NEMESIS
XXVII
FROM LIPS LONG SILENT
"This finishes my usefulness as a detective. I have had my fill of
horrors; all, in fact, that my old age can stand."
Thus, Mr. Gryce, as hours afterward he and Sweetwater turned their faces
back toward New York.
"I appreciate your feelings," responded the latter, who had been
strangely silent all day, speaking only when directly addressed. "I can
assure you that in my way I'm as much cut up as you are. I wish now that
I had made an attempt from the rear to head off this distracted woman,
even if I had been obliged to scratch my hands to pieces tearing a board
from the fence."
"It would have done no good. She was determined to die rather than give
up her secret. I remember the look with which her sister-in-law warned
me that she would never survive a capture. But I thought that mere
exaggeration."
Then after a moment of conscious silence on the part of both, the weary
old man added with bitter emphasis, "Her testimony might--I do not say
would--have cleared away our suspicions of Director Roberts."
Sweetwater, who was acting as chauffeur, slowed down his machine till it
came to a standstill at the side of the road. Then wheeling quietly about
till he faced his surprised companion, he remarked very gravely:
"Mr. Gryce, I hadn't the heart to tell you this before, but the time
has come for you to know that Mr. Roberts' cause is not so favorably
affected, as you seem to think, by this suicidal death of one who without
doubt would have proved to be a leading witness against him. I am sure
you will agree with me in this when I inform you that in pursuing the
task you set me, I came upon _this_."
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a large envelope from
which he proceeded to draw forth first the tattered square of what had
once been a cabinet portrait, and then a freshly printed proof of the
same. Holding them both up, he waited for the word that was sure to
follow.
It came with all the emphasis he expected.
"Roberts! Director Roberts!"
"The same, sir"; and the eyes of the two detectives met in what was
certainly one of the most solemn moments of their lives.
They had paused for this short conference at a point where the road
running for a few yards on a level gave them a view of slope on slope of
varying verdure, with glimpses of the Hudson between. Glancing up, with a
gesture of manifest shrinking from the portrait which Sweetwater still
held, Mr. Gryce allowed his glance to run over the wonderful landscape
laid out to his view, and said with breaks and halts bespeaking his deep
emotion:
"If my death here and now, following fast upon that of this unhappy
Frenchwoman, would avail to wipe out the evidence I have so laboriously
collected against this man, I should welcome it with gratitude. I shrink
from ending my career with the shattering of so fine an image, in the
public eye. What lies back of this crime--what past memories or present
miseries have led to an act which would be called dastardly in the most
uninstructed and basest of our sex, I lack the imagination to conceive.
Would to God I had never tried to find out! But no man standing where
Roberts does to-day among the leaders of a great party can fall into such
a pit of shame without weakening the faith of the young and making a
travesty of virtue and honor."
"Yet, if he is guilty----"
"It is our business to pursue him to the end. Only, I like the man,
Sweetwater. I had a long talk with him yesterday on indifferent matters
and I came away liking him."
This was certainly something Sweetwater had not expected to hear, and
it threw him again into silence as he started up the machine and they
pursued their course home.
Hard as the day had been for Mr. Gryce, its trials were not yet over. He
had left it to Sweetwater to report the case to the New York authorities
and had gone home to rest from the shock of the occurrence and to prepare
for that interview with the Chief Inspector which he was satisfied would
now lead to an even more exacting one with the District Attorney.
He was met by a messenger from downtown who handed him a letter. He
opened it abstractedly and read the following:
"Mrs. Taylor is talking."
He had forgotten Mrs. Taylor. To have her thus brought forcibly back to
mind was a shock heightened, rather than diminished, by a perusal of the
few connected words which the careful nurse had transcribed as falling
from her delirious patient's lips.
They were these:
I love but thee,
And thee will I love to eternity.
The exact lines, no more, no less, which Sweetwater had found written on
the back of the Swiss clock cherished by Mr. Roberts.
XXVIII
"ROMANTIC! TOO ROMANTIC!"
Next morning Mr. Gryce left his home an hour earlier than usual. He
wished to have a talk with Mrs. Taylor's nurse before encountering the
Inspector.
It was an inconvenient time for a nurse to leave the sick-bed; but the
matter being so important, she was prevailed upon to give him a few
moments, in the little reception room where he had seated himself. The
result was meagre--that is, from her standpoint. All she had to add to
what she had written him the day before was the fact that the two lines
of verse quoted in the note she had sent him were Mrs. Taylor's first
coherent utterance, and that they had been spoken not only once but many
times, in every kind of tone, and with ever-varying emphasis. That and a
dreamy request for "The papers! the papers!" which had followed some
action of her own this very morning comprised all she had to give in
fulfillment of the promise she had made him at the beginning of this
illness.
Mr. Gryce believed her and rose reluctantly to his feet.
"Then she is still very ill?"
"Very ill, but mending daily; or so the doctor says."
"If she talks again, as she is liable to do at any moment, do not check
her, but remember every word. The importance of this I cannot impress
upon you too fully. But do not by any show of curiosity endanger her
recovery. She seems to be one of the very best sort; I would not have her
body or mind sacrificed on any account."
"You may trust me, sir."
He nodded, giving her his hand.
But as he was turning away, he looked back with the quiet remark: "I
should like to ask a final question. You have been in constant attendance
on this lady for some time and must have seen many of her friends, as
well as taken charge of her mail and of any messages which may have been
left for her. Has there been anything in this experience to settle the
doubt as to whether her talk of a vision in which she saw her absent
husband stricken simultaneously with the poor child lying at that very
moment dead at her feet simply delirium or a striking instance of
telepathy recording an accomplished fact? In other words, do you believe
her husband to be living or not living at the present time?"
"That is a subject upon which I have not been able to form any opinion.
I have heard nothing, seen nothing to influence my mind either way. Some
other people have asked me this same question. If her mail contains any
news, it is still in the hands of the proprietor of the hotel. He has
refrained from sending it up. She has lived here, as you know, for a long
while."
"Has she no relative to share your watch or take such things in charge?"
"I have seen none. Friends she has in plenty, but no one who claims
relationship with her, or who raises the least objection to anything I
do."
He seemed about to ask another question, but refrained and allowed her to
depart after some final injunction as to what she should do in case of
certain emergencies. Then he had a talk with the proprietor, which added
little or nothing to his present knowledge; and these duties off his
mind, he went downtown.
As he expected, he found the Chief Inspector awaiting him. The death of
Madame Duclos had added still another serious complication to the many
with which this difficult affair was already encumbered, and he was
anxious to talk over the matter with one who had been on the spot and
upon whose impressions he consequently could rely.
But when he heard all that Mr. Gryce had to say on the subject, he grew
as serious as the detective himself could wish, even going so far as to
propose an immediate ride over to the District Attorney's office.
Fortunately, they found that gentleman in and ready to listen, though
it was evident he expected little from the conference. But his temper
changed as Mr. Gryce opened up his theory and began to substantiate it
with facts. The looks which he exchanged with the Chief Inspector grew
more and more earnest and inquiring, and when Mr. Gryce reached that
portion of his report which connected Mr. Roberts so indisputably with
the arrow, he called in his assistant and together they listened to what
Mr. Gryce had further to say.
With this addition to his audience, the old man's manner changed and
became a trifle more formal. He related the fact, not generally known, of
Mr. Roberts' engagement to a young girl residing on Long Island, and how
this was broken off immediately after the occurrence at the museum,
seemingly from no other reason than the unhappy condition of mind in
which he found himself, a condition added to if not explained by the
pertinacity with which he had haunted the morgue and dwelt upon the image
of the young girl who had perished under no random shot.
Here the old man paused, shrinking as much from what he had yet to say as
they from the hearing of it. It was not till the Chief Inspector had made
him an encouraging gesture that he found the requisite courage to
proceed. He did so, in these words:
"I know that the evidence I have thus far advanced is of a purely
circumstantial nature, capable, perhaps, of a more or less satisfactory
explanation. But what I have to add cannot be so easily disposed of.
Connections have developed between persons we thought strangers which
have opened up a field of inquiry which brings the doubts and surmises
of an old detective within the scope of this office. I do not know what
to make of them; perhaps their full meaning can only be found out here.
Of this only I am assured. The gentleman whom it seems presumptuous on my
part to connect even in a casual way with crime has not gained but lost
by what I have to tell of Madame Duclos' suicidal death. To those who see
no association between the two, it looks like the opening of a new lead,
but when I tell you that they knew each other, or at all events that she
knew him and in the way of actual hatred, it looks more like a deepening
of the old one. See here, gentlemen."
Opening a package he had hitherto held in hand, he showed them
Fredericks' fifteen-year-old photograph of Mr. Roberts, together with its
mutilated counterpart, and explained how the latter came to be in its
present mutilated condition.
"But this is not all," he continued, as the remarks incident upon this
proof of deadly hatred on the part of the mother of the victim for the
man whom circumstances seemed to point out as her slayer subsided under
the pressure of their interest in what he had further to impart. "As you
will see after a moment's consideration, this token of animosity does not
explain Madame Duclos' flight, and certainly not her death, which, as the
unhappy witness of it, I am ready to declare was not the death of one
driven to extremity from personal fear, but by some exalted feeling which
we have yet to understand. All that I now wish to point out in its
connection is the proof offered by this shattered photograph, that Mr.
Roberts was in some manner and from some cause a party to this crime from
which a superficial observation would completely dissociate him.
"Where is the connecting link? How can we hope to establish it? That is
what it has now become my unfortunate duty to make plain to you. Carleton
Roberts drawing a bow to shoot an innocent schoolgirl is incredible. In
spite of all I have said and shown you, I do not believe him guilty of so
inhuman an act. He drew the bow, he shot the arrow, but----Here allow me
to pause a moment to present another aspect of the case as surprising as
any you have yet heard. You are aware--we all are aware--that the inquest
we await has been held back for the purpose of giving Mrs. Taylor an
opportunity to recover from the illness into which she has been thrown by
what she saw and suffered that day. Gentlemen, this Mrs. Taylor whom we
all--I will not even exclude myself from this category--regarded not only
as a casual visitor to the museum, but a stranger to all concerned, is,
on the contrary, as I think you will soon see, more closely allied to the
seemingly dispassionate director than even Madame Duclos. The shock which
laid her low was not that usually ascribed to her, or even the one she so
fantastically offered to our acceptance; but the recognition of Carleton
Roberts as the author of this tragedy,--Carleton Roberts whom she not
only knew well but had loved in days gone by, as sincerely as he had
loved her. This I now propose to prove to you by what I cannot but regard
as incontestable evidence."
Taking from a small portfolio which he carried another photograph,
unmounted this time and evidently the work of an amateur, he laid it out
before them. The silence with which his last statement had been received,
the kind of silence which covers emotions too deep for audible
expression, remained unbroken save for an involuntary murmur or so, as
the District Attorney and his assistant bent over this crude presentation
of something--they hardly knew what--which this old but long trusted
detective was offering them in substantiation of the well-nigh
unbelievable statement he had just made.
[Illustration]
"This, gentlemen," he went on, as he pointed to the following, "is the
copy of a label pasted on the back of a certain Swiss clock to be seen at
this very moment on the wall of Mr. Roberts' own bedroom in his home in
Belport, Long Island. He prizes this clock. He has been heard to say that
it goes where he goes and stays where he stays, and as it is far from a
valuable one either from intrinsic worth or from any accuracy it displays
in keeping time, the reason for this partiality must lie in old
associations and the memories they invoke. A love token. Can you not see
that it is such from the couplet scrawled across it? If not, just take a
look at the initials appended to that couplet. May I ask you to read
them?"
The District Attorney stooped, adjusted his glasses and slowly read out:
"C. C. R."
"Carleton Clifton Roberts," explained Mr. Gryce. Then slowly, "The other
two if you will be so good."
"E. T."
"Ermentrude Taylor," declared the inexorable voice. "And written by
herself. Here is her signature which I have obtained; and here is his.
Compare them at your leisure with their initials inscribed according to
the date there, sixteen years or more ago. Now where were these two--this
man and this woman--at the time just designated? Alone, or together? Let
us see if we can find out," pursued the detective with a quiet ignoring
of the effect he had produced, which revealed him as the master of a
situation probably as difficult and disconcerting as the three officials
hanging in manifest anxiety upon his words had ever been called upon to
face. "Mr. Roberts was in Switzerland, as his housekeeper will be obliged
to admit on oath, she being an honest woman and a domestic in his
mother's house at the time. And Ermentrude Taylor! I have a witness to
prove where she was also! A witness I should be glad to have you
interrogate. Here is her name and address." And he slipped a small scrap
of paper into the District Attorney's hand. "What she will say is this,
for I think I have very thoroughly sounded her: First, that she is Mrs.
Taylor's most intimate friend. This is conceded by all who know her.
Secondly, that while her intimacy does not extend back to their girlhood
days--Mrs. Taylor being an Englishwoman by birth and remarkably reticent
as to her former life and experiences--she has one story to tell of that
time which answers the question I have given you. She got it from Mrs.
Taylor herself, and in this manner. They were engaged in talking one day
about our Western mountains and the grandeur of scenery generally, when
Mrs. Taylor let fall some remark about the Alps, which led this friend of
hers to ask if she had ever seen them. Mrs. Taylor answered in the
affirmative, but with such embarrassment and abrupt change of subject
that it was plainly apparent she had no wish to discuss it. Indeed, her
abruptness was so marked and her show of trouble so great, she was
herself disturbed by what might very easily give offense, and being of a
kindly, even loving disposition, took occasion when next they met to
explain that it was as a girl she had visited Switzerland, and that her
experiences there had been so unfortunate that any allusion which
recalled those days distressed her. This is all that ever passed between
these two on this subject, but is it not enough when we read this
couplet, and mark the combined initials, and recognize them as those of
Carleton Roberts and Ermentrude Taylor? But lest you should doubt even
this evidence of an old-time friendship so intimate that it has almost
the look of a betrothal, I must add one more item of corroborative fact
which came to me as late as last night. In a moment of partial
consciousness, while the nurse hung over her bed, Mrs. Taylor spoke her
first coherent sentence since she fell into a state demanding medical
assistance. And what was that sentence? A repetition of this couplet,
gentlemen, spoken not once but over and over again, till even the nurse
grew tired of listening to it.
'I love but thee,
And thee will I love to eternity.'"
As the last word fell from Mr. Gryce's lips, the District Attorney
muttered a quick exclamation, and sat down heavily in his chair.
"No coincidence that," he cried, with forced vivacity. "The couplet is
too little known."
"Exactly," came from Mr. Gryce in dry confirmation. "Mrs. Taylor, as well
as her friends can judge, is a woman of thirty-five or thirty-eight. If
she went to Switzerland as a girl, this would make her visit coincident,
so far as we can calculate from our present knowledge, with that of
Carleton Roberts. For the surer advancement of our argument, let us say
that it was. What follows? Let the inscription of this label speak for
us. They met; they loved--as was natural when we remember the youth and
good looks of both, and--_they parted_. This we must concede, or how
could the experience have been one she could not recall without a
heart-break. They parted, and he returned home, to marry within the year,
while she--I do not think she married--though I have no doubt she looks
upon herself as a wife and forever bound to the man who deserted her.
Women of her kind think in this way of such matters, and act upon them
too as is shown by the fact that, on following him here, she passed
herself off as a woman separated from her husband. Changing the Miss
before her name to Mrs., she lived under this assumption for twelve years
at her present hotel. In all that time, so far as I can learn, she has
never been visited by anyone of an appearance answering to that of her
former lover; nor have I any reason to think she ever intruded herself on
him, or made herself in any way obnoxious. He was married and settled,
and contrary to the usual course of men who step with one stride into
affluence, was living a life of usefulness which was rapidly making
him a marked man in public esteem. Perhaps she had no right to meddle
with what no longer concerned her. At all events, there is no evidence
of her having done so in all these fourteen years. Even after Mrs.
Roberts' death, all went on as usual; _but_--" Here Mr. Gryce became
emphatic--"when he turned his attention to a second marriage and that
with a very young girl--(I can name her to you, gentlemen, if you wish)
her patient soul may have been roused; she may have troubled him with
importunities; may have threatened him with a scandal which would have
interfered greatly with his political hopes if it had not ended them at
once. I can conceive such an end to her long patience, can't you,
gentlemen? And what is more, if this were so, and the gentleman found the
situation intolerable, it might account for the flight of that arrow as
nothing else ever will."
Both men had started to their feet.
"How! It was not _she_----"
"It was not she who was struck, _but it was she who was aimed at_. The
young girl merely got in the way. But before I enlarge upon this point,"
he continued in lower tones as the two officials slowly reseated
themselves, "allow me to admit that any proof of correspondence between
these old-time lovers would have added much to my present argument. But
while I have no doubt that such an interchange of letters took place, and
that in all probability some one or more of them still exist, Mrs.
Taylor's illness and Mr. Roberts' high position prevent any
substantiation of the same on our part. I must therefore ask you to
assume that it was in obedience to some definite agreement between them
that she came to the museum on that fatal morning and made her appearance
in that especial section of the gallery marked II. If this strikes you as
inconceivable and too presumptuous for belief, you must at least concede
that we have ample proof of his entire readiness for her coming. The bow
brought up so many days before from the cellar was within reach; the
arrow under his coat; and his place of concealment so chosen as to make
his escape feasible the moment that arrow flew from the bow. Had she
entered that section alone--had the arrow found lodgment in her breast
instead of in that of another--nay, I will go even further and say that
had no cry followed his act, an expectation he had every right to count
upon from the lightning-like character of the attack,--he would have
reached the Curator's office and been out of the building before quick
discovery of the deed made his completion of this attempt impossible."
"But the girl did cry out," remarked the Assistant District Attorney.
"How do you account for that, since, as you say, it was not natural for
one pierced to the heart without warning?"
"Ah, you see the big mistake we made,--Correy and all the rest of us. Had
Miss Willetts, or I should say, Mademoiselle Duclos, been the one to let
out that dolorous cry, the man just behind the partition would have been
there almost in time to see her fall. Correy, who started up the stairs
at the first sound, would have been at the gallery entrance before the
man of the arrow could have dropped the hanging over his retreating
figure. But it was not from her lips, poor girl, that this gasping shriek
went up, but from those of the woman who saw the deed and knew from whom
the arrow came and for whom it was meant. How do I know this? Because of
the time which elapsed, the few precious minutes which allowed Mr.
Roberts to get as far away as the court. For she did not voice her agony
immediately. Even she, with her own unwounded heart keeping up its
functions, stood benumbed before this horror. Not till the full meaning
of it all had penetrated her reluctant brain did she move or cry out. How
long this interval was; whether three minutes were consumed by it, or
five, we have no means of telling. She, in her despair, would take no
note of time, nor would Mr. Travis, reeling in the opposite gallery under
the shock of seeing all that he loved taken from him in one awful
minute."
Here the detective turned with great earnestness toward the two
officials.
"This question of time has been, as I have repeatedly said, the greatest
stumbling-block we have encountered in our consideration of this crime.
How could the assassin, by any means possible, have got so far away from
the pedestal, in the infinitesimal lapse of time between the cry that was
heard and the quick alarm which followed. Now we know. Have you anything
to say against this conclusion? Any other explanation to give which will
account for every fact as this does?"
His answer came in a dubious gesture from the District Attorney and a
half-hearted "No" from his Assistant. They were both either too awed by
the circumstance or too fearful of mistake, to accept without a struggle
an accusation of this grave and momentous character against one of Mr.
Roberts' stamp and consequence.
This was no more than Mr. Gryce had expected, and while he realized that
his reputation as a detective of extraordinary insight in cases of an
unusually baffling nature trembled in the balance, he experienced a
sudden distaste of his work which almost drove him into renouncing the
whole affair. But the habits of a lifetime are not parted with so
easily; and when the Chief Inspector observed--evidently with the idea of
goading him on--"This seems to be mainly a matter of conjecture, Gryce,"
his old self reasserted itself, and he answered boldly:
"I acknowledge that; but conjecture is what in nine cases out of ten
smoothes out many of our difficulties. I have here a short statement made
by myself, after the most careful inquiries, of all that Mrs. Taylor and
the untrapped director did and said in the few difficult moments when
they met face to face over the body of his unfortunate victim. I will ask
you to listen to a portion of it.
"'She had not moved. After her one cry of horror which had brought a rush
of witnesses upon the scene, she remained fixed on her knees in the
absorbed introspection common to those brought suddenly face to face with
a life and death crisis. He, finding that his own safety demanded action
suitable to his position as a director, had entered with the crowd and
now stood in her presence, in face of his own diabolical work, in an
attitude of cold courage such as certain strong natures are able to
assume under the pressure of great emergencies.
"'So long as she was deaf to all appeal to rouse and explain the
situation, he stood back, watchful and silent; but when she finally
roused and showed a disposition to speak, his desperation drove him
into questioning her in order to see how much she understood of an attack
which had killed a harmless stranger and let herself go free.
"'He asked her first if she could tell them from which direction came the
arrow which ended this young girl's life.
"'She made no reply in words; but glanced significantly at the opposite
gallery.
"'This called from him the direct inquiry, "Did you see anyone over there
at the moment this young girl fell?"
"'She shook her head. Afterward she explained the denial by saying that
she had been looking down into the court.
"'But he did not cease his inquiries. Turning to the people crowding
about him, he put the like question to them; but receiving no answer, a
silence followed, during which a woman suggested in tones loud enough for
all to hear, that there were no arrows on the other side of the court,
but that the gallery where they stood was full of them.
"'This seemed to alarm Mrs. Taylor. Turning to the director, she asked
whether he was sure that the opposite gallery held no arrows and no bows;
and when he replied that nothing of the kind was to be found along its
entire length, she proceeded to inquire whether any such deed could be
committed in a place so open to view, without attracting the observation
of some one wandering in court or gallery.
"'This, undoubtedly, to ascertain the full extent of his danger, before
bestowing a thought upon herself. But at his answer, given with the cold
precision of a thoroughly selfish man, that if anyone in the whole
building had seen so much as a movement in a spot so under suspicion,
that person would have been heard from by this time, she faltered and was
heard to ask what he had in mind and why the people about her looked at
her so. He did not respond directly, but made some remark about the
police, which increased her alarm to the point of an attempted
justification. She said that it was true about the arrows, as anyone
could see by looking up at the walls. But where was the bow? No one could
shoot an arrow without a bow, and when some one shouted that if an arrow
was used as a dagger, one wouldn't need a bow, a sort of frenzy seized
her and she acted quite insane, falling at the young girl's side and
whispering sentence after sentence in her ear.
"'What more was needed to stamp her as a mad woman in the eyes of the
ordinary observer? Nothing. But to you and me, with the cue just given,
it has another look. She had just seen the man whom she had herself
spared from an accusation which would have been his ruin accept in the
coldest fashion an explanation which left her own innocence in doubt.
What wonder she succumbed to temporary aberration! As will be remembered,
she soon became comparatively calm again, and so remained until in an
interview I had with her a half hour or so later I urged her, possibly
with too much insistence, for some explanation of the extreme agitation
she had shown at the time, when she broke forth with the remarkable
statement that it was not the child, but her husband, she was mourning,
stricken to death, as she would have us believe, simultaneously with the
young and innocent victim then lying dead at her feet.
"'Of course, such a coincidence was much too startling not to be regarded
by us all as the ravings of delirium; nor has anything occurred since in
the way of communication from, or in regard to the absent one, to show
that this so-called warning of death has been followed up by fact. But,
if you test her action by the theory I have just advanced, viz., that the
man she called husband was at that moment in the room with us and that
these words were a plea to him--the last appeal of a broken-hearted woman
for the support she felt to be her due--how the atmosphere of unreason
and mystery clears itself. His suggestion that what was needed there was
an alienist, and the pitiful efforts she made to exonerate herself
without implicating him in the murderous event, fall naturally into
place, as the action of a guilty man and the self-denying conduct of a
devoted woman.'"
"Romantic! too romantic!" objected the District Attorney. "I should think
we were listening to one of Dumas' tales."
"Dumas got his greatest effects from life, or so I have been told,"
remarked the Chief Inspector.
Mr. Gryce sat silent.
Suddenly, the District Attorney observed with the slightest tinge of
irony edging his tone:
"I presume you would find a like explanation for the messages she
professed to be sending to her husband, when engaged in babbling fool
words into the dead girl's ear."
"Certainly. He was there, mark you! He stood where he could both see and
hear her. All she said and all she did was by way of appeal to him for
some token of regret, some sign that he appreciated her reticence; and
when she found that it was bringing her nothing, she fainted away."
"Ingenious, very ingenious, Gryce. Had you failed to give us proofs
connecting this idol of the Republican party with the actual shooting,
it would have been simply ingenious and a quite useless expenditure
of talent. But we have these proofs, and while they are mainly
circumstantial, they undoubtedly call upon us for some recognition, and
so we will hear you out whatever action we may take afterward."
"But first I should like to ask Mr. Gryce one question," interposed his
assistant. Then addressing the detective: "Two mysteries are involved in
this matter. You have given us a clever explanation of one of them, but
how about the other? Will you, before going further, tell us what
connection you find between the theory just advanced and the flight and
ultimate suicide of Madame Duclos under circumstances which point to a
desire to suppress evidence even at the cost of her life? It was not
from consideration for Mr. Roberts, whom you have shown she hated. What
was it then? Have you an equally ingenious explanation for that too?"
"I have an explanation, but I cannot say that it is altogether
satisfactory. She died but yesterday, and my opportunities have been
small for any work since. What I have learned was from her sister-in-law,
whom I saw this morning. Realizing that she will be obliged to give full
testimony at the inevitable inquest, she is at last ready to acknowledge
that she has been aware for a long time of a secret in Madame's life.
That while she knew nothing of its nature, she had always thought that it
was in some manner connected with her prolonged residence abroad. Whether
it would also explain the meaning of her return at this time and the
seemingly inexplicable change made in her daughter's name while _en
route_, must be left to our judgment. Madame had told her nothing. She
had simply made use of their home, coming and going, not once, but twice,
without giving them the least excuse for her inexplicable conduct. A
hundred questions could not elicit more. But to one who like myself has
had the opportunity of observing this wretched woman at the moment of her
supreme distress an insight is given into her character, which suggests
the only plausible explanation of her action. Her sacrifice was one of
devotion! She perished in an exaltation of feeling. Love drove her to
this desperate act. Not the love of woman for a man, but the love which
women of her profound nature sometimes feel for one of their own sex.
Mrs. Taylor was her friend--wait, I hope to prove it--and to save her
from experiencing the extreme misery of seeing the man who was the joy
as well as bane of her life suffer from the consequences of his own
misdeeds, Antoinette Duclos felt willing to die and did. You smile,
gentlemen. You think the old man is approaching senility. Perhaps I am,
but if the contention is raised that no connection has been shown to
exist between Mrs. Taylor and this foreign Madame, save such as was made
by the death of Madame's child, I must retort by asking who warned Madame
Duclos of the fatal occurrence at the museum in time for her to flee
before even our telephone messages reached her hotel? Gentlemen, there is
but one person who could have done this--our chief witness, Ermentrude
Taylor. She alone had not only the incentive, but the necessary
opportunity. Coroner Price as well as myself made a great mistake when we
allowed Mrs. Taylor to go home alone that day."
"Very likely." This from the Chief Inspector. "But if the information I
have received on this point is correct, she seemed at that time to be so
entirely dissociated with a deed whose origin had just been located in
the opposite gallery, that you have no real cause to blame yourselves in
this regard."
"True; our minds were diverted. But you are waiting for me to explain
what I mean by opportunity. Since my attention has been drawn to Mrs.
Taylor again, I have been making inquiries. The chauffeur who drove her
to her hotel has been found, and he admits that she stopped once on her
way home, to buy some coffee. He watched her as she went into the store
and he watched her as she came out; and he smelled the coffee. Happily,
the interest he took in her as a sick woman intrusted to his care was
strong enough for him to remember the store. It was one with two
entrances, front and back; and next door to it there is a public building
with a long row of telephone booths on the ground floor. If I read the
incident aright, she bought her coffee, ordered it ground, slipped out at
the rear door and into the adjoining building, where, unnoticed and
unheard, she called up the Universal and got into communication with
Madame Duclos. When she returned it was by the same route. She did not
forget her coffee nor give way under the great strain to which she had
subjected herself till she reached her own apartment."
"Clever."
"And true, gentlemen; I will stake my reputation on it, unable as I am to
explain every circumstance, and close up every gap. Have you any further
questions to ask or shall I leave you to your deliberations?"
XXIX
A STRONG MAN
An hour later when the Chief Inspector rose to depart, it was with the
understanding that until their way cleared and their duty in this matter
had become inevitable, no word of this business should reach the press,
or even pass beyond the three officials interested.
Strange to say, they were able to keep this compact, and days elapsed
without any public recognition of the new factor which had entered into
the consideration of this complicated crime.
Then a hint of what was seething in the official mind was allowed to
carry its own shock to the person most interested. Mr. Roberts was
summoned to an interview with Coroner Price. No reason was given for this
act, but the time was set with an exactness which gave importance to a
request which they all felt the director would not venture to disregard.
Nor did he. He came at the time appointed, and Coroner Price in welcoming
him with becoming deference could not but notice the great change which
had taken place in him since that night they stood together in the museum
and saw the Indian make the trial with bow and arrow which located the
point of delivery as that of the upper pedestal. In just what this change
lay, the Coroner hardly knew, unless it was in the increased grayness of
his hair. Mr. Roberts' face, handsome as it was, was not an expressive
one. Slight emotions made no impression there; nor did he to-day present
anything but a calm and dignified appearance. Yet he was changed; and
anyone who had not seen him since that night must certainly observe it.
The Coroner, who was also a man of a somewhat stolid cut, proffered him a
seat and at once opened fire.
"You will pardon me any inconvenience I may have put you to, Mr. Roberts,
when I tell you that Coroner D---- of Greene County, is anxious to have a
few words with you. He would have visited you at your home; but I induced
him to see you here."
"Coroner D---- of Greene County!" Mr. Roberts was entirely surprised.
"And what business can he have with me?"
"It is in regard to the suicide of Madame Antoinette Duclos, committed,
as you know, a week since in the Catskills."
"Ah! an extraordinarily sad affair, and of considerable moment I should
judge, from its seeming connection with the one previously occurring at
our museum. The girls' mother, was she not? Grief evidently unseated her
brain. But--" here he changed his position quietly but with evident
effort:--"in what manner am I supposed to be in a position to help the
Coroner in his inquiry into this case? I was a witness, together with
many others, of what happened after the accident which took place at the
museum; but I know nothing of Madame Duclos or of her self-inflicted
death, beyond what has appeared in the papers."
"The papers! An uncertain guide, Mr. Roberts. You may not believe it,"
Coroner Price remarked with a strange sort of smile, "but there are
secrets known to this office, as well as to Police Headquarters, which
never get into the most enterprising journals."
Was this meant to startle the director, and did it succeed in doing so?
It may have startled him, but if so, he made no betrayal of the fact. His
manner continued to be perfectly natural and his voice under full control
as he replied that it would be strange if in a case like this they should
give out all the extraneous facts and possible clues which might be
gathered in by their detectives.
This was carrying the offense into the enemy's camp with a vengeance. But
the Coroner was saved replying by Mr. Roberts remarking:
"But this is not an answer to my question. Why should the Coroner of
Greene County want to see _me_?"
Coroner Price proffered him a cigar, during the lighting of which the
former remarked:
"It's certainly very odd. You say that you didn't know Madame Duclos."
"No; how should I? She was a foreigner, was she not?"
"Yes; a Frenchwoman, both by birth and marriage. Her husband, a professor
of languages, was located some sixteen years ago, in New Orleans."
"I never knew him. Indeed, I find it hard to understand why I should be
expected to show any interest in him or his wife."
"Well, I will tell you. You may not have known the Madame; but it is very
certain that she knew you."
"She?" This certainly unexpected blow seemed to make some impression.
"Will you give me your reasons for such an assertion? Was the name
Duclos a false one? Was her name like that of her daughter, Willetts? If
so, allow me to assure you that I never heard of a Willetts any more than
I have of a Duclos. That a woman of whatever name and nationality should
desert her child fills me with horror. I cannot speak of her, dead though
she be, with any equanimity. A mother and act as she did! She herself was
to blame, and only she for what happened to that beautiful girl--so
young--so sweet--so innocent. I have a weakness for youth. To me a girl
of that type is sacred. Had I been blessed with such a child----But
there, I am straying again from our point. What makes you say Madame
Duclos knew me?"
Before replying, the Coroner rose, and taking a small package from
his desk, opened it, and laid out before the astonished eyes of Mr.
Roberts the freshly printed photograph of himself with which we are
so well acquainted, and then the half-demolished one which for all its
imperfections showed that it had been originally struck off from the same
negative.
"Do you recognize this portrait of yourself as one taken by Fredericks
some dozen years ago?"
"Certainly. But this other? This end and corner of what must have been my
picture too, where was _it_ found?"
"Ah, that is what I have called you here to learn. This remnant of what
you have just admitted to have been your photograph also was found in the
very condition in which you see it now, in the wastebasket of the room
where Madame Duclos lodged previous to her flight to the Catskills."
"This! with the face----"
"Just that! With the face riddled out of it by bullets! She shot six into
it at intervals; waiting for the passing of an elevated train by her
windows, in the hope that the bigger noise would drown the lesser."
"It is nothing," was Mr. Roberts' indignant comment, as he brushed the
picture aside. "That was never my picture, or she wanted a target for her
skill and didn't care what she took. That is all I have to say to you or
to the Coroner of Greene County, on a matter in which I have no concern.
I am sorry to disappoint both of you, but it is so."
He rose, and the Coroner did not seek to detain him. He merely observed,
as the director turned to go:
"Have you heard the latest news about Mrs. Taylor?"
"No."
"She is improving rapidly. Soon she will be able to appear before the
jury already chosen to inquire into the cause and manner of Miss
Willetts' death."
"A fine woman!" came in a burst from the director's lips as he faced
about for a good-bye nod. "I don't know when I have seen one I admired
more."
And Coroner Price had nothing to say, he was stupefied.
But it was not so with Mr. Gryce, who entered immediately upon Mr.
Roberts' departure.
"Not a jarring note," he remarked. Evidently he had heard the whole
conversation. "I never for a moment imagined that he knew Madame Duclos.
Any knowledge we gain of her will have to come from Mrs. Taylor."
"He's a strong man. We shall find it difficult to hold our own against
him if we are brought to an actual struggle."
"Why did he run the forefinger of his right hand so continuously into his
right-hand vest pocket?" was Mr. Gryce's sole comment.
By which it looks as if he had seen as well as heard.
"I didn't notice it. Is the District Attorney prepared to make the next
move? Mine has failed."
"Not yet. The game is too hazardous. We should only make ourselves
ridiculous in the eyes of the whole world if we should fail in an attack
upon a man of such national importance. After the two inquests and a
letter I hope to receive from Switzerland, we may be in a position to
launch our first bomb. I don't anticipate the act with any pleasure;
the explosion will be something frightful."
"If half you think is true, the unexpected confronting of him with Mrs.
Taylor should produce some result. That's what I reckon on now, if the
business falls first to me."
"I reckon on nothing. Chance is going to take this thing out of our
hands."
"Chance! I don't understand you."
"I don't understand myself; but this is a case which will never come into
court."
"I differ with you. I almost saw confession in his face when he turned
upon me at last with that extravagant expression of admiration for the
woman you say he meant to kill."
"Why did his finger go so continuously to his vest pocket? When you
answer that, I will give a name to what I just called _chance_."
XXX
THE CREEPING SHADOW
Mrs. Taylor suffered a relapse, and the inquest which had been held back
in anticipation of her recovery was again delayed. This led to a like
postponement of an inquiry into the death of Madame Duclos; and a
consequent let-up in public interest which thus found itself, for the
nonce, deprived of further food on which to batten.
Meanwhile, Mr. Gryce was not idle. Anxious to determine just how and
where Madame Duclos' story fitted into the deeper and broader one of the
museum crime, he made use of his fast waning strength to probe its
mysteries and master such of its details as bore upon the serious
investigation to which he was so unhappily committed. When he had done
this,--when he had penetrated, as it were, into the very heart of the
matter to the elimination of all doubt and the full establishment of his
own theory, it was felt that the time had come for some sort of positive
action on the part of those interested in the cause of justice.
This they decided should take the form of a personal interview between
certain officials and Mr. Roberts himself. A lesser man would have been
asked to meet the District Attorney in his office; but in a case of such
moment where the honor of one so prominent in many ways was involved it
was thought best for them to visit him in his own home. To do this
without exciting his apprehension while still making sure of his presence
required some management. Various plans were discussed with the result
that a political exigency was brought into play. The District Attorney
asked Mr. Roberts for an interview for the purpose of introducing to him
a man whose influence could not fail to play an important part in his
future candidacy.
He did not name this man; but we will name him. It was the Chief
Inspector.
The appointment was made and the day set. It was the following Monday. On
Tuesday, Coroner Price was to open his inquest.
Did Carleton Roberts see any connection between these two events?
Who can tell? The secrets of such a brain are not to be read lightly. If
we possessed Sweetwater's interest, and were to follow in secret fashion
every action of the director on the evening preceding this date, what
conclusion should we draw in this regard? How would we characterize his
anticipations, or measure in our own mind the possibilities of the
future as felt by him?
He was very quiet. He ate his meal with seeming appetite. Then he took a
look over his whole house. From the carefulness with which he noted
everything, the changes which he had caused to be made in it were not
without their interest for him. Not a young man's interest, but yet an
interest as critical and acute as though he had expected it to be shared
by one whose comfort he sought and in whose happiness he would fain take
part.
This, to Sweetwater, had he our vision, would have been incomprehensible
from any point of view; especially, had he seen what followed when the
owner of all this luxury returned to his library.
There was a picture there; a small framed photograph which occupied the
post of honor on his desk.
It showed a young and pretty face, untouched, as yet, by the cares or
troubles of this world. He spent a minute or so in looking at it; then he
slowly lifted it, and taking the picture from the frame, gave it another
look, during which a smile almost derisive gathered slowly on his lips.
Before this smile had altogether vanished, he had torn the picture in two
and thrown the fragments into the fire he had kindled early in the
evening with his own hands.
If he stopped to watch these fragments burn, it was from abstraction
rather than from interest; for his step grew lighter as he left the
fireplace. Whatever this young girl's face had meant to him in days
gone by was now as completely dissipated as the little puff of smoke
which had marked the end of her picture.
If he read the papers afterward it was mechanically. Night, and the one
great planet sinking in the West, appeared to appeal to him much more
strongly than his books or the more than usually stirring news of the
day.
He must have stood an hour in his unlighted window, gazing out at the
tumbling waves lapping the shore.
But of his thoughts, God wot, he gave no sign.
Later, he slept.
Slept! with his hand under his pillow! Slept, though there were others in
the house awake!--or why this creeping shadow of a man outlined upon the
wall wherever the moon shone in, and disappearing from sight whenever the
way led through darkness.
It came from above; no noise accompanied it. Where the great window
opened upon the sea, lighting up the main staircase, it halted,--halted
for several minutes; then passed stealthily down, a shadowy silhouette,
descending now quickly, now slowly, as tread after tread is left behind
and the great hall is reached.
Here there is no darkness. Open doors admit the light from many windows.
A semi-obscurity is all, and through this the figure passes, but
hesitatingly still, and with pause after pause, till a certain door
is reached--a closed door--the only door which is closed in this part
of the house.
Here it stands--stands with profile to the panels, one ear against the
wood. One minute--two minutes--five minutes pass. Then a hand goes out
and touches the knob. It yields; yields without a sound--and a small gap
is seen between the door and its casing. This gap grows. Still no sound
to disturb the tragic silence. Stop! What was that? A moan? Yes, from
within. Another? Yes. Then all is quiet again. The dream has passed.
Sleep has resumed its sway. The gap can safely be made wider. This is
done, and the figure halting without, passes in.
XXXI
CONFRONTED
Late in the afternoon of the following day, the expected car entered Mr.
Roberts' spacious grounds. It contained, besides the chauffeur, just
two persons, the District Attorney and the Chief Inspector. But it was
followed by another in which could be seen Mr. Gryce and a stenographer
from the District Attorney's office.
The house was finished by this time, and to one approaching through the
driveway presented a very attractive appearance. As the last turn was
made, the sea burst upon the view--a somewhat tumultuous sea, for the
wind was keen that day and whipped the waves into foam and froth from the
horizon to the immediate shore-line. To add to the scene, a low black
cloud with coppery edges hovered at the meeting of sea and sky, between
which and themselves one taut sail could be seen trailing its boom in the
water.
To one of them--to Mr. Gryce, in fact, upon whose age Fancy had begun to
work, this battling craft presented an ominous appearance. It was doomed.
The gale was too much for it. Did he see in this obvious fact a prophecy
of what lay before the man upon whose privacy they were on the point of
intruding?
The house was so arranged that to reach the main entrance it was
necessary to pass a certain window. As they did so, the figure of Mr.
Roberts could be seen in the room beyond moving about in an interested
survey of its new furnishings and present comfortable arrangement. To
these men bent on an errand as far as possible removed from interests of
this kind, this evidence of Mr. Roberts' pleasure in the promise of
future domesticity gave a painful shock, and raised in the minds of more
than one of them a doubt--perhaps the first in days--whether a man so
heavily weighted with a burden of unacknowledged guilt could show this
pleasurable absorption in his new surroundings.
However, when they came to see him nearer, and marked the stiffening of
his body and the slight toss-up of his head, as he noted the number and
the exact character of his guests, their spirits fell again, for he was
certainly a broken man, however much he might seek to disguise it. Yet
there was something in this extraordinary man's personality--a force or
a charm wholly dissociated it may be from worth or the sterling qualities
which insure respect--which appealed to them in spite of their new-found
prejudice, and prevented any dallying with his suspense or the use of any
of the common methods usually employed in an encounter of this kind.
The Chief Inspector to whom the first say had been given faced the
director squarely, as he saw how the hand which had just welcomed the
District Attorney fell at his approach.
"You are surprised, Mr. Roberts, and rightly, to see me here not only in
connection with the Prosecuting Attorney of the City of New York, but
with a member of my own force. This, you will say, is no political
delegation such as you have been led to expect. Nor is it, Mr. Roberts.
But let us hope you will pardon this subterfuge when you learn that it
was resorted to for the sole purpose of sparing you all unnecessary
unpleasantness in an interview which can no longer be avoided or
delayed."
"Let us sit."
It was his only answer.
When they had all complied, the District Attorney took the lead by
saying:
"I am disposed to omit all preliminaries, Mr. Roberts. We have but one
object in this visit and that is to clear up to your satisfaction, as
well as to our own, certain difficulties of an unexpected nature which
have met us in our investigation into the crime in which you, as a
director of the museum in which it occurred, and ourselves as protectors
of the public peace, are all vitally concerned."
"Granted," came in the most courteous manner from their involuntary
host. "Yet I fail to understand why so many are needed for a purpose
so laudable."
"Perhaps this will no longer surprise you, if you will allow me to draw
your attention to this chart," was the answer made to this by the
District Attorney.
Here he took from a portfolio which he carried a square of paper which he
proceeded to lay out on a table standing conveniently near.
Mr. Roberts threw a glance at it and straightened again.
"Explain yourself," said he. "I am quite at your service."
The District Attorney made, perhaps, one of the greatest efforts of his
life.
"I see that you recognize this chart, Mr. Roberts. You know when it was
made and why. But what you may not know is this: that in serving its
original purpose, it has proved to be our guide in another of equal, if
not greater, importance. For instance, it shows us quite plainly who of
all the persons present at the time of first alarm were near enough to
the Curator's office to be in the line of escape from the particularly
secluded spot from which the arrow was delivered. Of these persons, only
one fulfills all other necessary conditions with an exactness which
excuses any special interest we may feel in him. It is he who is
tabulated here as number 3."
It was said. Mr. Roberts was well acquainted with his own number. He did
not have to follow with his eye the point of the District Attorney's
finger to know upon whose name it had settled; and for a moment,
surprise, shock,--the greatest which can befall a man,--struggled with
countless other emotions in his usually impassive countenance. Then he
regained his poise, and with a curiously sarcastic smile such as his lips
had seldom shown, he coldly asked:
"And by what stretch of probability do you pick me out for this attack?
There were other men and women in this court, some very near me if I
remember rightly. In what are their characters superior, or their claims
to respect greater, that you should thus single me out as the fool or
knave who could not only commit so wild and despicable an act, but go so
far in folly--let alone knavery--as to conceal it afterward?"
"No evidence has been found against the others you have named which could
in any way connect them with this folly--or shall we say knavery, since
you yourself have made use of the word. But hard as it is for me to say
this, in a presence so highly esteemed, this is not true of you, Mr.
Roberts, however high are our hopes that you will have such explanations
ready as will relieve our minds from further doubts, and send us home
rejoicing. Shall I be frank in stating the precise reasons which seem
to justify our present presumption?"
The director bowed, the same curious smile giving an unnatural expression
to his mouth.
"Let me begin then," the other continued, "by reading to you a list of
questions made out at Headquarters, as a test by which suspicion might be
conscientiously held or summarily dismissed. They are few in number," he
added, as he unfolded a slip of paper taken from his vest pocket. "But
they are very vital, Mr. Roberts. Here is the first:
"'Whose hand carried the bow from cellar to gallery?'"
The director remained silent; but the oppression of that silence was
difficult for them all to endure.
"This the second:
"'Was it the same that carried the arrow from one gallery to another?'"
Still no word; but Mr. Gryce, who was watching Mr. Roberts' every move
without apparently looking up from the knob of his own cane, turned
resolutely aside; the strain was too great. How long could such
superhuman composure endure? And which word of all that were to come
would break it?
Meanwhile, the District Attorney was reading the third question.
"'Is it possible for an arrow, shot through the loophole made by the
curving in of the vase, to reach the mark set for it by Mr. Travis'
testimony?'
"That question was answered when Mr. La Flèche made his experiments from
behind the two pedestals. It could not have been done from the one behind
which Mr. Travis crouched, but was entirely possible from the rear of the
other."
With a wave of his hand, Mr. Roberts dismissed this, and the District
Attorney proceeded.
"'Which of the men and women known to be in the museum when this arrow
was delivered has enough knowledge of archery to string a bow? A mark can
be reached by chance, but only an accustomed hand can string a bow as
unyielding as this one.'
"I will pause there, Mr. Roberts. You may judge by our presence here to
whose hand and to whose skill we have felt forced to ascribe this wanton
shooting of a young and lovely girl. We wish to be undeceived, and stand
ready to listen to anything you may have to say in contradiction of these
conclusions. That is, if you wish to speak. You know that you will be
well within your rights to remain silent. Likewise that if you decide to
speak, it will be our painful duty to make record of your words for any
use our duty may hereafter suggest."
"I will speak." The words came with difficulty,--but they came. "Ask what
you will. Satisfy my curiosity, as well as your own."
"First then, the bow. It was brought up from the cellar a fortnight or
more before it was used, and placed on end in the Curator's office, where
it was seen more than once by the woman who wipes up the floors. The
person who did this cast a shadow on the cellar wall,--that shadow was
seen. Need I say more? A man's shadow is himself--sometimes."
"I brought up the bow; but I do not see how that implicates me in the
use which was afterward made of it. My reasons for bringing it up were
innocent enough----"
He stopped--not even knowing that he stopped. His eyes had been drawn to
a small article which the District Attorney had dropped from his hand
onto the table. It looked like an end of black tape; but whether it was
this or something quite different, it held the gaze of the man who was
speaking, so completely that he forgot to go on.
The hush which followed paled the cheeks of more than one man there.
To release the tension, the District Attorney resumed his argument,
observing quietly, and as if no interruption had occurred:
"As to the arrow and its means of secret transfer from one side of the
building to the other in the face of a large crowd, let me direct your
attention to this little strip of folded silk. You have seen it before.
Surely, I am quite justified in asking whether indeed you have not
handled it both before and after the lamentable occurrence we are
discussing?"
"I see it for the first time," came from lips so stiff that the words
were with difficulty articulated. "What is its purpose?" he asked after
a short pause.
"I hardly think it necessary to tell you," came in chilling response from
the now thoroughly disenchanted official. "It looks like a loop, and
notwithstanding your assertion that you see it now for the first time,
we have ample evidence that it was once attached to the coat you wore on
that fatal day and later carefully severed from it and dropped on the
museum floor."
The District Attorney waited, they all waited with eyes on the subject of
this attack, for some token of shame or indignation at this scarcely
veiled insinuation. But beyond a certain stillness of expression, still
further masking a countenance naturally cold and irresponsive, no hint
was given that any effect had been produced upon him by these words.
The coal before it falls apart into ash holds itself intact though its
heart of flame has departed; so he--or such was Mr. Gryce's thought as he
waited for the District Attorney's next move.
It was of a sort which recalls that soul-harrowing legend of the man hung
up in an iron cage above a yawning precipice, from under whose madly
shifting feet one plank after another is withdrawn from the cage's
bottom, till no spot is left for him to stand on; and he falls.
"I hear that you are an expert with the bow and arrow, Mr. Roberts, or
rather were at an earlier stage of your career. You have even taken a
prize for the same from an Alpine Club."
Ah! that told. It was such an unexpected blow; and it showed so much
knowledge. But the man who thus beheld his own youth brought up in
accusation against him quickly recovered; and with an entire change of
demeanor, faced them all and spoke up at last quickly and defiantly:
"Gentlemen, I have shown patience up till now, because I saw that you had
something on your minds which it might be better for you and possibly for
me to be rid of. This affair of Miss Willett's death is, as all must
acknowledge, baffling enough to strain even to the point of folly any
effort made to explain it. I had sympathy with your difficulties, and
have still enough of that sympathy left, not to express too much
indignation at what you are pleased to call your suspicions. I will
merely halt for the moment your attempts in my direction, by asking,
what have you or anybody else ever seen in me to think I would practise
my old-time skill on a young and beautiful stranger enjoying herself in
a place so dear to my heart as the museum of which I have been a director
now these many years? Am I a madman, or a destroyer of youth? I love the
young. This inhuman death of one so fair and innocent has whitened my
locks and seared my very heart-strings. I shall never get over it; and
whatever evidence you may have or think you have, of my having handled
bow and arrow in that museum gallery, it must fall before the fact of my
natural incapability to do the thing with which you have charged me. No
act possible to man is more in contradiction to my instincts, than the
wanton or even casual killing of a young girl."
"I believe you."
It was the Inspector who spoke, and the emphasis which he gave to his
words lifted the director's head again into its old self-reliant poise.
But the silence which followed was so weighted with possibilities of
something yet to be said by this portentous holder of secrets, that it
caused the nobly lifted head slowly to droop again and the lips which had
opened impulsively to close.
Were the words coming--the words which might at a stroke pull down the
whole fabric of his life, past, present and to come?
In his excited state of mind he seemed already to hear them. Doom was
in their sound, and the world, once so bright, was growing dark about
him--dark!
Yet how could these men know? And if they did why did they not speak? And
they did not; they did not. There was silence in the air, not words; and
life for him was taking on once more its ancient colors, when sharp and
merry through the heavy quiet there rang out the five clear calls of a
cuckoo clock from some near-by room. One, two, three, four, five! Jolly
reminder of old days! But to the men who listened, the voice of doom
spoke in its gladsome peal, whether the ears which caught it were those
of accuser or accused. Old days were not the days to be rejoiced in at
a moment so perilous to the one and so painful to the others.
With the cessation of the last shrill cry, the Inspector repeated the
phrase:
"I believe you, Mr. Roberts. But how about the woman who was troubling
you with demands you had no wish to grant? Miss Willetts, as you choose
to call her, though you must know that her name is Duclos, was not the
only person in the line of the arrow shot on that day from one gallery to
the other. Perhaps this weapon of destruction was meant for one it failed
to reach. Perhaps--but I have gone far enough. I should not have gone so
far if it had not been my wish to avoid any misunderstanding with one of
such undoubted claims to consideration as yourself. If you have
explanations to offer--if you can in any way relieve our minds from the
responsibilities which are weighing upon us, pray believe in our honest
desire to have you do so. There may be something back of appearances
which has escaped our penetration; but it will have to be something
startlingly clear, for we know facts in your life which are not open to
the world at large, I may even say to your most intimate friends."
"As, for instance?"
"That Mrs. Taylor is no stranger to you, even if Mademoiselle Duclos
was. We have evidence you will find it hard to dispute that you knew
and--liked each other, fifteen years or so ago."
"Evidence?"
"Incontrovertible, Mr. Roberts."
"Attested to by her? I do not believe it. I never shall believe it, and
I deny the charge. The ravings of a sick woman,--if it is such you have
listened to----"
"I advise you to stop there, Mr. Roberts," interjected the District
Attorney. "Mrs. Taylor has said nothing. Neither has Madame Duclos. What
the former may say under oath I do not know. We shall both have an
opportunity to hear to-morrow, when Coroner Price opens his inquest. She
is in sufficiently good health now, I believe, to give her testimony.
Pray, say nothing." Mr. Roberts had started to his feet. "Do nothing. You
will be one of the witnesses called----"
There he stopped, meeting with steady gaze the wild eyes of the man who
was staring at him, staring at them all in an effort to hold them back,
while his finger crept stealthily and ever more stealthily toward his
right-hand vest-pocket.
"You would dare," he shouted, then suddenly dropped his hand and broke
into a low, inarticulate murmur, harrowing and dreadful to hear. To some
it sounded like a presage to absolute confession, but presently this
murmur took on a distinctness, and they heard him say:
"I should be glad to have five minutes' talk with Mrs. Taylor before that
time. In your presence, gentlemen, or in anybody's presence, I do not
care whose."
Did he know--had he felt whose step was in the hall, whose form was at
the door? If he did, then the agitation which in another moment shook his
self-possession into ashes was that of hope realized, not of fear
surprised. Ermentrude Taylor entered the room and at the sight of her he
rose and his arms went out; then he sank back weak and stricken into his
chair, gazing as if he could never have his fill at her noble countenance
luminous with a boundless pity if not with the tenderness of an
unforgotten love.
When she was near enough to speak without effort and had thanked the
gentlemen who had made way for her with every evidence of respect, she
addressed him in quite a natural tone but with strange depths of feeling
in her voice:
"What is it you want to say to me? As I stood at the door, I heard you
tell these gentlemen that you would like to have a few minutes' talk with
me. I was glad to hear that; and I am ready to listen to--_anything_."
The pause she made before uttering the last word caused it to ring with
double force when it fell. All heads drooped at the sound and the lines
came out on Mr. Gryce's face till he looked his eighty-five years and
more. But what Carleton Roberts had to say at this critical moment of his
double life was not at all what they expected to hear.
Rising, for her eyes seemed to draw him to his feet, he cried in the
indescribable tone of suppressed feeling:
"Shadows are falling upon me. My interview with these gentlemen may end
in a way I cannot now foresee. In my uncertainty as to how and when we
may meet again, I should like to make you such amends as opportunity
allows me. Ermentrude, will you marry me--now--to-night, before leaving
this house?"
A low cry escaped her. She was no more prepared for this astounding offer
than were these others. "Carleton!" came in a groan from her lips.
"Carleton! Carleton!" the word rising in intensity as thought followed
thought and her spirits ran the full gamut of what this proposal on his
part meant in past, present and future. Then she fell silent and they saw
the great soul of the woman illumine a countenance always noble, with the
light of a purpose altogether lofty. When she spoke it was to say:
"I recognize your kindness and the impulse which led to this offer. But
I do not wish to add so much as a feather's weight to your difficulties.
Let matters remain as they are till after----"
He took a quick step toward her.
"Not if my heart is full of regret?" he cried. "Not if I recognize in
you now the one influence left in this world which can help me bear the
burden of my own past and the threatening collapse of my whole future?"
"No," she replied, with an access of emotion of so elevated a type it
added to rather than detracted from her dignity. "It is too much or it is
not enough."
His head drooped and he fell back, throwing a glance to right and left
at the two officials who had drawn up on either side of him. It was an
expressive glance; it was as if he said, "You see! she knows as well as
you for whom the arrow was intended--yet she is kind."
But in an instant later he was before her again, with an aspect so
changed that they all marveled.
"I had hoped," he began, then stopped. Passion had supplanted duty in his
disturbed mind; a passion so great it swept everything before it and he
stood bare to the soul before the woman he had wronged and under the eyes
of these men who knew it. "Life is over for us two," said he, "whether
your presence here is a trap in which I have been caught and from which
it is hopeless for me to extricate myself; or whether it is by chance or
an act of Providence that we should meet again with eager ears listening
and eager eyes watching for such tokens of guilt as will make their own
course clear, true it is that they have got what they sought; and
whatever the result, nothing of real comfort or honor is left for either
you or me. Our lives have gone down in shipwreck; but before we yield
utterly to our fate, will you not grant me my prayer if I precede it by
an appeal for forgiveness not only for old wrongs but for my latest and
gravest one? Ermentrude, I entreat."
Ah, then, they were witness to the fascination of the man, hidden
heretofore, but now visible even to the schooled spectators of this
tragedy of human souls. The tone permeated with pathos and charm, the
look, the attitude from which all formality had fled and only the natural
grace remained, all were of the sort which sways without virtue and
rouses in both weak and strong an answering chord of sympathy.
The woman in whom it probably awakened a thousand memories trembled under
it. She drew back, but her whole countenance had softened, revealing
whatever of native charm she also possessed. Would she heed his prayer?
If she did not, they could well be silent. If she did----
But the woman gave no sign of yielding.
"Cease, Carleton," came in stern reply--stern for all the approach to
concession in her manner. "If your life and my life are both over, let us
talk of other things than marriage. When one faces death, whether of body
or spirit, one clings to higher hopes than those of earth or its
remaining interests. If my forgiveness will help you to this end, you
have it. I have had but one aim in life since we parted, and that was to
see your higher self triumph over the material one. If that hour has come
or is coming, my life needs no other consolation. In having that, I
possess all."
The man who listened--the men who listened--stood for a moment in awe of
the nobility with which she thus expressed herself. Then the only person
present whom she seemed to see burst forth with a low cry, saying:
"You shall not be disappointed. I----"
But there she hushed him. "No," said she. And he seemed to understand and
was silent.
What did this mean?
The District Attorney betrayed his doubt; the Chief his, each in a
characteristic way. The former frowned, the latter tapped his breast
absently with his forefinger while looking askance at Mr. Gryce, who in
his turn took up some little object from the desk beside which he was
standing and to it confided whatever surprise he felt at this proof of
some uncommunicated secret shared by these two, of which he had not yet
become possessed. Then he again looked up and the glances of the three
men met. Should they attempt to sound this new mystery of mutual
understanding to which as yet they had received no clue? No, the inquest
would do that. Neither this man nor this woman could stand a close
examination. He would weaken from despair, she from the candor of her
soul. They would wait. But ah, the tragedy of it! Even these men hardened
by years of contact with every species of human suffering and crime were
openly moved. If they needed an excuse, surely they could find it in the
superior abilities and attainment of the man upon whom justice was about
to wreak its vengeance. And yet, what more despicable crime had they ever
encountered in the long line of their duty. The youth and innocence of
the real victim and the worth of the intended one only added to its
wickedness and shame. It was this thought which again steeled their
hearts.
Meantime the two upon whom they now redirected their attention had
attempted no further speech and made no further move. She had said No
to something he was willing to concede, and he had accepted that no as
final. Had this brought him any relief? Possibly. And she? Had it had
a like effect on her? Hardly. Though her aspect was one of calm
resignation, her physical powers were perceptibly failing. This in
itself was alarming, and determined them not to subject her any longer
to an interview which might rob her of all strength for the morrow.
Accordingly, the District Attorney, addressing Mr. Roberts, suggestively
remarked:
"Mrs. Taylor is showing fatigue. Would it not be better for you to say at
once while she is yet in a condition to remain with us, whether you
prefer to make a public statement of your case or leave it to unfold
itself in the ordinary manner through the two impending inquests and the
busy pen of the reporter?"
"First, am I under arrest? Am I to leave this house----?"
"Not to-night. An officer will remain here with you. To-morrow--after the
inquest, perhaps."
"I will make a statement. I will make it now. I wish to be left in peace
to-night, to think and to regret." Then turning to her, "Ermentrude, a
woman who has served me and my family for twenty-five years is at this
very moment in the rear of the house. Go to her and let her care for you.
I have business here,--business of which I am sure you approve."
"Yes, Carleton. And remember that I shall be put upon my oath to-morrow.
The questions I am asked I must answer--and truthfully," she added,
with a look as full of anguish as inquiry.
"I shall be truthful myself," he assured her, and again their eyes met.
After a while she gave a stumble backward, which Mr. Gryce perceiving,
held out his arm and assisted her from the room.
But once in the hall he felt the clinch of her fingers digging into his
arm.
"Is there no hope?" she whispered. "Must I live----"
"Yes," he interrupted kindly, but with the authority given him by his
relations to this case. "You have won his heart at last, and he speaks
truly when he says that to you and to you alone can he look for comfort,
wherever the action of the law may leave him."
She shivered; then glowed again with renewed fire.
"Thank you," she said; and they passed on.
XXXII
"WHY IS THAT HERE?"
They waited while he wrote. A sinister calm quite unlike that which the
victim of his ambition had shown under the stress of equal suffering if
not equal guilt had subdued his expression to one of unmoved gloom, never
to be broken again.
As word after word flowed from the point of his pen upon the paper spread
out before him, the two officials sitting aside in the shadow watched for
the flicker of an eyelash, or a trembling of the fingers so busy over
their task. But no such sign of weakening did they see. Once only did he
pause to look away--was it into the past or into futurity?--with a
steady, self-forgetful gaze which seemed to make a man of him again. Then
he went on with his task with the grimness of one who takes his last step
into ignominy.
We will follow his words as he writes, leaving them for the others to
read on their completion.
"I, Carleton Roberts, in face of an inquiry which is about to be held
on the death of her who called herself Angeline Willetts, but whose
real name is as I have since been told Angeline Duclos, wish to make
this statement in connection with the same.
"It was at my hand she died. I strung the bow and let fly the arrow
which killed this unfortunate child. Not with the intention of finding
my mark in her innocent bosom. She simply got in the way of the woman
for whom it was intended--if I really was governed by intent, of which
I here declare before God I am by no means sure.