Cross-Purposes
Godfrey was waiting for me at the desk, and I felt him glance at me
keenly as I announced my readiness to accompany him.
"We'll go up to the Kingdon place," he said, "and see if the coroner has
made any discoveries. The clerk told me you had a visitor," he added, as
we reached the street.
"A client," I answered, with forced jocularity. "A clergyman in need of
legal advice."
"I thought I recognised him as he came out. It was Dr. Schuyler, wasn't
it?"
"Yes."
He glanced at me again, and then walked on in silence; but I felt the
reproach he did not utter.
"He's in trouble of some kind," I explained.
"Connected with this affair?"
"I think so. But I don't want it blazed forth in the _Record_ till I'm
sure."
"The _Record_ doesn't blaze forth everything I know," he said quietly.
"I know it doesn't, but you'd give it this--it would have a right to
this."
"Is it so important as all that?"
"I rather fancy it's the clue we've been looking for."
His eyes were shining now as he looked at me.
"That _is_ important," he said. "I should like to have it."
"I'm not absolutely sure," I said, again. "But I'm going to see him
again this evening. If there's anything I can tell you after that, I
will."
"That's fair enough," he assented. "The story, whatever it is, is bound
to be public property in a few days, I suppose?"
"It will probably come out at the inquest. When is the inquest?"
"It's been set for to-morrow; but it will probably be held open until
Lucy Kingdon can testify."
"You'll beat the world a day, then."
"That's what I like to do. But here we are, and there's Haynes at the
door."
We entered the yard, and Godfrey introduced me to the coroner. He
impressed me at once as alert and efficient, and he led the way into the
house, and asked that I tell him the story of the night before, which I
did as circumstantially as I could.
"I hope your wound isn't a bad one," he said, when I had finished,
glancing at my bandaged hand.
"Oh, no," I said; "a mere scratch. To tell the truth, I'd nearly
forgotten it."
"Here's the weapon the bullet came from," he added, and produced from
his pocket a small, pearl-handled revolver. "There are two chambers
empty. The other bullet flew straighter than the one fired at you, Mr.
Lester."
"You mean----"
"Yes, we probed for it and got it out. It had passed directly through
the heart, and lodged in the muscles of the back. There can be no
question that it came from this revolver."
"Whose revolver is it?" I asked.
"Presumably Miss Kingdon's. We've not been able to find any evidence on
that point. It wasn't bought here in Elizabeth. You see it's a foreign
make."
I could decipher upon the barrel the letters "C & I, Paris." Godfrey
examined it with eyes which were gleaming strangely. I watched him with
a curious sinking of the heart, but he handed it back to the coroner
without comment.
"Anything else?" he asked. "No trace of the watch?"
"No," and Haynes shook his head.
"How is Miss Kingdon?"
"A little quieter, but still delirious. She won't be able to testify
to-morrow. We've got a trained nurse for her--the doctor thinks she'd
better not be moved for a day or two."
"And no light as to the identity of the victim?"
"Not the slightest. I've found a cabman who saw him get off the 10.30
train from New York on the morning of the tenth. Then he went into a
drugstore near the depot, and asked to look at a directory, afterwards
asking the way to North Broad Street. He probably spoke to no one else
till he stopped to ask Clemley where the Kingdons lived."
"He'd never been here before, then."
"Evidently not. And he didn't know the Kingdons' address until he got
here."
"No," agreed Godfrey; "no. Well, you've evidently done everything that
could be done, Mr. Haynes. Perhaps something more will come out at the
inquest. It opens at ten o'clock, doesn't it?"
"Yes; here are your subpoenas," and he handed us each a paper.
"Very well," said Godfrey. "We'll be present, of course. Where will it
be held?"
"I thought it best to hold it right here," answered Haynes, "I want the
jury to be on the scene."
"But won't it disturb Miss Kingdon?"
"Not at all. There's a large front room which will answer nicely--and
I'll have the police keep everybody out who hasn't some business there.
Here's the room," and he opened a door and led the way into the room
beyond.
It was the one into which Miss Kingdon had shown me on the morning of my
memorable interview with her, and involuntarily my eyes sought the
portrait on the wall opposite the front windows. It was still there--as
alluring, astonishing, compelling as ever. Indeed, as I gazed at it now,
it seemed even more striking than it had when I saw it first.
"Look at that," I said, turning to Godfrey, but there was no need for me
to call his attention to the portrait. He had already seen it, and was
gazing at it in rapt admiration.
"Whose is it?" he demanded, at last. "Who painted it?"
I pointed to the name scrawled in the corner.
"'Ruth Endicott,'" he read slowly. "Well, and who was she?"
"That's her portrait," I said. "Does it remind you of any one?"
He looked at it for a moment in silence; then he shook his head.
"No, I can't say that it does. But who was Ruth Endicott?"
"Nobody in particular--a distant relative of the Kingdons."
Godfrey gazed at me sceptically.
"Really?" he asked.
"Really. This was the last picture she painted--of herself. You see how
crude it is."
"Crude--yes; but it's got power, Lester. The woman's _there_, somehow,
looking right out of the canvas. Did she die?"
"Yes; thirty years ago," and I told him the little I knew of Ruth
Endicott and her history.
He listened without comment, his eyes still on the bewitching face
gazing down from the wall at us.
"Well, it beats me," was his only remark, when I had ended, and with a
visible effort he tore himself away from the portrait, and turned to the
coroner, who had been waiting patiently until our inspection of the
painting was ended. "Is this where the inquest will be held?"
"Yes, sir; I'll have some chairs brought in. It won't last very long.
I'll have to adjourn it, of course, until Miss Kingdon can give her
testimony."
Godfrey nodded.
"Yes, you'll have to do that. Well, you may depend upon us--but I doubt
if our evidence will go very far toward solving the mystery."
* * * * *
If the town had been glowing the night before over the disappearance of
Marcia Lawrence, it was fairly blazing now over this new mystery. In
fact, the one had quite eclipsed the other, and I was mightily relieved
to find that no one suspected any relation between them. I bought copies
of both the local papers, and observed again their prodigal use of black
type and exclamation points. Each of them devoted the whole front page
to the case, without, however, throwing any new light upon it. On
another page, one of them stated in a few lines that nothing further had
been heard from Miss Lawrence; the other contained no reference whatever
to the Lawrence affair, and had apparently forgotten all about it.
Could any good come of reviving it? Why need Dr. Schuyler interfere at
all? If it was Marcia Lawrence who was insane, the law could not touch
her, whatever she had done. Harriet Kingdon was dead, and the obloquy of
the crime could do her no injury. Besides, whoever had fired the
shot----
Then, suddenly, I remembered the revolver. That was going to prove an
awkward piece of evidence. Godfrey had suspected instantly who its owner
was; and he, certainly, would permit no sentimental considerations to
interfere with placing the whole truth before the public.
But perhaps I was mistaken, after all. Granted that Marcia Lawrence had
been subject to spells of derangement, that was no proof that she had
committed this crime. It might be, indeed, that that very infirmity was
the cause of her flight. She may have believed herself cured, and
accepted Curtiss in good faith, only to discover at the last moment that
she was not cured; or the impulse to flight may have seized her during a
sudden aberration caused by the excitement of her wedding-day. Aversion
to friends and kindred was, as I knew, one of the most common symptoms
of such derangement. Was this the key to the mystery? Was this the
explanation of her flight?
It was with my mind in this tumult that I approached Dr. Schuyler's
house, that evening, and rang the bell. He opened the door himself.
"I was expecting you," he said, and led the way to his study. "Sit down,
Mr. Lester. I've been thinking over what you told me, and it seems to me
that the world should know the whole truth."
My heart sank at the words.
"But what good will it do?" I questioned. "Of course, Dr. Schuyler, I
suspect what the secret is. What good will it do that the world should
know it?"
"It will at least turn loathing into pity; it will show that she was
justified, in so far as there can be justification for such an act. It
will show that she was not mentally responsible--therefore neither
legally nor morally guilty."
"I wasn't aware that she was regarded with loathing," I said. "In fact,
I didn't know that she was connected with this case at all in any one's
mind outside of ourselves and a friend of mine."
"Not connected with it!" Dr. Schuyler cried. "You astonish me!"
"The public doesn't know the facts, and I see no reason why they should.
You will answer me, perhaps, that it's a duty to protect the memory of
the dead; but the dead was guilty equally with the living."
"My dear sir," said Dr. Schuyler, staring at me in a way I found most
puzzling, "you're speaking in riddles. I confess that I don't in the
least understand you. What is it you propose?"
"What I propose," I said bluntly, "is this. Let Harriet Kingdon bear the
obloquy of the crime--it can't harm her now--besides, she largely
deserves it. My evidence and Godfrey's will show that Lucy Kingdon had
no hand in it, so there'll be no danger of wronging her. Let us see that
Marcia Lawrence is placed in proper hands and receives proper care.
Perhaps she may yet----"
"Marcia Lawrence!" he repeated hoarsely. "What has she to do with this
case, Mr. Lester?"
The question, the expression of his face, brought me to my feet. I was
trembling so that I caught at the chair for support. I saw it all. In an
instant, I saw it all!
"Then it wasn't Miss Lawrence----"
"Nonsense! Not at all!" he broke in testily. "It was Harriet Kingdon."