"I did not observe. She seemed greatly distressed, if not thoroughly

overcome, and observing her pull down her veil, I thought she did not

relish my inquiring looks, and as I could not sit within view of her and

not watch her, I discreetly betook myself into the smoking-car, where I

stayed till we arrived at this place."

"Hum!" "Ha!" "Curious!" rose in chorus once more, and then, the general

sympathies of the crowd being exhausted, two or three or more of the

group sauntered up to the bar, and the rest sidled restlessly out of the

room, leaving the enthusiastic speaker alone with Mr. Byrd.

"A strange scene!" exclaimed the latter, infusing just enough of seeming

interest into his usually nonchalant tone to excite the vanity of the

person he addressed, and make him more than ever ready to talk. "I wish

I had been in your place," continued Mr. Byrd, almost enthusiastically.

"I am sure I could have made a picture of that scene that would have

been very telling in the gazette I draw for."

"Do you make pictures for papers?" the young fellow inquired, his

respect visibly rising.

"Sometimes," the imperturbable detective replied, and in so doing told

no more than the truth. He had a rare talent for off-hand sketching, and

not infrequently made use of it to increase the funds of the family.

"Well, that is something I would like to do," acknowledged the youth,

surveying the other over with curious eyes. "But I hav'n't a cent's

worth of talent for it. I can see a scene in my mind now--this one for

instance--just as plain as I can see you; all the details of it, you

know, the way they stood, the clothes they wore, the looks on their

faces, and all that, but when I try to put it on paper, why, I just

can't, that's all."

"Your forte lies another way," remarked Mr. Byrd. "You can present a

scene so vividly that a person who had not seen it for himself, might

easily put it on paper just from your description. See now!" And he

caught up a sheet of paper from the desk and carried it to a side table.

"Just tell me what depot this was in."

The young fellow, greatly interested at once, leaned over the

detective's shoulder and eagerly replied: "The depot at Syracuse."

Mr. Byrd nodded and made a few strokes with his pencil on the paper

before him.

"How was the lady dressed?" he next asked.

"In blue; dark blue cloth, fitting like a glove. Fine figure, you know,

very tall and unusually large, but perfect, I assure you, perfect. Yes,

that is very like it," he went on watching the quick, assured strokes of

the other with growing wonder and an unbounded admiration. "You have

caught the exact poise of the head, as I live, and--yes, a large hat

with two feathers, sir, two feathers drooping over the side, so; a bag

on the arm; two flounces on the skirt; a--oh! the face? Well, handsome,

sir, very handsome; straight nose, large eyes, determined mouth, strong,

violently agitated expression. Well, I will give up! A photograph

couldn't have done her better justice. You are a genius, sir, a genius!"

Mr. Byrd received this tribute to his skill with some confusion and a

deep blush, which he vainly sought to hide by bending lower over his

work.

"The man, now," he suggested, with the least perceptible change in his

voice, that, however, escaped the attention of his companion. "What was

he like; young or old?"

"Well, young--about twenty-five I should say; medium height, but very

firmly and squarely built, with a strong face, large mustache, brilliant

eyes, and a look--I cannot describe it, but you have caught that of the

lady so well, you will, doubtless, succeed in getting his also."

But Mr. Byrd's pencil moved with less certainty now, and it was some

time before he could catch even the peculiarly sturdy aspect of the

figure which made this unknown gentleman, as the young fellow declared,

look like a modern Hercules, though he was far from being either large

or tall. The face, too, presented difficulties he was far from

experiencing in the case of the lady, and the young fellow at his side

was obliged to make several suggestions such as:--"A little more hair on

the forehead, if you please--there was quite a lock showing beneath his

hat;" or, "A trifle less sharpness to the chin,--so;" or, "Stay, you

have it too square now; tone it down a hair's breadth, and you will get

it," before he received even the somewhat hesitating acknowledgment from

the other of: "There, that is something like him!"

But he had not expected to succeed very well in this part of the

picture, and was sufficiently pleased to have gained a very correct

notion of the style of clothing the gentleman wore, which, it is

needless to state, was most faithfully reproduced in the sketch, even if

the exact expression of the strong and masculine face was not.

"A really remarkable bit of work," admitted the young fellow when the

whole was completed. "And as true to the scene, too, as half the

illustrations given in the weekly papers. Would you mind letting me have

it as a _souvenir_?" he eagerly inquired. "I would like to show it to a

chap who was with me at the time. The likeness to the lady is

wonderful."

But Mr. Byrd, with his most careless air, had already thrust the picture

into his pocket, from which he refused to withdraw it, saying, with an

easy laugh, that it might come in play with him some time, and that he

could not afford to part with it. At which remark the young fellow

looked disappointed and vaguely rattled some coins he had in his pocket;

but, meeting with no encouragement from the other, forbore to press his

request, and turned it into an invitation to join him in a social glass

at the bar.

To this slight token of appreciation Mr. Byrd did not choose to turn a

deaf ear. So the drinks being ordered, he proceeded to clink glasses

with the youthful stranger, taking the opportunity, at the same time, of

glancing over to the large, well-built man whose quiet absorption in the

paper he was reading had so attracted his attention when he first came

in.

To his surprise he found that person just as engrossed in the news as

ever, not a feature or an eyelash appearing to have moved since the time

he looked at him last.

Mr. Byrd was so astonished at this that when he left the room a few

minutes later he took occasion in passing the gentleman, to glance at

the paper he was studying so industriously, and, to his surprise, found

it to be nothing more nor less than the advertising sheet of the New

York _Herald_.

"A fellow of my own craft," was his instantaneous conclusion. But a

moment's consideration assured him that this could not be, as no

detective worthy the name would place so little value upon the

understanding of those about him as to sit for a half-hour with his eyes

upon a sheet of paper totally devoid of news, no matter what his purpose

might be, or how great was his interest in the conversation to which he

was secretly listening. No; this gentleman was doubtless what he seemed

to be, a mere stranger, with something of a serious and engrossing

nature upon his mind, or else he was an amateur, who for some reason was

acting the part of a detective without either the skill or experience of

one.

Whichever theory might be true, this gentleman was a person who at this

time and in this place was well worth watching: that is, if a man had

any reason for interesting himself in the pursuit of possible clues to

the mystery of Mrs. Clemmens' murder. But Mr. Byrd felt that he no

longer possessed a professional right to such interest; so, leaving

behind him this fine-looking gentleman, together with all the inevitable

conjectures which the latter's peculiar manner had irresistibly

awakened, he proceeded to regain his room and enter upon that

contemplation of the picture he had just made, which was naturally

demanded by his regard for one of the persons there depicted.

It was a vigorous sketch, and the slow blush crept up and dyed Mr.

Byrd's forehead as he gazed at it and realized the perfection of the

likeness he had drawn of Miss Dare. Yes, that was her form, her face,

her expression, her very self. She it was and no other who had been the

heroine of the strange scene enacted that day in the Syracuse depot; a

scene to which, by means of this impromptu sketch, he had now become as

nearly a witness as any one could hope for who had not been actually

upon the spot. Strange! And he had been so anxious to know what had

altered the mind of this lady and sent her back to Sibley before her

journey was half completed--had pondered so long and vainly upon the

whys and wherefores of an action whose motive he had never expected to

understand, but which he now saw suggested in a scene that seriously

whetted, if it did not thoroughly satisfy, his curiosity.

The moment he had chosen to portray was that in which the eyes of the

two met and their first instinctive recoil took place. Turning his

attention from the face of the lady and bestowing it upon that of the

man, he perceived there the horror and shrinking which he had imprinted

so successfully upon hers. That the expression was true, though the

countenance was not, he had no doubt. The man, whatever his name,

nature, calling, or history, recoiled from a meeting with Imogene Dare

as passionately as she did from one with him. Both had started from home

with a simultaneous intention of seeking the other, and yet, at the

first recognition of this fact, both had started and drawn back as if

death rather than life had confronted them in each other's faces. What

did it mean? What secret of a deep and deadly nature could lie between

these two, that a scene of such evident import could take place between

them? He dared not think; he could do nothing but gaze upon the figure

of the man he had portrayed, and wonder if he would be able to identify

the original in case he ever met him. The face was more or less a

failure, of course, but the form, the cut of the clothes, the manner of

carriage, and the general aspect of strong and puissant manhood which

distinguished the whole figure, could not be so far from correct but

that, with a hint from surrounding circumstances, he would know the man

himself when he saw him. At all events, he meant to imprint the possible

portrait upon his mind in case----in case what? Pausing he asked himself

this question with stern determination, and could find no answer.

"I will burn the sketch at once, and think of it and her no more," he

muttered, half-rising.

But he did not do it. Some remembrance crossed his mind of what the

young fellow downstairs had said about retaining it as a _souvenir_, and

he ended in folding it up and putting it away somewhat carefully in his

memorandum-book, with a vow that he would leave Sibley and its troublous

mystery at the first moment of release that he could possibly obtain.

The pang which this decision cost him convinced him that it was indeed

high time he did so.

VII.

MISS FIRMAN.

I confess with all humility that at times the line

of demarcation between truth and fiction is

rendered so indefinite and indistinct, that I

cannot always determine, with unerring certainty,

whether an event really happened to me, or whether

_I_ only dreamed it.--LONGFELLOW.

MR. BYRD, upon waking next morning, found himself disturbed by a great

perplexity. Were the words then ringing in his ears, real words, which

he had overheard spoken outside of his door some time during the past

night, or were they merely the empty utterances of a more than usually

vivid dream?

He could not tell. He could remember the very tone of voice in which he

fancied them to have been spoken--a tone which he had no difficulty in

recognizing as that of the landlord of the hotel; could even recall the

faint sounds of bustle which accompanied them, as though the person

using them had been showing another person through the hall; but beyond

that, all was indistinct and dream-like.

The words were these:

"Glad to see you back, sir. This murder following so close upon your

visit must have been a great surprise. A sad occurrence, that, sir, and

a very mysterious one. Hope you have some information to give."

"If it is a remembrance and such words were uttered outside of my door

last night," argued the young detective to himself, "the guest who

called them forth can be no other than the tall and florid gentleman

whom I encountered in the bar-room. But is it a remembrance, or only a

chimera of my own overwrought brain struggling with a subject it will

not let drop? As Shakespeare says, 'That is the question!'"

Fortunately, it was not one which it behooved him to decide. So, for the

twentieth time, he put the subject by and resolved to think of it no

more.

But perplexities of this kind are not so easily dismissed, and more than

once during his hurried and solitary breakfast, did he ask himself

whether, in case the words were real, he had not found in the landlord

of this very hotel the one witness for which the coroner was so

diligently seeking.

A surprise awaited him after breakfast, in the sudden appearance at his

room door of the very gentleman last alluded to.

"Ha, Byrd," said he, with cheerful vivacity: "here is a line from the

superintendent which may prove interesting to you."

And with a complacent smile, Dr. Tredwell handed over a letter which had

been brought to him by the detective who had that morning arrived from

New York.

With a dim sense of foreboding which he would have found difficult to

explain, Mr. Byrd opened the note and read the following words:

DEAR SIR,--I send with this a man fully competent

to conduct a case of any ordinary difficulty. I

acknowledge it is for our interest that you employ

him to the exclusion of the person mentioned in

your letter. But if you or that person think that

he can render you any real assistance by his

interference, he is at liberty to act in his

capacity of detective in as far as he can do so

without divulging too widely the secret of his

connection with the force. ---- ----.

"The superintendent need not be concerned," said Mr. Byrd, returning the

note with a constrained bow. "I shall not interfere in this matter."

"You will miss a good thing, then," remarked the coroner, shortly,

looking keenly at the young man.

"I cannot help it," observed the other, with a quick sigh of impatience

or regret. "I should have to see my duty very clearly and possess the

very strongest reasons for interfering before I presumed to offer either

advice or assistance after a letter of this kind."

"And who knows but what such reasons may yet present themselves?"

ventured the coroner. Then seeing the young man shake his head, made

haste to add in the business-like tone of one preparing to take his

leave, "At all events the matter stands open for the present; and if

during the course of to-day's inquiry you see fit to change your mind,

it will be easy enough for you to notify me." And without waiting for

any further remonstrance, he gave a quick nod and passed hastily out.

The state of mind in which he left Mr. Byrd was any thing but enviable.

Not that the young man's former determination to let this matter alone

had been in any wise shaken by the unexpected concession on the part of

the superintendent, but that the final hint concerning the inquest had

aroused his old interest to quite a formidable degree, and, what was

worse, had reawakened certain feelings which since last night it had

been his most earnest endeavor to subdue. He felt like a man pursued by

an implacable fate, and dimly wondered whether he would be allowed to

escape before it was too late to save himself from lasting uneasiness,

if not lifelong regret.

A final stroke of business for Mr. Ferris kept him at the court-house

most of the morning; but his duty in that direction being at an end, he

no longer found any excuse for neglecting the task imposed upon him by

the coroner. He accordingly proceeded to the cottage where the inquest

was being held, and finding each and every available room there packed

to its uttermost by interested spectators, took up his stand on the

outside of a curtained window, where with but a slight craning of his

neck he could catch a very satisfactory view of the different witnesses

as they appeared before the jury. The day was warm and he was by no

means uncomfortable, though he could have wished that the advantages of

his position had occasioned less envy in the breasts of the impatient

crowd that was slowly gathering at his back; or, rather, that their

sense of these advantages might have been expressed in some more

pleasing way than by the various pushes he received from the more or

less adventurous spirits who endeavored to raise themselves over his

shoulder or insinuate themselves under his arms.

The room into which he looked was the sitting-room, and it was, so far

as he could judge in the first casual glance he threw into it, occupied

entirely by strangers. This was a relief. Since it had become his duty

to attend this inquiry, he wished to do so with a free mind, unhindered

by the watchfulness of those who knew his interest in the affair, or by

the presence of persons around whom his own imagination had

involuntarily woven a network of suspicion that made his observation of

them at once significant and painful.

The proceedings were at a standstill when he first came upon the scene.

A witness had just stepped aside, who, from the impatient shrugs of many

persons present, had evidently added little if any thing to the

testimony already given. Taking advantage of the moment, Mr. Byrd leaned

forward and addressed a burly man who sat directly under him.

"What have they been doing all the morning?" he asked. "Any thing

important?"

"No," was the surly reply. "A score of folks have had their say, but not

one of them has told any thing worth listening to. Nobody has seen any

thing, nobody knows any thing. The murderer might have risen up through

the floor to deal his blow, and having given it, sunk back again with

the same supernatural claptrap, for all these stupid people seem to know

about him."

The man had a loud voice, and as he made no attempt to modulate it, his

words were heard on all sides. Naturally many heads were turned toward

him, and more than one person looked at him with an amused smile.

Indeed, of all the various individuals in his immediate vicinity, only

one forbore to take any notice of his remark. This was a heavy,

lymphatic, and somewhat abstracted-looking fellow of nondescript

appearance, who stood stiff and straight as an exclamation point against

the jamb of the door-way that led into the front hall.

"But have no facts been obtained, no conclusions reached, that would

serve to awaken suspicion or put justice on the right track?" pursued

Mr. Byrd, lowering his voice in intimation for the other to do the same.

But that other was of an obstinate tendency, and his reply rose full and

loud.

"No, unless it can be considered proved that it is only folly to try and

find out who commits a crime in these days. Nothing else has come to

light, as far as I can see, and that much we all knew before."

A remark of this kind was not calculated to allay the slight inclination

to mirth which his former observation had raised; but the coroner

rapping with his gavel on the table at this moment, every other

consideration was lost in the natural curiosity which every one felt as

to who the next witness would be.

But the coroner had something to say before he called for further

testimony.

"Gentlemen," he remarked, in a clear and commanding tone that at once

secured attention and awakened interest, "we have spent the morning in

examining the persons who live in this street, with a view to

ascertaining, if possible, who was in conversation with Mrs. Clemmens at

the time the tramp went up to her door."

Was it a coincidence, or was there something in the words themselves

that called forth the stir that at this moment took place among the

people assembled directly before Mr. Byrd? It was of the slightest

character, and was merely momentary in its duration; nevertheless, it

attracted his attention, especially as it seemed to have its origin in a

portion of the room shut off from his observation by the corner of the

wall already alluded to.

The coroner proceeded without pause.

"The result, as you know, has not been satisfactory. No one seems to be

able to tell us who it was that visited Mrs. Clemmens on that day. I now

propose to open another examination of a totally different character,

which I hope may be more conclusive in its results. Miss Firman, are you

prepared to give your testimony?"

Immediately a tall, gaunt, but pleasant-faced woman arose from the dim

recesses of the parlor. She was dressed with decency, if not taste, and

took her stand before the jury with a lady-like yet perfectly assured

air that promised well for the correctness and discretion of her

answers. The coroner at once addressed her.

"Your full name, madam?"

"Emily Letitia Firman, sir."

"Emily!" ejaculated Mr. Byrd, to himself, with a throb of sudden

interest. "That is the name of the murdered woman's correspondent."

"Your birthplace," pursued the coroner, "and the place of your present

residence?"

"I was born in Danbury, Connecticut," was the reply, "and I am living in

Utica, where I support my aged mother by dress-making."

"How are you related to Mrs. Clemmens, the lady who was found murdered

here two days ago?"

"I am her second cousin; her grandmother and my mother were sisters."

"Upon what terms have you always lived, and what can you tell us of her

other relatives and connections?"

"We have always been friends, and I can tell you all that is generally

known of the two or three remaining persons of her blood and kindred.

They are, first, my mother and myself, who, as I have before said, live

in Utica, where I am connected with the dress-making establishment of

Madame Trebelle; and, secondly, a nephew of hers, the son of a favorite

brother, whom she has always supported, and to whom she has frequently

avowed her intention of leaving her accumulated savings."

"The name of this gentleman and his place of residence?"

"His name is Mansell--Craik Mansell--and he lives in Buffalo, where he

has a situation of some trust in the large paper manufactory of

Harrison, Goodman, & Chamberlin."

Buffalo! Mr. Byrd gave an involuntary start, and became, if possible,

doubly attentive.

The coroner's questions went on.

"Do you know this young man?"

"Yes, sir. He has been several times to our house in the course of the

last five years."

"What can you tell us of his nature and disposition, as well as of his

regard for the woman who proposed to benefit him so materially by her

will?"

"Well, sir," returned Miss Firman, "it is hard to read the nature and

feelings of any man who has much character, and Craik Mansell has a good

deal of character. But I have always thought him a very honest and

capable young man, who might do us credit some day, if he were allowed

to have his own way and not be interfered with too much. As for his

feelings toward his aunt, they were doubtless those of gratitude, though

I have never heard him express himself in any very affectionate terms

toward her, owing, no doubt, to a natural reticence of disposition which

has been observable in him from childhood."

"You have, however, no reason to believe he cherished any feelings of

animosity toward his benefactress?" continued the coroner, somewhat

carelessly, "or possessed any inordinate desire after the money she was

expecting to leave him at her death?"

"No, sir. Both having minds of their own, they frequently disagreed,

especially on business matters; but there was never any bitterness

between them, as far as I know, and I never heard him say any thing

about his expectations one way or the other. He is a man of much natural

force, of strong, if not violent, traits of character; but he has too

keen a sense of his own dignity to intimate the existence of desires so

discreditable to him."

There was something in this reply and the impartial aspect of the lady

delivering it that was worthy of notice, perhaps. And such it would have

undoubtedly received from Mr. Byrd, at least, if the words she had used

in characterizing this person had not struck him so deeply that he

forgot to note any thing further.

"A man of great natural force--of strong, if not violent traits of

character," he kept repeating to himself. "The description, as I live,

of the person whose picture I attempted to draw last night."

And, ignoring every thing else, he waited with almost sickening

expectation for the question that would link this nephew of Mrs.

Clemmens either to the tragedy itself, or to that person still in the

background, of whose secret connection with a man of this type, he had

obtained so curious and accidental a knowledge.

But it did not come. With a quiet abandonment of the by no means

exhausted topic, which convinced Mr. Byrd that the coroner had plans and

suspicions to which the foregoing questions had given no clue, Dr.

Tredwell leaned slowly forward, and, after surveying the witness with a

glance of cautious inquiry, asked in a way to concentrate the attention

of all present:

"You say that you knew the Widow Clemmens well; that you have always

been on friendly terms with her, and are acquainted with her affairs.

Does that mean you have been made a confidante of her troubles, her

responsibilities, and her cares?"

"Yes, sir; that is, in as far as she ever made a confidant of any one.

Mrs. Clemmens was not of a complaining disposition, neither was she by

nature very communicative. Only at rare times did she make mention of

herself or her troubles: but when she did, it was invariably to me,

sir--or so she used to say; and she was not a woman to deceive you in

such matters."

"Very well, then, you are in a position to tell us something of her

history, and why it is she kept herself so close after she came to this

town?"

But Miss Firman uttered a vigorous disclaimer to this. "No, sir," said

she, "I am not. Mrs. Clemmens' history was simple enough, but her

reasons for living as she did have never been explained. She was not

naturally a quiet woman, and, when a girl, was remarkable for her

spirits and fondness for company."

"Has she had any great sorrow since you knew her--any serious loss or

disappointment that may have soured her disposition, and turned her, as

it were, against the world?"

"Perhaps; she felt the death of her husband very much--indeed, has never

been quite the same since she lost him."

"And when was that, if you please?"

"Full fifteen years ago, sir; just before she came to this town."

"Did you know Mr. Clemmens?"

"No, sir; none of us knew him. They were married in some small village

out West, where he died--well, I think she wrote--a month if not less

after their marriage. She was inconsolable for a time, and, though she

consented to come East, refused to take up her abode with any of her

relatives, and so settled in this place, where she has remained ever

since."

The manner of the coroner suddenly changed to one of great

impressiveness.

"Miss Firman," he now asked, "did it ever strike you that the hermit

life she led was due to any fear or apprehension which she may have

secretly entertained?"

"Sir?"

The question was peculiar and no one wondered at the start which the

good woman gave. But what mainly struck Mr. Byrd, and gave to the moment

a seeming importance, was the fact that she was not alone in her

surprise or even her expression of it; that the indefinable stir he had

before observed had again taken place in the crowd before him, and that

this time there was no doubt about its having been occasioned by the

movements of a person whose elbow he could just perceive projecting

beyond the door-way that led into the hall.

But there was no time for speculation as to whom this person might be.

The coroner's questions were every moment growing more rapid, and Miss

Firman's answers more interesting.

"I asked," here the coroner was heard to say, "whether, in your

intercourse with Mrs. Clemmens, you have ever had reason to suppose she

was the victim of any secret or personal apprehension that might have

caused her to seclude herself as she did? Or let me put it in another

way. Can you tell me whether you know of any other person besides this

nephew of hers who is likely to be benefited by Mrs. Clemmens' death?"

"Oh, sir," was the hasty and somewhat excited reply, "you mean young Mr.

Hildreth!"

The way in which this was said, together with the slight flush of

satisfaction or surprise which rose to the coroner's brow, naturally

awoke the slumbering excitement of the crowd and made a small sensation.

A low murmur ran through the rooms, amid which Mr. Byrd thought he heard

a suppressed but bitter exclamation. He could not be sure of it,

however, and had just made up his mind that his ears had deceived him,

when his attention was attracted by a shifting in the position of the

sturdy, thick-set man who had been leaning against the opposite wall,

but who now crossed and took his stand beside the jamb, on the other

side of which sat the unknown individual toward whom so many inquiring

glances had hitherto been directed.

The quietness with which this change was made, and the slight, almost

imperceptible, alteration in the manner of the person making it, brought

a sudden enlightenment to Mr. Byrd, and he at once made up his mind that

this dull, abstracted-looking nonentity leaning with such apparent

unconcern against the wall, was the new detective who had been sent up

that morning from New York. His curiosity in regard to the identity of

the individual round the corner was not lessened by this.

Meantime the coroner had answered the hasty exclamation of the witness,

by disclaiming the existence of any special meaning of his own, and had

furthermore pressed the question as to who this Mr. Hildreth was.

She immediately answered: "A gentleman of Toledo, sir; a young man who

could only come into his property by the death of Mrs. Clemmens."

"How? You have not spoken of any such person as connected with her."

"No," was her steady response; "nor was he so connected by any tie of

family or friendship. Indeed, I do not know as they were ever

acquainted, or, as for that matter, ever saw each other's faces. The

fact to which I allude was simply the result of a will, sir, made by Mr.

Hildreth's grandfather."

"A will? Explain yourself. I do not understand."

"Well, sir, I do not know much about the law, and may make a dozen

mistakes in telling you what you wish to know; but what I understand

about the matter is this: Mr. Hildreth, the grandfather of the gentleman

of whom I have just spoken, having a large property, which he wanted to

leave in bulk to his grandchildren,--their father being a very

dissipated and reckless man,--made his will in such a way as to prevent

its distribution among his heirs till after the death of two persons

whom he mentioned by name. Of these two persons one was the son of his

head clerk, a young boy, who sickened and died shortly after Mr.

Hildreth himself, and the other my cousin, the poor murdered woman, who

was then a little girl visiting the family. I do not know how she came

to be chosen by him for this purpose, unless it was that she was

particularly round and ruddy as a child, and looked as if she might live

for many years."

"And the Hildreths? What of them during these years?"

"Well, I cannot exactly say, as I never had any acquaintance with them

myself. But I know that the father, whose dissipated habits were the

cause of this peculiar will tying up the property, died some little time

ago; also one or two of his children, but beyond that I know little,

except that the remaining heirs are a young gentleman and one or two

young girls, all of the worldliest and most fashionable description."

The coroner, who had followed all this with the greatest interest, now

asked if she knew the first name of the young gentleman.

"Yes," said she, "I do. It is Gouverneur."

The coroner gave a satisfied nod, and remarked casually, "It is not a

common name," and then, leaning forward, selected a paper from among

several that lay on the table before him. "Miss Firman," he inquired,

retaining this paper in his hand, "do you know when it was that Mrs.

Clemmens first became acquainted with the fact of her name having been

made use of in the elder Mr. Hildreth's will?"

"Oh, years ago; when she first came of age, I believe."

"Was it an occasion of regret to her? Did she ever express herself as

sorry for the position in which she stood toward this family?"

"Yes, sir; she did."

The coroner's face assumed a yet greater gravity, and his manner became

more and more impressive.

"Can you go a step farther and say that she ever acknowledged herself to

have cherished apprehensions of her personal safety, during these years

of weary waiting on the part of the naturally impatient heirs?"

A distressed look crossed the amiable spinster's face, and she looked

around at the jury with an expression almost deprecatory in its nature.

"I scarcely know what answer to give," she hesitatingly declared. "It is

a good deal to say that she was apprehensive; but I cannot help

remembering that she once told me her peace of mind had left her since

she knew there were persons in the world to whom her death would be a

matter of rejoicing. 'It makes me feel as if I were keeping people out

of their rights,' she remarked at the same time. 'And, though it is not

my fault, I should not be surprised if some day I had to suffer for

it.'"

"Was there ever any communication made to Mrs. Clemmens by persons

cognizant of the relation in which she stood to these Hildreths?--or any

facts or gossip detailed to her concerning them, that would seem to give

color to her fears and supply her with any actual grounds for her

apprehensions?"

"No; only such tales as came to her of their expensive ways of living

and somewhat headlong rush into all fashionable freaks and follies."

"And Gouverneur Hildreth? Any special gossip in regard to him?"

"No!"

There are some noes that are equivalent to affirmations. This was one of

them. Naturally the coroner pressed the question.

"I must request you to think again," he persisted. Then, with a change

of voice: "Are you sure you have never heard any thing specially

derogatory to this young man, or that Mrs. Clemmens had not?"

"I have friends in Toledo who speak of him as the fastest man about

town, if that could be called derogatory. As for Mrs. Clemmens, she may

have heard as much, and she may have heard more, I cannot say. I know

she always frowned when his father's name was mentioned."

"Miss Firman," proceeded the coroner, "in the long years in which you

have been more or less separated from Mrs. Clemmens, you have,

doubtless, kept up a continued if not frequent correspondence with her?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think, from the commencement and general tone of this letter,

which I found lying half finished on her desk, that it was written and

intended for yourself?"

Taking the letter from his outstretched hand, she fumbled nervously for

her glasses, put them on, and then glanced hurriedly at the sheet,

saying as she did so:

"There can be no doubt of it. She had no other friend whom she would

have been likely to address as 'Dear Emily.'"

"Gentlemen of the Jury, you have a right to hear the words written by

the deceased but a few hours, if not a few minutes, previous to the

brutal assault that has led to the present inquiry. Miss Firman, as the

letter was intended for yourself, will you be kind enough to read it

aloud, after which you will hand it over to the jury."

With a gloomy shake of her head, and a certain trembling in her voice,

that was due, perhaps, as much to the sadness of her task as to any

foreboding of the real nature of the words she had to read, she

proceeded to comply:

"DEAR EMILY:--I don't know why I sit down to write

to you to-day. I have plenty to do, and morning is

no time for indulging in sentimentalities. But I

feel strangely lonely and strangely anxious.

Nothing goes just to my mind, and somehow the many

causes for secret fear which I have always had,

assume an undue prominence in my mind. It is

always so when I am not quite well. In vain I

reason with myself, saying that respectable people

do not lightly enter into crime. But there are so

many to whom my death would be more than welcome,

that I constantly see myself in the act of being----

"Good heavens!" ejaculated the spinster, dropping the paper from her

hand and looking dismally around upon the assembled faces of the now

deeply interested spectators.

Seeing her dismay, a man who stood at the right of the coroner, and who

seemed to be an officer of the law, quietly advanced, and picking up the

paper she had let fall, handed it to the jury. The coroner meanwhile

recalled her attention to herself.

"Miss Firman," said he, "allow me to put to you one final question

which, though it might not be called a strictly legal one, is surely

justified by the gravity of the situation. If Mrs. Clemmens had finished

this letter, and you in due course had received it, what conclusion

would you have drawn from the words you have just read?"

"I could have drawn but one, sir. I should have considered that the

solitary life led by my cousin was telling upon her mind."

"But these terrors of which she speaks? To what and whom would you have

attributed them?"

"I don't like to say it, and I don't know as I am justified in saying

it, but it would have been impossible for me, under the circumstances,

to have thought of any other source for them than the one we have

already mentioned."

"And that is?" inexorably pursued the coroner.

"Mr. Gouverneur Hildreth."

VIII.

THE THICK-SET MAN.

Springs to catch woodcocks.--HAMLET.

IN the pause that followed, Miss Firman stepped aside, and Mr. Byrd,

finding his attention released, stole a glance toward the hall-way and

its nearly concealed occupant. He found the elbow in agitated movement,

and, as he looked at it, saw it disappear and a hand project into view,

groping for the handkerchief which was, doubtless, hidden in the hat

which he now perceived standing on the floor in the corner of the

door-way. He looked at that hand well. It was large, white, and

elegantly formed, and wore a seal ring of conspicuous size upon the

little finger. He had scarcely noticed this ring, and wondered if others

had seen it too, when the hand plunged into the hat, and drawing out the

kerchief, vanished with it behind the jamb that had already hidden so

much from his view.

"A fine gentleman's hand, and a fine gentleman's ring," was Mr. Byrd's

mental comment; and he was about to glance aside, when, to his great

astonishment, he saw the hand appear once more with the handkerchief in

it, but without the ring which a moment since had made it such a

conspicuous mark for his eyes.

"Our fine gentleman is becoming frightened," he thought, watching the

hand until it dropped the handkerchief back into the hat. "One does not

take off a ring in a company like this without a good reason." And he

threw a quick glance at the man he considered his rival in the detective

business.

But that worthy was busily engaged in stroking his chin in a feeling

way, strongly suggestive of a Fledgerby-like interest in his absent

whisker; and well versed as was Mr. Byrd in the ways of his

fellow-detectives, he found it impossible to tell whether the

significant action he had just remarked had escaped the attention of

this man or not. Confused if not confounded, he turned back to the

coroner, in a maze of new sensations, among which a growing hope that

his own former suspicions had been of a wholly presumptuous character,

rose predominant.

He found that functionary preparing to make a remark.

"Gentlemen," said he; "you have listened to the testimony of Mrs.

Clemmens' most confidential friend, and heard such explanations as she

had to give, of the special fears which Mrs. Clemmens acknowledges

herself to have entertained in regard to her personal safety. Now, while

duly impressing upon you the necessity of not laying too much stress

upon the secret apprehensions of a woman living a life of loneliness and

seclusion, I still consider it my duty to lay before you another bit of

the widow's writing, in which----"

Here he was interrupted by the appearance at his side of a man with a

telegram in his hand. In the pause which followed his reading of the

same, Mr. Byrd, with that sudden impulse of interference which comes

upon us all at certain junctures, tore out a leaf from his

memorandum-book, and wrote upon it some half dozen or so words

indicative of the advisability of examining the proprietor of the

Eastern Hotel as to the name and quality of the several guests

entertained by him on the day of the murder; and having signed this

communication with his initial letters H. B., looked about for a

messenger to carry it to the coroner. He found one in the person of a

small boy, who was pressing with all his might against his back, and

having despatched him with the note, regained his old position at the

window, and proceeded to watch, with a growing interest in the drama

before him, the result of his interference upon the coroner.

He had not long to wait. The boy had no sooner shown himself at the door

with the note, than Dr. Tredwell laid down the telegram he was perusing

and took this new communication. With a slight smile Mr. Byrd was not

slow in attributing to its true source, he read the note through, then

turned to the officer at his side and gave him some command that sent

him from the room. He then took up the slip he was on the point of

presenting to the jury at the time he was first interrupted, and

continuing his remarks in reference to it, said quietly:

"Gentlemen, this paper which I here pass over to you, was found by me in

the recess of Mrs. Clemmens' desk at the time I examined it for the

address of Miss Firman. It was in an envelope that had never been

sealed, and was, if I may use the expression, tucked away under a pile

of old receipts. The writing is similar to that used in the letter you

have just read, and the signature attached to it is 'Mary Ann Clemmens.'

Will Mr. Black of the jury read aloud the words he will there find

written?"

Mr. Black, in whose hand the paper then rested, looked up with a flush,

and slowly, if not painfully, complied:

"I desire"--such was the language of the writing

before him--"that in case of any sudden or violent

death on my part, the authorities should inquire

into the possible culpability of a gentleman

living in Toledo, Ohio, known by the name of

Gouverneur Hildreth. He is a man of no principle,

and my distinct conviction is, that if such a

death should occur to me, it will be entirely due

to his efforts to gain possession of property

which cannot be at his full disposal until my

death.

"MARY ANN CLEMMENS, Sibley, N. Y."

"A serious charge!" quoth a juryman, breaking the universal silence

occasioned by this communication from the dead.

"I should think so," echoed the burly man in front of Mr. Byrd.

But Mr. Byrd himself and the quiet man who leaned so stiffly and

abstractedly against the wall, said nothing. Perhaps they found

themselves sufficiently engaged in watching that half-seen elbow, which

since the reading of this last slip of paper had ceased all movement and

remained as stationary as though it had been paralyzed.

"A charge which, as yet, is nothing but a charge," observed the coroner.

"But evidence is not wanting," he went on, "that Mr. Hildreth is not at

home at this present time, but is somewhere in this region, as will be

seen by the following telegram from the superintendent of the Toledo

police." And he held up to view, not the telegram he had just received,

but another which he had taken from among the papers on the table before

him:

"Party mentioned not in Toledo. Left for the East

on midnight train of Wednesday the 27th inst. When

last heard from was in Albany. He has been living

fast, and is well known to be in pecuniary

difficulties, necessitating a large and immediate

amount of money. Further particulars by letter.

"That, gentlemen, I received last night. To-day," he continued, taking

up the telegram that had just come in, "the following arrives:

"Fresh advices. Man you are in search of talked of

suicide at his club the other night. Seemed in a

desperate way, and said that if something did not

soon happen he should be a lost man. Horse-flesh

and unfortunate speculations have ruined him. They

say it will take all he will ultimately receive to

pay his debts.

"And below:

"Suspected that he has been in your town."

A crisis was approaching round the corner. This, to the skilled eyes of

Mr. Byrd, was no longer doubtful. Even if he had not observed the

wondering glances cast in that direction by persons who could see the

owner of that now immovable elbow, he would have been assured that all

was not right, by the alert expression which had now taken the place of

the stolid and indifferent look which had hitherto characterized the

face of the man he believed to be a detective.

A panther about to spring could not have looked more threatening, and

the wonder was, that there were no more to observe this exciting

by-play. Yet the panther did not spring, and the inquiry went on.

"The witness I now propose to call," announced the coroner, after a

somewhat trying delay, "is the proprietor of the Eastern Hotel. Ah, here

he is. Mr. Symonds, have you brought your register for the past week?"

"Yes, sir," answered the new-comer, with a good deal of flurry in his

manner and an embarrassed look about him, which convinced Mr. Byrd that

the words in regard to whose origin he had been so doubtful that

morning, had been real words and no dream.

"Very well, then, submit it, if you please, to the jury, and tell us in

the meantime whether you have entertained at your house this week any

guest who professed to come from Toledo?"

"I don't know. I don't remember any such," began the witness, in a

stammering sort of way. "We have always a great many men from the West

stopping at our house, but I don't recollect any special one who

registered himself as coming from Toledo."

"You, however, always expect your guests to put their names in your

book?"

"Yes, sir."

There was something in the troubled look of the man which aroused the

suspicion of the coroner, and he was about to address him with another

question when one of the jury, who was looking over the register, spoke

up and asked:

"Who is this Clement Smith who writes himself down here as coming from

Toledo?"

"Smith?--Smith?" repeated Symonds, going up to the juryman and looking

over his shoulder at the book. "Oh, yes, the gentleman who came

yesterday. He----"

But at this moment a slight disturbance occurring in the other room, the

witness paused and looked about him with that same embarrassed look

before noted. "He is at the hotel now," he added, with an attempt at

ease, transparent as it was futile.

The disturbance to which I have alluded was of a peculiar kind. It was

occasioned by the thick-set man making the spring which, for some

minutes, he had evidently been meditating. It was not a tragic leap,

however, but a decidedly comic one, and had for its end and aim the

recovery of a handkerchief which he had taken from his pocket at the

moment when the witness uttered the name of Smith, and, by a useless

flourish in opening it, flirted from his hand to the floor. At least, so

the amused throng interpreted the sudden dive which he made, and the

heedless haste that caused him to trip over the gentleman's hat that

stood on the floor, causing it to fall and another handkerchief to

tumble out. But Mr. Byrd, who had a detective's insight into the whole

matter, saw something more than appeared in the profuse apologies which

the thick-set man made, and the hurried manner in which he gathered up

the handkerchiefs and stood looking at them before returning one to his

pocket and the other to its place in the gentleman's hat. Nor was Mr.

Byrd at all astonished to observe that the stand which his

fellow-detective took, upon resettling himself, was much nearer the

unseen gentleman than before, or that in replacing the hat, he had taken

pains to put it so far to one side that the gentleman would be obliged

to rise and come around the corner in order to obtain it. The drift of

the questions propounded to the witness at this moment opened his eyes

too clearly for him to fail any longer to understand the situation.

"Now at the hotel?" the coroner was repeating. "And came yesterday? Why,

then, did you look so embarrassed when I mentioned his name?"

"Oh--well--ah," stammered the man, "because he was there once before,

though his name is not registered but once in the book."

"He was? And on what day?"

"On Tuesday," asserted the man, with the sudden decision of one who sees

it is useless to attempt to keep silence.

"The day of the murder?"

"Yes, sir."

"And why is his name not on the book at that time if he came to your

house and put up?"

"Because he did not put up; he merely called in, as it were, and did not

take a meal or hire a room."

"How did you know, then, that he was there? Did you see him or talk to

him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what did you say?"

"He asked me for directions to a certain house, and I gave them."

"Whose house?"

"The Widow Clemmens', sir."

Ah, light at last! The long-sought-for witness had been found! Coroner

and jury brightened visibly, while the assembled crowd gave vent to a

deep murmur, that must have sounded like a knell of doom--in one pair of

ears, at least.

"He asked you for directions to the house of Widow Clemmens. At what

time was this?"

"At about half-past eleven in the morning."

The very hour!

"And did he leave then?"

"Yes, sir; after taking a glass of brandy."

"And did you not see him again?"

"Not till yesterday, sir."

"Ah, and at what time did you see him yesterday?"

"At bedtime, sir. He came with other arrivals on the five o'clock train;

but I was away all the afternoon and did not see him till I went into

the bar-room in the evening."

"Well, and what passed between you then?"

"Not much, sir. I asked if he was going to stay with us, and when he

said 'Yes,' I inquired if he had registered his name. He replied 'No.'

At which I pointed to the book, and he wrote his name down and then went

up-stairs with me to his room."

"And is that all? Did you say nothing beyond what you have mentioned?

ask him no questions or make no allusions to the murder?"

"Well, sir, I did make some attempt that way, for I was curious to know

what took him to the Widow Clemmens' house, but he snubbed me so

quickly, I concluded to hold my tongue and not trouble myself any

further about the matter."

"And do you mean to say you haven't told any one that an unknown man had

been at your house on the morning of the murder inquiring after the

widow?"

"Yes, sir. I am a poor man, and believe in keeping out of all sort of

messes. Policy demands that much of me, gentlemen."

The look he received from the coroner may have convinced him that policy

can be carried too far.

"And now," said Dr. Tredwell, "what sort of a man is this Clement

Smith?"

"He is a gentleman, sir, and not at all the sort of person with whom you

would be likely to connect any unpleasant suspicion."

The coroner surveyed the hotel-keeper somewhat sternly.

"We are not talking about suspicions!" he cried; then, in a different

tone, repeated: "This gentleman, you say, is still at your house?"

"Yes, sir, or was at breakfast-time. I have not seen him since."

"We will have to call Mr. Smith as a witness," declared the coroner,

turning to the officer at his side. "Go and see if you cannot bring him

as soon as you did Mr. Symonds."

But here a voice spoke up full and loud from the other room.

"It is not necessary, sir. A witness you will consider more desirable

than he is in the building." And the thick-set man showed himself for an

instant to the coroner, then walking back, deliberately laid his hand on

the elbow which for so long a time had been the centre of Mr. Byrd's

wondering conjectures.

In an instant the fine, gentlemanly figure of the stranger, whom he had

seen the night before in the bar-room, appeared with a bound from beyond

the jamb, and pausing excitedly before the man, now fully discovered to

all around as a detective, asked him, in shaking tones of suppressed

terror or rage, what it was he meant.

"I will tell you," was the ready assurance, "if you will step out here

in view of the coroner and jury."

With a glance that for some reason disturbed Mr. Byrd in his newly

acquired complacency, the gentleman stalked hurriedly forward and took

his stand in the door-way leading into the room occupied by the persons

mentioned.

"Now," he cried, "what have you to say?"

But the detective, who had advanced behind him, still refrained from

replying, though he gave a quick look at the coroner, which led that

functionary to glance at the hotel-keeper and instantly ask:

"You know this gentleman?"

"It is Mr. Clement Smith."

A flush so violent and profuse, that even Mr. Byrd could see it from his

stand outside the window, inundated for an instant the face and neck of

the gentleman, but was followed by no words, though the detective at his

side waited for an instant before saying:

"I think you are mistaken; I should call him now Mr. Gouverneur

Hildreth!"

With a start and a face grown as suddenly white as it had but an instant

before been red, the gentleman turned and surveyed the detective from

head to foot, saying, in a tone of mock politeness:

"And why, if you please? I have never been introduced to you that I

remember."

"No," rejoined the detective, taking from his pocket the handkerchief

which he had previously put there, and presenting it to the other with

a bow, "but I have read the monogram upon your handkerchief and it

happens to be----"

"Enough!" interrupted the other, in a stern if not disdainful voice. "I

see I have been the victim of espionage." And stepping into the other

room, he walked haughtily up to the coroner and exclaimed: "I am

Gouverneur Hildreth, and I come from Toledo. Now, what is it you have to

say to me?"

IX.

CLOSE CALCULATIONS.

Truth alone,

Truth tangible and palpable; such truth

As may be weighed and measured; truth deduced

By logical conclusion--close, severe--

From premises incontrovertible.--MOULTRIE.

THE excitement induced by the foregoing announcement had, in a degree,

subsided. The coroner, who appeared to be as much startled as any one at

the result of the day's proceedings, had manifested his desire of

putting certain questions to the young man, and had begun by such

inquiries into his antecedents, and his connection with Mrs. Clemmens,

as elicited the most complete corroboration of all Miss Firman's

statements.

An investigation into his motives for coming East at this time next

followed, in the course of which he acknowledged that he undertook the

journey solely for the purpose of seeing Mrs. Clemmens. And when asked

why he wished to see her at this time, admitted, with some manifestation

of shame, that he desired to see for himself whether she was really in

as strong and healthy a condition as he had always been told; his

pecuniary embarrassments being such that he could not prevent his mind

from dwelling upon possibilities which, under any other circumstances,

he would have been ashamed to consider.

"And did you see Mrs. Clemmens?" the coroner inquired.

"Yes, sir; I did."

"When?"

"On Tuesday, sir; about noon."

The answer was given almost with bravado, and the silence among the

various auditors became intense.

"You admit, then, that you were in the widow's house the morning she was

murdered, and that you had an interview with her a few minutes before

the fatal blow was struck?"

"I do."

There was doggedness in the tone, and doggedness in the look that

accompanied it. The coroner moved a little forward in his chair and

uttered his next question with deep gravity.

"Did you approach the widow's house by the road and enter into it by

means of the front door overlooking the lane?"

"I did."

"And did you meet no one in the lane, or see no one at the windows of

any of the houses as you came by?"

"No, sir."

"How long did you stay in this house, and what was the result of the

interview which you had with Mrs. Clemmens?"

"I stayed, perhaps, ten minutes, and I learned nothing from Mrs.

Clemmens, save that she was well and hearty, and likely to live out her

threescore years and ten for all hint that her conversation or

appearance gave me."

He spoke almost with a tone of resentment; his eyes glowed darkly, and a

thrill of horror sped through the room as if they felt that the murderer

himself stood before them.

"You will tell me what was said in this interview, if you please, and

whether the widow knew who you were; and, if so, whether any words of

anger passed between you?"

The face of the young man burned, and he looked at the coroner and then

at the jurymen, as if he would like to challenge the whole crew, but the

color that showed in his face was the flush of shame, or, so thought Mr.

Byrd, and in his reply, when he gave it, there was a bitterness of

self-scorn that reminded the detective more of the mortification of a

gentleman caught in an act of meanness than the secret alarm of a man

who had been beguiled into committing a dastardly crime.

"Mrs. Clemmens was evidently a woman of some spirit," said he, forcing

out his words with sullen desperation. "She may have used sharp

language; I believe indeed she did; but she did not know who I was,

for--for I pretended to be a seller of patent medicine, warranted to

cure all ills, and she told me she had no ills, and--and--Do you want a

man to disgrace himself in your presence?" he suddenly flashed out,

cringing under the gaze of the many curious and unsympathetic eyes fixed

upon him.

But the coroner, with a sudden assumption of severity, pardonable,

perhaps, in a man with a case of such importance on his hands,

recommended the witness to be calm and not to allow any small feelings

of personal mortification to interfere with a testimony of so much

evident value. And without waiting for the witness to recover himself,

asked again:

"What did the widow say, and with what words did you leave?"

"The widow said she abominated drugs, and never took them. I replied

that she made a great mistake, if she had any ailments. Upon which she

retorted that she had no ailment, and politely showed me the door. I do

not remember that any thing else passed between us."

His tone, which had been shrill and high, dropped at the final sentence,

and by the nervous workings of his lips, Mr. Byrd perceived that he

dreaded the next question. The persons grouped around him evidently

dreaded it too.

But it was less searching than they expected, and proved that the

coroner preferred to approach his point by circuitous rather than direct

means.

"In what room was the conversation held, and by what door did you come

in and go out?"

"I came in by the front door, and we stood in that room"--pointing to

the sitting-room from which he had just issued.

"Stood! Did you not sit down?"

"No."

"Stood all the time, and in that room to which you have just pointed?"

"Yes."

The coroner drew a deep breath, and looked at the witness long and

searchingly. Mr. Hildreth's way of uttering this word had been any thing

but pleasant, and consequently any thing but satisfactory. A low murmur

began to eddy through the rooms.

"Gentlemen, silence!" commanded the coroner, venting in this injunction

some of the uncomfortable emotion with which he was evidently

surcharged; for his next words were spoken in a comparatively quiet

voice, though the fixed severity of his eye could have given the witness

but little encouragement.

"You say," he declared, "that in coming through the lane you encountered

no one. Was this equally true of your return?"

"Yes, sir; I believe so. I don't remember. I was not looking up," was

the slightly confused reply.

"You passed, however, through the lane, and entered the main street by

the usual path?"

"Yes."

"And where did you go then?"

"To the depot."

"Ah!"

"I wished to leave the town. I had done with it."

"And did you do so, Mr. Hildreth?"

"I did."

"Where did you go?"

"To Albany, where I had left my traps."

"You took the noon train, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which leaves precisely five minutes after twelve?"

"I suppose so."

"Took it without stopping anywhere on the way?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you buy a ticket at the office?"

"No, sir."

"Why?"

"I did not have time."

"Ah, the train was at the station, then?"

Mr. Hildreth did not reply; he had evidently been driven almost to the

end of his patience, or possibly of his courage, by this quick fire of

small questions.

The coroner saw this and pressed his advantage.

"Was the train at the station or not when you arrived there, Mr.

Hildreth?"

"I do not see why it can interest you to know," the witness retorted,

with a flash of somewhat natural anger; "but since you insist, I will

tell you that it was just going out, and that I had to run to reach it,

and only got a foothold upon the platform of the rear car at the risk of

my life."

He looked as if he wished it had been at the cost of his life, and

compressed his lips and moved restlessly from side to side as if the

battery of eyes levelled upon his face were so many points of red-hot

steel burning into his brain.

But the coroner, intent upon his duty, released not one jot of the

steady hold he had taken upon his victim.

"Mr. Hildreth," said he, "your position as the only person who

acknowledges himself to have been in this house during the half-hour

that preceded the assault, makes every thing you can tell us in

reference to your visit of the highest importance. Was the widow alone,

do you think, or did you see any thing--pause now and consider

well--_any thing_ that would lead you to suppose there was any one

beside her and yourself in the house?"

It was the suggestion of a just man, and Mr. Byrd looked to see the

witness grasp with all the energy of despair at the prospect of release

it held out. But Mr. Hildreth either felt his cause beyond the reach of

any such assistance, or his understanding was so dulled by misery he

could not see the advantage of acknowledging the presence of a third

party in the cottage. Giving a dreary shake of the head, he slowly

answered:

"There may have been somebody else in the house, I don't know; but if

so, I didn't hear him or see him. I thought we were alone."

The frankness with which he made the admission was in his favor, but the

quick and overpowering flush that rose to his face the moment he had

given utterance to it, betrayed so unmistakable a consciousness of what

the admission implied that the effect was immediately reversed. Seeing

that he had lost rather than gained in the opinions of the merciless

inquisitors about him, he went back to his old bravado, and haughtily

lifted his head.

"One question more," resumed the coroner. "You have said that Mrs.

Clemmens was a spirited woman. Now, what made you think so? Any

expression of annoyance on her part at the interruption in her work

which your errand had caused her, or merely the expression of her face

and the general way she had of speaking?"

"The latter, I think, though she did use a harsh word or two when she

showed me the door."

"And raised her voice?"

"Yes, yes."

"Mr. Hildreth," intimated the coroner, rising, "will you be kind enough

to step with me into the adjoining room?"

With a look of wonder not unmixed with alarm, the young man prepared to

comply.

"I should like the attention of the jury," Dr. Tredwell signified as he

passed through the door.

There was no need to give them this hint. Not a man of them but was

already on his feet in eager curiosity as to what their presiding

officer was about to do.

"I wish you to tell me now," the coroner demanded of Mr. Hildreth, as

they paused in the centre of the sitting-room, "where it was you stood

during your interview with Mrs. Clemmens, and, if possible, take the

very position now which you held at that time."

"There are too many persons here," the witness objected, visibly

rebelling at a request of which he could not guess the full

significance.

"The people present will step back," declared the coroner; "you will

have no trouble in taking your stand on the spot you occupied the other

day."

"Here, then!" exclaimed the young man, taking a position near the centre

of the room.

"And the widow?"

"Stood there."

"Facing you?"

"Yes."

"I see," intimated the coroner, pointing toward the windows. "Her back

was to the yard while you stood with your face toward it." Then with a

quick motion, summoning the witness back into the other room, asked,

amid the breathless attention of the crowd, whom this bit of by-play had

wrought up to expectation: "Did you observe any one go around to the

back door while you stood there, and go away again without attempting to

knock?"

Mr. Hildreth knitted his brow and seemed to think.

"Answer," persisted the coroner; "it is not a question that requires

thought."

"Well, then, I did not," cried the witness, looking the other directly

in the eye, with the first gleam of real manly feeling which he had yet

displayed.

"You did not see a tramp come into the yard, walk around to the kitchen

door, wait a moment as if hesitating whether he would rap, and then turn

and come back again without doing so?"

"No, sir."

The coroner drew a piece of paper before him and began figuring on it.

Earnestly, almost wildly, the young man watched him, drawing a deep

breath and turning quite pale as the other paused and looked up.

"Yet," affirmed the coroner, as if no delay had occurred since he

received his last answer, "such a person did approach the house while

you were in it, and if you had stood where you say, you must have seen

him."

It was a vital thrust, a relentless presentation of fact, and as such

shook the witness out of his lately acquired composure. Glancing hastily

about, he sought the assistance of some one both capable and willing to

advise him in this crisis, but seeing no one, he made a vigorous effort

and called together his own faculties.

"Sir," he protested, a tremor of undisguised anxiety finding way into

his voice, "I do not see how you make that all out. What proof have you

that this tramp of which you speak came to the house while I was in it?

Could he not have come before? Or, what was better, could he not have

come after?"

The ringing tone with which the last question was put startled

everybody. No such sounds had issued from his lips before. Had he caught

a glimpse of hope, or was he driven to an extremity in his defence that

forced him to assert himself? The eyes of Miss Firman and of a few other

women began to soften, and even the face of Mr. Byrd betrayed that a

change was on the verge of taking place in his feelings.

But the coroner's look and tone dashed cold water on this young and

tender growth of sympathy. Passing over to the witness the paper on

which he had been scribbling, he explained with dry significance:

"It is only a matter of subtraction and addition, Mr. Hildreth. You have

said that upon quitting this house you went directly to the depot, where

you arrived barely in time to jump on the train as it was leaving the

station. Now, to walk from this place to the depot at any pace you would

be likely to use, would occupy--well, let us say seven minutes. At two

minutes before twelve, then, you were still in this house. Well!" he

ejaculated, interrupting himself as the other opened his lips, "have you

any thing to say?"

"No," was the dejected and hesitating reply.

The coroner at once resumed:

"But at five minutes before twelve, Mr. Hildreth, the tramp walked into

the widow's yard. Now, allowing only two minutes for your interview with

that lady, the conclusion remains that you were in the house when he

came up to it. Yet you declare that, although you stood in full view of

the yard, you did not see him."

"You figure closer than an astronomer calculating an eclipse," burst

from the young man's lips in a flash of that resolution which had for

the last few minutes animated him. "How do you know your witnesses have

been so exact to a second when they say this and that of the goings and

comings you are pleased to put into an arithmetical problem. A minute or

two one way or the other would make a sad discrepancy in your

calculations, Mr. Coroner."

"I know it," assented Dr. Tredwell, quietly ignoring the other's heat;

"but if the jury will remember, there were four witnesses, at least, who

testified to the striking of the town clock just as the tramp finally

issued from the lane, and one witness, of well-known accuracy in matters

of detail, who declared on oath that she had just dropped her eyes from

that same clock when she observed the tramp go into the widow's gate,

and that it was five minutes to twelve exactly. But, lest I do seem too

nice in my calculations," the coroner inexorably pursued, "I will take

the trouble of putting it another way. At what time did you leave the

hotel, Mr. Hildreth?"

"I don't know," was the testy response.

"Well, I can tell you," the coroner assured him. "It was about twenty

minutes to twelve, or possibly earlier, but no later. My reason for

saying this," he went on, drawing once more before him the fatal sheet

of paper, "is that Mrs. Dayton's children next door were out playing in

front of this house for some few minutes previous to the time the tramp

came into the lane. As you did not see them you must have arrived here

before they began their game, and that, at the least calculation, would

make the time as early as a quarter to twelve."

"Well," the fierce looks of the other seemed to say, "and what if it

was?"

"Mr. Hildreth," continued the coroner, "if you were in this house at a

quarter to twelve and did not leave it till two minutes before, and the

interview was as you say a mere interchange of a dozen words or so, that

could not possibly have occupied more than three minutes; _where were

you during all the rest of the time_ that must have elapsed after you

finished your interview and the moment you left the house?"

It was a knock-down question. This aristocratic-looking young gentleman

who had hitherto held himself erect before them, notwithstanding the

humiliating nature of the inquiries which had been propounded to him,

cringed visibly and bowed his head as if a stroke of vital force had

descended upon it. Bringing his fist down on the table near which he

stood, he seemed to utter a muttered curse, while the veins swelled on

his forehead so powerfully that more than one person present dropped

their eyes from a spectacle which bore so distinctly the stamp of guilt.

"You have not answered," intimated the coroner, after a moment of silent

waiting.

"No!" was the loud reply, uttered with a force that startled all

present, and made the more timid gaze with some apprehension at his

suddenly antagonistic attitude. "It is not pleasant for a gentleman"--he

emphasized the word bitterly--"for a _gentleman_ to acknowledge himself

caught at a time like this in a decided equivocation. But you have

cornered me fairly and squarely, and I am bound to tell the truth.

Gentlemen, I did not leave the widow's house as immediately as I said. I

stayed for fully five minutes or so alone in the small hall that leads

to the front door. In all probability I was there when the tramp passed

by on his way to the kitchen-door, and there when he came back again."

And Mr. Hildreth fixed his eyes on the coroner as if he dared him to

push him further.

But Dr. Tredwell had been in his present seat before. Merely confronting

the other with that cold official gaze which seems to act like a wall of

ice between a witness and the coroner, he said the two words: "What

doing?"

The effect was satisfactory. Paling suddenly, Mr. Hildreth dropped his

eyes and replied humbly, though with equal laconism, "I was thinking."

But scarcely had the words left his lips, than a fresh flame of feeling

started up within him, and looking from juryman to juryman he

passionately exclaimed: "You consider that acknowledgment suspicious.

You wonder why a man should give a few minutes to thought after the

conclusion of an interview that terminated all hope. I wonder at it now

myself. I wonder I did not go straight out of the house and rush

headlong into any danger that promised an immediate extinction of my

life."

No language could have more forcibly betrayed the real desperation of

his mind at the critical moment when the widow's life hung in the

balance. He saw this, perhaps, when it was too late, for the sweat

started on his brow, and he drew himself up like a man nerving himself

to meet a blow he no longer hoped to avert. One further remark, however,

left his lips.

"Whatever I did or of whatever I was thinking, one thing I here declare

to be true, and that is, that I did not see the widow again after she

left my side and went back to her kitchen in the rear of the house. The

hand that struck her may have been lifted while I stood in the hall, but

if so, I did not know it, nor can I tell you now who it was that killed

her."

It was the first attempt at direct disavowal which he had made, and it

had its effect. The coroner softened a trifle of his austerity, and the

jurymen glanced at each other relieved. But the weight of suspicion

against this young man was too heavy, and his manner had been too

unfortunate, for this effect to last long. Gladly as many would have

been to credit this denial, if only for the name he bore and a certain

fine aspect of gentlemanhood that surrounded him in spite of his present

humiliation, it was no longer possible to do so without question, and he

seemed to feel this and do his best to accept the situation with

patience.

An inquiry which was put to him at this time by a juryman showed the

existent state of feeling against him.

"May I ask," that individual dryly interrogated, "why you came back to

Sibley, after having left it?"

The response came clear and full. Evidently the gravity of his position

had at last awakened the latent resources of Mr. Hildreth's mind.

"I heard of the death of this woman, and my surprise caused me to

return."

"How did you hear of it?"

"Through the newspapers."

"And you were surprised?"

"I was astounded; I felt as if I had received a blow myself, and could

not rest till I had come back where I could learn the full particulars."

"So, then, it was curiosity that brought you to the inquest to-day?"

"It was."

The juryman looked at him astonished; so did all the rest. His manner

was so changed, his answers so prompt and ringing.

"And what was it," broke in the coroner, "that led you to register

yourself at the hotel under a false name?"

"I scarcely know," was the answer, given with less fire and some show of

embarrassment. "Perhaps I thought that, under the circumstances, it

would be better for me not to use my own."

"In other words, you were afraid?" exclaimed the coroner, with the full

impressiveness of his somewhat weighty voice and manner.

It was a word to make the weakest of men start. Mr. Hildreth, who was

conspicuous in his own neighborhood for personal if not for moral

courage, flushed till it looked as if the veins would burst on his

forehead, but he made no other reply than a proud and angry look and a

short:

"I was not aware of fear; though, to be sure, I had no premonition of

the treatment I should be called upon to suffer here to-day."

The flash told, the coroner sat as if doubtful, and looked from man to

man of the jury as if he would question their feelings on this vital

subject. Meantime the full shame of his position settled heavier and

heavier upon Mr. Hildreth; his head fell slowly forward, and he seemed

to be asking himself how he was to meet the possibly impending ignominy

of a direct accusation. Suddenly he drew himself erect, and a gleam shot

from his eyes that, for the first time, revealed him as a man of latent

pluck and courage.

"Gentlemen," he began, looking first at the coroner and then at the

jury, "you have not said you consider me guilty of this crime, but you

evidently harbor the suspicion. I do not wonder; my own words have given

me away, and any man would find it difficult to believe in my innocence

after what has been testified to in this place. Do not hesitate, then.

The shock of finding myself suspected of a horrible murder is passed. I

am willing to be arrested. Indeed, after what has here taken place, I

not only am willing but even anxious. I want to be tried, if only to

prove to the world my complete and entire innocence."

The effect of this speech, uttered at a moment so critical, may be

easily imagined. All the impressible people present at once signified

their belief in his honesty, and gave him looks of sympathy, if not

approval; while the cooler and possibly the more judicious of his

auditors calmly weighed these assertions against the evidence that had

been advanced, and finding the result unsatisfactory, shook their heads

as if unconvinced, and awaited further developments.

They did not come. The inquiry had reached its climax, and little, if

any thing, more was left to be said. Mr. Hildreth was examined more

fully, and some few of the witnesses who had been heard in the early

part of the day were recalled, but no new facts came to light, and no

fresh inquiries were started.

Mr. Byrd, who from the attitude of the coroner could not fail to see Mr.

Hildreth was looked upon with a suspicion that would ultimately end in

arrest, decided that his interest in the inquest was at an end, and

being greatly fatigued, gave up his position at the window and quietly

stole away.

X.

THE FINAL TEST.

Men are born with two eyes, but with one tongue,

in order that they should see twice as much as

they say.--COLTON.

THE fact was, he wanted to think. Detective though he was and accustomed

to the bravado with which every sort of criminal will turn to meet their

fate when fully driven to bay, there had been something in the final

manner of this desperate but evidently cultured gentleman, which had

impressed him against his own will, and made him question whether the

suspected man was not rather the victim of a series of extraordinary

circumstances, than the selfish and brutal criminal which the evidence

given seemed to suggest.

Not that Mr. Byrd ever allowed his generous heart to blind him to the

plain language of facts. His secret and not to be smothered doubts in

another direction were proof enough of this; and had it not been for

those very doubts, the probabilities are that he would have agreed with

the cooler-headed portion of the crowd, which listened unmoved to that

last indignant burst of desperate manhood.

But with those doubts still holding possession of his mind, he could not

feel so sure of Mr. Hildreth's guilt; and the struggle that was likely

to ensue between his personal feelings on the one side and his sense of

duty on the other did not promise to be so light as to make it possible

for him to remain within eye and earshot of an unsympathetic crowd.

"If only the superintendent had not left it to my judgment to

interfere," thought he, pacing the streets with ever-increasing

uneasiness, "the responsibility would have been shifted from my

shoulders, and I would have left the young man to his fate in peace. But

now I would be criminally at fault if I were to let him drift hopelessly

to his doom, when by a lift of my finger I might possibly turn the

attention of justice toward the real culprit."

Yet the making up of his mind to interfere was a torture to Horace Byrd.

If he was not conscious of any love for Imogene Dare, he was

sufficiently under the dominion of her extraordinary fascinations to

feel that any movement on his part toward the unravelling of the mystery

that enveloped her, would be like subjecting his own self to the rack of

public inquiry and suspicion.

Nor, though he walked the streets for hours, each moment growing more

and more settled in his conviction of Mr. Hildreth's innocence, could he

bring himself to the point of embracing the duty presented to him, till

he had subjected Miss Dare to a new test, and won for himself absolute

certainty as to the fact of her possessing a clue to the crime, which

had not been discovered in the coroner's inquiry.

"The possibility of innocence on her part is even greater than on that

of Mr. Hildreth," he considered, "and nothing, not even the peril of

those dearest to me, could justify me in shifting the weight of

suspicion from a guiltless man to an equally guiltless woman."

It was, therefore, for the purpose of solving this doubt, that he

finally sought Mr. Ferris, and after learning that Mr. Hildreth was

under surveillance, and would in all probability be subjected to arrest

on the morrow, asked for some errand that would take him to Mr. Orcutt's

house.

"I have a great admiration for that gentleman and would like to make his

acquaintance," he remarked carelessly, hiding his true purpose under his

usual nonchalant tones. "But I do not want to seem to be pushing myself

forward; so if you could give me some papers to carry to him, or some

message requiring an introduction to his presence, I should feel very

much obliged."

Mr. Ferris, who had no suspicions of his own to assist him in

understanding the motives that led to this request, easily provided the

detective with the errand he sought. Mr. Byrd at once started for the

lawyer's house.

It was fully two miles away, but once arrived there, he was thankful

that the walk had been so long, as the fatigue, following upon the

activity of the afternoon, had succeeded in quieting his pulses and

calming down the fierce excitement which had held him under its control

ever since he had taken the determination to satisfy his doubts by an

interview with Miss Dare.

Ringing the bell of the rambling old mansion that spread out its wide

extensions through the vines and bushes of an old-fashioned and most

luxuriant garden, he waited the issue with beating heart. A

respectable-looking negro servant came to the door.

"Is Mr. Orcutt in?" he asked; "or, if not, Miss Dare? I have a message

from Mr. Ferris and would be glad to see one of them."

This, in order to ascertain at a word if the lady was at home.

"Miss Dare is not in," was the civil response, "and Mr. Orcutt is very

busily engaged; but if you will step into the parlor I will tell him you

are here."

"No," returned the disappointed detective, handing her the note he held

in his hand. "If your master is busy I will not disturb him." And,

turning away, he went slowly down the steps.

"If I only knew where she was gone!" he muttered, bitterly.

But he did not consider himself in a position to ask.

Inwardly chafing over his ill-luck, Mr. Byrd proceeded with reluctant

pace to regain the street, when, hearing the gate suddenly click, he

looked up, and saw advancing toward him a young gentleman of a

peculiarly spruce and elegant appearance.

"Ha! another visitor for Miss Dare," was the detective's natural

inference. And with a sudden movement he withdrew from the path, and

paused as if to light his cigar in the shadow of the thick bushes that

grew against the house.

In an instant the young stranger was on the stoop. Another, and he had

rung the bell, which was answered almost as soon as his hand dropped

from the knob.

"Is Miss Dare in?" was the inquiry, uttered in loud and cheery tones.

"No, sir. She is spending a few days with Miss Tremaine," was the clear

and satisfactory reply. "Shall I tell her you have been here?"

"No. I will call myself at Miss Tremaine's," rejoined the gentleman.

And, with a gay swing of his cane and a cheerful look overhead where the

stars were already becoming visible, he sauntered easily off, followed

by the envious thoughts of Mr. Byrd.

"Miss Tremaine," repeated the latter, musingly. "Who knows Miss

Tremaine?"

While he was asking himself this question, the voice of the young man

rose melodiously in a scrap of old song, and instantly Mr. Byrd

recognized in the seeming stranger the well-known tenor singer of the

church he had himself attended the Sunday before--a gentleman, too, to

whom he had been introduced by Mr. Ferris, and with whom he had

exchanged something more than the passing civilities of the moment.

To increase his pace, overtake the young man, recall himself to his

attention, and join him in his quick walk down the street, was the work

of a moment. The natural sequence followed. Mr. Byrd made himself so

agreeable that by the time they arrived at Miss Tremaine's the other

felt loath to part with him, and it resulted in his being urged to join

this chance acquaintance in his call.

Nothing could have pleased Mr. Byrd better. So, waiving for once his

instinctive objection to any sort of personal intrusion, he signified

his acquiescence to the proposal, and at once accompanied his new friend

into the house of the unknown Miss Tremaine. He found it lit up as for

guests. All the rooms on the ground floor were open, and in one of them

he could discern a dashing and coquettish young miss holding court over

a cluster of eager swains.

"Ah, I forgot," exclaimed Mr. Byrd's companion, whose name, by-the-way,

was Duryea. "It is Miss Tremaine's reception night. She is the daughter

of one of the professors of the High School," he went on, whispering his

somewhat late explanations into the ear of Mr. Byrd. "Every Thursday

evening she throws her house open for callers, and the youth of the

academy are only too eager to avail themselves of the opportunity of

coming here. Well, it is all the better for us. Miss Dare despises boys,

and in all likelihood we shall have her entirely to ourselves."

A quick pang contracted the breast of Mr. Byrd. If this easy, almost

rakish, fellow at his side but knew the hideous errand which brought him

to this house, what a scene would have ensued!

But he had no time for reflection, or even for that irresistible

shrinking from his own designs which he now began to experience. Before

he realized that he was fully committed to this venture, he found

himself in the parlor bowing before the _naive_ and laughing-eyed Miss

Tremaine, who rose to receive him with all the airy graciousness of a

finished coquette.

Miss Dare was not visible, and Mr. Byrd was just wondering if he would

be called upon to enter into a sustained conversation with his pretty

hostess, when a deep, rich voice was heard in the adjoining room, and,

looking up, he saw the stately figure he so longed and yet dreaded to

encounter, advancing toward them through the open door. She was very

pale, and, to Mr. Byrd's eyes, looked thoroughly worn out, if not ill.

Yet, she bore herself with a steadiness that was evidently the result of

her will; and manifested neither reluctance nor impatience when the

eager Mr. Duryea pressed forward with his compliments, though from the

fixedness of her gaze and the immobility of her lip, Mr. Byrd too truly

discovered that her thoughts were far away from the scene of mirth and

pleasure in which she found herself.

"You see I have presumed to follow you, Miss Dare," was the greeting

with which Mr. Duryea hailed her approach. And he immediately became so

engrossed with his gallantries he forgot to introduce his companion.

Mr. Byrd was rather relieved at this. He was not yet ready to submit

her to the test he considered necessary to a proper understanding of the

situation; and he had not the heart to approach her with any mere

civility on his tongue, while matters of such vital importance to her

happiness, if not to her honor, trembled in the balance.

He preferred to talk to Miss Tremaine, and this he continued to do till

the young fellows at his side, one by one, edged away, leaving no one in

that portion of the room but himself and Miss Tremaine, Mr. Duryea and

Miss Dare.

The latter two stood together some few feet behind him, and were

discussing in a somewhat languid way, the merits of a _musicale_ which

they had lately attended. They were approaching, however, and he felt

that if he did not speak at once he might not have another opportunity

for doing so during the whole evening. Turning, therefore, to Miss

Tremaine, with more seriousness than her gay and totally inconsequent

conversation had hitherto allowed, he asked, in what he meant to be a

simply colloquial and courteous manner, if she had heard the news.

"News," she repeated, "no; is there any news?"

"Yes, I call it news. But, perhaps, you are not interested in the murder

that has lately taken place in this town?"

"Oh, yes, I am," she exclaimed, all eagerness at once, while he felt

rather than perceived that the couple at his back stood suddenly still,

as if his words had worked their spell over one heart there at least.

"Papa knew Mrs. Clemmens very well," the little lady proceeded with a

bewitchingly earnest look. "Have they found the murderer, do you think?

Any thing less than that would be no news to me."

"There is every reason to suppose----" he began, and stopped, something

in the deadly silence behind him making it impossible for him to

proceed. Happily he was not obliged to. An interruption occurred in the

shape of a new-comer, and he was left with the fatal word on his lips to

await the approach of that severely measured step behind him, which by

this time he knew was bringing the inscrutable Miss Dare to his side.

"Miss Dare, allow me to present to you Mr. Byrd. Mr. Byrd, Miss Dare."

The young detective bowed. With rigid attention to the forms of

etiquette, he uttered the first few acknowledgments necessary to the

occasion, and then glanced up.

She was looking him full in the face.

"We have met before," he was about to observe, but not detecting the

least sign of recognition in her gaze, restrained the words and hastily

dropped his eyes.

"Mr. Duryea informs me you are a stranger in the town," she remarked,

moving slowly to one side in a way to rid herself of that gentleman's

too immediate presence. "Have you a liking for the place, or do you

meditate any lengthy stay?"

"No. That is," he rejoined, somewhat shaken in his theories by the

self-possession of her tone and the ease and quietness with which she

evidently prepared to enter into a sustained conversation, "I may go

away to-morrow, and I may linger on for an indefinite length of time. It

all depends upon certain matters that will be determined for me

to-night. Sibley is a very pretty place," he observed, startled at his

own temerity in venturing the last remark.

"Yes."

The word came as if forced, and she looked at Mr. Duryea.

"Do you wish any thing, Miss Dare?" that gentleman suddenly asked. "You

do not look well."

"I am not well," she acknowledged. "No, thank you," she cried, as he

pushed a chair toward her. "It is too warm here. If you do not object,

we will go into the other room." And with a courteous glance that

included both gentlemen in its invitation, she led the way into the

adjoining apartment. Could it have been with the purpose of ridding

herself of the assiduities of Mr. Duryea? The room contained half a

dozen or more musical people, and no sooner did they perceive their

favorite tenor approach than they seized upon him and, without listening

to his excuses, carried him off to the piano, leaving Miss Dare alone

with Mr. Byrd.

She seemed instantly to forget her indisposition. Drawing herself up

till every queenly attribute she possessed flashed brilliantly before

his eyes, she asked, with sudden determination, if she had been right in

understanding him to say that there was news in regard to the murder of

Mrs. Clemmens?

Subduing, by a strong inward effort, every token of the emotion which

her own introduction of this topic naturally evoked, he replied in his

easiest tones:

"Yes; there was an inquest held to-day, and the authorities evidently

think they have discovered the person who killed her." And obliging

himself to meet half-way the fate that awaited him, he bestowed upon the

lady before him a casual glance that hid beneath its easy politeness the

greatest anxiety of his life.

The test worked well. From the pallor of sickness, grief, or

apprehension, her complexion whitened to the deadlier hue of mortal

terror.

"Impossible!" her lips seemed to breathe; and Mr. Byrd could almost

fancy he saw the hair rise on her forehead.

Cursing in his heart the bitter necessity that had forced him into this

duty, he was about to address her in a way calculated to break the spell

occasioned by his last words, when the rich and tuneful voice of the

melodious singer rose suddenly on the air, and they heard the words:

"Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,

Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;

Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,

And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last."

Instantly Mr. Byrd perceived that he should not be obliged to speak.

Though the music, or possibly the words, struck her like a blow, it

likewise served to recall her to herself. Dropping her gaze, which had

remained fixed upon his own, she turned her face aside, saying with

forced composure:

"This near contact with crime is dreadful." Then slowly, and with a

quietness that showed how great was her power of self-control when she

was not under the influence of surprise, she inquired: "And who do they

think this person is? What name do they presume to associate with the

murderer of this woman?"

With something of the feeling of a surgeon who nerves himself to bury

the steel in his patient's quivering flesh, he gave his response

unhesitatingly.

"A gentleman's, I believe. A young man connected with her, in some

strange way, by financial interests. A Mr. Hildreth, of

Toledo--Gouverneur Hildreth, I think they call him."

It was not the name she expected. He saw this by the relaxation that

took place in all her features, by the look of almost painful relief

that flashed for a moment into the eyes she turned like lightning upon

him.

"Gouverneur Hildreth!" she repeated. And he knew from the tone that it

was not only a different name from what she anticipated, but that it was

also a strange one to her. "I never heard of such a person," she went on

after a minute, during which the relentless mellow voice of the

unconscious singer filled the room with the passionate appeal:

"Oh, what was love made for, if 't is not the same,

Through joy and through sorrow, through glory and shame!"

"That is not strange," explained Mr. Byrd, drawing nearer, as if to

escape that pursuing sweetness of incongruous song. "He is not known in

this town. He only came here the morning the unfortunate woman was

murdered. Whether he really killed her or not," he proceeded, with

forced quietness, "no one can tell, of course. But the facts are very

much against him, and the poor fellow is under arrest."

"What?"

The word was involuntary. So was the tone of horrified surprise in which

it was uttered. But the music, now swelling to a crescendo, drowned both

word and tone, or so she seemed to fondly imagine; for, making another

effort at self-control, she confined herself to a quiet repetition of

his words, "'Under arrest'?" and then waited with only a suitable

display of emotion for whatever further enlightenment he chose to give

her.

He mercifully spoke to the point.

"Yes, under arrest. You see he was in the house at or near the time the

deadly blow was struck. He was in the front hall, he says, and nowhere

near the woman or her unknown assailant, but there is no evidence

against any one else, and the facts so far proved, show he had an

interest in her death, and so he has to pay the penalty of

circumstances. And he may be guilty, who knows," the young detective

pursued, seeing she was struck with horror and dismay, "dreadful as it

is to imagine that a gentleman of culture and breeding could be brought

to commit such a deed."

But she seemed to have ears for but one phrase of all this.

"He was in the front hall," she repeated. "How did he get there? What

called him there?"

"He had been visiting the widow, and was on his way out. He paused to

collect his thoughts, he said. It seems unaccountable, Miss Dare; but

the whole thing is strange and very mysterious."

She was deaf to his explanations.

"Do you suppose he heard the widow scream?" she asked, tremblingly,

"or----"

A sinking of the ringing tones whose powerful vibration had made this

conversation possible, caused her to pause. When the notes grew loud

enough again for her to proceed, she seemed to have forgotten the

question she was about to propound, and simply inquired:

"Had he any thing to say about what he overheard--or saw?"

"No. If he spoke the truth and stood in the hall as he said, the sounds,

if sounds there were, stopped short of the sitting-room door, for he has

nothing to say about them."

A change passed over Miss Dare. She dropped her eyes, and an instant's

pause followed this last acknowledgment.

"Will you tell me," she inquired, at last, speaking very slowly, in an

attempt to infuse into her voice no more than a natural tone of

interest, "how it was he came to say he stood in that place during the

assault?"

"He did not say he stood in that place during the assault," was again

the forced rejoinder of Mr. Byrd. "It was by means of a nice calculation

of time and events, that it was found he must have been in the house at

or near the fatal moment."

Another pause; another bar of that lovely music.

"And he is a gentleman, you say?" was her hurried remark at last.

"Yes, and a very handsome one."

"And they have put him in prison?"

"Yes, or will on the morrow."

She turned and leaned against a window-frame near by, looking with eyes

that saw nothing into the still vast night.

"I suppose he has friends," she faintly suggested.

"Two sisters, if no one nearer and dearer."

"Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss,

And thy angel I 'll be, 'mid the horrors of this--

Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,

And shield thee, and save thee--or perish there too,"

rang the mellow song.

"I am not well," she suddenly cried, leaving the window and turning

quickly toward Mr. Byrd. "I am much obliged to you," said she, lowering

her voice to a whisper, for the last note of the song was dying away in

a quivering _pianissimo_. "I have been deeply interested in this

tragedy, and am thankful for any information in regard to it. I must now

bid you good-evening."

And with a stately bow into which she infused the mingled courtesy and

haughtiness of her nature, she walked steadily away through the crowd

that vainly sought to stay her, and disappeared, almost without a pause,

behind the door that opened into the hall.

Mr. Byrd remained for a full half-hour after that, but he never could

tell what he did, or with whom he conversed, or how or when he issued

from the house and made his way back to his room in the hotel. He only

knew that at midnight he was still walking the floor, and had not yet

made up his mind to take the step which his own sense of duty now

inexorably demanded.

XI.

DECISION.

Who dares

To say that he alone has found the truth.

--LONGFELLOW.

THE next morning Mr. Ferris was startled by the appearance in his office

of Mr. Byrd, looking wretchedly anxious and ill.

"I have come," said the detective, "to ask you what you think of Mr.

Hildreth's prospects. Have you made up your mind to have him arrested

for this crime?"

"Yes," was the reply. "The evidence against him is purely

circumstantial, but it is very strong; and if no fresh developments

occur, I think there can be no doubt about my duty. Each and every fact

that comes to light only strengthens the case against him. When he came

to be examined last night, a ring was found on his person, which he

acknowledged to having worn on the day of the murder."

"He took it off during the inquest," murmured Mr. Byrd; "I saw him."

"It is said by Hickory--the somewhat questionable cognomen of your

fellow-detective from New York--that the young man manifested the most

intense uneasiness during the whole inquiry. That in fact his attention

was first drawn to him by the many tokens which he gave of suppressed

agitation and alarm. Indeed, Mr. Hickory at one time thought he should

be obliged to speak to this stranger in order to prevent a scene. Once

Mr. Hildreth got up as if to go, and, indeed, if he had been less hemmed

in by the crowd, there is every reason to believe he would have

attempted an escape."

"Is this Hickory a man of good judgment?" inquired Mr. Byrd, anxiously.

"Why, yes, I should say so. He seems to understand his business. The way

he procured us the testimony of Mr. Hildreth was certainly

satisfactory."

"I wish that, without his knowing it, I could hear him give his opinion

of this matter," intimated the other.

"Well, you can," rejoined Mr. Ferris, after a quick and comprehensive

survey of Mr. Byrd's countenance. "I am expecting him here any moment,

and if you see fit to sit down behind that screen, you can, without the

least difficulty to yourself or him, hear all he has to impart."

"I will, then," the detective declared, a gloomy frown suddenly

corrugating his brow; and he stepped across to the screen which had been

indicated to him, and quietly withdrew from view.

He had scarcely done this, when a short, quick step was heard at the

door, and a wide-awake voice called out, cheerily:

"Are you alone, sir?"

"Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Ferris, "come in, come in. I have been awaiting

you for some minutes," he declared, ignoring the look which the man

threw hastily around the room. "Any news this morning?"

"No," returned the other, in a tone of complete self-satisfaction.

"We've caged the bird and mustn't expect much more in the way of news.

I'm on my way to Albany now, to pick up such facts about him as may be

lying around there loose, and shall be ready to start for Toledo any day

next week that you may think proper."

"You are, then, convinced that Mr. Hildreth is undeniably the guilty

party in this case?" exclaimed the District Attorney, taking a whiff at

his cigar.

"Convinced? That is a strong word, sir. A detective is never convinced,"

protested the man. "He leaves that for the judge and jury. But if you

ask me if there is any doubt about the direction in which all the

circumstantial evidence in this case points, I must retort by asking you

for a clue, or the tag-end of a clue, guiding me elsewhere. I know," he

went on, with the volubility of a man whose work is done, and who feels

he has the right to a momentary indulgence in conversation, "that it is

not an agreeable thing to subject a gentleman like Mr. Hildreth to the

shame of a public arrest. But facts are not partial, sir; and the

gentleman has no more rights in law than the coarsest fellow that we

take up for butchering his mother. But you know all this without my

telling you, and I only mention it to excuse any obstinacy I may have

manifested on the subject. He is mightily cut up about it," he again

proceeded, as he found Mr. Ferris forebore to reply. "I am told he

didn't sleep a wink all night, but spent his time alternately in pacing

the floor like a caged lion, and in a wild sort of stupor that had

something of the hint of madness in it. 'If my grandfather had only

known!' was the burden of his song; and when any one approached him he

either told them to keep their eyes off him, or else buried his face in

his hands with an entreaty for them not to disturb the last hours of a

dying man. He evidently has no hope of escaping the indignity of arrest,

and as soon as it was light enough for him to see, he asked for paper

and pencil. They were brought him, and a man stood over him while he

wrote. It proved to be a letter to his sisters enjoining them to believe

in his innocence, and wound up with what was very much like an attempt

at a will. Altogether, it looks as if he meditated suicide, and we have

been careful to take from him every possible means for his effecting his

release in this way, as well as set a strict though secret watch upon

him."

A slight noise took place behind the screen, which at any other time Mr.

Hickory would have been the first to notice and inquire into. As it was,

it had only the effect of unconsciously severing his train of thought

and starting him alertly to his feet.

"Well," said he, facing the District Attorney with cheerful vivacity,

"any orders?"

"No," responded Mr. Ferris. "A run down to Albany seems to be the best

thing for you at present. On your return we will consult again."

"Very well, sir. I shall not be absent more than two days, and, in the

meantime, you will let me know if any thing important occurs?" And,

handing over his new address, Hickory speedily took his leave.

"Well, Byrd, what do you think of him?"

For reply, Mr. Byrd stepped forth and took his stand before the District

Attorney.

"Has Coroner Tredwell informed you," said he, "that the superintendent

has left it to my discretion to interfere in this matter if I thought

that by so doing I could further the ends of justice?"

"Yes," was the language of the quick, short nod he received.

"Very well," continued the other, "you will pardon me, then, if I ask

you to convey to Mr. Hildreth the following message: That if he is

guiltless of this crime he need have no fear of the results of the

arrest to which he may be subjected; that a man has interested himself

in this matter who pledges his word not to rest till he has discovered

the guilty party and freed the innocent from suspicion."

"What!" cried Mr. Ferris, astonished at the severe but determined

bearing of the young man who, up to this time, he had only seen under

his lighter and more indifferent aspect. "You don't agree with this

fellow, then, in his conclusions regarding Mr. Hildreth?"

"No, sir. Hickory, as I judge, is an egotist. He discovered Mr. Hildreth

and brought him to the notice of the jury, therefore Mr. Hildreth is

guilty."

"And you?"

"I am open to doubt about it. Not that I would acknowledge it to any one

but you, sir."

"Why?"

"Because if I work in this case at all, or make any efforts to follow up

the clue which I believe myself to have received, it must be done

secretly, and without raising the suspicion of any one in this town. I

am not in a position, as you know, to work openly, even if it were

advisable to do so, which it certainly is not. What I do must be

accomplished under cover, and I ask you to help me in my self-imposed

and by no means agreeable task, by trusting me to pursue my inquiries

alone, until such time as I assure myself beyond a doubt that my own

convictions are just, and that the man who murdered Mrs. Clemmens is

some one entirely separated from Mr. Hildreth and any interests that he

represents."

"You are, then, going to take up this case?"

The answer given was short, but it meant the deliberate shivering of the

fairest dream of love that had ever visited Mr. Byrd's imagination.

"I am."