The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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      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.”

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