The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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СКАЧАТЬ have honored me with this expression of your wishes, I will not conceal from you that I shall feel a certain increased interest in the affair from this hour. What mortal man can do, I will do, and if in one month from this day I do not come to you for my reward, Ebenezer Gryce is not the man I have always taken him to be.”

      “And Eleanore?”

      “We will mention no names,” said he, gently waving his hand to and fro.

      A few minutes later, I left the house with Miss Leavenworth, she having expressed a wish to have me accompany her to the home of her friend, Mrs. Gilbert, with whom she had decided to take refuge. As we rolled down the street in the carriage Mr. Gryce had been kind enough to provide for us, I noticed my companion cast a look of regret behind her, as if she could not help feeling some compunctions at this desertion of her cousin.

      But this expression was soon changed for the alert look of one who dreads to see a certain face start up from some unknown quarter. Glancing up and down the street, peering furtively into doorways as we passed, starting and trembling if a sudden figure appeared on the curbstone, she did not seem to breathe with perfect ease till we had left the avenue behind us and entered upon Thirty-seventh Street. Then, all at once her natural color returned and, leaning gently toward me, she asked if I had a pencil and piece of paper I could give her. I fortunately possessed both. Handing them to her, I watched her with some little curiosity while she wrote two or three lines, wondering she could choose such a time and place for the purpose.

      “A little note I wish to send,” she explained, glancing at the almost illegible scrawl with an expression of doubt. “Couldn’t you stop the carriage a moment while I direct it?”

      I did so, and in another instant the leaf which I had torn from my note-book was folded, directed, and sealed with a stamp which she had taken from her own pocket-book.

      “That is a crazy-looking epistle,” she muttered, as she laid it, direction downwards, in her lap.

      “Why not wait, then, till you arrive at your destination, where you can seal it properly, and direct it at your leisure?”

      “Because I am in haste. I wish to mail it now. Look, there is a box on the corner; please ask the driver to stop once more.”

      “Shall I not post it for you?” I asked, holding out my hand.

      But she shook her head, and, without waiting for my assistance, opened the door on her own side of the carriage and leaped to the ground. Even then she paused to glance up and down the street, before venturing to drop her hastily written letter into the box. But when it had left her hand, she looked brighter and more hopeful than I had yet seen her. And when, a few moments later, she turned to bid me good-by in front of her friend’s house, it was with almost a cheerful air she put out her hand and entreated me to call on her the next day, and inform her how the inquest progressed.

      I shall not attempt to disguise from you the fact that I spent all that long evening in going over the testimony given at the inquest, endeavoring to reconcile what I had heard with any other theory than that of Eleanore’s guilt. Taking a piece of paper, I jotted down the leading causes of suspicion as follows:

      1. Her late disagreement with her uncle, and evident estrangement from him, as testified to by Mr. Harwell.

      2. The mysterious disappearance of one of the servants of the house.

      3. The forcible accusation made by her cousin,—overheard, however, only by Mr. Gryce and myself.

      4. Her equivocation in regard to the handkerchief found stained with pistol smut on the scene of the tragedy.

      5. Her refusal to speak in regard to the paper which she was supposed to have taken from Mr. Leavenworth’s table immediately upon the removal of the body.

      6. The finding of the library key in her possession.

      “A dark record,” I involuntarily decided, as I looked it over; but even in doing so began jotting down on the other side of the sheet the following explanatory notes:

      1. Disagreements and even estrangements between relatives are common. Cases where such disagreements and estrangements have led to crime, rare.

      2. The disappearance of Hannah points no more certainly in one direction than another.

      3. If Mary’s private accusation of her cousin was forcible and convincing, her public declaration that she neither knew nor suspected who might be the author of this crime, was equally so. To be sure, the former possessed the advantage of being uttered spontaneously; but it was likewise true that it was spoken under momentary excitement, without foresight of the consequences, and possibly without due consideration of the facts.

      4, 5. An innocent man or woman, under the influence of terror, will often equivocate in regard to matters that seem to criminate them.

      But the key! What could I say to that? Nothing. With that key in her possession, and unexplained, Eleanore Leavenworth stood in an attitude of suspicion which even I felt forced to recognize. Brought to this point, I thrust the paper into my pocket, and took up the evening Express. Instantly my eye fell upon these words:

      SHOCKING MURDER

       MR. LEAVENWORTH, THE WELL-KNOWN MILLIONAIRE, FOUND DEAD IN HIS ROOM

       NO CLUE TO THE PERPETRATOR OF THE DEED

       THE AWFUL CRIME COMMITTED WITH A PISTOL—EXTRAORDINARY FEATURES OF

       THE AFFAIR

      Ah! here at least was one comfort; her name was not yet mentioned as that of a suspected party. But what might not the morrow bring? I thought of Mr. Gryce’s expressive look as he handed me that key, and shuddered.

      “She must be innocent; she cannot be otherwise,” I reiterated to myself, and then pausing, asked what warranty I had of this? Only her beautiful face; only, only her beautiful face. Abashed, I dropped the newspaper, and went down-stairs just as a telegraph boy arrived with a message from Mr. Veeley. It was signed by the proprietor of the hotel at which Mr. Veeley was then stopping and ran thus:

      “WASHINGTON, D. C.

       “MR. Everett Raymond—

       “Mr. Veeley is lying at my house ill. Have not shown him telegram,

       fearing results. Will do so as soon as advisable.

       “Thomas Loworthy.”

      I went in musing. Why this sudden sensation of relief on my part? Could it be that I had unconsciously been guilty of cherishing a latent dread of my senior’s return? Why, who else could know so well the secret springs which governed this family? Who else could so effectually put me upon the right track? Was it possible that I, Everett Raymond, hesitated to know the truth in any case? No, that should never be said; and, sitting down again, I drew out the memoranda I had made and, looking them carefully over, wrote against No. 6 the word suspicious in good round characters. There! no one could say, after that, I had allowed myself to be blinded by a bewitching face from seeing what, in a woman with no claims to comeliness, would be considered at once an almost indubitable evidence of guilt.

      And yet, after it was all done, I found myself repeating aloud as I gazed at it: “If she declares herself innocent, I will believe СКАЧАТЬ