CHAPTER I.

Transcriber's Notes:

1. Page scan source:

http://www.archive.org/details/impendingswordno03yate

(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)

THE IMPENDING SWORD.

LONDON:

ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.

THE

IMPENDING SWORD.

A Novel.

BY

EDMUND YATES,

AUTHOR OF 'BLACK SHEEP,' 'THE ROCK AHEAD,' 'THE YELLOW FLAG,' ETC.

ETC.

'Put we our quarrel to the will of Heaven,

Who, when He sees the hours ripe on earth,

Will rain hot vengeance on the offenders' heads.'

SHAKESPEARE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON:

TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND.

1874.

[_The right of translation, dramatic adaptation, and reproduction is

reserved._]

CONTENTS OF VOL. III.

Book the Third.

THE DISCOVERY.

CHAP.

I. CONSULTATION.

II. RECOGNISED.

III. A WAY OF ESCAPE.

IV. ESCAPED.

V. A CLUE.

VI. HARKING BACK.

VII. MR. DUNN.

VIII. IDENTIFIED.

EPILOGUE.

A NOTE BY THE AUTHOR.

Book the Third.

THE DISCOVERY.

CHAPTER I.

CONSULTATION.

Thornton Carey stood as one transfixed; in all his recollection of

Helen he had never seen her like this before--wonderfully pretty, but

deadly white, and almost rigid.

'You wish to see me,' she said, advancing towards him, and placing her

cold hand in his; 'you have bad tidings, and you hesitate to tell me;

you need not be afraid--directly your arrival was announced I had a

presentiment.'

'I have, indeed, something very serious to say to you,' said Thornton

Carey, motioning her to a seat, 'and you judge me truly when you say

that I find it difficult to break it to you.'

'What you have to tell me concerns Alston--concerns my husband,' said

Helen, with unnatural calmness; 'don't fear to speak it at once--he

is--is dead!'

'Helen,' said Thornton Carey, laying his hand softly on hers, 'I have

known you from your earliest youth, and no brother could have a deeper

interest in or affection for you than I have. It is my lot to bring

you the news of the most serious trial that you could be put to, and I

must not shrink from the obligation. So long as there was any hope, I

kept silence myself; and enjoined it on others. Now there is none, and

in mercy to you, as well as in justice to myself, I must speak. Summon

your womanly fortitude to your aid, my poor child, for you will need

it all. Helen--your husband is dead!'

She sunk back in her chair, closing her eyes, and pressing her hands

before her face. From time to time a strong shiver shook her entire

frame, and her interlaced fingers were convulsively twisted together.

Once or twice, too, she uttered a deep groan, but there were no tears,

nor any of the usual signs of grief.

After a few moments, still lying back, and with her face still covered

by her hands, she asked, in a voice such as Thornton Carey had never

heard from her before--dull, toneless, and metallic: 'Did he die in

England?'

'He did,' replied Carey. 'Ah, Helen, I have not told you all even

yet--you have much to hear and bear.'

'You can proceed,' she said. 'You see that I am perfectly quiet.'

Thornton Carey glanced at her uneasily; his good sense told him that

this forced calmness was unnatural, and might be dangerous, and yet,

now that he had once entered upon his mission, he could not hesitate

to go through with it.

'There is reason to believe,' he said, half averting his head, for,

though her eyes were covered by her hands, he felt as though her gaze

was directed towards him, 'there is reason to believe that poor

Griswold was the victim of foul play--that he met his death

unfairly--' he saw that she failed to perceive his meaning, and added

slowly--'that he was murdered!'

'O my God!' she cried; and with a piercing shriek she threw herself

forward on the table, burying her head in her arms, which were

enshrouded in her loose hair.

Thornton Carey sprang to his feet, and hastened to fetch her some

iced-water from the pitcher which stood on the buffet. When he

returned with the tumbler, she was sobbing fearfully, and rocking

herself to and fro, moaning dismally the while.

'O, my Alston, my darling, my own husband--O, why did you leave me?

Why did you not listen to me when I implored you not to go this fatal

journey?'

'Helen,' said Thornton Carey, touching her lightly on the shoulder,

'where is the courage you promised to show me?'

'O, to think that he is dead! that I shall never see him again! O, my

own darling, my own Alston--to think that he has been killed!'

'You are right to mourn him,' said Carey gently, 'for he was the best,

the kindest, the most generous of men.'

'O, who could speak of that so well as I could?' murmured Helen, her

face still covered. 'Did he not give me everything I wanted? Was it not

for my sake that he took this journey in which he lost his life?'

'Recollect then, Helen, that, however much you may deplore his loss,

there is yet another duty owing to his memory. If my suspicions are

correct, he was treacherously and basely murdered, and our first duty

is to avenge his death, and bring the murderer to justice.'

He had scarcely uttered the words before she raised her head and

confronted him, with difficulty recognisable as the woman who, pale

and shrinking, had so recently entered the boudoir; her eyes blazed

with a fierce, lurid light, her cheeks flushed and tear-blurred, and

her lips tightly set together.

'You are right, Thornton Carey,' she said very quietly; 'that is, of

course, the first thing to be done. Who are these wretches? Are they

known?'

'Not yet,' said Carey; 'but I hope they will be before long. I will

leave you now; some other day--to-morrow, perhaps--when you are more

calm, I will tell you the particulars of this dreadful affair, and we

will consult as to what is to be done.'

'To-morrow,' she repeated; 'why not now? Why lose one moment? Is

calmness required when the means of punishing my Alston's murderer is

in question? For God's sake, talk to me, Thornton Carey, and give me

something to employ my mind, for when I think of his loss and my own

desolate position, I feel as if I should go mad.'

An instant's rapid reflection convinced Carey that to do as she

requested would be the best means of serving her--the best chance of

staving off that access of grief which he had so much dreaded.

'I will do what you wish, Helen,' he said, after a pause, 'if you will

promise me to keep guard over yourself, and to strive hard against

being betrayed into any exhibition of feeling; this will be the more

necessary as I shall have to bring two strangers to you, people who

made the acquaintance of our poor Alston in England, and who were the

first to form the idea that he was indeed the murdered man.'

'To form the idea!' cried Helen. 'Is it not certain--is there any

possible doubt?'

'None,' said Carey gently, but decisively. 'From all that I can make

out, and you will understand that I have done my best to sift the

matter thoroughly, I can have no doubt that the American gentleman

passing under the name of Foster, whose murder in Liverpool is now

reported in the newspapers, was your husband, and my poor friend,

Alston Griswold.'

'Passing under the name of Foster!' repeated Helen. 'Alston would never

have descended to such duplicity. What reason could he have,' she

added, looking up, 'for concealing his real name?'

'That is more than I can say,' cried Carey; 'but whether he did or not

you ought to be able to tell at once. How were your letters to him

addressed?'

Helen's face fell, and her eyes were downcast; she did not like such

an intimate friend even as Thornton Carey to know that her husband had

not trusted her with his address. There was, however, no help for it,

so she said:

'I did not write direct to Alston in England--my letters have been

sent under cover to Mr. Warren, and have been forwarded by him.'

Carey was silent for a moment. Then he said:

'That intelligence goes far to confirm my worst fears. If Alston had

not been under an assumed name, you would have written to him direct;

that he had an assumed name, which must have been known to Warren,

proves that the disguise must have been for business purposes. It is

as I thought at first,' he said, lifting up his hands; 'that his

business operations might not be known he took the name of Foster; by

some one interested in thwarting those business operations he has been

killed.'

Helen bowed her head.

'All things seem to point to that, I confess,' she said; 'but Foster

is not an uncommon American name--there are hundreds and thousands of

Americans now in England on business. The circumstance of Alston

having thought fit to conceal his identity is merely a coincidence,

and if no personal description of the murdered man has arrived, you

may yet be wrong.'

'Would to God I could think so,' said Thornton Carey; 'but after you

have heard the story of the two persons from England whom I spoke of,

I am afraid even you will have to surrender that hope. I have brought

them with me--will you see them?'

'No,' she said quickly, 'I cannot, not to-day, not for some time. You

surely cannot consider it necessary?'

'Not if the matter is to be dropped,' he replied quietly; 'but if any

action is to be taken upon it, if finding we are right in our surmise,

we are at once to take steps to discover and pursue the perpetrators

of this dreadful act, then I think no time should be lost in our

availing ourselves of all the aid and assistance we can command.'

'That has decided me,' said Helen. 'I will see them at once. Who are

they?'

'I think you have seen them,' said Thornton Carey; 'at all events

their names are well known to you--they are Mr. Bryan Duval and Miss

Clara Montressor.'

'The actors?' cried Helen.

'Exactly,' said Thornton Carey. 'You recollect poor Alston's love for

the drama and its professors, and how he used to declare that the

theatre was the only place in which he could forget the cares and

troubles of business. He seems to have carried this idea over to

England with him, and to have made the acquaintance of and become

tolerably intimate with this lady and gentleman. It was after

accompanying them to Liverpool, and seeing them start on their journey

here, that the fatal attack was made upon him. They are, as I need

scarcely tell you, highly-intelligent people, and with the kindliest

feelings towards you; and as, from the manner in which they were mixed

up with poor Griswold in England, their information and advice is

highly valuable, I would you should see them at once.'

'I will do so,' said Helen; 'I will come down with you at once to the

parlour, where I suppose they are.'

She went down-stairs, only pausing for an instant and trembling

violently as she passed the door of the library, when the remembrance

flashed across her of her interview with Alston on the night of their

ball, and of the manner in which, acting under the presentiment which

would seem to have been carried out, she had implored him to give up

the idea of this journey. Then, summoning all her courage to her aid,

she opened the door, and followed by Thornton Carey, entered the

parlour.

A lady, who was turning over the leaves of a photographic album, and a

gentleman, who seemed to be reading some memoranda in a note-book,

rose at their entrance. She bowed as Thornton Carey muttered hastily

some formal words of introduction, and looked at them keenly. Months

afterwards Helen remembered that, notwithstanding the acuteness of the

mental agonies she was suffering, she could not help remarking the

difference between the quietly-dressed, mild-mannered lady who sat

before her and the shrieking heroine of the stage, between the sharp,

shrewd, worldly-wise Bryan Duval and the steeple-hatted,

velvet-cloaked utterer of romantic rhapsodies.

Bryan Duval was the first to speak: 'Your friend Mr. Carey has an

idea, Mrs. Griswold, that we may be able to be of some service to you

by giving information which, combined with such knowledge as you

yourself possess, may tend to elucidate the causes which prompted this

dreadful deed, and enable you to recognise its perpetrator. I need

scarcely assure you of our warm sympathy, or the earnest desire on our

part to help you.'

Helen bowed, and steadying herself by a great mental effort, said: 'I

am very grateful for the interest you have displayed towards me. Mr.

Carey has given me no details, preferring that I should hear them all

from you. I should like to know, in the first place, what gave you the

idea of the identity of my husband, Mr. Griswold, with the victim of

this cruel deed?'

'I think I can answer that question,' said Miss Montressor, bending

forward. 'The gentleman whom we knew as Mr. Foster once showed me a

portrait of a lady which he described as his wife's. I had the

portrait in my hands for some time, and its features were vividly

impressed in my mind. Before we made our first appearance at the

theatre here, I had heard accidentally that you were to occupy a

certain seat, and I was instructed to look out for you. You may judge

of my astonishment when in that seat I saw a lady whom I recognised as

the original of the portrait which Mr. Foster had shown me.'

'You must pardon my appearing a little confused,' said poor Helen,

putting her hand on her head. 'Do I understand that you recognise me

as the original of the portrait shown to you?'

'Certainly,' replied Miss Montressor; 'there could be no doubt about

it.'

'And this portrait,' asked Helen, 'what was it like--how was it set?'

'It was a miniature, a very beautifully coloured photograph, I should

say, and it was set in the inside case of a plain gold watch, the

spring which discovered it being very difficult to find.'

'That was my parting gift to Alston,' murmured Helen. 'Either he must

have shown it to you or it must have been stolen from him.'

'That I think can easily be decided,' interrupted Bryan Duval, 'by a

description of the gentleman whom we knew as Mr. Foster, and who

showed the portrait to this lady. A man between five-and-thirty and

forty years of age, about my height, with hair somewhat lighter than

mine, a thick dark moustache and imperial, or chin tuft; his

expression somewhat prematurely grave and thoughtful, but brightening

in an instant whenever anything struck his fancy; his manner rather

English than American, perhaps a little formal at first, but frank and

warm when he was known--I beg your pardon,' he added hurriedly, seeing

that Helen had placed her handkerchief to her eyes, 'I fear I have

said too much.'

'It was only for an instant,' she said, looking up. 'Your description,

to my mind, is singularly accurate, and I fear that it would be

useless to indulge in any further hope. It seems now only too certain

that the worst is true.'

'What we have to do now, then,' said Thornton Carey, striking in

quickly, and with a significant glance at Duval, 'is to try and

discover what instigated the deed, and by whom it was perpetrated.'

'To aid us in that endeavour,' said Duval, who perfectly comprehended

the reasons which actuated his companion, 'we must get Mrs. Griswold to

answer as freely and as closely as she possibly can.'

'I will do so to the best of my ability,' said Helen; 'but I must warn

you from the first that my knowledge of Mr. Griswold was mainly

restricted to his home, where he was the best, the truest, and the

most generous of men. He had not, and I have no doubt correctly, a

very high estimate of woman's value in business matters; he imagined

that they could not grasp the details, and if, during the first days

of our marriage, I ever attempted to talk of his affairs, he

invariably put me off with a pleasant word and a jest. Seeing how he

felt about the matter, I had long since given up attempting to speak

to him concerning them.'

'But surely this voyage to Europe, which was not an ordinary business

matter, but one entirely out of the way, might have tempted you to

break your rule?' said Bryan Duval.

'It did,' said Helen. 'I spoke to Mr. Griswold about it on several

occasions; the last I remember perfectly. There had been a little

social gathering at this house, and after our friends had gone my

husband went into his library, to arrange some papers. I joined him

there, and besought him to give up his intended voyage.'

'What a mercy it would have been if you had succeeded!' said Miss

Montressor.

'I think I might have succeeded if he alone had been engaged in the

undertaking, for he was much moved by my evident distress; but he told

me that he was merely one of several; that certain of his friends had

joined in the speculation on the strength of his having guaranteed to

carry it out; and that it was impossible for him to back out of it

with honour.'

'Certain of his friends,' repeated Bryan Duval slowly. 'Did he name

any of them to you?'

'He did not,' replied Helen.

'This information gives colour to your idea, Mr. Carey,' continued

Bryan, 'that the prompting of the deed may have come from this side of

the water. You were acquainted with most of your husband's friends, I

suppose, Mrs. Griswold?'

'In a casual way,' replied Helen. 'Mr. Griswold was of a very

hospitable nature, and was in the habit of inviting them to dinners at

Delmonico's or at this house, at most of which I was present, while

they, in their turn, would invite us.'

'Now, among these acquaintances, can you think of any one who could be

jealous of Mr. Griswold in any possible way, of his position in

Wall-street, his social status, or--anything else?' asked Bryan Duval,

looking narrowly at her.

'No,' answered Helen, whose cheeks flushed crimson as the remembrance

of her last interview with Trenton Warren rose unbidden to her

mind--'no, I think not.'

'It is useless to ask if he had any enemies; none of us, even the most

insignificant, is without them; but had he any enemy, open and

avowed--have you ever heard of any one whom he had crossed in

business, or--in anything else, and who was likely to revenge himself

upon him?'

'Never,' said Helen decisively; 'never.'

'And you are absolutely not aware of the existence of any motive

likely to prompt such a crime?'

'I am not,' replied Helen.

Bryan Duval shrugged his shoulders, and sank back in his chair.

'Mr. Duval's questions have been very skilfully put, my dear Mrs.

Griswold, and you have answered them plainly and conscientiously. I

will ask you--'

'Pray excuse me one minute,' said Miss Montressor; 'there is one point

in connection with the identity of Mr. Foster with Mr. Griswold which

has not yet been brought forward. On the same evening on which your

portrait had been shown to me,' she continued, turning to Helen, 'as we

were driving to London in an open carriage, I complained of the cold,

and Mr. Foster--I may as well continue to call him so--lent me this

pin, which he took from his cravat, to secure my shawl--do you

recognise it?'

As she spoke she handed the pin to Mrs. Griswold.

Helen looked at it attentively. 'I have seen this stone before, but I

cannot tell where.' Then, after a pause, she said: 'Now I recollect

perfectly. It was not set as a pin when I saw it, but as a sleeve

link. I found it on the floor of the room after the little party which

I have mentioned, and I do not remember having come across it since.'

'You are quite right,' said. Miss Montressor. 'Mr. Foster mentioned

having found the link when he unpacked his trunk on his arrival in

England. He imagined it to be one of a set belonging to you, and had

it mounted as a pin. The evidence is not worth much, I know,'

continued Miss Montressor, taking the pin from Helen's hand, and

laying it on the table, 'but it is a small additional proof that Mr.

Griswold and the victim of this horrible crime were one. I am sorry I

interrupted you, Mr. Carey.'

'Not at all,' replied Thornton. 'I was merely going to sum up all Mr.

Duval's skilful questions in one commonplace one. Have you, my dear

Mrs. Griswold, no idea of anything which could have tempted any one to

assassinate your husband?'

'Not the slightest in the world,' said Helen, shaking her head

wearily; unless, 'indeed, my poor Alston was mistaken for some one

else. I think that must have been it. I think he must have been

mistaken for some one else.'

'Mrs. Griswold is growing a little fatigued,' said Bryan Duval, who

had been watching her closely, 'and naturally requires rest and quiet.

I do not think that we can say any more just now, and we had better

bring this painful interview to a close.'

'I agree with you,' said Thornton Carey; 'one word more and I have

done. I had concluded,' he added, turning to Helen, 'even before what

you told me this morning concerning your letters, that the man who

knew most about your poor husband's affairs, and who was most

thoroughly in his confidence, was Trenton Warren. I have been to his

office, and find that he is at Chicago. I have, accordingly, ventured

to telegraph to him there in your name, desiring him to return at

once, stating that it was of the utmost importance that you should see

him, but not mentioning what has occurred. I hope I did rightly.'

'I--I suppose so,' Helen replied. 'But you will remain in town, Mr.

Carey, and--this gentleman, and you, madam, will continue to advise

me--will you not?'

'I may say, speaking for both of us, that we shall be too happy to be

of any service to you,' said Bryan Duval. 'I have had some experience

in the elucidation of mysteries, and I shall devote some time in the

endeavour to bring this villany home to the proper person.'

'I would offer to stay with you,' said Miss Montressor, 'but,

unfortunately, as you are aware, my avocations do not permit me. I

cannot bear to think of you sitting alone here, without any one to

console you in your trouble.'

'You are very kind,' said Helen; 'but I feel that I have overtaxed my

strength, and I shall get to bed as soon as possible. Fortunately, my

child's nurse, Mrs. Jenkins'--here Miss Montressor winced--'is a most

attentive and considerate person, and will, I am sure, take every care

of me.'

'She seems, indeed, quite a treasure,' said Thornton Carey. 'I will

call upon Dr. O'Connor as I go down town, and ask him to look in upon

you when he is driving this way. You must be careful, my dear Mrs.

Griswold; you will need all your strength to help us in the

unravelment of this mystery.' Then they took their leave.

When they reached the street, Thornton Carey parted from them, with

promises to see them on the morrow; and Bryan Duval, who seemed to

have recovered all his old manner, said to Miss Montressor: 'I am

going down, my dear Clara, on a little mission to the Tombs, which is

the cheerful name they give to the police office here. The judge is an

old friend of mine, and I have already started inquiries among some of

the police officers. It is not a place that I can conveniently take

you to, so I advise you to get into the approaching omnibus, which

these Americans, with their usual perversity, insist on calling a

"stage," and which will put you down at the hotel. You will find the

step very high, but woman is privileged in America, and you can seize

the knee or the nose of the nearest gentleman, and help yourself in by

it, without giving him any offence. You can add to the compliment, so

soon as you are seated, by handing him this ten-cent bill, and

observing his graceful attitudes as he pushes it through the hole in

the roof to the driver. Adios, my child; I shall be back by dinner

time.'

'Our Clara is a very nice little girl,' said Bryan Duval, as he

strolled down the street, 'and Mr. Thornton Carey is a worthy, good

man--rather of the steady-going beef-and-potatoes kind of order,

without any particular originality or fancy about him, and they both

do their best, and very possibly be of use in helping to puzzle out

the inquiry; but there are times when a man of any genius likes to be

alone, and not to be yoked to any of his humdrum fellow creatures.

Collaboration, working with another person, is a thing that I never

appreciated--I mean working at the same time with another person. If

a fellow has been before me with certain excellent crude notions,

which he had brought to a certain point, and then gave them up because

he lacked the ability to carry them further, and I take them up where

he dropped them, and trundle them into a triumph, I do not call that

collaboration; they become my ideas, and his failure becomes my

success.

'This is a very singular case,' continued Mr. Duval, taking from his

pocket a small plaited-straw case of cigarettes, opening one, lighting

it, and smoking it in the true Spanish fashion, 'a very singular case,

and one which, properly manipulated, and placed on the boards with

care, ought to bring me in something like a thousand pounds. I have no

doubt there are men in London who are on to it already, who will make

a wretched coarse bungle of the story, ascribing the cause of the

murder to the usual motive, an improper lady, a horrible creature,

with crimson cheeks and tow hair, and who will produce their garbage

at the Surrey, where it will play for ten nights to overflowing

galleries, and never be heard of afterwards. Now, let me see, if

business continues well at the Varieties, I shall remain here till

June; I can sketch out this story on the voyage home, and get it all

ready for some London house to open with in September. Which manager

shall I give it to? Wogsby, at the Parthenon, is too old; wants to

play the principal parts himself, and though he has the remains of

greatness about him, cannot recollect his words. Rowley, at the

Coliseum, can't get on without a show piece; he would want to put

lions and tigers, elephants, camels, and spotted horses into this, and

somehow, as the scene must be laid in Liverpool and thereabouts, that

would spoil the local colour. Hodgkinson, of the Gravity, is, I think,

my man. He is a true showman; French farces, show-leg and break-down

burlesques, fine old English comedy and opera bouffe, are all the same

to Hodgkinson, so long as they draw the coppers, and I think I can

make him see his way to this pretty clearly.

'I wonder if we are on the right scent or not? Carey's notion that the

crime may have arisen from some business complication is not a bad

one, and I took care immediately to adopt it as my own--there is never

any use in losing the credit of these things. Whether he is right or

not remains to be proved. Of course, in a dramatic version, one would

have to give another motive; business is a deuced unromantic thing,

and no audience could feel any sympathy for a man who was knocked on

the head by some one who had projected an opposition gas-works or a

rival railway line. On the stage, the woman interest must be brought

out, and that is easy enough to do, only just now one has pure prose

to deal with, and I should much like to know the truth of the case.

Union-square, by Jove! How quickly I must have walked. I think the

faintest suspicion of a lunch would recruit exhausted nature before I

plunge into the dirt and desolation of the Tombs.'

As he said these words, Mr. Duval turned down Fourteenth-street, and

walked into Delmonico's. He was received by the two clerks, who sat at

the counter facing the door, with a grave bow, which he gravely

returned; then he entered the public room, took up his position at a

table in a window, and speedily found one of the sable-clad managers

by his side.

'Delighted to see you again amongst us, M. Duval,' said this

functionary, speaking in French. 'Every night this saloon is filled

with ladies and gentlemen who, during their supper, _raffolent_ of you

and your success. You were here the other night yourself, I

understand, but I had not the pleasure of seeing you.'

'Thanks, my dear M. Adolphe,' replied Bryan, in the same language.

'These good New Yorkers are always kind to one, who has happened once

to please them, and I may truly say that they never forget old

friends. And you are looking as young as ever; the cares of business

sit lightly on your shoulders, _mon brave_,' and he tapped the little

Frenchman lightly on the back. 'Say, Adolphe, is the brand of Chablis

as good as ever?'

'I think I may say better, M. Duval. We have some now which is--' And

the little man, instead of finishing his sentence, kissed the fingers

of his right hand and waved them in the air.

'Very well then, Adolphe, send me half a bottle of it and a dozen Blue

Points. I am keeping to small oysters just now, for I am not yet

acclimatised to the American monsters, and come back here yourself

when you have ordered them, for I want to have a few words with you.'

The oysters were perfectly served, and the Chablis was delicious.

After Mr. Duval had smacked his lips over his first glass of wine, he

turned to M. Adolphe, who stood with a pleased look by his side, and

said: 'Adolphe, you know me of old, and you can be sure that all you

say to me will be treated with perfect confidence.'

M. Adolphe bowed.

'You know Mr. Griswold, I suppose?'

'Why, certainly. He has now gone to Europe, but when he is at home

there is scarcely a day that Mr. Griswold is not here.'

'Dines here by himself?'

'Dines and breakfasts here by himself, and with madame, and with his

friends. There are few of our customers whose bills are so long as Mr.

Griswold's, fewer still, alas, who are so prompt in paying them.'

'Exactly. Now,' continued Mr. Duval, 'I know the excellent rule of

this house, that no one, however well known to the proprietor, is

permitted to be served with a meal in a private room alone with a

lady, even though there is no possible doubt that that lady is his

wife; but I know also that, of course, there are various jolly

supper-parties given up-stairs, at which all sorts of people are

present. Was Mr. Griswold a frequent attendant of any of these?'

'Never,' said M. Adolphe energetically, 'I am perfectly prepared to

say never. The people with whom Mr. Griswold consorted, male and

female, were always _les gens comme faut_.'

'So I should have thought,' said Mr. Duval cheerfully. 'Thank you very

much, Adolphe; in such matters, yours is an opinion to be relied upon.

If ever, when you are off duty of an evening, you would like to come

into the Varieties, send round to the Fifth-avenue Hotel, and I will

give you my card. We are doing great business, but can always find

room for friends.' And Mr. Duval paid his bill, and with a pleasant

nod, strolled leisurely into the street.

'So far so good,' said he to himself, when he got outside. 'Now, to

make myself quite certain, I will put the question to my old friend,

O'Meara, and if he endorses Adolphe's opinion, I shall have no doubt

about it that Thornton Carey is right; that this has been some

business jealousy, and that there is no woman in the case.'

Judge O'Meara was the presiding justice, or what would be called in

England the police magistrate, at the Tombs. Looking at him, there was

little reason to ask from what country he originally sprang; his clear

blue eyes, short, turn-up nose, and full, red lips proclaimed him a

genuine son of Erin. His face was clean shaved, with the exception of

a moustache, which, with his reddish-brown hair, was close cropped.

His style of administering justice was peculiar, rough and ready, but

admitted to be well suited to those with whom he had to do.

As Bryan entered the court, by a door behind the bench, a

wretched-looking object had just been hauled before the judge by a

stalwart Irish policeman.

'What's this?' cried Judge O'Meara.

'A dead drunken case, your honour,' said the policeman.

'Any violence?'

'No, sir.'

'Go along with you,' said the judge to the prisoner, who hurried off

delighted at his discharge.

'What's this?' next asked the judge, as a woman with unkempt hair and

a fearfully black eye was placed before him.

'Fighting and making a muss in Green-street,' said the policeman.

'Isn't it Mrs. McCleary?' said the judge, looking hard at her. 'Ah,

Bridget, you villain!' he continued, 'you may well hang your head, but

we are too old friends for me not to recognise you. Is this the three

or four hundredth time I have had you here, Bridget, for battering the

boys when you have taken a drop?'

'Judge, darling--' said Mrs. McCleary.

'Whist, Bridget! none of your familiarities before strangers. If I let

you go this time, will you swear to keep straight, and not be bringing

your country and mine into disgrace?'

'I will, judge, by the Blessed--'

'Get along out of that,' interrupted the judge, and Mrs. McCleary left

the court rejoicing.

'Bryan, my dear boy,' said the judge, turning round at the light touch

which Duval had laid on his shoulder, 'the sight of you is good for

sore eyes. I hear you are packing them in like herrings at the

Varieties, and I have not yet had time to come and see you.'

'So I have come to see you, my dear judge,' said Duval, 'and on a

little matter of business. They used to say, when I was here before,

that you knew every one in New York.'

'It is a little pride of mine to do so,' said the judge. 'I will walk

up Broadway this afternoon, and there is not a man, woman, or scarce a

child that I cannot tell you something about.'

'Of course, then, you knew Griswold?'

'Is it Alston Griswold, corner of Wall and William? I knew him well.'

'What sort of a fellow is he in his habits?' asked Duval. 'Like you and

me, judge, with a tender leaning towards the tender sex?'

'My dear Bryan,' said the judge, 'Alston Griswold is the only one man

of my acquaintance who has the least touch of the saint in him that

way. I firmly believe he is devoted to his wife, and that even on this

journey to Europe, which I hear he has undertaken, he will never let

another woman cross his thoughts.'

'Many thanks, judge; you have told me just what I wanted to know. I

won't detain you now, more especially as we are to meet at supper

to-night at Sutherland's.'

'Delighted to hear you are to be of the party, my boy,' said the

judge, waving his hand and returning to his business.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Duval,' said one of the police

superintendents, stepping up to Bryan, as he was making his way out,

'but the mail from Europe has brought us further information about that

murder in which you were interested.'

'Ah, indeed, and what is it?' asked Bryan quickly.

'We have got full particulars of the inquest from London, and copies

of the photograph which was found in the watch.'

'The deuce you have,' said Bryan; then muttered to himself, 'It will

be known all over the city now.'

'The Liverpool police,' continued the constable, 'are said to be

investigating the matter with vigilant intelligence, but the coroner's

verdict is an open one, "by some person or persons unknown."'

'Has the body been identified?' asked Bryan.

'By one person only,' said the constable, 'a passenger on board the

Birkenhead ferry, who recollected seeing the gentleman leave it in the

company of a man dressed as a Methodist preacher, and carrying a

parcel wrapped in tarpaulin.'

'Many thanks,' said Bryan. Then, as he turned away, he said to

himself: 'I don't mind parsons of the Establishment, but I never did

like Methodists; they always do their best to spoil my successes.'