IN WHICH WILLIE SAUNDERS PASSES FROM DESPAIR TO AMAZEMENT, AND FROM
AMAZEMENT TO ANGER.
The news of the return of a woman whose corpse a thousand persons had
seen, caused an emotion difficult to describe. At first the event
seemed so impossible that no one would believe it; and the lawyers were
accused of conniving with the police to save the life of the condemned.
But when the papers published special supplements describing in detail
the scene that had taken place at the Tombs, the most incredulous were
obliged to accept the evidence. The few defenders that James Gobson
had among the people had the best of the matter, and the excitement
increased so rapidly that the minister of justice, the justice of the
criminal court, Mr. Kelly, and the sheriff and coroner thought it
prudent to release the prisoner on bail without further delay.
For political reasons they set the sum, without further consideration,
at the insignificant figure of one hundred dollars. They knew,
moreover, that if they had asked ten thousand dollars, a hundred
individuals, to gain a little popularity, would have come to offer it
themselves. Having come to this decision, Mr. Mortimer ran at once to
the Tombs to erase the prisoner’s name from the jail register.
James was about to play a game of chess with the good Mr. Midler. When
the magistrate had apprised him of what had been done, he quietly made
his preparations, went down to the clerk’s office, counted out the one
hundred dollars for the keeper of the prison, Mr. Peters, and after
shaking hands with the worthy Methodist, whose eyes filled with tears,
he went out by the door through which Mr. Kelly and Davis had passed a
few hours before, in order to avoid the crowd.
“Where are you going to put up?” asked the sheriff, who was
accompanying James Gobson.
“To the ‘United States,’ where I am unknown, sir,” he answered; “but
I think it polite to devote my first moments of liberty to Miss Ada
Ricard. Although she came near arriving too late, I nevertheless owe
her a visit of thanks.”
And, hailing a passing hack, James bowed to the sheriff, then entered
the carriage, giving orders to drive to No. 17 East Twenty-third Street.
At the same moment William Dow reached the central police office.
Learning through public rumor of the return of the drowned woman, he
did not wait for Mr. Kelly to send for him.
“Well,” said the latter, “what do you think of this foolish event?”
“I think, Mr. Kelly,” he answered, “that it is a foolish mistake, and
that it is very fortunate that it did not become an irreparable error.”
“You are, in a measure, the cause of it.”
“I! Was it I who recognized Miss Ada in the dead woman, whom I had
never seen?”
“No; but it was you who had James Gobson arrested.”
“I arrested him only a little sooner, perhaps, than you would have
ordered the arrest yourself. Confess that the body, really being that
of Mrs. Gobson, the guilt of her husband could be doubted by none.”
“Evidently. The lawyer for the State proved it as plain as daylight.
O’Brien never was so eloquent.”
“To Mr. Davis especially, who had the examination, the blow is heavy.”
“That is the least of my troubles. What disturbs me is that my
reputation and position are jeopardized. But was there ever such
a resemblance even in the slightest details? One would think some
political enemy chose the corpse particularly to defeat me. There are
not only the same features, but the tooth is gone and the ear cut as in
the drowned woman. It is enough to make one lose one’s head.”
“It is certainly inexplicable, and this coincidence of circumstances
confuses the mind.”
“Here I am with this corpse on my hands. It is not enough to find this
roving woman whom the devil ought to have carried off, and not to
have hung this Gobson, whom the devil would gladly have taken, I am
convinced, but we must now discover the name of the drowned woman and
that of her murderer.”
“We will find out all that.”
“If we fail, my dear Dow, I am a lost man.”
“We shall succeed. Let me study this mystery a little. Meanwhile face
the storm bravely.” And clasping the hand of Mr. Kelly, who hardly
knew what saint to call on, William Dow went home, more anxious than
he appeared. He knew that the chief of police was right, and that
public sentiment, doubly excited, exacted double satisfaction for the
revising of James Gobson’s case and the explanation of the mystery that
surrounded the death of the strange body found near Wharf 43.
During this time the crowd thronged Twenty-third Street, and the
reporters literally besieged Miss Ada Ricard’s house. She had received
several of her former servants, who, through personal interest or
curiosity, had hastened to visit her at the first news of her return.
After generously rewarding them for their sympathy, she dismissed them,
saying that she would not reorganize her house for several days. Then
the tradesmen came one after the other, protesting the sorrow they had
felt and their present delight at seeing her again; and this procession
had already lasted two hours, when formidable hurrahs were suddenly
heard in the street.
“Go see what it is, Mary,” said Miss Ada, becoming somewhat pale.
Mary sprang to the window, and immediately answered laughingly:
“It is Mr. Gobson, madam, whom the crowd has recognized and is
following with cheers.”
At the same moment the bell was rung. Mary ran to open the door; and
Gobson, after giving three ringing cheers by way of thanks, crossed
the threshold of the house. But that was not enough for the curious,
and the cry a thousand times repeated of “Miss Ada! Miss Ada!”
immediately rang out.
“You must show yourself, madam,” said one of the journalists who was
present.
At the same instant James Gobson entered the parlor and held out his
hand to his former wife.
“And show yourself with Mr. Gobson,” added the reporter.
“The gentleman is right,” said the released prisoner, “otherwise these
people might push in your door.”
Then taking the young woman’s arm, who did not seem much inclined to
exhibit herself thus, he went with her out on to the balcony. There
was then an indescribable enthusiasm, and a racket enough to drive
one crazy. The cries of “Miss Ada, Gobson forever!” were mingled with
complaints and epithets not very flattering to Mr. Kelly. This lasted
half an hour, and the crowd did not become quiet until Gobson made a
sign that he was going to make a speech.
“Citizens,” he said, in a stentorian voice, “Miss Ada and I thank you
sincerely for this sympathetic demonstration.”
“Hurrah! hurrah!” repeated the crowd in delirium. James Gobson, after
bowing a last time, gallantly offered his arm to Ada Ricard and entered
the house.
A person who was no less moved at the reappearance of the drowned woman
than those of whom we have just spoken, was Mr. Robertson, Jr., whom
one of his agents had informed of the event at the very first. He, too,
had been deceived like a mere police officer. His vanity was greatly
piqued, whatever joy his elder brother might manifest, for he, it is
remembered, had been the rival of Mr. Kelly in the last elections.
The chief of the agency saw in the error of the chief of police the
surety of a brilliant political revenge, and he congratulated himself;
but Mr. Robertson, Jr., who was more of an artist, could not forgive
himself for having made what he, at the time, thought, the skilful
deductions which we have already placed before our readers. What
consoled him a little was, that in order to avoid being called upon as
a witness, and not to compromise his establishment, he had confided in
none, not even in Saunders, who, however, was not in a condition to
understand him, pursued as the unhappy man was by the fixed idea of
being Miss Ada’s murderer. However, thinking it wise to get credit with
the cracker-merchant for having prevented him from denouncing himself,
Mr. Robertson, Jr., resolved to go and see him immediately.
Mr. Saunders was calmer than when we met him a few weeks before. He had
finally persuaded himself that if Miss Ada had fallen into the water
near Staten Island, that she was not drowned in that spot, but had
been the victim of a crime, of which Colonel Forster, perhaps, might
be guilty. Later, when James Gobson’s guilt was so convincingly shown
at the trial, the worthy merchant did not try to explain how it could
be that Miss Ada had fallen from the colonel’s yacht into the hands
of her former husband; he adopted the conclusions of the State lawyer
and silenced his conscience, to listen only to the voice of his heart,
or to give himself wholly up to the sorrow caused by the death of his
loved one.
His friends urged him to interest himself in business, but he could not
bring his mind to it; he passed almost all his days at home, drinking,
eating, and sighing. It was at this last occupation that Mr. Robertson,
Jr., surprised him. He had not heard a word about the young woman’s
return.
“You are a very welcome visitor,” he said to the agent; “tell me how
that infamous murderer went to the gallows.”
“Dear sir,” answered the young man, “the execution has been postponed
until to-morrow, on account of Meyer having broken his leg, the
accident saved the prisoner.”
“Saved, how?” repeated Saunders, without understanding.
“Yes, saved; for Miss Ada Ricard, the victim, has returned.”
The stout man leaped from his chair and opened his eyes, gasping:
“Miss Ada returned! Miss Ada!”
“Yes, Miss Ada,” resumed Robertson, Jr.
“The devil!”
“Do be calm. You see I was right to advise you to be silent in regard
to the adventure at Staten Island. We should have uselessly compromised
ourselves. Yes, Miss Ada has returned; she was merely on a voyage.”
“In company with that d----d Foster, but what of that other, that
other?”
“The drowned woman. Who she is no person knows.”
“Have you seen Miss Ada?”
“No; but one of my agents who was at the Tombs when she arrived
followed her to her door.”
“Did she return to her house?”
“Two hours ago, at least.”
“And Mary, the wretch, did not notify me.”
“Who is Mary?”
“Her maid.”
On saying this, Saunders had taken his hat and run out of the room.
“Where are you going, pray?” asked Mr. Robertson, running after him.
“Where am I going? Why, to Miss Ada’s house.”
“I wish to tell the wretch what I think of her conduct.”
“Or to fall at her feet.”
The unhappy cracker-merchant suddenly stopped still. The secret agent
had aimed a true blow. It was more love than anger that led the
inflammable Yankee to the unfaithful one.
“Well, yes,” he said, “I still love her; and I wish to see her,” he
added, with a deep sigh.
“Then I will accompany you,” proposed Robertson.
“If you wish.”
The young man was delighted to profit by the opportunity to see alive
the woman whom he had known only through the corpse at the morgue.
They sprang into a carriage, and soon reached No. 17 East Twenty-third
Street.
Satisfied by the speech James Gobson had made them, the crowd had
dispersed, and only a few groups remained around the house.
Mr. Robertson helped his companion to alight, and rang the bell. Mary
answered it, but at the sight of Saunders’ flushed face, and not
feeling very easy in her conscience, she uttered a cry and ran away
to warn her mistress. The latter was having a private talk with James
Gobson.
“Bah! receive him,” advised the former husband, complacently, “and try
to get rid of him if you can, and especially if you wish to do so.”
The young woman left her room, closed the door behind her and passed
into the parlor.
It was time. The stout Saunders, who had climbed the stairs with an
agility quite juvenile, was crossing the threshold of this room.
“Ada, my dear Ada!” he cried, rushing toward her.
The poor man had forgotten his anger, and remembered only his love.
With arms held out, he thought only of forgiving. But, to his
amazement, the ungrateful woman withdrew from his embrace, and merely
held out her hand, saying:
“My dear Saunders, you, too, thought me dead, and I will never forgive
you such an error. However, I am none the less delighted to see you.”
All this was said in so calm and chilling a tone that the unfortunate
cracker-merchant, already exhausted and breathless, felt his limbs give
way beneath him. Fortunately, Mr. Robertson supported him to a lounge,
on which he sank heavily, with his great, tearful eyes fixed on her for
whom he had wept so much, and who had received him thus, he was really
pitiable to behold.
Miss Ada seated herself near him and took his hand.
“Come, my good Saunders,” she said, “have a little courage. I still
love you very much, but I am going to leave New York.”
“To return with Colonel Forster. Oh! I will kill him,” murmured the
merchant.
“With Colonel Forster? I do not know what you mean.”
“Is it possible? But, Robertson, tell her that we know all.”
“I know nothing,” answered the agent, who wished merely to play the
part of a looker-on in this call.
It was too much for the unhappy man, whose head was not yet steady.
Ada repulsed him, and his friend Robertson denied him. Exasperated and
furious, he suddenly arose, and casting a scornful look at the young
woman, he left the parlor with something like an air of dignity.
Robertson, Jr., who had nothing more to do in the house, bowed to Miss
Ada and followed Saunders, to whom he said, when he had joined him on
the door-step:
“Pardon me for having given you the lie, dear sir; but it is useless
for us to both appear in the revision which is to be opened. Do you
wish any advice? Remain quietly at home and forget Miss Ada; she is not
worthy of your love.”
“She is a cheat,” he gasped, in the manner of a peroration, and as if
speaking to himself more than to his companion.
A few moments later he saw William Dow on the threshold of his door,
and he gave a cry of joy. “Oh, my only friend,” he said to the
detective, falling almost into his arms. “She is living; I have just
come from her house. What a wretch she is! You must do me the service
to find that cursed Colonel Forster; I wish to fight with him. If he
refuses, I will kill him.”
“Be calm, dear Mr. Saunders,” answered William, helping the poor man to
ascend his steps. “In the first place I will not go to Forster, because
he is not in New York. If it is he who carried off Miss Ada, she did
not return with him. We know that his yacht is now in the harbor, and
that she returned to the city by the Harlem Railroad. You understand
that Mr. Edward Forster, who must now be acquainted with all this
scandal, does not care to give explanations that are compromising to
him.”
“That is true, dear Mr. Dow,” murmured Saunders, sinking back in an
arm-chair, for while exchanging these words, the friends had reached
the merchant’s parlor. “Besides, of what use would it be for you, a
peaceful citizen, to fight with that officer?” continued the detective.
“A duel would not restore you Miss Ada; and that thief of a Robertson,
after taking I don’t know how many thousand dollars from me for absurd
information, seems to think this girl’s conduct very natural.”
“What, Robertson; one of the firm of the agency of Robertson & Co.?”
“Yes, Robertson, Jr. Upon my word, it is even worse. I would like to
tell you all that passed between him and me.”
And the good Saunders, whose heart overflowed, told William Dow all
that our readers know about the secret agent; then he concluded by
giving him the famous report that had caused the expedition to Staten
Island.
“All this is truly extraordinary,” said the police officer, shaking his
head, after having carefully read the document. “Trust this report to
me.”
“Willingly,” answered the cracker-merchant. “What are you going to do
with it?”
“Oh, nothing against the Robertson agency, but it contains details
which may be useful to me some day or another. I would like also a
photograph of Miss Ada. You must have one.”
“Only one, dear sir; here it is. And see, here is the letter that
unhappy woman wrote to her maid to tell her not to be anxious in her
absence. The wretch!”
The poor lover had drawn from his pocket-book the photograph of the
woman, which was inclosed in the note which Mary had given him a few
moments after having received it from her mistress. He handed the whole
to the detective, giving a sigh.
William Dow passed more than an hour with Saunders, and when he left
it was with a smile on his lips, and he said, to the amazement of
the simple Mr. Saunders: “Have patience; I think I am beginning to
understand.”