall, which a single gas-burner, half-turned off,
dimly illuminated. The man-servant who admitted us was sable as ebony,
muscular, much above the medium size, dressed in a plain livery, and
with manners as polished as his own shining skin--an African leopard,
barring the spots, smooth and powerful.
"Is Bagley still here?" asked my companion.
"Yes, sir. In de library, jus' where you lef' him."
"Very well. You need not disturb him. I've brought my young friend in
to introduce him to the house, in view of further acquaintance."
The ebony man smiled respectfully, bowing for us to pass into the
parlor. I thought I saw in that quiet smile a lurking ray of
satisfaction--a gloating, as it were, over my prospective intimacy at
this respectable house. He had probably been usher to the maelstrom
long enough to know that those whose feet were once caught in the slow,
delightful waltz of the circling waters never withdrew them, after the
circle grew narrow and swift, and the rush of the whirlpool sounded up
from the bottomless pit.
We entered a suit of rooms in no manner differing from the parlors of a
private house. They were richly furnished and well lighted, close inner
blinds, hidden by heavy silk curtains, shutting in the light from the
observation of the street. There were three rooms in this suit; the two
first were now deserted, though the odor of wine, and scented hair and
handkerchiefs, showed that they had been recently occupied. In these
two the chandeliers were partially obscured, but the third room was
still brilliantly illuminated. We walked toward it. Magnificent
curtains of amber silk depended from the arch which separated it from
the parlors. Only one of these curtains was now drawn back, the others
trailing on the carpet, and closing the apartment from our observation.
Mr. Burton placed me in the shadow of the curtains, where I could
see--myself unseen. The room was furnished as a library, two of its
walls being covered with books; I particularly noticed a marble bust of
Shakspeare, very fine. A severe, yet liberal, taste marked the choice
and arrangement of every thing. A painting of Tasso reading his poems
to the Princess, hung between the two back windows.
It was a well-arranged library, certainly; yet the four occupants were
engrossed in a study more fascinating than that of any of the books by
which they were surrounded. If Mephistophiles could have stepped from
his binding of blue and gold, and made the acquaintance of the company,
he would have been quite charmed. Two couples sat at two tables playing
cards. All the other visitors to the establishment had gone away, some
of them to theft or suicide, perhaps, save those four, who still
lingered, wrapped up in the dread enchantment of the hour. The two at
the table I first glanced at, were both strangers to me; at the second,
I could not see the face of one of the players, whose back was toward
me; but the face of the other was directly in front of me, and under
the full light of the chandelier. This person was James Argyll. My
astonishment was profound. That I had never fraternized with him, I
considered partly my own fault--there are persons so naturally
antagonistic as to make real friendship between them impossible--and I
had often blamed myself for our mutual coldness. But, with all my
dislike of some of his qualities--as, for instance, his indolent
acceptance of his uncle's bounty, which, in the eyes of a person of my
disposition, took away half his manliness--with all my unfriendly
aversion to him, I had never suspected him of absolutely bad habits.
I had to look twice to assure myself of his identity. And having
looked, I could not take away my eyes from the strange attraction of a
countenance transformed by the excitement of the gaming-table. His dark
complexion had blanched to a sallow paleness; cheeks and lips were of
the same color; his nose seemed to have sharpened, and was drawn in
about the face with a pinched look; his eyebrows were very slightly
contracted, but fixed, as if cut in marble, while underneath them the
lids were drawn together, so that only a line of the eye was visible--a
narrow line, letting out a single steady ray from the lurid world
within. The lids appeared as if the eyeballs had shrunken in the
intensity of their gaze.
Silently the cards were dealt and played. It was evidently the closing
game, upon which much depended--_how_ much, for James, I could only
guess by the increasing pallor and absorption of his countenance.
"I wish I could see his opponent's face," I whispered to my companion.
"You would see nothing but the face of the devil coolly amusing
himself. Bagley never gets excited. He has ruined a dozen young men
already."
The last card was thrown down; the two players arose simultaneously.
"Well, Bagley," said James, with a desperate laugh, "you will have to
wait for the money until I--"
"Marry the young lady," said the other; "that is the agreement, I
believe; but don't consent to a long engagement."
"I shall find some means to pay these last two debts before that happy
consummation, I hope. You shall hear from me within a month."
"We will make a little memorandum of them," said his opponent; and as
they went together to a writing-desk, Mr. Burton drew me away.
I could hardly breathe when we got into the street, I was so suffocated
with rage at hearing the reference made by those two men, under that
unholy roof, to the woman so revered and sacred in my thoughts. I was
certain that Miss Argyll was the young lady whose fortune was to pay
these "debts of honor," contracted in advance upon such security. If
his strong hand had not silently withheld me, I do not know but I
should have made a scene, which would have been as unwise as useless. I
was thankful, afterward, that I was prevented, though I chafed under
the restraint at the time. Neither of us spoke until we were in the
house of my host, where a fire in the library awaited us. Before this
we seated ourselves, neither of us feeling sleepy after our night's
adventures.
"How did you know that Argyll was at that house? I had no idea that he
intended coming to the city to-day," I said.
"He had no intention until he learned of your sudden departure. He came
down in the next train, to see what _you_ were about. He is uneasy
about you, Mr. Redfield, didn't you know it? As he could ascertain
nothing satisfactory about your doings, or mine, he had nothing better
on his hands, this evening, than to look up his friend Bagley."
"How do you know all this?"
The detective half smiled, his piercing eyes fixed reflectively on the
fire.
"I should be poorly able to support my pretensions, if I could not keep
the circle of my acquaintance under my observation. I was informed of
his arrival in town, upon my return from Brooklyn, and have known of
his whereabouts since. I could tell you what he had for supper, if it
would interest you."
The uneasy feeling which I had several times experienced in Mr.
Burton's society, came over me again. I spoke a little quickly:
"I wonder if you have your secret agents--spirits of the air, or
electricity, they might almost seem to be--hovering always on _my_
steps."
He laughed, but not unpleasantly, looking me through with those
steel-blue rays:
"Would it trouble you to fancy yourself under surveillance?"
"I never liked fetters, of any kind. I yield my choice of will and
action to nobody. However, if any one finds satisfaction in playing the
part of my shadow, I don't know that I shall suffer any restraint upon
that account."
"I don't think it would disturb you seriously," he said.
"No one likes to be watched, Mr. Burton."
"We are all watched by the pure and penetrating eye of the All-seeing
One, and if we are not fearful before Him, whom need we shrink from?"
I looked up to see whether it was the secret-police-agent who was
preaching to me, or whether my host, in his power of varying the outer
manifestations of his character, had not dropped the mystic star for
the robe of the minister; he was gazing into the fire with a sad,
absorbed expression, as if he saw before him a long procession of
mortal crimes, walking in the night of earth, but, in reality, under
the full brightness of infinite day. I had seen him before in these
solemn, almost prophetic moods, brought on him by the revelation of
some new sin, which seemed always in him to awaken regret, rather than
the exultation of a detective bent on the successful results of his
mission. So soft, so gentle he appeared then, I inwardly wondered that
he had the sternness to inflict disgrace and exposure upon the
"respectable" guilty--which class of criminals he was almost
exclusively employed with--but I had only to reflect upon the admirable
equipoise of his character, to realize that with him justice was what
he loved best. For those who prowled about society in the garb of lambs
and shepherd-dogs, seeking whom they might devour, and laying, perhaps,
the proofs of guilt at the doors of the innocent, he had no mercy of
the "let us alone" type. A little time we were silent; the dropping of
an ember from the grate startled us.
"Why do you think that James watches me? What does he watch me for?"
I asked this, going back to the surprise I had felt when he made the
remark.
"You will know soon enough."
It was useless for me to press the question, since he did not wish to
be explicit.
"I did not know," I continued, "I never dreamed, that James had bad
associates in the city. I know that his uncle and cousins do not
suspect it. It pains me more than I can express. What shall I do? I
have no influence over him. He dislikes me, and would take the most
brotherly remonstrance as an insult."
"I do not wish you, at present, to hint your discovery to him. As for
your not suspecting his habits, those habits themselves are recent. I
doubt if he had ever ventured a dollar on cards three months ago. He
had some gay, even dissolute companions in the city, of whom the worst
and most dangerous was Bagley. But he had not joined them in their
worst excesses--he was only idle and fond of pleasure--a moth
fluttering around the flames. Now he has scorched his wings. He has not
spent more than three or four nights as he spent this; and the only
money he has lost has been to the person you saw him with to-night.
Bagley is one of the vampires who fatten on the characters and purses
of young men like James Argyll."
"Then ought we not to make some earnest effort to save him before it is
too late? Oh, Mr. Burton, you who are wise and experienced--tell me
what to do."
"Why do you feel so much interest in him? You do not like him."
"I could not see the merest stranger go down toward destruction without
stretching forth my hand. There is no great friendship between us, it
is true; but James is nearly connected with the happiness and
reputation of the family I honor most on earth. For its sake, I would
make the utmost endeavor."
"For the interests of justice, then, it is well that I am not related
to the Argylls by the personal ties which affect you. I will tell you
one thing--James does not gamble so much from weakness of will to
resist temptation, as he does to forget, for a time, under the
influence of the fascinating excitement, an anxiety which he carries
about with him."
"You're a close observer, Mr. Burton. James has, indeed, been deeply
troubled lately. I have noticed the change in him--in his appetite,
complexion, manners, in a thousand trifles--a change which grows upon
him daily. He is gnawed upon by secret doubts--now raised by hopes, now
depressed by fears, until he is fitful and uncertain as a light carried
in an autumn wind. But I can tell you that he is all wrong in indulging
this vain hope, which creates the doubt. I know what it is, and how
utterly without foundation. It is weakness, wickedness in him to allow
a passion which ought only to ennoble him and teach him self-control,
to chase him to such ruin as I saw to-night."
"That is _your_ way of viewing the matter, Mr. Redfield. We all see
things according to the color of the spectacles we happen to wear. Then
you think it is a growing certainty that Miss Argyll, even under her
present relief from past vows, will never favor his suit, nor that of
any man, which is driving her cousin to these reckless habits?"
I was half-offended with him for mentioning her name in that manner;
but I knew that mine was an extreme, if not a morbid sensitiveness,
where she was concerned, and I swallowed my resentment, answering,
"I fear it is."
"That may explain his disquiet to you--so be it."
Still Mr. Burton was keeping something back from me--always keeping
something back. I did not feel at all sleepy. I was full of eager
thought. I reviewed, with a lightning glance, all that he had ever
said--all James had recently done or said--and, I swear, had it not
been for the almost affectionate kindness of his general manner to me,
and my belief in his candor, which would not allow him to play the part
of a friend while acting the part of an enemy, I should have felt that
Mr. Burton suspected _me_ of that appalling crime which I was so busily
seeking to fix upon the head of a frail, frightened woman! Again the
idea, and not for the first time, crept through my veins, chilling me
from head to foot. I looked him full in the eyes. If he _had_ such a
thought, I would pluck it out from behind that curtain of deception,
and make him acknowledge it. If he had such a thought, James had
introduced it to his mind. I knew that James had had some interviews
with him, of which I was only cognizant by casual observations dropped
by my host. How many more conclaves they may have held, was left to my
imagination to conjecture. What was this man before me playing this
double part for?--a friend to each, but never to both together. The
reader may smile, and answer that it is the very calling and existence
of a detective to play a double part; and that I ought not to be
chagrined to find him exercising his fine talents upon me. Perhaps
James also had reason to fancy himself this man's confidant and friend,
who was playing us, one against the other, for purposes of his own. It
was the thought that Mr. Burton, before whom more than any other person
in this world, except my mother, I had been wiled to lay open my soul,
could suspect me of any hidden part in that dark tragedy, which chilled
me to the marrow.
But no!--it was impossible! I saw it now in the frank and smiling eyes
which met my searching and lengthy gaze.
"There!" he cried, gayly, "there is a ray of actual sunrise. The fire
is out; the room is chilly--the morning has come upon us. We have sat
out the night, Richard! Let me show you to your room; we will not
breakfast until nine o'clock, and you can catch a couple of hours'
repose in the mean time." He took up a lamp, and we ascended the
stairs. "Here is your chamber. Now, remember, I bid you sleep, and let
that clock in your brain run down. It is bad for the young to think too
deeply. Good--morning."
He passed on, as I closed the door of my chamber. His tone had been
that of an elder friend, speaking to a young man whom he loved; I had
wronged him by that unpleasant idea which had shivered through me.
Closed shutters and thick curtains kept out the broadening light of
dawn; yet I found it difficult to compose myself to sleep. That
haunting shadow which had flitted from Henry's grave as I approached it
yesterday--the dream which I had in the little chamber, awakening to
the reality of the sewing-girl's escape--I could not banish these any
more than I could the discovery made in that house of sin, where the
bloated spider of Play weaves his glittering net, and sits on the watch
for the gay and brilliant victims who flutter into its meshes.
One feeling I had, connected with that discovery, which I had not
betrayed to Mr. Burton--which I would not fairly acknowledge to my own
soul--which I quarreled with--drove out--but which persisted in
returning to me now, banishing slumber from my eyelids. When I had
stood behind those silken curtains, and beheld James Argyll losing
money in play, I had experienced a sensation of relief--I might say of
absolute gladness--a sensation entirely apart from my sorrow at finding
him in such society, with such habits. Why? Ah, do not ask me; I can
not tell you yet. Do not wrong me by saying that it was triumph over
the fall of my rival in Mr. Argyll's affections, in business, possibly,
and in the regards of those two noble girls whose opinions we both
prized so highly. Only do not accuse me of this most apparent reason
for my gladness, and I will abide my time in your judgment. But no! I
will confess this much to-night myself.
If this stealthy and flying creature whom we two men were hunting from
one hiding-place to another, whose wild face had been seen pressing
toward the library window on that night of nights, and whose
handkerchief the very thorns of the roses had conspired to steal from
her, and hold as a witness against her--if this doubtful, eluding
creature, flitting darkly in the shadows of this tragedy, had not
abstracted that money from Mr. Argyll's desk, I had dared to guess who
might have taken it. Simply and solely--not because I did not like
him--but because, to go back to the Friday before that fatal Saturday,
I had been late in the parlors. The girls were singing and playing at
the piano; I left turning the music for them to go for a volume in the
library which I desired to carry off with me to read in my room that
night; I opened the door suddenly, and startled James, who was leaning
over that desk.
"Have you seen my opera-glass?" said he. "I left it on the desk here."
I answered him that I had not seen it, got my book, and returned to the
music, thinking no more of that trifling occurrence--which I never more
should have recalled had it not been for a peculiar expression in
James' face, which I was afterward forced to remember against my will.
Yet so little did I wish to wrong him, even in my secret thoughts, that
when the investigations were taking place, I was convinced, with all
the others, that the unlawful visitor of the garden had, in some
manner, possessed herself of the money. It only came back to me as I
watched James this night, in the gambling saloon, that, if he ever had
been tempted to rob from his uncle more than the unfailing generosity
of that good gentleman allowed him, I was glad that it was _play_ which
had tempted him to the wrongful act. This was the shadowy nature of my
pleasure. Who has complete mastery of his thoughts? Who does not
sometimes find them evil, unwarrantable, uncomfortable, and to be
ashamed of?
From the perplexity of all these things I sunk into a slight slumber,
from which I was almost immediately aroused by the tinkling of the
breakfast-bell. I arose, dressed, and, upon descending to the library,
was met by a servant, who ushered me at once into a cheerful apartment,
where my host sat by the window, reading the morning paper, and where
the table only waited my appearance to be graced by a well-ordered meal.
"Lenore usually presides over the tea-urn," said Mr. Burton, as we sat
down. "We have a little affair which answers for two, and which is
adapted to the strength of her little hands. It seems pleasantest so;
and we both like it--but she has not arisen this morning."
"I hope she is not more unwell than usual," I said, with real
solicitude.
"To tell you the truth, she was not at all benefited by what occurred
yesterday. She is nervous and exhausted; I have been up to see her. I
know that when the doctor comes to-day, he will guess what I have been
about, and blame me. I mean it shall be the last time in which I
experiment upon her."
"I shall regret it, if she is really injured by it, despite my intense
desire to learn what she revealed. Perhaps it was from our selfishness
in making use of this exquisite instrument for purposes so earthly that
we are punished by the fruitlessness of the results."
Mr. Burton laughed.
"Perhaps. Punishment, however, seldom appears fitly meted out, this
side the Stygian river. My Lenore will be better this afternoon; and I
have strong hopes that, with the light now before us, we shall secure
our prize. If that woman escapes me now, I shall set her down as a
lunatic--only an insane person could have the consummate cunning to
thwart me so long."
"There never was one less insane," I said. "The impression which she
made upon me was that of one in whom the emotions and intellect were
both powerful. Her will and cunning are well-nigh a match for yours.
You will have to look sharp."
"It is easier to pursue than to evade pursuit. She has much the most
difficult strategy to conceive and execute. I tell you, Mr. Redfield,
I'm bound to see that woman. I shall be so piqued at my failure, as to
go into a decline, if I'm disappointed." He seemed two-thirds in
earnest, through his jocular assertion.
We did not linger long over the breakfast, being anxious to get back to
Brooklyn. After we had withdrawn from the table, he gave me the paper
to look over, while he ran up a moment to say something to his
daughter. While he was absent, the door-bell rung, and the servant
showed a gentleman into the room where I was.
"Well, really," were the first words I heard, "has Mr. Burton taken you
for an apprentice, and do you lodge with your employer?"
It was James--as usual, when addressing me, with the gay smile covering
the sneer. He did not even extend his hand, but stood looking at me a
moment, with a sort of defiant menace, which ended with an uneasy
glance about the place. If he had been conscious of my secret visit to
his haunts, he would have worn something such an expression; I
construed it that his restless conscience made him suspicious of his
friends.
"I came down, unexpectedly, yesterday morning, at his request. We got
some trace of Leesy Sullivan; and I shall stay until we do something
about it."
"Indeed!"--he seemed relieved, putting off his ugly look and
condescending to be gentlemanly again. "Have you found out where the
wretched creature has hidden herself? Upon my word, I think if Eleanor
knew the case in all its bearings, it might be useful in keeping her
from quite killing herself of grief."
It was now my turn to be angry; I turned upon him with a flushed face:
"For God's sake, don't slander the dead, even by imputation, however
slight. Whoever put Henry where he lies now, and for what purpose, this
much I believe--that no injustice nor sin of his own brought that high
heart low. And the villain, I say the villain, who could breathe such a
whisper in Eleanor's ear would be base enough to--to--"
"Speak out," smiled James, holding me with his softly glittering gaze.
"I will say no more," I ended, abruptly, as I heard Mr. Burton's steps
approaching. It was evident to me that there was to be no peace between
us two.
I watched my host while he greeted the new arrival; I wished to satisfy
myself if there was a difference in his manner of treating us which
would justify my belief that Mr. Burton was not playing a part with me.
He was courteous, affable, every thing that was desirable or to be
expected in a gentleman receiving a friendly acquaintance--that was
all; again I assured myself that it was only toward me that he
displayed real liking and affection. But this he did not now display.
His face had on its mask--that conventional smile and polish, that air
of polite interest, than which nothing is more impenetrable. It was
because, in our intercourse alone together, Mr. Burton laid this mask
aside, that I flattered myself I was his friend and confidant.
"Richard got the start of me," observed James, after the compliments of
the day were over; "I had not the least idea that he was in town. I
came down yesterday to buy myself an overcoat--important business,
wasn't it?--and stayed over to the opera, last night being the opening
of the new season. Did either of you attend? I did not see you, if
there. He tells me that he left in the early morning train, before the
one I took. Have you any information of importance, Mr. Burton?"
"We have seen Miss Sullivan."
"Is it possible? And have you really made up your mind that the poor
thing is guilty? If so, I hope you will not fail to have her arrested.
I should like, very much indeed, to have the affair sifted to the
dregs."
"Yes, I suppose so. It is quite natural that you should take an
interest in having it sifted, as you say. I assure you that if I have
reason enough to warrant an indictment, I shall have one gotten out. In
the mean time we must be cautious--the interests involved are too
serious to be played with."
"Certainly, they are, indeed. And unless that young woman is really the
dreadful being we believe her, we ought not to ruin her by open
accusation. Still, I must say she acts extremely like a guilty person."
"She does, Mr. Argyll; I see but one explanation of her conduct--she is
herself _particeps criminis_, or she knows who is."
"Quite likely. Indeed, we can not well think otherwise. Did you say you
had actually seen the girl, Mr. Burton?"
"We saw her yesterday--that is, Mr. Redfield did."
"May I inquire the result? or am I not supposed to be sufficiently
interested in the case to have any right to ask questions? If so, I beg
you, don't trouble yourselves. There are doubtless others who have
deeper and different reasons from mine, for being conspicuous in the
matter." As James said this, he looked directly at me. "You know, Mr.
Burton, I have intimated as much before; and, if I am sometimes
imprudent in my speech, you must know how hard it is for me to control
myself always."
I was conscious that I grew pale, as Mr. Burton glanced swiftly at me,
I felt so certain that James meant something personal, yet so uncertain
how to accuse him of it, or to compel him to explain himself, when he
would probably deny there was any thing to explain.
"I don't think there's any one has a deeper interest in the matter than
you, Mr. Argyll," said Mr. Burton, with a kind of smooth distinctness
of tone which might seem to be impressive, or mean nothing, as the
listener chose to understand it. "About seeing the girl, Redfield has
not half so much to tell as I wish he had. In fact, he let her slip
through his fingers."
A dry laugh was James' comment upon this avowal. Mr. Burton saw that we
were inwardly chafing, ready, as it were, to spring upon each other; he
took up his hat and gloves.
"Come, gentlemen, we have business on hand of too much importance to
permit of ceremony. Mr. Argyll, I must excuse myself. But if you'll
join us, we shall be glad of your aid and company. We are going over to
Brooklyn, to seek for another glimpse of Leesy Sullivan."
James slightly started as Brooklyn was mentioned. He had no reason to
suppose that any thing but courtesy prompted the invitation he
received; yet he did not hesitate to accept it. Whether from mere
curiosity, or jealousy at being kept out of the detective's full
confidence, or a desire to pry into my actions and motives, or a
praiseworthy interest--whatever it was prompted him, he kept with us
all day, expressing regret as deep as our own when another night came
without any results. Being belated, we took our supper in a saloon, as
we had done our dinner. I could not but notice that Mr. Burton did not
invite James to the house to spend the night, nor converse with him at
all about his daughter or his personal affairs.
The next morning James returned home; but I remained in the city
several days, all this time the guest of Mr. Burton, and becoming more
attached to him and his beautiful child. After the first day, Lenore
recovered pretty rapidly from the ill effects of the trance; I was, as
the ladies say, "perfectly charmed" with her. A gayer, more airy little
sprite never existed than she, when her health permitted her natural
spirit to display itself. Her grace and playfulness were befitting her
age--childish in an eminent degree, yet poetized, as it were, by an
ethereal spirituality, which was all her own. To hear her sing would be
to wonder how such a depth and hight and breadth, such an infinity of
melody, could be poured from so young and slender a throat--as I had
often wondered, when gazing at the swelling breast of some little
triumphant bird, where was hidden the mechanism for all that marvelous
power of music.
It is said that children know who are their true friends. I do not
think that "flitting, fairy" Lenore doubted for an instant that I was
hers. We acknowledged a mutual attraction, which it seemed to give her
father pleasure to observe. She was, to both of us, a delight and a
rest, to which we looked forward after the vexations and
disappointments of the day--vexations and disappointments which
increased upon us; for every night we had the dissatisfaction of
finding some slender thread of probability, which we had industriously
unraveled and followed, either abruptly broken off, leaving us
standing, perplexed and foolish, or else leading to persons and
purposes most irrelevant. I should dislike to say how many pale,
dark-eyed young women, with pretty babies, made our unexpected
acquaintance during the following week--an acquaintance as brief as it
was unsolicited on their part.