The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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      “And when did you return?”

      “At midnight.”

      “When did you reach your rooms?”

      “Later.”

      “How much later?”

      “Two or three hours.”

      “And where were you during those hours?”

      “I was walking the streets.”

      The ease, the quietness with which he made these acknowledgments were remarkable. The jury to a man honored him with a prolonged stare, and the awe-struck crowd scarcely breathed during their utterance. At the last sentence a murmur broke out, at which he raised his head and with an air of surprise surveyed the people before him. Though he must have known what their astonishment meant, he neither quailed nor blanched, and while not in reality a handsome man, he certainly looked handsome at this moment.

      I did not know what to think; so forbore to think anything. Meanwhile the examination went on.

      “Mr. Van Burnam, I have been told that the locket I see there dangling from your watch-chain contains a lock of your wife’s hair. Is it so?”

      “I have a lock of her hair in this; yes.”

      “Here is a lock clipped from the head of the unknown woman whose identity we seek. Have you any objection to comparing the two?”

      “It is not an agreeable task you have set me,” was the imperturbable response; “but I have no objection to doing what you ask.” And calmly lifting the chain, he took off the locket, opened it, and held it out courteously toward the Coroner. “May I ask you to make the first comparison,” he said.

      The Coroner, taking the locket, laid the two locks of brown hair together, and after a moment’s contemplation of them both, surveyed the young man seriously, and remarked:

      “They are of the same shade. Shall I pass them down to the jury?”

      Howard bowed. You would have thought he was in a drawing-room, and in the act of bestowing a favor. But his brother Franklin showed a very different countenance, and as for their father, one could not even see his face, he so persistently held up his hand before it.

      The jury, wide-awake now, passed the locket along, with many sly nods and a few whispered words. When it came back to the Coroner, he took it and handed it to Mr. Van Burnam, saying:

      “I wish you would observe the similarity for yourself. I can hardly detect any difference between them.”

      “Thank you! I am willing to take your word for it,” replied the young man, with most astonishing aplomb. And Coroner and jury for a moment looked baffled, and even Mr. Gryce, of whose face I caught a passing glimpse at this instant, stared at the head of his cane, as if it were of thicker wood than he expected and had more knotty points on it than even his accustomed hand liked to encounter.

      Another effort was not out of place, however; and the Coroner, summoning up some of the pompous severity he found useful at times, asked the witness if his attention had been drawn to the dead woman’s hands.

      He acknowledged that it had. “The physician who made the autopsy urged me to look at them, and I did; they were certainly very like my wife’s.”

      “Only like.”

      “I cannot say that they were my wife’s. Do you wish me to perjure myself?”

      “A man should know his wife’s hands as well as he knows her face.”

      “Very likely.”

      “And you are ready to swear these were not the hands of your wife?”

      “I am ready to swear I did not so consider them.”

      “And that is all?”

      “That is all.”

      The Coroner frowned and cast a glance at the jury. They needed prodding now and then, and this is the way he prodded them. As soon as they gave signs of recognizing the hint he gave them, he turned back, and renewed his examination in these words:

      “Mr. Van Burnam, did your brother at your request hand you the keys of your father’s house on the morning of the day on which this tragedy occurred?”

      “He did.”

      “Have you those keys now?”

      “I have not.”

      “What have you done with them? Did you return them to your brother?”

      “No; I see where your inquiries are tending, and I do not suppose you will believe my simple word; but I lost the keys on the day I received them; that is why——”

      “Well, you may continue, Mr. Van Burnam.”

      “I have no more to say; my sentence was not worth completing.”

      The murmur which rose about him seemed to show dissatisfaction; but he remained imperturbable, or rather like a man who did not hear. I began to feel a most painful interest in the inquiry, and dreaded, while I anxiously anticipated, his further examination.

      “You lost the keys; may I ask when and where?”

      “That I do not know; they were missing when I searched for them; missing from my pocket, I mean.”

      “Ah! and when did you search for them?”

      “The next day—after I had heard—of—of what had taken place in my father’s house.”

      The hesitations were those of a man weighing his reply. They told on the jury, as all such hesitations do; and made the Coroner lose an atom of the respect he had hitherto shown this easy-going witness.

      “And you do not know what became of them?”

      “No.”

      “Or into whose hands they fell?”

      “No, but probably into the hands of the wretch——”

      To the astonishment of everybody he was on the verge of vehemence; but becoming sensible of it, he controlled himself with a suddenness that was almost shocking.

      “Find the murderer of this poor girl,” said he, with a quiet air that was more thrilling than any display of passion, “and ask him where he got the keys with which he opened the door of my father’s house at midnight.”

      Was this a challenge, or just the natural outburst of an innocent man. Neither the jury nor the Coroner seemed to know, the former looking startled and the latter nonplussed. But Mr. Gryce, who had moved now into view, smoothed the head of his cane with quite a loving touch, and did not seem at this moment to feel its inequalities objectionable.

      “We will certainly try to follow your advice,” the СКАЧАТЬ