ON THE TRAIL OF DIAVOLO
Jordan gained rapidly in strength, and was soon in condition to
return, a sadder, wiser, and poorer man, to Eden Valley. I determined,
however, to accompany him, and see if I could gather on the ground any
further details about the serpent, my inquiries by mail bringing, as I
have told, but unsatisfactory answers. But before leaving Saintsbury,
I called again upon my client in the jail. I found him, as always, the
gentle, nice-mannered, puzzling youth.
"I am going away for a while in your interests," I said, by way of
greeting.
"That's awfully good of you," he said gratefully. Then with polite
concern he added, "I hope you aren't giving yourself any trouble--"
"Oh, I sha'n't mind a little inconvenience when it is in the way of
business," I said drily. "It may be a matter of entire indifference to
you, but I want to win my case!"
"Oh, yes, of course," he said with anxious courtesy. I could see that
he had no idea what I meant! There was no use trying to arouse him in
that way, and I might as well accept his attitude.
"Did you know that Barker had a partner?" I asked abruptly.
He shook his head with an air of distaste. "No. I know nothing about
him. I shouldn't, you know."
"You never heard of Diavolo?"
"Not the opera?" he asked doubtfully.
"No. A professional hypnotist with whom Barker was connected in a
business way."
"No, I never heard of him."
"Did you ever hear of William Jordan? Or of Eden Valley?"
"No." He looked puzzled.
"I have an idea that it may have been Diavolo who shot Barker!" I said
carelessly.
He looked surprised, and then, deferentially and hesitatingly, he
expressed his dissent.
"I suppose you feel that you have to fight for me, as my lawyer,
but--what's the use in this case? I don't understand these things, of
course, but I'd rather have it settled with as little fuss as
possible. I shot him, and I am not sorry, and--I'd like to have it all
over with as soon as possible." His voice was steady enough, and the
gallant lift of his head made me think of his sister, but I thought I
saw a look of dread somewhere back in his eye. Perhaps he was
beginning to weaken! I determined to press the point a little.
"And yet it is a pity to have your life run into the sand in
that way," I said earnestly. "There might be much for you in the
future,--success, love, honor,--" I watched him closely. His face
quivered under the probe, but he did not speak.
"Miss Thurston is heartbroken," I added, relentlessly.
He looked at me as a dumb animal under the knife might look, and then
he dropped his face into his hands. I pressed the matter while he was
at my mercy.
"If you did not shoot Barker,--if you are in fact innocent,--don't,
for Heaven's sake, let any foolish idea of saving someone else lead
you to lie about it. There could be no one worthy of saving at that
cost. And, besides, if you are lying, I am going to find out the truth
in spite of you."
He lifted his head, but he did not look at me.
"I am not lying. Why should I? I supposed anyone would believe a man
who said he had done--a thing like that."
"I wish you would tell me about it again,--just what you did." (I
wanted to see if his story would vary.)
He dropped his eyes to the floor thoughtfully. "I went to his office,"
he said slowly. "I went through the outer office and into the inner
office. They were both empty. I locked the door and waited. I watched
through a hole in the curtain over the glass in the door. A man came
in, waited a little, and went out. Then Barker came. I waited till he
came close to the door. Then I fired. I saw him fall. Then I went down
the fire-escape and got out into the street." As he finished, he
raised his eyes from the floor and looked at me. His glance was not
entirely frank, and yet I could not call it evasive.
"There was no one else in the room with you?"
"No one."
"You saw no one else at any time except the man who came into the
outer office?"
"No one else."
"And him you do not know?"
"No."
"If I should tell you it was I?"
He looked at me, puzzled and doubtful. "Was it you?"
"Wouldn't you know? Didn't you see the man's face?"
He hesitated. "N-no."
"Then how did you know it wasn't Barker?"
"Why,--it wasn't."
"Since you meant to give yourself up to the police, why did you go
down the fire-escape instead of out through the hall?"
He looked distressed. "I--don't know." Then he seemed to gather his
ideas together. "My mind is confused about much that happened that
night, Mr. Hilton. The only thing that stands out very clearly is the
fact that I shot him. And that is the only thing that is really
important, isn't it?"
And that was the most that I got out of the interview.
I had to admit, in face of this, that it was partly obstinacy which
made me hold to the idea that he was not telling the whole truth. The
fact that he had not recognized me, though he must have had me under
close observation for a long time, and the fact that some one in the
inner room had been eating apples, and that some one not he,--this was
really all I had to support my point of view. But these were facts,
both of them, and a fact is a very obstinate thing. A very small fact
is enough to overthrow a whole battalion of fair-seeming fabrications.
I felt that I was not throwing in my fortune with the weaker side when
I determined to follow the lead of those two small facts to the bitter
end.
The pursuit led me in the first place to Eden Valley. I took poor
William Jordan to his home, a farm lying just outside of the village,
(and not more than two hundred miles from Saintsbury,) and then I
returned to the village. It was a country town of about 2000, with one
main hotel. I judged that Diavolo and Barker would have to lodge there
if anywhere, and on inquiry I found my guess correct. They were not
forgotten.
"Oh, that hypnotist chap!" said the landlord. "Yes, he was here in the
summer. Had a show at the Masonic Hall. Say, that's a great stunt,
isn't it? Ever see him?"
"No. What was he like?"
"Oh, he was made up, you know,--Mephistopheles style. Black pointed
beard and long black hair and a queer glittering eye."
"But when he was not made up? You saw him here in the hotel in his
natural guise, didn't you?"
"Nope. Funny thing, that. He kept in his room, and the man that was
with him, Barker I think his name was, he did the talking and managed
everything. Diavolo acted as though he didn't want to be seen off the
stage. Wore a long cape and a slouch hat when he went out, and had his
meals all sent up."
"Was he tall or short?"
"Medium. Rather slim. Long, thin hands. Say, when he waved those hands
before the face of that old farmer sitting on a chair on the stage, it
was enough to make the shivers run down your back. I don't know
whether it was all a fake or not. Most people here think it was, but I
swan, it was creepy."
"Did you know the farmer?"
"Oh, yes,--old Jordan. Lives near here. Terrible set up about having a
strong will, and said nobody could hypnotize him. Say, it was funny to
see him think he was a cat, chasing a rat, and then suddenly believe
that he was an old maid and scared to death of a mouse, and jumping up
on a chair and screaming in a squeaky little voice."
"Diavolo woke him up, didn't he?"
"Oh, yes. And then the old man tore things around. He came here the
next day to see the man in the daylight, and dare him to try it
again."
"Did he do it?" I asked, wondering how much of Jordan's story was
known to his neighbors.
"Oh, I guess not. He went up to Diavolo's room, I remember, and when
he came out he wouldn't talk, but just went off home."
"And you never heard Diavolo's real name?"
"Nope. Trade secret, I suppose. Probably born Bill Jones, or something
else that wouldn't look as well on the billboards as Diavolo."
I went to the Masonic Hall, where the "show" was given, but there I
met the same difficulties. Barker had made all the arrangements and
been the mouthpiece. The mysterious Diavolo had appeared only at the
last moment, cloaked and made up for stage effect, and had held no
conversation with anyone. They all thought his assumption of mystery a
part of his profession. I saw in it a persistent care to hide his
identity. I could only hope that some momentary carelessness or some
accident would give me a clue. His very anxiety to hide his real name
made more plausible my theory that Barker's knowledge of it might have
been the occasion of his death. In the olden times, the masons who
constructed the secret passages under castle and moat were usually
slain when the work was done, as the most effective way of ensuring
their silence.
From Eden Valley, I went to Illington, the next place mentioned in
Barker's memorandum book. Here it was much the same. The two men had
stopped at the hotel over night, but Diavolo had kept out of sight,
while Barker had transacted all the business and made all the
arrangements. I realized that I was dealing with people who used
concealment as a part of their business.
The same story met me at Sweet Valley, at Lyndale, at Hawthorn, at
Dickinson. It was not until I reached Junius that I found what I had
hoped for and had begun to despair of finding,--a personal
recollection of Diavolo.
"Oh, yes," the landlady at the hotel said. "He was here. Raised the--I
should say, raised his namesake with a toothache."
She was a jolly landlady, and she laughed at her own near-profanity
till she shook. She had probably worked the same joke off before.
I smiled,--it wasn't hard, in face of her own jollity. "What did he
do?" I asked.
"Oh, tramped up and down his room just like an ordinary man. Couldn't
eat his supper. Kept a hot water bottle to his face, though I told Mr.
Barker it was the worst thing he could do. Mr. Barker was distracted.
It was getting to be near the hour for the performance, and Diavolo
wouldn't go on. Not that I blame him. A jumping tooth is enough to
upset even a wizard."
"How did it turn out?"
"Oh, he went to a dentist and had it out, and--"
Things danced before my eyes. I felt like shouting "Now hast thou
delivered mine enemy into my hands." It seemed almost incredible that
what I could hardly have dreamed of as a possibility could be the
plain actual fact.
"Do you know what dentist he visited?" I asked, trying to speak
casually.
"Oh, yes. Mr. Barker inquired at the office, and went with him.
Diavolo was very careful about not being seen, and even then he wore a
wig. I knew it was a wig, because he had got it crooked, tossing
about, and some light hairs showed about his ear."
"What dentist did you send him to?" I asked anxiously.
"Dr. Shaw."
"And he isn't dead or moved away or anything like that?"
"Oh, no! He has his office right around the corner. He boards in the
house, and I always like to throw business in the way of my boarders
when I can."
"I think I shall have to see him on my own account," I said. I almost
expected an earthquake to swallow up Dr. Shaw before I could get
around the corner, but I found the office still in place, all right,
and the doctor himself, looking rather pathetically glad to see some
one enter. He was a dapper little man, with a silky moustache and an
eternal smile. (Not that his looks matter! But whenever I think of
that interview, I see that humble, ingratiating smile.)
"What can I do for you?" he asked gently and caressingly.
"I am not in need of your professional services, Doctor Shaw, but I
should like to obtain some information from you, if you will allow me
to take some of your time at your regular rates. I am a lawyer, and I
am anxious to establish the identity of a man who was here in the
summer under the name of Diavolo,--a professional hypnotist. Mrs.
Goodell, of the Winslow House, tells me that she sent him to you to be
relieved of a toothache."
"Yes, I remember. I extracted a tooth for him," Dr. Shaw said at once.
"I could perhaps have saved it, but it would have required treatment,
and he insisted upon having it extracted, as he was to appear on the
stage that evening."
"Was there anything peculiar about the formation of his jaw, do you
remember? Any irregularity, for instance?"
The dentist smiled. "Yes. Decided irregularity. His jaw was peculiarly
long and narrow, and the teeth, which were large, were crowded. On
both sides the upper teeth formed a V."
"Like this?" I asked, taking the model which Dr. Kenton had made for
me from my pocket.
"Exactly like that," he said, after examining it critically. "Wasn't
this made from his mouth?"
"That is what I want to ascertain."
"It would be extraordinary to find two persons with the same marked
peculiarity," he said thoughtfully.
"Would that peculiarity be enough to establish the man's identity?" I
asked.
"Perhaps not. But I could identify Diavolo positively and beyond
question, if that is what you mean. There were other distinguishing
marks. The first lower left molar was gone, and replaced by a bridge,
for instance. And the second molars in the upper jaw had both been
extracted,--probably to relieve the crowding. The conformation was
unmistakable, and very unusual."
"Then if I ever get my hands on Diavolo, you can identify him,
regardless of grease paint and wig?"
"Unquestionably."
"I hope most heartily that I may be able to give you the opportunity.
You have done me a great service as it is. For the present, I can only
tell you that your information will serve the cause of justice."
Can you guess my elation? I should certainly have astonished the staid
people of the prim little town if I had allowed myself to express the
state of my feelings. My wild goose chase had not been so wild, after
all! I had not yet bagged the game, to be sure, but I felt that I had
winged it. Certainly I ought to be able to convince any jury that if
Barker's former partner was in the room from which the fatal shot had
been fired, the chances were strong that he had had something to do
with it. And that he was there I could prove. The apple in which he
had left the imprint of his curiously irregular teeth was freshly
bitten; and the toothache which had driven the cautious Diavolo from
his cover of silence and forced him, by stress of physical agony, to
the intimate personal relation of a patient with his dentist, had
identified him as the man. It only remained to find--him!
What Eugene Benbow's connection with the affair could have been was so
much of a mystery that I could form no conjecture. One thing at a
time. When I had unearthed Diavolo, the other things might clear
themselves up. Sometimes one missing piece will make a puzzle fall
into shape and everything appear coherent.
I had been away from Saintsbury on this search for over a week, and I
was anxious to get back. I wanted to find out whether my advertisement
for Mary Doherty had brought any answer. I wondered whether Benbow had
grown more communicative. I wanted to see Jean, who must be having a
time of it, living with her queer, unaffectionate guardian. I wondered
whether Fellows had attended to things at the office. But I didn't
think of the one thing that had actually happened. I found out what it
was when the newsboys came on the train with the Saintsbury papers.
The Evening Samovar had exploded. It had come out with Clyde's story.