The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement. Marsh Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ husband, and he has really disappeared, I can understand that your excitement is not unjustified; but you are mistaken if you suppose that I am in any way to blame. I will tell you exactly what happened between us." I turned aside so that I might have some sort of chance of making up my mind as to how much, on the spur of the moment, it might be advisable to tell her. "Your husband waited on me at dinner. During dinner we scarcely exchanged half a dozen words. After dinner I said something which, although it was spoken out loud, was said to myself, but which affected him in the most extraordinary and unexpected manner."

      "What did you say?"

      "I said 'I want you.'"

      "You said, 'I want you'?" The woman gave a sort of nervous clutch at the door behind her. "Are you a policeman?"

      "I am nothing of the kind. You ought to know better than I what your husband has on his conscience. I can only suppose that, for some cause, he stands in terror of the officers of the law; because, no sooner had I innocently uttered what, I believe, is a regular policeman's formula, than, without a word of warning, he caught up the empty bottle which was on the table, like a madman, and knocked me down with it."

      "Knocked you down with it!" The woman's face was as white as her own sheets. I saw that she needed the support of the door to aid her stand. "You said nothing to me when I came in."

      "I was so astounded by the man's behaviour, and so stunned by his violence, that I was not in a fit state for saying anything. I intended to wait till the morning, and then have it out both with you and with him."

      "You are telling me the truth?"

      "I am."

      So I was, though I might not have been telling all of it. I appeared to have told enough of it for her, because immediately afterwards she departed-unless I err, not much easier in her mind because of the visit she had paid to me.

      In the morning, as might have been expected, I woke with a headache. I did not feel in the best of health, either physical or mental, when I went down to breakfast. That meal was served by a maidservant. Bringing in a letter on a waiter, she asked if it was for me. As it was addressed to me by name-"Mr. James Southam " – I not only claimed, I opened it. It contained a letter and some enclosures. Here is the letter, word for word: -

      "Dear Sir, – I have just had a telegram from Messrs. Cleaver and Caxton, acquainting me with your address. It gives me great pleasure to write to you. I am just now detained by business, but I hope to call on you at the very earliest opportunity, at latest in the course of a day or two. I assure you that it will be greatly to your advantage. As some slight guarantee of this I beg your acceptance of the enclosed. You need have no fear. You will find in me, in all respects, a friend.

      "I will let you know, by telegram, when I am coming. Until then,

      "Believe me, your sincere well-wisher,

"Duncan Rothwell."

      The "enclosed" took the shape of four five-pound bank-notes. Who "Duncan Rothwell" was I had not the faintest notion. To me the name was wholly unfamiliar. The letter was neither addressed nor dated. The post-mark on the envelope was Manchester. Messrs. Cleaver and Caxton must have telegraphed so soon as I had left them, and clearly Mr. Rothwell had written immediately on receipt of their wire. The letter was fairly worded, but something about the writing, and indeed about the whole get up of the thing, suggested that it had not been written by a highly educated man-a gentleman.

      In any case it seemed sufficiently clear that it was not intended for me, until, fingering the thing, and turning it over and over, I chanced to open the sheet of paper on which it was written. It was a large sheet of business letter-paper. The communication was all contained on the front page, and as there was still plenty of room to spare, it did not occur to me that there could be additions, say, for instance, in the shape of a postscript. It was by the purest chance that my fidgety fingers pulled the sheet wide open. So soon as they had done so I perceived that I was wrong. In the middle of the third page was this: -

      "P.S. – It was with great regret that I heard of your mother's lamented death at Putney. I had the melancholy satisfaction of visiting her grave in Wandsworth Cemetery. This will facilitate matters greatly."

      Then the letter was intended for me after all. My mother had died at Putney-she had been buried in Wandsworth Cemetery. There might, although I had not been aware of it, have been two James Southams in Dulborough; the coincidence was credible. But it was scarcely credible that the other James Southam's mother could also have died at Putney, and have been buried in Wandsworth Cemetery. Why, or in what sense, my mother's death might facilitate matters, was more than I could say. But, in the face of that postscript, there still seemed sufficient doubt as to which James Southam was about to hear of something to his advantage, to justify me in remaining where I was, and allowing events to take their course.

      As I was standing at the window, meditating whether or not I should go for a stroll, the maidservant appeared with a message.

      "Mrs. Barnes's compliments, and if you are at liberty, could she speak to you in the private parlour?"

      I was not anxious to see Mrs. Barnes. I had a suspicion that if I was not careful I might become more involved than was desirable in her private affairs. Still, if I remained in her house I could scarcely avoid speaking to her. My impulse was to go to Messrs. Cleaver and Caxton, and ask them to shift my quarters. But they might decline, and-well, I shrugged my shoulders, and went and spoke to her.

      The private parlour proved to be a small room, and a stuffy one. Mrs. Barnes received me on the threshold. She opened the door to permit me to enter, and having followed me in she shut it behind us.

      "He has not returned," she said.

      "You mean-?"

      "I mean my husband."

      "Frankly, I think it is almost as well that he should not have returned-at least, while I remain an inmate of your house. You can scarcely expect me to pass over his extraordinary behaviour in silence."

      She stood staring at me in that strained, eager manner which I had noticed overnight. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her fingers were twisting and untwisting themselves in what seemed pure nervousness.

      "I have been married to Mr. Barnes twelve months." As she paused, I nodded-I did not know what else to do. "I have regretted it ever since. There is a mystery about him."

      "I am bound to admit that there is a good deal about him which is mysterious to me; but whether it is equally mysterious to you is another question."

      "He is a mystery to me-he always has been." She paused again. She drew in her lips as if to moisten them. "You are a stranger to me, but I want a confidant. I must speak to some one."

      "I beg that you will not make a confidant of me-I do assure you-"

      As she interrupted me, her voice rose almost to a scream.

      "I must speak to you-I will! I can endure no longer. Sit down and let me speak to you."

      Perceiving that, unless I made a scene, I should have to let her at least say something, I did as she requested and sat down. I wished that she would sit down also, instead of standing in front of the door, twisting her hands and her body, and pulling faces-for only so can I describe what seemed to be the nervous spasms which were continually causing her to distort her attenuated countenance.

      "I never wished to marry him," she began. "He made me."

      "I suppose you mean that he made you in the sense in which all ladies, when СКАЧАТЬ