THE HOSPITAL CONFESSION
Sir Donald Randolph and Esther remained several months at Paris.
While keeping fully advised of all developments reported to the London
detective bureau, Sir Donald seemed absorbed in sight-seeing. His zeal
in unmasking the conspiracy resulting in the double murder was unabated.
That Paul Lanier, at the instigation of his father, committed the
homicides, partial developments tended to prove. From Calcutta and
Bombay advices received at London there was no doubt that some fraud had
been perpetrated against the estate of William Webster by his partner in
India.
Sir Donald felt much concern for the welfare of Esther. Not having his
retributive zeal to support her in this trial, she brooded more over the
recent past. He tried to divert her mind to pleasant subjects, thereby
weaning from sorrowful memories.
There was much in Paris life to engross youthful attention. This, with
her generous sympathy for her father's troubles and effort to mitigate
his painful remembrances, prevented gloomy melancholy. Yet Esther could
not be joyous. Both Oswald and Alice were transfigured. Her love for the
one and pity for the other grew in tender pathos. Oswald Langdon ever
would be an ideal of courteous, refined, considerate, earnest,
high-souled manhood, whose last of life had touched her being's most
sensitive vibratory chords.
Father and daughter were much admired by Parisian social elite. Their
rare intelligence, culture, and refined manners had an irresistible
charm. However, there was that about both which repelled familiar
personal association. They moved amid gay festivities as if their
thoughts were elsewhere.
This abstraction and mutual care for each other's wants tinged their
conduct with romantic interest. In all the whirl and surge of Parisian
life, these unique faces never failed to attract notice. Neither seeking
nor avoiding social recognition, they became quite extensively known
among prominent French families and cosmopolitan notables domiciled at
this Mecca of migratory moneyed aristocracy.
Sir Donald's intellectual acumen and rare versatility could not fail to
impress all with whom he came in contact. His elegance of manner and
diction, easy grace, with air of accustomed self-poise suggested
habitual luxurious environment.
Esther's finely molded, expressive features, faultless form, pensive
grace, and rare feminine accomplishments seemed natural paternal dower.
Doors flew open as if by magic; desired entree smiled eager beckoning;
refined circles gave freedom of their domain. Many arts of indirection
were employed by eligible madames, monsieurs, and visiting notables of
both sexes to remove that invisible yet formidable barrier of reserve.
Courteous evasion or mild indifference or other countercraft parried
every assault. In some few instances, vague or more positive-mannered
"cuts" silenced curious inquiry, but these were rare. After one
successful evasion, he remarked to Esther: "Refined, resolute reserve
has many arts for warding off both vulgar and cultured impertinence."
Esther found time to learn much about the condition of Paris poor. Sir
Donald encouraged this whim as tending to divert her mind from the past
and to exert a wholesome influence. Many little helpful ministries among
this class could be credited to her brief sojourn in this European
capital. Esther frequently visited at the hospitals. Her calls were so
ordered that notoriety was avoided. Naturally timid, she now shrank
from publicity as contagion, but would take necessary hazards.
Esther's zeal grows with knowledge of human want. Service becomes high
privilege. Ward of want is now sanctuary. She sometimes has glimpses of
angelic competition.
Smiling at his daughter's helpful infatuation, Sir Donald often
accompanied her in these calls. He soon feels symptoms of mild interest.
The contagion is pleasing. These visits grow in length and frequency.
Sir Donald is losing zeal for man-capture. He is in danger of yielding
to the delusive heresy which sees more of interest in human suffering
than in crime.
One stormy day father and daughter are at a hospital. They had thought
of staying away until after the rain was over, but Esther seemed lonely,
and Sir Donald proposed an immediate call. They rode in a closed
carriage, taking some delicacies to those who had learned to watch for
their coming.
A piteous moan attracts Esther's quick ear and sympathy. Going softly
down the aisle, she places her hand upon the fevered brow of a new
inmate. The sufferer opens his eyes with a startled look. She asks his
name and ailment. There is an expression of supplication on the pale
face.
"Am I dreaming? No, it cannot be Miss Randolph."
"Yes, I am Esther Randolph. Won't you kindly tell me your name?"
Seeing his hesitation, Esther added: "Whisper it! I will not tell!" Sir
Donald came near, but was motioned to stop. He understood her reason,
and moved away. There was no response.
"Perhaps I can do something for you!"
"Not now. I shall soon be where help never comes."
Esther begged him to permit her to send for a minister.
"There is no use! My crimes are too great!"
Esther could not leave this strange sufferer with his goading
conscience. She suggested that perhaps by telling her of his past life
some good might result to the living. He remained silent for a while.
"Yes; but how atone for the death of the innocent? No, I did not kill
them! I never knew about the murders until both were drowned!"
He seemed in fevered reverie. Esther, now excited, but controlling her
voice, soothingly said:
"Tell me all your troubles. You are safe."
"But they will kill me if I tell! They never fail to have revenge."
"But if you are dying, why go before God without telling all? How can
they hurt you for telling?" whispered Esther.
"True; but if I should not die?"
"Tell all, and you shall not be harmed."
He looked long in her face and eyes.
"Yes, I will tell none but you. I have seen you and your father in
London. Where is your father now?"
"Here in this ward."
There is a startled look.
"But Sir Donald Randolph is my enemy!"
Esther assured him that her father never would betray the trust of a
dying man.
He seemed convinced, but indulged in further soliloquy.
"Why should they care to follow me? The case is dismissed. I had nothing
to do with the murders."
Esther sees the tragic coherence of these rambling remarks. She urges
him to confess all.
"Better to tell father also. Perhaps he can protect you from your
enemies. I am sure father never will betray your trust."
Sir Donald was called, and with Esther heard the confession.
"My name is William Dodge. Yes, I am the man who commenced that
villainous suit against poor Alice Webster. Don't look so hard at me! I
did not kill her! I never murdered Oswald Langdon.
"It is so hard to be poor and out of work. To think of Mary and the
four children without food or clothing! Why, I was so desperate at times
that I would have murdered for money! What was the life of one rich,
useless old man to that of my Mary and our starving children? But I was
not to be a murderer. No, old Pierre Lanier saved me from that crime.
Bad as he is, that must be said in his favor. How scared the old rascal
was when I fired! He spoke so strangely. Said: 'My good man, you are
surely mistaken, but what can I do for you? Here are some coins, all I
have with me, but come along and you shall have more.' I had fired at
him, but missed my aim. There was no one in sight in that deserted part
of Calcutta. I mistrusted his motives, but needing money, went with him.
He stopped, and we sat down on a deserted bench by the side of an old
vacant house. What a sly, insinuating old villain he was! Telling me
that there must be some reason for my strange action in shooting, but
that he would help me if I trusted him.
"I told him of my poverty and helpless family. He seemed to pity us, and
said: 'I do not blame you in the least. I admire your spirit. What can
you do?'
"I told him that my former work had been bookkeeping, but that I had
been discharged for dishonesty, through the connivance of another
employe, who stole the money and turned suspicion on me.
"Old Pierre Lanier then became very sympathetic. I could make a neat
little fortune and provide for my family's immediate wants without
committing murder. He would commit any crime before those depending on
him for support should suffer. If I would come with him, we would talk
it over.
"I expressed fear that he would surrender me to the police.
"'Is not your revolver full of cartridges? Here, take my pistol. Soon as
you see me attempting any treachery, shoot to kill. My good friend, I
have use for you. If you can serve me, your family shall be well cared
for, and I will find more money for you to-night.'
"With this strange assurance, so positively stated, I went with him. We
entered his room, and the lights were turned on. Bringing pen, paper,
and ink, he sat down by a table and wrote several names.
"'Please copy these just like originals.'
"I did as requested.
"'Good! Now these,' handing me paper with other signatures.
"'Very good! Please copy the body of the papers.'
"Then he told me of his wish to procure conveyances, purporting to come
from the persons whose signatures I had copied, of property situated in
London. This property was in the possession of a girl there. I was to
draft these, and sign the proper names to them as grantors and
witnesses. We would go to London, and at the right time begin the action
for the possession of the property. He did not imagine the case ever
would come to trial, but I must wait until advised to quit. My pay would
be one thousand pounds and all expenses. He said the girl's title was
defective, but that easily could be remedied. In the mean time my family
must be provided for. 'Take these to bind the bargain.'
"What could I do but accept the offer and the money? It is easy for
those having life's comforts and luxuries to be honest. What idea have
such of temptation's power? Look in haggard, despairing face of wife and
hear the cries of hungry children! Then be honest! Refuse to stain your
soul for bread! I tell you, hunger has no soul!"
Overpowered by passionate memories, he fell back exhausted. Tears were
streaming down the cheeks of Esther. Sir Donald's vision was obscured by
mists. He turned away his face.
Punish such criminal? It is more likely that both these would incur
liability as "accessories after the fact."
In a few minutes strength for further confessions returned.
"I often met Pierre and Paul Lanier in Calcutta. Neither of them told me
directly that Paul desired to marry Alice Webster, but I was sure that
this was the wish of both. I thought that if the marriage occurred,
there would be a dismissal of the action, otherwise it would be pressed.
In this I was but partly right. They never intended the case should be
tried. It was begun to bring about the marriage. When Alice was drowned
and the case was set for trial, it had to be dismissed. Paul and his
father were with me when I told the solicitors to quit.
"I heard Paul tell his father before Alice Webster's death that they
would never hear from that girl again. She was at the bottom of the
lake. Pierre Lanier replied:
"'It is bad business, Paul, but can't be helped. Better an accident than
intentionally, my boy.'
"They never knew I heard their talk. I suspected some foul play, but was
surprised to have Alice and the rest of you pointed out after your
arrival in London.
"Paul, his father, and I often met in London, but without being seen
together. After it was rumored that Alice and Oswald Langdon had been
drowned in the Thames, I felt much worried. That same evening of the
night when they disappeared I heard Paul tell his father of the proposed
boat-ride, but that Oswald and the two girls were going. They agreed
that Paul should trail them and learn what he could. Paul told his
father what he had heard in the park. Both seemed much enraged, but
Pierre Lanier cautioned Paul to be patient and not lose his temper.
"'Whatever happens, he must not marry her!' said Paul.
"'That's right, my boy; but remember the lake, and keep cool. Make no
rash breaks next time.'
"I was present at this conversation, but appeared not to notice their
subdued talk. My curiosity was aroused by their suggestive remarks. I
left about dusk. Soon after, Paul came out. I kept out of his sight, but
watched him closely. He stopped beyond where the boats were. I watched
at a suitable distance. Soon Oswald and Alice came down to the stream,
and procuring a boat, rowed up the river. Paul followed them. Very
curious to know the result, I yet feared for my own safety. If he
intended any violence, I would be safer elsewhere. It would be dangerous
for him to learn that I knew of his crime. He would find an effective
way of silencing a witness. Besides, I might be suspected.
"These thoughts determined me to return. My curiosity was sufficiently
aroused for me to shadow the neighborhood of Paul's room. My own room
was in another block, but where I could see Paul if he came back the
most direct route from the river. Part of the time I sat by the darkened
window, looking out in the direction of the stream; at other times I
strolled up and down the street. Then I would stand in the dark hallway.
"About three hours after his disappearance up the shore of the river I
heard hurried steps, and slipped out into the hallway at entrance of the
stairs and watched. Paul walked rapidly by, and I followed at safe
distance. He soon entered his room. I returned and retired, but felt
that some fearful crime had been committed.
"Next morning I bought daily papers, to learn if anything had happened
to Oswald or Alice. Feeling uneasy, I haunted the neighborhood of
Alice's home, but saw no signs. In the afternoon I visited the point
where the boat had been taken. The keeper remarked:
"'What could have happened to that good-lookin' jay and bloomin'
sweetheart of his'n? I doesn't care how much they spoons, but I wants my
boat.'
"Much excited, I was walking around, wondering what had happened, when
you two were seen coming. Feeling ashamed to meet the friends of the
girl against whom had been brought the villainous suit, I moved up the
stream to where there would be a good view of your actions. Pretty soon
both of you and the keeper started up the river in a boat. I then knew
neither Oswald nor Alice had returned. That they had been killed by Paul
Lanier I was now sure.
"A sense of indirect complicity in this crime oppressed my heart. I
skulked away and hid in my room. Uneasy there, I went over to Paul's
quarters, but he was not in. His father was there, and seemed nervous.
The old man asked if I had heard any news, adding that he had not been
in the street yet. I noticed some of that morning's papers upon the
table. He watched me suspiciously, but I acted unconcerned. I affected
not to notice his nervous manner, but noted all. Listening intently to
every sound, he would answer me mechanically, then would get up, slowly
yawn, and shuffle toward the window fronting the street. Glancing each
way, he then would be seated. His questions, answers, remarks, pauses,
and whole manner confirmed me in the conviction that he had been
informed of some act of Paul's resulting in the death of the missing
parties. He finally became quiet, and made no responses to my talk. I
knew he wished to be alone, and rose to go. Following to the door, he
was extremely polite, begging me to call again next day, sure. As I
left, the door closed quickly, the bolt was thrust, and the lock
clicked. I waited near, but where he could not see me.
"In about fifteen minutes a stooped form, with snow-white, flowing
beard, feebly emerged from the hallway. Bending over a heavy cane, this
old man looked through large colored glasses up, down, and across the
street. He slowly started in an opposite direction from where I was
standing. After he had turned the corner, I walked rapidly around the
block, and saw the old man still pegging away, watching everything along
his path. Soon his steps quickened, and I was compelled to walk rapidly.
Finally he turned a corner, entering a narrow alley extending between
rows of low buildings. I crossed to the other side of the street, and
passed down to the alley, but the old man had disappeared.
"I was sure that either Pierre or Paul Lanier, in this disguise, was now
hiding in one of these low buildings along the alley. Though much
excited, I knew better than longer to continue my stay in that quarter.
I returned to watch the entrance to the room occupied by Paul and his
father.
"In about two hours this same stooping figure slowly came up the street
and entered the hallway. I was sure that Pierre Lanier had visited
Paul, and was keeping him posted.
"That evening I went down to the boathouse and learned about the finding
of Oswald's hat. The boat had been found. I felt creepy, and that night
retired early.
"Next morning's papers told of the disappearances. In the afternoon I
went over to Paul's room. Both were in, and greeted me with great
apparent pleasure. They wondered why I did not come sooner. After a
while Paul carelessly asked me if I had read any of the morning papers.
Neither he nor his father had been on the street, except for meals. I
told him that there had been considerable in the papers about our mutual
friends. Here were the accounts. I expressed doubt of their correctness,
and carelessly remarked:
"'Guess it's some reporter's fake.
"Paul read, and seemed greatly surprised. His father looked it all over,
and wondered if there were any truth in the reports. They suggested that
if it should turn out true, we must consider well our course of action.
Suspicion might point to me as the one interested in the death of Alice
Webster. My suit recently commenced against her might be construed as
interesting me in having the girl put out of the way.
"I was terribly shocked. They continued to arouse my fears until I was
frantic. Both spoke of this mysterious disappearance as most unfortunate
for me under the circumstances. It seemed to me there was little chance
to escape. Old Pierre Lanier thought I must remain in seclusion until
matters cleared up. It would not do for me to be seen. Perhaps if I kept
out of sight, no one would think of me in connection with this affair.
They advised me to change my room to a certain quarter of the city, and
remain there until Paul procured suitable disguise.
"I was paralyzed with fear, and did as they told me. Going back to my
room, I waited until Paul entered. He came in without knocking. I was
startled by the appearance of a strange man with slouch hat and heavy
brown whiskers. He removed the disguise. I was told to pack my valise
and trunk and get ready to move. A false beard was handed me with some
old clothes. Paul told me to put them on. Giving the name of my new
quarters, and cautioning me to remain there until he called, Paul ran
downstairs and brought up the man who was to remove my baggage. Telling
me the man had his directions and would know just where to go, Paul
left. After a roundabout trip we reached my destination. I was surprised
to see the driver enter the same alley down which had passed on the
previous day that strange old man. With feelings of dread I followed up
a back stairway into a low room, where my stuff was deposited.
"'This is the place,' said the driver, and left.
"Soon after, Paul entered in the same disguise. This, he said, was to be
my home until further arrangements could be made.
"'Father and I will be over every day and report. I will show you where
to board near here. Your name is to be Joshua Wilkins.'
"I remained in this place several weeks, going out frequently. Both
Pierre and Paul called often, always in disguise. Occasionally we went
about London together. It seemed to me at times that we were being
shadowed. Sometimes when I was alone, strangers in my hearing would
speak about either Paul or Pierre Lanier, and watch me, as if they knew
our acquaintance. Frequently the Dodge case against Alice Webster was
mentioned. There would be talk about the disappearances of Alice and
Oswald. It always seemed to me that I was being watched. Paul and Pierre
Lanier were affected in the same way. Strangers would refer to these
subjects in their presence. Both had denied ever seeing William Dodge.
"Oh, how miserable I was during all this time! I was suspicious of
everybody and trembled at common noises. Any unexpected look of stranger
caused a start. It was in vain that I reasoned against this foolish
fear. My misery was so great that I contemplated suicide. It seemed to
me that both of the Laniers gloated over my wretchedness. They enlarged
on the perils of my situation. I really believe they wished me to take
my own life. From things which I then did under their advice I often
think they intended deserting me. If the bodies of Alice and Oswald had
been found, I believe these villains would have procured my arrest for
the murders. I was completely in their power, and it now seems that they
were weaving a web for my destruction. They owed me nine hundred pounds,
and I knew things against them. I bore up under it all, for the sake of
Mary and the children. Old Pierre had given me in all one hundred pounds
before we started for London. I gave most of this to Mary.
"Poor Mary! I have not heard from her for many weeks. Now I am here in
this hospital, dying!
"Serves me right for killing that poor girl! Yes, I'm to blame that
Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster were drowned! But tell the jury, Mary
and the children were hungry! Tell them that. Tell the judge about Mary
and the children. Don't forget to tell the judge that! Tell everybody
about that!"
There was a long silence. With scared faces Sir Donald and Esther bent
over the motionless form. The attending physician felt the wrist,
listened for heart-throbs. A cordial was administered. That deathlike
swoon lasted for several minutes, followed by slow return to
consciousness. It was evident that further attempt of the sick man to
relate his experiences with these archconspirators then would be
unadvisable. The physician said there was some hope of the man's
recovery, but that quiet and rest were imperative. Sir Donald and Esther
were loth to go, but the hospital rules were strict. They left, much
interested in the fate of William Dodge.
The confession, though confirming Sir Donald's theory of this
conspiracy, was startling. That Paul Lanier had murdered both Oswald and
Alice was evident. But what had become of the bodies? Could it be that
the hat and handkerchief were placed where found to mislead as to manner
of deaths? Were the bodies still in the river, or buried elsewhere?
Perhaps the remains of Oswald and Alice had been reduced to ashes and
scattered to the winds. How could the necessary evidence be obtained?
How bring their murderers to justice without proof of the "corpus
delicti"? Could this dying man know other facts furnishing a clew to
establish their deaths? Would it be right to harass him with further
inquiry upon the verge of the tomb? Why employ his slender thread of
life in unraveling this intricate web. Better point him to that hope
which is the refuge of a sinful soul.
But is there any way of saving this guilty wretch, with his crimes
unconfessed? First confession, then shriving of the penitent.
Limit the mercy of Heaven? Is the Infinite compassion contingent upon
finite fellow tactics?
Sir Donald and Esther felt more solicitude for the sick man's recovery
than in further revelations.
Next day they are early callers at the hospital. William Dodge is still
alive, but delirious. He slept much of the night, but is flighty, making
many wild, incoherent speeches. Receiving permission to see him, Sir
Donald and Esther approach the cot.
"No, Mary, I will never let you or the children starve! I got the money
from Pierre Lanier! Dear old Pierre Lanier saved my Mary and the
children! Put that down! Yes, the old rascal saved Mary and the children
from starving! Put that down! Old Pierre saved me from being a murderer!
Write that in the book, too! No, I never struck either of them! It was
Paul Lanier! He murdered them! Your boy is not a murderer! Mother, I am
innocent! Mary's folks said William Dodge could not provide for Mary! I
did though! But Mary cried about the children! How Mary and the children
ate that night! I got it all from dear old Pierre Lanier!"
There was another pause, and the delirious man seemed to sleep. Suddenly
he struck his clenched hand upon the spread and stared wildly.
"You miserable murderer! Keep that money, and I will hang you! Send it
to me, or I will tell how Paul killed Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon!
That's right! Pay me, and it's all right! I'll never squeal! I need it
for Mary and the children! They'll be happy now!"
Sir Donald and Esther make daily calls until it is safe to see their
interesting invalid. Recovery is slow. Sir Donald broaches the subject
of the Thames tragedy. Dodge does not remember much of his former talk,
but seems willing to divulge all he knows. He trusts that these kind
friends will not betray his confidence. The Laniers would murder him if
they heard.
Receiving positive assurance that there will be nothing said until Dodge
is consulted, the narrative is again begun. Sir Donald tells him the
substance of former statements.
"Well, I will complete the horrible story, relying on your promise never
to tell without my consent. Those Laniers would surely find a swift way
of silencing me if they knew I had told. Often I am afraid that they
will have me assassinated, anyhow.
"Both of them came together to my hiding-place, much excited. My case
against Alice was set for trial. Her barrister had procured the setting.
They were much perplexed at this, and wondered if Alice and Oswald had
turned up. Both were pale, and Paul trembled violently. He was not
shamming this time. His father was nervous, but advised Paul to keep
cool or all would be lost. We went together that night to see my
solicitors. Pierre said he had seen them before, and that they would be
in their office waiting for me. Pierre and Paul were disguised. I was to
tell the solicitors that the case should be dismissed, as my witnesses
could not be found.
"We entered the office, and found both solicitors there. When I told
them to have the case dismissed they were much surprised.
"'A continuance can be procured on proper showing.'
"Pierre Lanier scowled, and looking at me, shook his head.
"I insisted upon its dismissal, as the witnesses could not be relied
upon. One solicitor said:
"'You have a complete chain of title deeds, and need no other witnesses,
except to prove their genuineness.'
"Old Pierre frowned, and I replied:
"'It is better to quit. I do not care to press the case.'
"They looked at each other and at us suspiciously.
"Old Pierre then spoke up, saying:
"'My friend wishes to drop the case. I understand that he owes you part
of your fee. What were you to pay them, Mr. Dodge?'
"I replied, 'Two hundred pounds.'
"'How much have you paid?'
"'Fifty pounds.'
"'Well, I know you have little money to waste on this case. These
gentlemen have been paid well for what has been done thus far. If you
need fifty pounds more to pay them off, I will loan the amount.'
"His proposition was promptly accepted. It was arranged that the case
should be dismissed and the money paid. This was done.
"The Laniers now seemed anxious to get rid of me. I insisted on payment
of the remaining nine hundred pounds. They expostulated with me; said it
was outrageous; what good had I done them?
"To my remark that I was to quit upon their advice, and had done so,
Pierre replied:
"'Yes, but who imagined Alice would be drowned?'
"Paul said:
"'You are suspected of putting her out of the way!'
"I was so angry that I looked straight at him, and said:
"'You know more about that than I do!'
"I have often been sorry for this thrust, but it went home. Paul grew
pale, and stared at me frightfully.
"'Here, boys, none of your foolish quarreling!' said Pierre. 'Mr. Dodge
is entitled under the contract to the money. It shall never be said that
Pierre Lanier failed to keep his word. We must stand by each other
whatever happens. Mr. Dodge has a family, and long as I live they shall
be provided for. I could beat him out of the money, as the contract was
illegal and void. He could be prosecuted for conspiracy and fraud. Mr.
Dodge will be suspected of murdering that man and girl. I have already
heard rumors to that effect. But we must stand together. It would never
do for Mr. Dodge to return home now. He must stay away from Calcutta a
year, at least. Paul and I will go to Calcutta. We will let you know all
that happens. You must not write to London, or to any one but me. I will
deliver your letters to Mary, and mail hers to you. Your name must be
James Wilton. When it is safe, I will write you to come home.'
"I saw the force of these directions, but asked how I was to live
during my stay from home, and what provisions would be made for my
family.
"Pierre replied: 'To-morrow you shall have one hundred pounds. I will
give Mary one hundred pounds on my arrival in Calcutta. In one year I
will pay each of you an additional hundred pounds. By that time, in all
probability, you can return, and I will pay the balance in five equal
annual installments.'
"This arrangement was made between us. I was in their power, and did
just as he said. In a short time I sailed for Paris with the promised
payment. The Laniers were to sail for Calcutta soon after. I have never
received any letter from either of them since. A letter came to me from
Mary, speaking of having received one hundred pounds, but not knowing
from whom. It was placed to her credit in a Calcutta bank, and notice to
that effect was left at the house. The letter was addressed to James
Wilton in a disguised hand, but the inside sheet was in Mary's
handwriting. She had been told at the bank that I was in Bombay.
Doubtless her letter went there, and was forwarded by some one
instructed by Pierre Lanier to me at Paris.
"Letters from my wife came regularly. I continued to write, as directed
by Pierre Lanier, and Mary received my letters. It was evident that
Pierre had furnished the information of my being in Bombay, and I kept
up the delusion.
"Life here in Paris, without employment, harassed by uncertainty,
compelled to pass under an assumed name, away from my family, and
obliged to keep up a deceitful correspondence with Mary, who supposed I
was in Bombay, became very miserable. Still there was no alternative. I
dreaded any failure to comply with the wishes of the Laniers. They would
hesitate at no crime to protect themselves. I believed they suspected me
of thinking Paul had murdered Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster. It would
be safer for me to be away from them. Would they not plot my death if I
were at Calcutta? If suspected or pursued, they might accuse me of the
crime, and both conspire to secure my conviction.
"After some time spent in Paris, Mary's letters ceased. I waited
anxiously, but none came. Writing for explanations, I received no
answer. My fears were aroused. Was she sick? Did my letters reach her?
Were her letters and mine intercepted? Were detectives on my trail?
Could it be that the Laniers were being pursued for those murders? Had
they decided to throw me off?
"A thousand fears haunted me. I was in constant dread of being
identified, yet looked daily for a letter from Mary. Sometimes I would
fully decide to start for Calcutta, regardless of consequences, but
abandoned the plan. I took sick. Becoming very weak, a physician was
consulted. After a few visits, he directed that I be removed to the
hospital. Here I have been for weeks, without hearing from my wife or
family. What can I do to hear of them? Oh, can't you do something in my
behalf? Help me to hear from Mary and the children!"
Sir Donald asked many questions about the deaths of Oswald and Alice,
but elicited little further information. He was convinced that nothing
had been concealed. There was no positive proof of their deaths. How
could this missing link be procured?
Both Sir Donald and Esther were much interested in the family of William
Dodge. That this husband and father had been led into crime through
poverty was apparent. His love for hungry wife and children placed him
at the mercy of this archvillain, who, with his murderous son, had
caused so much suffering.
Sir Donald well knew that to keep inviolate his agreement with William
Dodge would be a technical concealment of crime. Yet he would have
accepted any fate rather than betray such trust.
Strict compliance with penal statutes may require much individual
meanness.
William Dodge was most unhappy. Each movement made seemed to further
involve him in hopeless entanglement. The mistake which resulted in his
wildly aimed cartridge missing its intended victim saved him from guilt
of homicide.
But how judge of any event by its immediate circle? Only that far cycle
whose ever-widening circuit merges eternal radii can fully compass the
puissance of human action.
Under stress of immediate death he had fully confessed all. Now even the
one dubious remnant of personal honor, according to crime's unwritten
code, is swept away.
How could the wretch, about to escape all human reckoning, making
cowardly confession of crime involving fellow-guilt, hope that his
confidences would remain inviolate? One of the penalties of faithless
duplicity is that all trust in fellow-fealty dies.
William Dodge now feared that those who so kindly watched over his
hospital cot would betray his trust. They doubtless were solicitous for
his recovery, that he and the Laniers might be brought to ultimate
justice. What respect could be expected of these for pledges given to
one who had conspired against a helpless orphan? Why should they not
speed the conviction of him whose intrigues were accessory to this
double homicide?
How hard to conceive of better than self!
Neither Sir Donald nor Esther ever thought of punishment for the man
just saved from the grave. Both felt that this poor fellow and his
family were their special wards. All moral taint was covered by the
mantle of sympathetic interest. Sir Donald had concluded that something
must be done in behalf of those at Calcutta. It would not do to write,
as this might in some way lead to inquiry for the absent father. He
would avoid any course of action tending to affect the safety of this
poor fellow with his burden of troubles.
There are persons who cannot do a mean act.
Though at times loth to leave Paris, Sir Donald and Esther will visit
Calcutta. Thereby they may learn all about the Dodge family, and perhaps
render needed assistance.
It has been three days since the hospital visit. Esther has been sick.
When able to sit up, she insists upon his making a call upon their
interesting convalescent and telling him of the proposed trip to India.
Judge of Sir Donald's surprise upon being informed that William Dodge
had been removed from the hospital. At his request a conveyance bore him
away the previous evening, but no one knew where. Not a word had been
said by him giving any clew to his intentions. Nothing was uttered about
Sir Donald or Esther.
This strange conduct greatly mystified Sir Donald. He framed all sorts
of queries as to possible causes. Had their failure to make daily calls
aroused Dodge's suspicion? Was this poor fellow afraid of their
betraying him? Did he think that having procured a full confession, they
had no further interest except his conviction of crime? Had the identity
and whereabouts of William Dodge been discovered? Were his silence and
removal only parts of an adroitly planned detective ruse? Could it be
that the Laniers were at the bottom of this strange move? What if
William Dodge were to be tried for murdering Oswald Langdon and Alice
Webster? Had the Laniers accused him of these crimes? Strange if Paul
were to be tried as principal and the other two as accessories. Possibly
the detectives had a complete chain of evidence connecting these with
the murders and the bodies were discovered.
Sir Donald is much perplexed. This must not be communicated to the
London office. In all this tangle there is one clear point. Whatever the
result, Sir Donald will shield William Dodge. That family must be found
and kept from want. Delay and premature action are alike precarious.
He compromises by a brief stay in Paris, better to know how to proceed.
Failing to learn anything more, Sir Donald and Esther leave for
Calcutta.