A DARK DEED.
"There is no other way!" thought James Cromwell, as fresh from his
interview with Clara, he returned to his shop. "The boy stands in my
way. His death will bring me money, and then that man will give me the
hand of the woman I love. There is no other way, unless Clara prevails
upon her father to recall his condition."
But another interview with the young lady in the evening, dissipated any
hope of this nature which he may have entertained. She reported that her
father was immovable on this point, and that persuasion and entreaty had
alike been in vain.
"I may soon be able to comply with your father's conditions," said
Cromwell. "I have received a letter to-day, which informs me that the
party from whom I expect a legacy, is in very feeble health."
"Perhaps there may be something in his story," thought Clara, and
influenced by the doubt, she smiled graciously, and said, "Let us wait
and hope that fortune may favor us."
"Promise me one thing," asked Cromwell, "that you will wait for me, and
will not admit the attention of any one else?"
But this did not suit the plans of the astute Clara. She by no means
wished to compromise her matrimonial chances by binding herself to an
uncertainty, and accordingly answered:
"I would willingly do as you ask, Mr. Cromwell, if papa were willing,
but he has expressly forbidden me to bind myself by an engagement, or
make any promise."
James Cromwell's countenance fell.
"After all," she added, with a smile, "is any promise necessary in our
case? Do we not understand one another?"
These words and the smile that accompanied them, restored the
cheerfulness to her lover. He thought he did understand Clara Manton,
but in this, as we know, he was egregiously mistaken.
The next morning he received the following letter from Paul Morton. It
was the first he had received from the merchant, and was in reply to one
of his own written from Madison.
It was as follows:
"JAMES CROMWELL:
"_Dear Sir_:--Yours of the 15th inst., informing me of your safe
arrival at Madison and your determination to make that place your
home, was duly received. The accident which you speak of as near
befalling my ward at Niagara Falls did not surprise me. He is a
careless boy, and I should not be surprised at any time to hear of
his coming to harm from this cause. Of course, you will exercise
proper care in cautioning him, etc., and then, should he meet with
any accident, I shall exonerate you from blame in the matter. How
is his health? I have at times thought he inherited the feeble
constitution of his father. I understand also from the late Mr.
Raymond, that his mother was an invalid, and it is hardly to be
expected that he would have a very strong or vigorous constitution.
However, I do not feel anxious on this point, as I am aware that
you have a knowledge of medicine, and I have full confidence in
your ability to take all proper care of my young ward. I suppose
you have found a suitable school for him. I shall be glad to hear
that he is doing well in his studies, though on account of his not
very strong constitution, previously referred to, it may be well
not to press him too hard in the way of study.
"Let me hear from you respecting Robert's welfare, from time to
time. Yours, etc.,
"PAUL MORTON."
James Cromwell read this letter twice over.
"He's a crafty old spider," he said to himself. "Any one to read it
would think that he was very solicitous for the welfare of this boy. It
would be considered an excellent letter by those who did not understand
it. I am behind the scenes, and I know just what it means. He means to
blame me, because I didn't make a sure thing of it at Niagara Falls, and
hints pretty plainly about some accident happening to him in future. He
is impatient to hear of his death, that is plain, and no doubt he will
gladly pay the amount he promised, as soon as he receives intelligence
of it."
This reflection plunged James Cromwell into serious thought. Already
predisposed to the foul deed, the artful suggestions of this letter
tended to fan the flame, and incite him still more to it. Danger indeed,
and that most serious, was menacing our young hero.
So James Cromwell, spurred by a double motive, veered more and more
toward the accomplishment of the dark deed which would stain his soul
with bloodshed, and in return give him the fleeting possession of money
and the girl whom he loved.
Once resolved upon the deed, the next consideration was the ways and
means of accomplishing it.
Should he use poison?
That seemed most in his line, and he regretted that he had not secured a
supply of the same subtle poison which Paul Morton had purchased of him
in the small shop on the Bowery. There was likely to be no one in that
neighborhood who possessed a sufficient medical knowledge to detect its
presence or trace its effects. But it was rare, and there was little
chance of his obtaining it unless by sending to New York, and this
would, of itself, afford strong ground for suspicion against him.
Then, as to the ordinary poisons, their effects upon the human system
were too well understood, even by ordinary physicians, for him to employ
them without great peril. He decided, therefore, to adjure poisons
altogether. The fact that he was a druggist would render their use even
more readily suspected than in the case of an ordinary person.
How then should he proceed?
This question was still undetermined in his own mind, when chance
decided the matter for him.
One evening, while he was still pondering this question, and much
embarrassed about the decision of it, he chanced to be returning home
from a desultory walk which he had taken. Now, in the town of Madison,
somewhat centrally situated, or at least one side of it was near the
center of the town, there was a pond of about two miles in circuit. By
the edge of this pond James Cromwell met Robert Raymond.
Instantly an idea came into his mind, as casting his eyes toward the
pond, he saw a small boat tied by a rope round the trunk of a tree.
"Good evening, Mr. Cromwell," said Robert. "Have you been taking a
walk?"
"Yes, but I have not been far. When did you come out?"
"About half an hour ago."
"By the way, do you know how to row?"
"A little."
"I was thinking that we might borrow this boat, and have a little row on
the pond. What do you say?"
"I should like it," said Robert, promptly, for he had a boy's love of
the water. "Shall I unfasten the rope?"
"Yes, I wish you would."
Robert at once sprang to the tree, and quickly untied the rope and set
the boat free.
"All ready, Mr. Cromwell!" he cried. "Jump aboard, and I will get in
afterward."
James Cromwell stepped into the boat, his heart beating quick with the
thought of the deed which he meditated. His courage almost failed him,
for he was of a timid nature, but the thought of the stake for which he
was playing, renewed his courage, and he resolved that, come what might,
that night should be Robert Raymond's last.
"Which of us shall row, Mr. Cromwell?" asked Robert.
"I will row first, and you may do so afterward."
"All right."
Cromwell took his place, and rowed rather awkwardly until the boat
reached the middle of the pond.
"Shan't I take the oars now, Mr. Cromwell?"
"Not quite yet. I am going to row into that little recess over yonder.
You can row back."
The outline of the pond was irregular. In one place there was a recess,
surrounded by woods, within which they would be shielded from view. It
seemed a fitting place for a tragedy.
When they were fairly within it, Cromwell said:
"Now you may take the oars."
Robert rose from his seat, and stepped toward the center of the boat.
His movements were naturally rather unsteady. James Cromwell turned
pale, and he braced his shrinking nerve. He felt that now was his time.
Unless he acted now, his opportunity would be gone.
As Robert approached, he suddenly seized the unsuspecting boy around the
middle, and threw him into the water. So suddenly was it done, that
before the boy understood what had happened to him, he found himself
engulfed.
Never once looking back, James Cromwell seized the oars, and rowed
himself swiftly back. When he got on shore, he looked nervously out over
the surface of the pond. All was still. Nothing was visible of Robert.
"He is drowned!" said Cromwell to himself, wiping away the large drops
of perspiration from his forehead.