which covered her from neck to toe, and on her head a hat wrapped all
about with a blue veil."
"So that she might have worn any dress under that gossamer?"
"Yes, sir."
"And any hat under that veil?"
"Any one that was large enough, sir."
"_Very_ good. Now, did you see her hands?"
"Not to remember them."
"Did she have gloves on?"
"I cannot say. I did not stand and watch her, sir."
"That is a pity. But you say you heard her voice."
"Yes, sir."
"Was it a lady's voice? Was her tone refined and her language good?"
"They were, sir."
"When did they leave? How long did they remain in your house?"
"They left in the evening; after tea, I should say."
"How? On foot or in a carriage?"
"In a carriage; one of the hacks that stand in front of the door."
"Did they bring any baggage with them?"
"No, sir."
"Did they take any away?"
"The lady carried a parcel."
"What kind of a parcel?"
"A brown-paper parcel, like clothing done up."
"And the gentleman?"
"I did not see him."
"Was she dressed the same in going as in coming?"
"To all appearance, except her hat. That was smaller."
"She had the gossamer on still, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"And a veil?"
"Yes, sir."
"Only that the hat it covered was smaller?"
"Yes, sir."
"And now, how did you account to yourself for the parcel and the change
of hat?"
"I didn't account for them. I didn't think anything about them at the
time; but, since I have had the subject brought to my mind, I find it
easy enough. She had a package delivered to her while she was in our
house, or rather packages; they were quite numerous, I believe."
"Can you recall the circumstances of their delivery?"
"Yes, sir; the man who brought the packages said that they had not been
paid for, so I allowed him to carry them to Mrs. James Pope's room. When
he went away, he had but one small parcel with him; the rest he had
left."
"And this is all you can tell us about this singular couple? Had they no
meals in your house?"
"No, sir; the gentleman--or I suppose I should say the lady, sir, for
the order was given in her voice--sent for two dozen oysters and a
bottle of ale, which were furnished to them in their rooms; but they
didn't come to the dining-room."
"Is the boy here who carried up those articles?"
"He is, sir."
"And the chambermaid who attended to their rooms?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you may answer this question, and we will excuse you. How was the
gentleman dressed when you saw him?"
"In a linen duster and a felt hat."
"Let the jury remember that. And now let us hear from Richard Clapp. Is
Richard Clapp in the room?"
"I am, sir," answered a cheery voice; and a lively young man with a
shrewd eye and a wide-awake manner popped up from behind a portly woman
on a side seat and rapidly came forward.
He was asked several questions before the leading one which we all
expected; but I will not record them here. The question which brought
the reply most eagerly anticipated was this:
"Do you remember being sent to the Hotel D----with several packages for
a Mrs. James Pope?"
"I do, sir."
"Did you deliver them in person? Did you see the lady?"
A peculiar look crossed his face and we all leaned forward. But his
answer brought a shock of disappointment with it.
"No, I didn't, sir. She wouldn't let me in. She bade me lay the things
down by the door and wait in the rear hall till she called me."
"And you did this?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you kept your eye on the door, of course?"
"Naturally, sir."
"And saw----"
"A hand steal out and take in the things."
"A woman's hand?"
"No; a man's. I saw the white cuff."
"And how long was it before they called you?"
"Fifteen minutes, I should say. I heard a voice cry 'Here!' and seeing
their door open, I went toward it. But by the time I reached it, it was
shut again, and I only heard the lady say that all the articles but the
shoes were satisfactory, and would I thrust the bill in under the door.
I did so, and they were some minutes counting out the change, but
presently the door opened slightly, and I saw a man's hand holding out
the money, which was correct to the cent. 'You need not receipt the
bill,' cried the lady from somewhere in the room. 'Give him the shoes
and let him go.' So I received the shoes in the same mysterious way I
had the money, and seeing no reason for waiting longer, pocketed the
bills and returned to the store."
"Has the jury any further questions to ask the witness?"
Of course not. They were ninnies, all of them, and----But, contrary to
my expectation, one of them did perk up courage, and, wriggling very
much on his seat, ventured to ask if the cuff he had seen on the man's
hand when it was thrust through the doorway had a button in it.
The answer was disappointing. The witness had not noticed any.
The juror, somewhat abashed, sank into silence, at which another of the
precious twelve, inspired no doubt by the other's example, blurted out:
"Then what was the color of the coat sleeve? You surely can remember
that."
But another disappointment awaited us.
"He did not wear any coat. It was a shirt sleeve I saw."
A shirt sleeve! There was no clue in that. A visible look of dejection
spread through the room, which was not dissipated till another witness
stood up.
This time it was the bell-boy of the hotel who had been on duty that
day. His testimony was brief, and added but little to the general
knowledge. He had been summoned more than once by these mysterious
parties, but only to receive his orders through a closed door. He had
not entered the room at all.
He was followed by the chambermaid, who testified that she was in the
room once while they were there; that she saw them both then, but did
not catch a glimpse of their faces; Mr. Pope was standing in the window
almost entirely shielded by the curtains, and Mrs. Pope was busy hanging
up something in the wardrobe. The gentleman had on his duster and the
lady her gossamer; it was but a few minutes after their arrival.
Questioned in regard to the state of the room after they left it, she
said that there was a lot of brown paper lying about, marked B. Altman,
but nothing else that did not belong there.
"Not a tag, nor a hat-pin, nor a bit of memorandum, lying on bureau or
table?"
"Nothing, sir, so far as I mind. I wasn't on the look-out for anything,
sir. They were a queer couple, but we have lots of queer couples at our
house, and the most I notices, sir, is those what remember the
chambermaid and those what don't. This couple was of the kind what
don't."
"Did you sweep the room after their departure?"
"I always does. They went late, so I swept the room the next morning."
"And threw the sweepings away, of course?"
"Of course; would you have me keep them for treasures?"
"It might have been well if you had," muttered the Coroner. "The
combings from the lady's hair might have been very useful in
establishing her identity."
The porter who has charge of the lady's entrance was the last witness
from this house. He had been on duty on the evening in question and had
noticed this couple leaving. They both carried packages, and had
attracted his attention first, by the long, old-fashioned duster which
the gentleman wore, and secondly, by the pains they both took not to be
observed by any one. The woman was veiled, as had already been said, and
the man held his package in such a way as to shield his face entirely
from observation.
"So that you would not know him if you saw him again?" asked the
Coroner.
"Exactly, sir," was the uncomprising answer.
As he sat down, the Coroner observed: "You will note from this
testimony, gentlemen, that this couple, signing themselves Mr. and Mrs.
James Pope of Philadelphia, left this house dressed each in a long
garment eminently fitted for purposes of concealment,--he in a linen
duster, and she in a gossamer. Let us now follow this couple a little
farther and see what became of these disguising articles of apparel. Is
Seth Brown here?"
A man, who was so evidently a hackman that it seemed superfluous to ask
him what his occupation was, shuffled forward at this.
It was in his hack that this couple had left the D----. He remembered
them very well as he had good reason to. First, because the man paid him
before entering the carriage, saying that he was to let them out at the
northwest corner of Madison Square, and secondly----But here the Coroner
interrupted him to ask if he had seen the gentleman's face when he paid
him. The answer was, as might have been expected, No. It was dark, and
he had not turned his head.
"Didn't you think it queer to be paid before you reached your
destination?"
"Yes, but the rest was queerer. After I had taken the money--I never
refuses money, sir--and was expecting him to get into the hack, he steps
up to me again and says in a lower tone than before: 'My wife is very
nervous. Drive slow, if you please, and when you reach the place I have
named, watch your horses carefully, for if they should move while she is
getting out, the shock would throw her into a spasm.' As she had looked
very pert and lively, I thought this mighty queer, and I tried to get a
peep at his face, but he was too smart for me, and was in the carriage
before I could clap my eye on him."
"But you were more fortunate when they got out? You surely saw one or
both of them then?"
"No, sir, I didn't. I had to watch the horses' heads, you know. I
shouldn't like to be the cause of a young lady having a spasm."
"Do you know in what direction they went?"
"East, I should say. I heard them laughing long after I had whipped up
my horses. A queer couple, sir, that puzzled me some, though I should
not have thought of them twice if I had not found next day----"
"Well?"
"The gentleman's linen duster and the neat brown gossamer which the lady
had worn, lying folded under the two back cushions of my hack; a present
for which I was very much obliged to them, but which I was not long
allowed to enjoy, for yesterday the police----"
"Well, well, no matter about that. Here is a duster and here is a brown
gossamer. Are these the articles you found under your cushions?"
"If you will examine the neck of the lady's gossamer, you can soon tell,
sir. There was a small hole in the one I found, as if something had been
snipped out of it; the owner's name, most likely."
"Or the name of the place where it was bought," suggested the Coroner,
holding the garment up to view so as to reveal a square hole under the
collar.
"That's it!" cried the hackman. "That's the very one. Shame, I say, to
spoil a new garment that way."
"Why do you call it new?" asked the Coroner.
"Because it hasn't a mud spot or even a mark of dust upon it. We looked
it all over, my wife and I, and decided it had not been long off the
shelf. A pretty good haul for a poor man like me, and if the police----"
But here he was cut short again by an important question:
"There is a clock but a short distance from the place where you
stopped. Did you notice what time it was when you drove away?"
"Yes, sir. I don't know why I remember it, but I do. As I turned to go
back to the hotel, I looked up at this clock. It was half-past eleven."
XII.
THE KEYS.
We were all by this time greatly interested in the proceedings; and when
another hackman was called we recognized at once that an effort was
about to be made to connect this couple with the one who had alighted at
Mr. Van Burnam's door.
The witness, who was a melancholy chap, kept his stand on the east side
of the Square. At about twenty minutes to twelve, he was awakened from a
nap he had been taking on the top of his coach, by a sharp rap on his
whip arm, and looking down, he saw a lady and gentleman standing at the
door of his vehicle.
"We want to go to Gramercy Park," said the lady. "Drive us there at
once."
"I nodded, for what is the use of wasting words when it can be avoided;
and they stepped at once into the coach."
"Can you describe them--tell us how they looked?"
"I never notice people; besides, it was dark; but he had a swell air,
and she was pert and merry, for she laughed as she closed the door."
"Can't you remember how they were dressed?"
"No, sir; she had on something that flapped about her shoulders, and he
had a dark hat on his head, but that was all I saw."
"Didn't you see his face?"
"Not a bit of it; he kept it turned away. He didn't want nobody looking
at _him_. She did all the business."
"Then you saw _her_ face?"
"Yes, for a minute. But I wouldn't know it again. She was young and
purty, and her hand which dropped the money into mine was small, but I
couldn't say no more, not if you was to give me the town."
"Did you know that the house you stopped at was Mr. Van Burnam's, and
that it was supposed to be empty?"
"No, sir, I'm not one of the swell ones. My acquaintances live in
another part of the town."
"But you noticed that the house was dark?"
"I may have. I don't know."
"And that is all you have to tell us about them?"
"No, sir; the next morning, which was yesterday, sir, as I was a-dusting
out the coach I found under the cushions a large blue veil, folded and
lying very flat. But it had been slit with a knife and could not be
worn."
This was strange too, and while more than one person about me ventured
an opinion, I muttered to myself, "James Pope, his mark!" astonished at
a coincidence which so completely connected the occupants of the two
coaches.
But the Coroner was able to produce a witness whose evidence carried the
matter on still farther. A policeman in full uniform testified next, and
after explaining that his beat led him from Madison Avenue to Third on
Twenty-seventh Street, went on to say that as he was coming up this
street on Tuesday evening some few minutes before midnight, he
encountered, somewhere between Lexington Avenue and Third, a man and
woman walking rapidly towards the latter avenue, each carrying a parcel
of some dimensions; that he noted them because they seemed so merry, but
would have thought nothing of it, if he had not presently perceived them
coming back without the parcels. They were chatting more gaily than
ever. The lady wore a short cape, and the gentleman a dark coat, but he
could give no other description of their appearance, for they went by
rapidly, and he was more interested in wondering what they had done with
such large parcels in such a short time at that hour of night, than in
noting how they looked or whither they were going. He did observe,
however, that they proceeded towards Madison Square, and remembers now
that he heard a carriage suddenly drive away from that direction.
The Coroner asked him but one question:
"Had the lady no parcel when you saw her last?"
"I saw none."
"Could she not have carried one under her cape?"
"Perhaps, if it was small enough."
"As small as a lady's hat, say?"
"Well, it would have to be smaller than some of them are now, sir."
And so terminated this portion of the inquiry.
A short delay followed the withdrawal of this witness. The Coroner, who
was a somewhat portly man, and who had felt the heat of the day very
much, leaned back and looked anxious, while the jury, always restless,
moved in their seats like a set of school-boys, and seemed to long for
the hour of adjournment, notwithstanding the interest which everybody
but themselves seemed to take in this exciting investigation.
Finally an officer, who had been sent into the adjoining room, came back
with a gentleman, who was no sooner recognized as Mr. Franklin Van
Burnam than a great change took place in the countenances of all
present. The Coroner sat forward and dropped the large palm-leaf fan he
had been industriously using for the last few minutes, the jury settled
down, and the whispering of the many curious ones about me grew less
audible and finally ceased altogether. A gentleman of the family was
about to be interrogated, and such a gentleman!
I have purposely refrained from describing this best known and best
reputed member of the Van Burnam family, foreseeing this hour when he
would attract the attention of a hundred eyes and when his appearance
would require our special notice. I will therefore endeavor to picture
him to you as he looked on this memorable morning, with just the simple
warning that you must not expect me to see with the eyes of a young girl
or even with those of a fashionable society woman. I know a man when I
see him, and I had always regarded Mr. Franklin as an exceptionally
fine-looking and prepossessing gentleman, but I shall not go into
raptures, as I heard a girl behind me doing, nor do I feel like
acknowledging him as a paragon of all the virtues--as Mrs. Cunningham
did that evening in my parlor.
He is a medium-sized man, with a shape not unlike his brother's. His
hair is dark and so are his eyes, but his moustache is brown and his
complexion quite fair. He carries himself with distinction, and though
his countenance in repose has a precise air that is not perfectly
agreeable, it has, when he speaks or smiles, an expression at once keen
and amiable.
On this occasion he failed to smile, and though his elegance was
sufficiently apparent, his worth was not so much so. Yet the impression
generally made was favorable, as one could perceive from the air of
respect with which his testimony was received.
He was asked many questions. Some were germane to the matter in hand and
some seemed to strike wide of all mark. He answered them all
courteously, showing a manly composure in doing so, that served to calm
the fever-heat into which many had been thrown by the stories of the two
hackmen. But as his evidence up to this point related merely to minor
concerns, this was neither strange nor conclusive. The real test began
when the Coroner, with a certain bluster, which may have been meant to
attract the attention of the jury, now visibly waning, or, as was more
likely, may have been the unconscious expression of a secret if hitherto
well concealed embarrassment, asked the witness whether the keys to his
father's front door had any duplicates.
The answer came in a decidedly changed tone. "No. The key used by our
agent opens the basement door only."
The Coroner showed his satisfaction. "No duplicates," he repeated; "then
you will have no difficulty in telling us where the keys to your
father's front door were kept during the family's absence."
Did the young man hesitate, or was it but imagination on my part--"They
were usually in my possession."
"Usually!" There was irony in the tone; evidently the Coroner was
getting the better of his embarrassment, if he had felt any. "And where
were they on the seventeenth of this month? Were they in your possession
then?"
"No, sir." The young man tried to look calm and at his ease, but the
difficulty he felt in doing so was apparent. "On the morning of that
day," he continued, "I passed them over to my brother."
Ah! here was something tangible as well as important. I began to fear
the police understood themselves only too well; and so did the whole
crowd of persons there assembled. A groan in one direction was answered
by a sigh in another, and it needed all the Coroner's authority to
prevent an outbreak.
Meanwhile Mr. Van Burnam stood erect and unwavering, though his eye
showed the suffering which these demonstrations awakened. He did not
turn in the direction of the room where we felt sure his family was
gathered, but it was evident that his thoughts did, and that most
painfully. The Coroner, on the contrary, showed little or no feeling; he
had brought the investigation up to this critical point and felt fully
competent to carry it farther.
"May I ask," said he, "where the transference of these keys took place?"
"I gave them to him in our office last Tuesday morning. He said he might
want to go into the house before his father came home."
"Did he say why he wanted to go into the house?"
"No."
"Was he in the habit of going into it alone and during the family's
absence?"
"No."
"Had he any clothes there? or any articles belonging to himself or his
wife which he would be likely to wish to carry away?"
"No."
"Yet he wanted to go in?"
"He said so."
"And you gave him the keys without question?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Was that not opposed to your usual principles--to your way of doing
things, I should say?"
"Perhaps; but principles, by which I suppose you mean my usual business
methods, do not govern me in my relations with my brother. He asked me a
favor, and I granted it. It would have to have been a much larger one
for me to have asked an explanation from him before doing so."
"Yet you are not on good terms with your brother; at least you have not
had the name of being, for some time?"
"We have had no quarrel."
"Did he return the keys you lent him?"
"No."
"Have you seen them since?"
"No."
"Would you know them if they were shown you?"
"I would know them if they unlocked our front door."
"But you would not know them on sight?"
"I don't think so."
"Mr. Van Burnam, it is disagreeable for me to go into family matters,
but if you have had no quarrel with your brother, how comes it that you
and he have had so little intercourse of late?"
"He has been in Connecticut and I at Long Branch. Is not that a good
answer, sir?"
"Good, but not good enough. You have a common office in New York, have
you not?"
"Certainly, the firm's office."
"And you sometimes meet there, even while residing in different
localities?"
"Yes, our business calls us in at times and then we meet, of course."
"Do you talk when you meet?"
"Talk?"
"Of other matters besides business, I mean. Are your relations friendly?
Do you show the same spirit towards each other as you did three years
ago, say?"
"We are older; perhaps we are not quite so voluble."
"But do you feel the same?"
"No. I see you will have it, and so I will no longer hold back the
truth. We are not as brotherly in our intercourse as we used to be; but
there is no animosity between us. I have a decided regard for my
brother."
This was said quite nobly, and I liked him for it, but I began to feel
that perhaps it had been for the best after all that I had never been
intimate with the family. But I must not forestall either events or my
opinions.
"Is there any reason"--it is the Coroner, of course, who is
speaking--"why there should be any falling off in your mutual
confidence? Has your brother done anything to displease you?"
"We did not like his marriage."
"Was it an unhappy one?"
"It was not a suitable one."
"Did you know Mrs. Van Burnam well, that you say this?"
"Yes, I knew her, but the rest of the family did not."
"Yet they shared in your disapprobation?"
"They felt the marriage more than I did. The lady--excuse me, I never
like to speak ill of the sex--was not lacking in good sense or virtue,
but she was not the person we had a right to expect Howard to marry."
"And you let him see that you thought so?"
"How could we do otherwise?"
"Even after she had been his wife for some months?"
"We could not like her."
"Did your brother--I am sorry to press this matter--ever show that he
felt your change of conduct towards him?"
"I find it equally hard to answer," was the quick reply. "My brother is
of an affectionate nature, and he has some, if not all, of the family's
pride. I think he did feel it, though he never said so. He is not
without loyalty to his wife."
"Mr. Van Burnam, of whom does the firm doing business under the name of
Van Burnam & Sons consist?"
"Of the three persons mentioned."
"No others?"
"No."
"Has there ever been in your hearing any threat made by the senior
partner of dissolving this firm as it stands?"
"I have heard"--I felt sorry for this strong but far from heartless man,
but I would not have stopped the inquiry at this point if I could; I
was far too curious--"I have heard my father say that he would withdraw
if Howard did not. Whether he would have done so, I consider open to
doubt. My father is a just man and never fails to do the right thing,
though he sometimes speaks with unnecessary harshness."
"He made the threat, however?"
"Yes."
"And Howard heard it?"
"Or of it; I cannot say which."
"Mr. Van Burnam, have you noticed any change in your brother since this
threat was uttered?"
"How, sir; what change?"
"In his treatment of his wife, or in his attitude towards yourself?"
"I have not seen him in the company of his wife since they went to
Haddam. As for his conduct towards myself, I can say no more than I have
already. We have never forgotten that we are children of one mother."
"Mr. Van Burnam, how many times have you seen Mrs. Howard Van Burnam?"
"Several. More frequently before they were married than since."
"You were in your brother's confidence, then, at that time; knew he was
contemplating marriage?"