XIII.
HOWARD VAN BURNAM.
The gentleman who stepped from the carriage and entered Mr. Van Burnam'shouse at twelve o'clock that night produced so little impression upon methat I went to bed satisfied that no result would follow these effortsat identification.
And so I told Mr. Gryce when he arrived next morning. But he seemed byno means disconcerted, and merely requested that I would submit to onemore trial. To which I gave my consent, and he departed.
I could have asked him a string of questions, but his manner did notinvite them, and for some reason I was too wary to show an interest inthis tragedy superior to that felt by every right-thinking personconnected with it.
At ten o'clock I was in my old seat in the court-room. The same crowdwith different faces confronted me, amid which the twelve stolidcountenances of the jury looked like old friends. Howard Van Burnam wasthe witness called, and as he came forward and stood in full view of usall, the interest of the occasion reached its climax.
His countenance wore a reckless look that did not serve to prepossesshim with the people at whose mercy he stood. But he did not seem tocare, and waited for the Coroner's questions with an air of ease whichwas in direct contrast to the drawn and troubled faces of his father andbrother just visible in the background.
Coroner Dahl surveyed him a few minutes before speaking, then he quietlyasked if he had seen the dead body of the woman who had been found lyingunder a fallen piece of furniture in his father's house.
He replied that he had.
"Before she was removed from the house or after it?"
"After."
"Did you recognize it? Was it the body of any one you know?"
"I do not think so."
"Has your wife, who was missing yesterday, been heard from yet, Mr. VanBurnam?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir."
"Had she not--that is, your wife--a complexion similar to that of thedead woman just alluded to?"
"She had a fair skin and brown hair, if that is what you mean. But theseattributes are common to too many women for me to give them any weightin an attempted identification of this importance."
"Had they no other similar points of a less general character? Was notyour wife of a slight and graceful build, such as is attributed to thesubject of this inquiry?"
"My wife was slight and she was graceful, common attributes also."
"And your wife had a scar?"
"Yes."
"On the left ankle?"
"Yes."
"Which the deceased also has?"
"That I do not know. They say so, but I had no interest in looking."
"Why, may I ask? Did you not think it a remarkable coincidence?"
The young man frowned. It was the first token of feeling he had given.
"I was not on the look-out for coincidences," was his cold reply. "I hadno reason to think this unhappy victim of an unknown man's brutality mywife, and so did not allow myself to be moved by even such a fact asthis."
"You had no reason," repeated the Coroner, "to think this woman yourwife. Had you any reason to think she was not?"
"Yes."
"Will you give us that reason?"
"I had more than one. First, my wife would never wear the clothes I sawon the girl whose dead body was shown to me. Secondly, she would nevergo to any house alone with a man at the hour testified to by one of yourwitnesses."[A]
"Not with any man?"
"I did not mean to include her husband in my remark, of course. But as Idid not take her to Gramercy Park, the fact that the deceased womanentered an empty house accompanied by a man, is proof enough to me thatshe was not Louise Van Burnam."
"When did you part with your wife?"
"On Monday morning at the depot in Haddam."
"Did you know where she was going?"
"I knew where she said she was going."
"And where was that, may I ask?"
"To New York, to interview my father."
"But your father was not in New York?"
"He was daily expected here. The steamer on which he had sailed fromSouthampton was due on Tuesday."
"Had she an interest in seeing your father? Was there any special reasonwhy she should leave you for doing so?"
"She thought so; she thought he would become reconciled to her entranceinto our family if he should see her suddenly and without prejudicedpersons standing by."
"And did you fear to mar the effect of this meeting if you accompaniedher?"
"No, for I doubted if the meeting would ever take place. I had nosympathy with her schemes, and did not wish to give her the sanction ofmy presence."
"Was that the reason you let her go to New York alone?"
"Yes."
"Had you no other?"
"No."
"Why did you follow her, then, in less than five hours?"
"Because I was uneasy; because I also wanted to see my father; because Iam a man accustomed to carry out every impulse; and impulse led me thatday in the direction of my somewhat headstrong wife."
"Did you know where your wife intended to spend the night?"
"I did not. She has many friends, or at least I have, in the city, and Iconcluded she would go to one of them--as she did."
"When did you arrive in the city? before ten o'clock?"
"Yes, a few minutes before."
"Did you try to find your wife?"
"No. I went directly to the club."
"Did you try to find her the next morning?"
"No; I had heard that the steamer had not yet been sighted off FireIsland, so considered the effort unnecessary."
"Why? What connection is there between this fact and an endeavor on yourpart to find your wife?"
"A very close one. She had come to New York to throw herself at myfather's feet. Now she could only do this at the steamer or in----"
"Why do you not proceed, Mr. Van Burnam?"
"I will. I do not know why I stopped,--or in his own house."
"In his own house? In the house in Gramercy Park, do you mean?"
"Yes, he has no other."
"The house in which this dead girl was found?"
"Yes,"--impatiently.
"Did you think she might throw herself at his feet there?"
"She said she might; and as she is romantic, foolishly romantic, Ithought her fully capable of doing so."
"And so you did not seek her in the morning?"
"No, sir."
"How about the afternoon?"
This was a close question; we saw that he was affected by it though hetried to carry it off bravely.
"I did not see her in the afternoon. I was in a restless frame of mind,and did not remain in the city."
"Ah! indeed! and where did you go?"
"Unless necessary, I prefer not to say."
"It is necessary."
"I went to Coney Island."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"Did you see anybody there you know?"
"No."
"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 wereremarkable. The jury to a man honored him with a prolonged stare, andthe awe-struck crowd scarcely breathed during their utterance. At thelast sentence a murmur broke out, at which he raised his head and withan air of surprise surveyed the people before him. Though he must haveknown what their astonishment meant, he neither quailed nor blanched,and while not in reality a handsome man, he certainly looked handsome atthis moment.
I did not know what to think; so forbore to think anything. Meanwhilethe examination went on.
"Mr. Van Burnam, I have been told that the locket I see there danglingfrom 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 whoseidentity we seek. Have you any objection to comparing the two?"
"It is not an agreeable task you have set me," was the imperturbableresponse; "but I have no objection to doing what you ask." And calmlylifting the chain, he took off the locket, opened it, and held it outcourteously toward the Coroner. "May I ask you to make the firstcomparison," he said.
The Coroner, taking the locket, laid the two locks of brown hairtogether, and after a moment's contemplation of them both, surveyed theyoung 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 inthe act of bestowing a favor. But his brother Franklin showed a verydifferent countenance, and as for their father, one could not even seehis face, he so persistently held up his hand before it.
The jury, wide-awake now, passed the locket along, with many sly nodsand a few whispered words. When it came back to the Coroner, he took itand handed it to Mr. Van Burnam, saying:
"I wish you would observe the similarity for yourself. I can hardlydetect any difference between them."
"Thank you! I am willing to take your word for it," replied the youngman, with most astonishing _aplomb_. And Coroner and jury for a momentlooked baffled, and even Mr. Gryce, of whose face I caught a passingglimpse at this instant, stared at the head of his cane, as if it wereof thicker wood than he expected and had more knotty points on it thaneven his accustomed hand liked to encounter.
Another effort was not out of place, however; and the Coroner, summoningup some of the pompous severity he found useful at times, asked thewitness if his attention had been drawn to the dead woman's hands.
He acknowledged that it had. "The physician who made the autopsy urgedme 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 perjuremyself?"
"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 proddingnow and then, and this is the way he prodded them. As soon as they gavesigns of recognizing the hint he gave them, he turned back, and renewedhis examination in these words:
"Mr. Van Burnam, did your brother at your request hand you the keys ofyour father's house on the morning of the day on which this tragedyoccurred?"
"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 youwill believe my simple word; but I lost the keys on the day I receivedthem; 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 heremained imperturbable, or rather like a man who did not hear. I beganto feel a most painful interest in the inquiry, and dreaded, while Ianxiously 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; missingfrom 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 myfather's house."
The hesitations were those of a man weighing his reply. They told on thejury, as all such hesitations do; and made the Coroner lose an atom ofthe 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; butbecoming sensible of it, he controlled himself with a suddenness thatwas almost shocking.
"Find the murderer of this poor girl," said he, with a quiet air thatwas more thrilling than any display of passion, "and ask _him_ where hegot the keys with which he opened the door of my father's house atmidnight."
Was this a challenge, or just the natural outburst of an innocent man.Neither the jury nor the Coroner seemed to know, the former lookingstartled and the latter nonplussed. But Mr. Gryce, who had moved nowinto view, smoothed the head of his cane with quite a loving touch, anddid not seem at this moment to feel its inequalities objectionable.
"We will certainly try to follow your advice," the Coroner assured him."Meanwhile we must ask how many rings your wife is in the habit ofwearing?"
"Five. Two on the left hand and three on the right."
"Do you know these rings?"
"I do."
"Better than you know her hands?"
"As well, sir."
"Were they on her hands when you parted from her in Haddam?"
"They were."
"Did she always wear them?"
"Almost always. Indeed I do not ever remember seeing her take off morethan one of them."
"Which one?"
"The ruby with the diamond setting."
"Had the dead girl any rings on when you saw her?"
"No, sir."
"Did you look to see?"
"I think I did in the first shock of the discovery."
"And you saw none?"
"No, sir."
"And from this you concluded she was not your wife?"
"From this and other things."
"Yet you must have seen that the woman was in the habit of wearingrings, even if they were not on her hands at that moment?"
"Why, sir? What should I know about her habits?"
"Is not that a ring I see now on your little finger?"
"It is; my seal ring which I always wear."
"Will you pull it off?"
"Pull it off!"
"If you please; it is a simple test I am requiring of you, sir."
The witness looked astonished, but pulled off the ring at once.
"Here it is," said he.
"Thank you, but I do not want it. I merely want you to look at yourfinger."
The witness complied, evidently more nonplussed than disturbed by thiscommand.
"Do you see any difference between that finger and the one next it?"
"Yes; there is a mark about my little finger showing where the ring haspressed."
"Very good; there were such marks on the fingers of the dead girl, who,as you say, had no rings on. I saw them, and perhaps you did yourself?"
"I did not; I did not look closely enough."
"They were on the little finger of the right hand, on the marriagefinger of the left, and on the forefinger of the same. On which fingersdid your wife wear rings?"
"On those same fingers, sir, but I will not accept this fact as provingher identity with the deceased. Most women do wear rings, and on thosevery fingers."
The Coroner was nettled, but he was not discouraged. He exchanged lookswith Mr. Gryce, but nothing further passed between them and we were leftto conjecture what this interchange of glances meant.
The witness, who did not seem to be affected either by the character ofthis examination or by the conjectures to which it gave rise, preservedhis _sang-froid_, and eyed the Coroner as he might any other questioner,with suitable respect, but with no fear and but little impatience. Andyet he must have known the horrible suspicion darkening the minds ofmany people present, and suspected, even if against his will, that thisexamination, significant as it was, was but the forerunner of anotherand yet more serious one.
"You are very determined," remarked the Coroner in beginning again, "notto accept the very substantial proofs presented you of the identitybetween the object of this inquiry and your missing wife. But we are notyet ready to give up the struggle, and so I must ask if you heard thedescription given by Miss Ferguson of the manner in which your wife wasdressed on leaving Haddam?
"I have."
"Was it a correct account? Did she wear a black and white plaid silk anda hat trimmed with various colored ribbons and flowers?"
"She did."
"Do you remember the hat? Were you with her when she bought it, or didyou ever have your attention drawn to it in any particular way?"
"I remember the hat."
"Is this it, Mr. Van Burnam?"
I was watching Howard, and the start he gave was so pronounced and theemotion he displayed was in such violent contrast to the self-possessionhe had maintained up to this point, that I was held spell-bound by theshock I received, and forebore to look at the object which the Coronerhad suddenly held up for inspection. But when I did turn my head towardsit, I recognized at once the multi-colored hat which Mr. Gryce hadbrought in from the third room of Mr. Van Burnam's house on the eveningI was there, and realized almost in the same breath that great as thismystery had hitherto seemed it was likely to prove yet greater beforeits proper elucidation was arrived at.
"Was that found in my father's house? Where--where was that hat found?"stammered the witness, so far forgetting himself as to point towards theobject in question.
"It was found by Mr. Gryce in a closet off your father's dining-room, ashort time after the dead girl was carried out."
"I don't believe it," vociferated the young man, paling with somethingmore than anger, and shaking from head to foot.
"Shall I put Mr. Gryce on his oath again?" asked the Coroner, mildly.
The young man stared; evidently these words failed to reach hisunderstanding.
"_Is_ it your wife's hat?" persisted the Coroner with very littlemercy. "Do you recognize it for the one in which she left Haddam?"
"Would to God I did not!" burst in vehement distress from the witness,who at the next moment broke down altogether and looked about for thesupport of his brother's arm.
Franklin came forward, and the two brothers stood for a moment in theface of the whole surging mass of curiosity-mongers before them, arm inarm, but with very different expressions on their two proud faces.Howard was the first to speak.
"If that was found in the parlors of my father's house," he cried, "thenthe woman who was killed there was my wife." And he started away with awild air towards the door.
"Where are you going?" asked the Coroner, quietly, while an officerstepped softly before him, and his brother compassionately drew him backby the arm.
"I am going to take her from that horrible place; she is my wife.Father, you would not wish her to remain in that spot for anothermoment, would you, while we have a house we call our own?"
Mr. Van Burnam the senior, who had shrunk as far from sight as possiblethrough these painful demonstrations, rose up at these words from hisagonized son, and making him an encouraging gesture, walked hastily outof the room; seeing which, the young man became calmer, and though hedid not cease to shudder, tried to restrain his first grief, which tothose who looked closely at him was evidently very sincere.
"I would not believe it was she," he cried, in total disregard of thepresence he was in, "I _would not_ believe it; but now----" A certainpitiful gesture finished the sentence, and neither Coroner nor juryseemed to know just how to proceed, the conduct of the young man beingso markedly different from what they had expected. After a short pause,painful enough to all concerned, the Coroner, perceiving that verylittle could be done with the witness under the circumstances, adjournedthe sitting till afternoon.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: Why could he not have said Miss Butterworth? These VanBurnams are proud, most vilely proud as the poet has it.--A. B.]