A CLUE.
It was Thornton Carey who darted forward, and kneeling by Mrs.
Jenkins's prostrate form, endeavoured, in the helpless manner which
all men employ under similar circumstances, to restore animation by
raising her head and chafing her hands; for Helen, overcome by the
suddenness of the nurse's attack, at first sat motionless in her
chair. After a moment all her womanly readiness and sympathy returned
to her, and having summoned Annette to her aid, they lifted Mrs.
Jenkins on to an adjacent sofa and busied themselves in their work of
restoration. Not that the French waiting-maid was of much use as an
assistant; she seemed to think that the seizure of Mrs. Jenkins, on
whose clear-headedness and promptness of action the whole household
had been for the last few days reliant, was the climax to the family
misfortune; and she wrung her hands and beat her breast and _Mon
Dieu_'d in a manner which, under other circumstances, would have been
extremely irritating. But Helen was busily engaged in gently bathing
the sufferer's head with eau de Cologne, and paid no attention to the
waiting-maid's lamentations; while Thornton Carey, who had a keen
sense of delicacy, had retired to the window, where, while apparently
gazing with great interest into the street, he was drumming with his
fingers on the glass, and endeavouring to-arrive at an elucidation of
the scene which had just passed before his eyes.
'For me--for me!' this strange woman had cried out just before she
sank upon the floor; her meaning, taken with the context of what had
passed before, being that the death of Trenton Warren, which had just
been announced, was as a blow, not to Helen, but to her. Who was she,
this mysterious woman, who had of late assumed so important a position
in the household, from whom, as Helen herself allowed, she had
received so much affectionate assistance, and in whom she seemed so
thoroughly to confide? She had even been, to a certain extent,
admitted into the secret of their hopes and fears and their method of
procedure in attempting to detect poor Alston's assassins; Helen had
vouched for her fidelity, and, notwithstanding the sympathy of all the
household, had declared that in this nurse alone could she place
reliance. What had been her antecedents? It was as likely as not that
Helen, in her trusting girlish way, had taken the woman without any
proper references, simply because her face or manner pleased her, and
had suffered herself to be beguiled by an assumed sympathy and a
smooth tongue. Who could the woman be, and what could be her motive
for introducing herself into that quiet home? That she knew Warren was
clear--she herself had made it clear by this recent betrayal of her
feelings. What could Trenton be to her that she should fall senseless
at the news of his death? In the position which Warren occupied with
regard to the murdered man, Helen's friends were more deeply
interested in him than in any other person in the world; and now he
was dead, and here was this woman, usually so calm and collected,
unable to refrain from showing signs of violent grief at the news.
Could it be possible--and Thornton Carey's cheeks tingled at the mere
thought--that this woman had been some former mistress of Warren's,
and that he had taken advantage of his intimacy with Griswold to
obtain for her a comfortable place in his friend's household? No.
Thornton Carey knew little of Warren, but all that he heard of him
went to contradict such an idea; a man so generally represented as
cold, impassive, and even more immersed in the accumulated cares of
business than Griswold himself; there must be some other explanation
of the mystery, but what it was Thornton Carey could not at the moment
attempt to define. He began to find himself wishing that he had
brought Bryan Duval with him to the house; for that gentleman's ready
acuteness had made a great impression on Thornton Carey's mind, and he
felt half inclined to start off at once and lay before his friend this
newest phase in the mystery which they were endeavouring jointly to
penetrate. It was absolutely necessary that some explanation should be
given, and he thought he would say as much to Helen, whom he saw
crossing the room to speak to him.
'She's a little better now,' murmured Helen, as she approached; 'she
has regained her consciousness, but her heart is still beating wildly,
and she has once or twice made an effort to speak, though her physical
strength seems scarcely sufficient to admit of her doing so. What an
extremely sudden seizure, was it not?'
'So sudden and so extraordinary, my dear Helen,' said Thornton Carey
impressively, 'that I am eagerly desirous of having it accounted for;
and even at the risk of somewhat tasking this woman's strength, I
shall ask her to explain it as soon as possible.'
'You imagine, then, as I do,' said Helen, 'that it was her hearing the
news of the accident which has happened to Mr. Warren that caused her
to faint?'
'That and nothing else,' said Carey bluntly. 'Had you any idea that
she was acquainted with Warren? Has she ever mentioned his name, or
referred to him in any way? More than that, can you recollect whether
she has ever shown any emotion when his name has been alluded to in
her presence?'
'I had no idea that she was even aware of his existence,' said Helen.
'She came to me since poor Alston's departure, and in this house, at
least, I am certain she has never set eyes upon Mr. Warren.'
'It is essential for the purposes of our investigation that we should
know exactly what her relations with Warren are or were; and under
your approval I purpose asking her a few questions.'
'You will not be hard upon her, Thornton?' said Helen, looking up at
him. 'You will remember that the woman is poor and ill, and has
already suffered a good deal from the loss of her own child--you will
think of these things when you speak to her, I am sure?'
'You may rely upon my discretion,' said Thornton Carey. 'I only want
to come at the truth, and I will evolve that in the gentlest manner
possible.'
'Mrs. Jenkins is better,' said Annette, crossing the room from the
side of the couch where she had been standing, 'and would wish to
speak to madame.'
'Now is your opportunity, Thornton,' whispered Helen to him. 'Come
with me.'
Mrs. Jenkins, who had raised herself to a sitting posture on the
couch, was perfectly pale; there was a tremulous motion in her lips
and a nervous wandering of her hands, which showed that she had not
yet got over the recent shock; but she did her utmost to nerve herself
as Mrs. Griswold approached her, and her eyes, as they rested on her
benefactress, had a soft and imploring expression.
'Annette tells me you are better, nurse, and that you want to speak to
me,' said Helen, laying a kind light touch upon the patient's arm.
'You, however, scarcely yet seem to be yourself, and if there is
anything in what you have to say calculated to excite you, perhaps it
would be better to defer it until you are a little stronger.'
'What I have to say, dear madam,' said Mrs. Jenkins, in a low and
feeble voice, 'ought, in the interests of truth and justice, to be
told at once; the longer it is kept to myself the longer I shall feel
myself guilty of gross deception to you, who have been so kind and
good to me.'
'Deception, nurse?'
'Deception, I am afraid, it must be called, dear madam; not that I
have myself actually deceived you, or that I would allow anybody
connected with me to do so; but that certain things have been going on
in which you were to some extent interested with which I was
acquainted, and which I have kept from your knowledge.'
'I am perfectly certain,' said Helen, in her calm sweet voice, 'that
you have knowingly done me no harm; I am perfectly certain, from the
attention and devotion which you have shown to me since you have been
in this house, that if you could have stood between me and harm's way,
you would have done so. If; however, there is anything on your mind
which it will render you easier to get rid of, if you think to clear
your conscience by telling us--for this gentleman, Mr. Carey, is
entirely in my confidence--anything which you think it behoves me to
know, speak at once.'
'You are right in saying that there is nothing I would not do to
shield you from harm, dear madam,' said Mrs. Jenkins, touching Helen's
hand with her wan lips. 'The intrigue in which I was passively mixed
up was arranged before I entered your house, and it is only within the
last few minutes--when I fainted, in fact--it flashed upon me that the
affair could possibly have any connection with your present dreadful
sorrow.'
At these words Thornton Carey started, and bent forward his head to
listen more attentively.
'Well, when you first engaged me to come to you,' said Mrs. Jenkins,
'you took for granted that I was respectable all through, and I hadn't
courage enough to avow the truth. I ought to have said who and what my
husband was and where he was then living. I should, but that he--but
that I--but that there had been something against him. Not that he was
not loving and good to me, and always had been, understand that, but
he got into trouble when he was a young man, and the memory of that
seems to have stuck to him, and respectable people were consequently
unwilling to give him employment, and he was thus forced to do what he
could, often what he hated, to gain a bare subsistence.
'The knowledge of this sin of his early youth,' she continued, 'was
not confined to me. I shared it with his only brother, a man exactly
resembling him in size, feature, and complexion, but who has risen in
the world, while my poor Ephraim has sunk, and who made use of the
knowledge of the cloud hanging over Ephraim's head to employ him as
his agent in all kinds of dirty work in which he did not choose
himself to appear. My husband was known as Ephraim Jenkins, but his
brother of whom I speak, who has wrought upon us all this woe, and
through whom indirectly, if all I believe is true, I am now a widow
indeed, is called Trenton Warren.'
'Trenton Warren!' cried Carey.
Helen said no word, but sat with her eyes distended and fixed upon the
speaker.
'Trenton Warren,' repeated Mrs. Jenkins; 'the man whom you now suppose
to be dead, but who, I fear, has been left for the commission of still
further crime, being, as I know him to be, the wickedest man on the
face of the earth. Listen. Some months ago now, Trenton Warren sent
for Ephraim, my husband, who was always at his brother's beck and
call, and had to do whatever he was told; this time he was desired not
to go to his brother's office as usual, but to name some place where
Warren was not likely to be recognised. They met, and Warren developed
his scheme to Ephraim, not then or by word of mouth, but in a letter
of instructions which he handed to him, and told him to read
afterwards. The main point in these instructions was this. I have told
you that the two brothers were exactly alike, so much so that it was
impossible for those who knew them best to distinguish between them. I
don't suppose it had often been much noticed, for Trenton Warren was
always well-dressed, and my poor Ephraim was scarcely ever out of
rags; but Warren knew of the likeness, and admitted it, and determined
to use it to serve his purpose; and the main point of the instructions
was this: that Ephraim was to personate his brother; that he was to
have plenty of money and live like a gentleman, and, in fact, to pass
himself off as Trenton Warren down at Chicago.'
'At Chicago!' cried Thornton Carey, springing up from his chair, Helen
still preserving a stony silence.
'Stay,' said Mrs. Jenkins, lifting her hand in supplication; 'stay and
hear me out. It was wicked, I know, but what were we to do, we were
near starving then? And besides, Trenton Warren knew the hold that he
had over Ephraim, and would have exercised it had there been the
slightest attempt to thwart him. What his motive for this duplicity
may have been, I know not, except that, being a motive of Trenton
Warren's, it was sure to be a bad one.'
'It was your husband, then, who was at Chicago, and not Trenton
Warren?' said Thornton Carey. 'The information which I received at his
office as to his being at Chicago was, then, false?'
'As to his being at Chicago, certainly, said Mrs. Jenkins; for part of
the time at least he has been in England, and not in Chicago, for my
poor Ephraim told me so.'
'In England!' cried Helen, speaking for the first time.
'Yes, dear madam; my poor Ephraim was here yesterday; he had come up
from Chicago in great trouble, in consequence of not having heard from
his brother, and also fearing that the telegram which Mr. Carey
addressed to Mr. Warren was really meant for him, and imagining that I
was ill; and I had a long talk with him here in this very house; and I
told him that come what might he must break with this horrible
connection, and assert himself, and turn over a new leaf; and live
like an honest man in the future. He said, at first, it was
impossible; but I told him we should find friends to help us; above
all, you, my dear madam, who have been so kind to me. And then he
seemed to be convinced, and he told me he would do all I asked him,
and he left me with the intention of becoming a reformed man; and now
he is dead--for I am sure it was he who was killed on the railway, and
not Trenton Warren--he is dead, and I shall never see him more.'
While Mrs. Jenkins was concluding this speech, Helen had been writing
with a pencil on a slip of paper. As the poor woman finished speaking
she burst into a flood of tears, and seemed so thoroughly overcome
that Helen judged it better that Thornton Carey should leave the room;
and Helen motioned him to do so. As he passed by her, she placed in
his hand the paper on which she had been writing. Immediately on
gaining the library he opened it, and read these words: 'As sure as
God is in heaven, Trenton Warren is the man who has murdered my
husband.'
Thornton Carey read the paper, but made no comment on its contents.
His mind was too full to find any utterance just then; he too, as he
had listened to Mrs. Jenkins's narrative, had become impressed with
the idea that Trenton Warren might in some way be mixed up with the
terrible matter to the discovery of which he had pledged himself. But
he was a man; and one, moreover, with a calm judicial mind, accustomed
to weigh matters with deliberation, and not to leap hastily at
conclusions. He passed out of the room, and out of the house; he
thought it better not to allow himself the chance of any farther
discussion of the subject with Helen until he had fully thought it out
by himself. That was Thornton Carey's great secret of work; he held
that there was no problem so knotty that it could not finally be
'thought out' if due time were given to the process. Education and
circumstances had made him self-reliant; and he believed that in most
instances more could be done by his own unaided wits, when duly
applied to the solution of a difficulty, than by a discussion with
others, in which the proposition of various schemes would tend to
divert the mind from the due consideration of any explanation, no
matter how striking or original.
Out of the house he went, then, and on descending the stoop, instead
of going down town as usual, he turned sharply to his left, and walked
away up Fifth-avenue at a swinging pace. Just at that time of day the
avenue was alive with people, some in search of pleasure, some in
search of health, who had come out to enjoy the soft mild weather, and
on foot and on horseback, in buggies, coupés, and open carriages were
making their way to Central Park. Scarcely one of these persons but
was attracted by the tall slight figure of the young man, who hurried
along with seven-league stride among them, but not of them, evidently
enwrapt in his own cogitation. The valetudinarians envied his free
step and the ease with which he carried himself; the pleasure-seekers
made their little jokes to each other about him as a philosopher, a
student, an eccentric, perhaps a madman. Thornton Carey heard none of
their remarks, and if he had, he would not have heeded them. He did
not see the people who whirled by him in carriages; he was scarcely
aware of the presence of those whose coat-sleeves he brushed in his
onward flight. While the human hive was still buzzing around him, he
could not give himself up to the luxury of untrammelled thought; with
all this whirling of wheels and clacking of horses' hoofs sounding in
his ears, he could not concentrate his mind upon working out the
problem which he had set himself. When once he found himself within
the limits of the Central Park, he turned rapidly out of the
fashionable promenade, and striking across a green expanse, dived into
a shrubbery, the narrow path through which was entirely deserted; and
there, unseen and alone, Thornton Carey, walking up and down,
commenced his self-appointed task of 'thinking it out.'
Could it be possible, in the exercise of that woman's instinct which,
without any possibility of explanation, without any apparent rhyme or
reason, is so often exactly correct, that Helen Griswold had hit upon
the truth when she stated that Trenton Warren was the murderer of her
husband? He, Thornton Carey, must allow that some faint suspicion had
been engendered in his mind as Mrs. Jenkins's narrative proceeded; but
now was the time for him to sift and winnow the evidence which it
contained, and to come to his own straightforward conclusion. In the
first place, was the woman speaking the truth? He thought that might
be clearly answered in the affirmative. She was under obligations to
Helen, of whom she professed to be very fond, to whom indeed she had
previously shown a certain amount of fidelity and devotion, and there
was an air of veracity about her which, to him, was convincing. The
facts which she narrated she had received from her husband; and then
the question arose, was he to be believed? This was plainly a very
different matter. According to his wife's own showing, he had been
early in life mixed up in some dishonest transactions, the memory of
which clung to him in after years, and prevented his getting
respectable employment. Would not such a man, tabooed, disgraced, kept
down by his own brother, in order that he might use him for an
instrument in his dirty work--would not such a man be likely to tell
lies for his own advantage? Granted; but what advantage had he in this
instance? He and his wife were one; she was his confidante; she knew
the power which his brother held over him; why then should he attempt
to deceive her in the way in which that power was exercised? No; upon
a clear review of all the circumstances, Thornton Carey was compelled
to admit that the story told by Mrs. Jenkins was probably true, and
that while Jenkins was personating him at Chicago, Trenton Warren had
gone to London.
He would have been in England, then, at the time of the murder: so
far, that was in favour of Helen's hypothesis. It agreed, too, with
the idea proclaimed with so much earnestness by Bryan Duval, that the
necessity for the crime had originated in New York and not in England.
The question of motive was, however, above all others, the one which
would require to be clearly and calmly examined, and Bryan Duval, with
his leanings towards the picturesque and the dramatic, was, Thornton
Carey thought, hardly the man to decide upon it. If Warren had taken
advantage of the confidence reposed in him by Alston Griswold to
pillage his friend to any considerable extent, if he, on his own
account, had been engaged in any schemes or speculations in direct
opposition to those in which he was ostensibly in partnership with
Griswold, then there would have been some slight reason, some shadow
of pretext for imagining that it would have been to his advantage to
silence his friend and prevent his own exposure. But that Warren, a
business man, and not a bravo, would risk the vast penalty accruing to
the crime of murder for the sake of accomplishing such a result--a
phase of civilisation by no means uncommon in New York commercial
circles--was what Thornton Carey could not and would not believe.
Still the mystery of Warren's being in London at the time when even
those in his employ believed him to be in Chicago, and the fact of his
having induced his brother to personate him in the latter place, in
order to throw all inquiries off the scent, was so suspicious, that
Carey deemed it right at once to make Bryan Duval acquainted with Mrs.
Jenkins's story, and with the result of his deliberations thereon. So
he came out of the shrubbery far less eager and impetuous than he had
entered it, and walked down at a quiet pace to the Fifth-avenue Hotel.
On entering Mr. Duval's room, he found that gentleman lying at full
length upon the sofa, wrapped in a gorgeous blue-silk dressing-gown
faced with red, and his feet encased in Turkish slippers. It was Mr.
Duval's habit to indulge in an hour's siesta before going down to his
theatrical duties, and Thornton Carey was afraid that he had
interrupted the popular favourite while thus refreshing himself; but
Mr. Duval, hearing the door open, raised his head, and seeing who was
there, called to his friend to come in.
'Sit down,' he said, 'and smoke a quiet cigar. I was not asleep; I
have been reading that diary of poor Mrs. Griswold's all day, and I
had just laid it down and shut my eyes to reflect upon two or three
points which struck me as curious. I find,' continued Mr. Duval,
slightly stretching himself, 'that to close the eyes conduces very
much to reflection, and is occasionally anything but disagreeable.'
'I have been engaged nearly all day in consideration of the same
subject,' said Carey, 'and I came to see if you had a few moments to
devote to its discussion with me.'
'A few moments, my dear fellow!' said Bryan, raising himself up on his
elbow to look at the clock, 'a couple of hours! The enlightened
citizens of this great republic do not expect to see their cultivated
entertainer before nearly eight o'clock--it is now little more than
five--so that I shall have ample time to hear you talk, to interpose
maybe a few humble suggestions, and to get down to the theatre with
the greatest ease. Proceed now; I am all attention.'
Thus encouraged, Thornton Carey began the narration of the day's
experiences. When he began to describe his arrival at Mrs. Griswold's,
it was obvious to him that the great actor, notwithstanding his
professions of interest, was scarcely so attentive, or indeed so wide
awake, as he might have been; he kept up indeed a continuous refrain
of 'Hum!' and 'Ah!' and 'Dear me!' but his eyes were closed, perhaps
for the advantage of deeper thinking, his lower jaw relapsed, and a
soothing sound issued from his nose. When, however, Thornton came to
relate the accident which had happened to the train, and the death of
the supposed Trenton Warren, his companion roused in an instant. As he
proceeded to describe the terror which had seized Mrs. Jenkins, the
exclamation which she had uttered, and the fainting fit which had
ensued, Bryan's interest grew more and more intense. He sat upright
upon the sofa, leaning eagerly forward and drinking in every word; and
at length, when Thornton Carey had come to the end of Mrs. Jenkins's
confession, and had revealed the message which Helen had given him on
the slip of paper, to the effect that Trenton Warren was the murderer
of her husband, Bryan Duval brought his hand down heavily on the
table, and cried in a hoarse voice, 'By God, she's right!'
'You think so?' said Thornton Carey. 'All the time the woman was
speaking I was haunted by an idea that such might be the case, and
when I read Mrs. Griswold's avowal of her strong impression I was
almost convinced; but I have been walking about in the Central Park
ever since, arguing the question out with myself, and I am fain to
confess that I am now strongly sceptical about it.'
'For what reason?' asked Duval.
'The absence of motive,' said Thornton Carey. 'Suppose Trenton Warren
had taken advantage of the confidence reposed in him by Griswold, had
used his knowledge of and power over their joint business affairs
heavily to pillage his friend, he had opportunities during Griswold's
absence of twisting accounts and destroying evidence, and would never
have gone to the extent of murder for the sake of concealing his
dishonesty.'
'You are right,' said Bryan Duval. 'From all I have heard of Mr.
Warren, he would know far too much for that; but even he is human, I
suppose, and I think I can supply another motive by which most of us
are liable to be actuated, and which in this instance, if I am right,
has been all-powerful.'
'And what is that?' asked Carey.
'Combination of offended vanity and a desire for vengeance,' said
Bryan. 'When you came in, I told you that during the day I had been
engaged in reading Mrs. Griswold's journal, and that I had laid myself
down on the sofa the better to reflect over certain passages which had
struck me. This was the case just now, though you thought I was going
to sleep. Up to the time of your arrival I had not discovered the
meaning of those passages, but what you have said has given me the
clue.'
'You think so?' asked Carey.
'I am sure of it,' said Bryan Duval. 'But you shall judge for
yourself. I have read this diary through with the greatest attention,
and have marked certain portions of it for reference. It seems that it
was commenced at Alston Griswold's request; he intended that it should
be a record of all the events of her daily life, and should be sent to
him from time to time in lieu of ordinary letters. And that,' said Mr.
Duval, looking up, 'shows what a strange fellow he was and what
confidence he had in his wife. The idea of expecting any woman to tell
you all that she has been doing, much more all that she has been
thinking! Mrs. Griswold seems to have been a kind of pattern wife, for
there is certainly no one else of my acquaintance whom I should have
thought capable of strictly following such a behest.'
'Mrs. Griswold,' said Carey, 'would obey her husband to the letter.'
'Exactly,' said Duval. 'Now let us get back to the journal. You will
observe in this first marked passage that her idea of writing a
journal is that he may "follow her life from day to day, through all
the familiar hours of it, so that he may cheat himself out of the idea
of separation," and a little farther on she writes: "So I begin it
thus, in an irregular and unskilful fashion, no doubt, but with the
utmost sincerity of intention to write in it everything which can
interest him." I have read these passages to you to show how simple
and single-minded the woman was when she commenced her task; how fully
she intended that every thought of her heart, every prompting impulse
should be laid bare to the loved one far away. I will read you farther
passages now, which will show you how the idea had to be given up; how
certain experiences in her life were written indeed, but not for
submission to her husband's eye; and how the entries for his perusal
are mere domestic details about the baby, the nurse, and the doctor,
omitting any reference to the one great event in her life which had
happened since her husband's departure.'
'Do you mean to say that this book shows any duplicity of Mrs.
Griswold's?' asked Carey earnestly.
'Not the least in the world,' said Bryan Duval. 'God forbid for an
instant that I should be supposed to hint such a thing of so estimable
a lady. It was out of love and regard for her husband that she had to
keep back certain facts from his knowledge, as you shall now hear. My
next quotation, as you will see, is taken later in the book.
"With all the relief which the absence of Alston's friend has given
me, there is a great pang of pain for Alston himself, and a horrid
sense of a barrier of concealment between us."'
'She alludes here to Alston's friend. You see farther on she speaks
more plainly:
"I have allowed so many days to elapse before I force myself into
commencing this self-communing, in sheer uncertainty of what my line
of duty is; and though I am now tolerably clearly convinced that
neither now nor ever must I reveal to Alston what has passed, the
conviction invests my task of writing to him with great pain and
difficulty. Somehow we seem to be doubly parted; first by distance,
then by a secret. How shall I bear to see him take up his relations
with Warren just where he dropped them, and to know, as I do know, how
his confidence is betrayed?"
'There you see for the first time comes out the man! There is then a
passage to say she does not think that Warren has been false to her
husband in their business relations; but mark the next passage:
"It would do my husband such harm in every way to know what has
occurred; his own frankness and loyalty of nature could hardly
withstand so great a shock; the world would be changed for him. No, he
shall never know it; I will trust to the chapter of accidents, or
rather, I should say, to the beneficence of Providence, to preserve us
harmless from his false friend."'
'Good God!' cried Carey, starting up, 'this scoundrel must have made
love to Helen! Is not that how you interpret it?'
'Exactly,' said Bryan Duval; 'and immediately after Griswold's
departure; but he must have met his match in Mrs. Griswold. By the
context, it would seem that she must have insisted upon his never
setting foot in her house again, and that he thereupon agreed to go,
as he told her, to Chicago, as this passage would seem to insinuate:
"How cleverly, how skilfully this man has carried out this sudden and
complete change of all his plans; how reasonably he seems to have
accounted for leaving New York; no one seems surprised, and I am quite
certain not the slightest shade of suspicion that his departure is of
any consequence to me has presented itself to the mind of any of our
common acquaintance, though the close tie between him and Alston is
perfectly well known."'
'The existence of that tie between them would have called public
attention to the fact that there was no intimacy between Warren and
his partner's wife, no acquaintance even, it would be imagined, if he
was forbidden calling at the house; and it was no doubt this that
suggested to him the advisability of going to Chicago.'
'Probably,' said Duval. 'By the way, if we had had any doubt as to
whether this ruffian had dared to pay his addresses to Mrs. Griswold,
we should find it solved in this passage:
"I believe the love of a man like Warren is half passion, half hatred,
and that the hatred swallows up the passion when it is effectually
checked. Whence that notion has come to me I know not; but it has
come, and with it a fear of this man's hatred, greater, if possible,
than my horror of his love."'
'There is no doubt of it now,' said Thornton Carey, rising and pacing
the room with set teeth and clenched hands, 'nor have I a doubt that
he murdered poor Alston. He is doubly a villain, and I have a double
motive for revenge.'
'What is to be done we will consult farther to-morrow morning,' said
Duval. 'I must be off to the theatre now; but I entirely agree with
all you say.'
At this moment a boy brought a note to Thornton Carey, which he opened
and read.
'It is from Mrs. Griswold,' he said. 'That poor woman, the nurse, has
been to the scene of the accident, and recognised the dead body,
supposed to be that of Trenton Warren, as her husband.'