XV.
A RELUCTANT WITNESS.
A pause of decided duration now followed; an exasperating pause whichtried even me, much as I pride myself upon my patience. There seemed tobe some hitch in regard to the next witness. The Coroner sent Mr. Gryceinto the neighboring room more than once, and finally, when the generaluneasiness seemed on the point of expressing itself by a loud murmur, agentleman stepped forth, whose appearance, instead of allaying theexcitement, renewed it in quite an unprecedented and remarkable way.
I did not know the person thus introduced.
He was a handsome man, a very handsome man, if the truth must be told,but it did not seem to be this fact which made half the people therecrane their heads to catch a glimpse of him. Something else, somethingentirely disconnected with his appearance there as a witness, appearedto hold the people enthralled and waken a subdued enthusiasm whichshowed itself not only in smiles, but in whispers and significantnudges, chiefly among the women, though I noticed that the jurymenstared when somebody obliged them with the name of this new witness. Atlast it reached my ears, and though it awakened in me also a decidedcuriosity, I restrained all expression of it, being unwilling to addone jot to this ridiculous display of human weakness.
Randolph Stone, as the intended husband of the rich Miss Althorpe, was afigure of some importance in the city, and while I was very glad of thisopportunity of seeing him, I did not propose to lose my head or forget,in the marked interest his person invoked, the very serious cause whichhad brought him before us. And yet I suppose no one in the room observedhis figure more minutely.
He was elegantly made and possessed, as I have said, a face of peculiarbeauty. But these were not his only claims to admiration. He was a manof undoubted intelligence and great distinction of manner. Theintelligence did not surprise me, knowing, as I did, how he had raisedhimself to his present enviable position in society in the short spaceof five years. But the perfection of his manner astonished me, thoughhow I could have expected anything less in a man honored by MissAlthorpe's regard, I cannot say. He had that clear pallor of complexionwhich in a smooth-shaven face is so impressive, and his voice when hespoke had that music in it which only comes from great cultivation and adeliberate intent to please.
He was a friend of Howard's, that I saw by the short look that passedbetween them when he first entered the room; but that it was not as afriend he stood there was apparent from the state of amazement withwhich the former recognized him, as well as from the regret to be seenunderlying the polished manner of the witness himself. Though perfectlyself-possessed and perfectly respectful, he showed by every meanspossible the pain he felt in adding one feather-weight to the evidenceagainst a man with whom he was on terms of more or less intimacy.
But let me give his testimony. Having acknowledged that he knew the VanBurnam family well, and Howard in particular, he went on to state thaton the night of the seventeenth he had been detained at his office bybusiness of a more than usual pressing nature, and finding that he couldexpect no rest for that night, humored himself by getting off the carsat Twenty-first Street instead of proceeding on to Thirty-third Street,where his apartments were.
The smile which these words caused (Miss Althorpe lives in Twenty-firstStreet) woke no corresponding light on his face. Indeed, he frowned atit, as if he felt that the gravity of the situation admitted of nothingfrivolous or humorsome. And this feeling was shared by Howard, for hestarted when the witness mentioned Twenty-first Street, and cast him ahaggard look of dismay which happily no one saw but myself, for everyone else was concerned with the witness. Or should I except Mr. Gryce?
"I had of course no intentions beyond a short stroll through this streetprevious to returning to my home," continued the witness, gravely; "andam sorry to be obliged to mention this freak of mine, but find itnecessary in order to account for my presence there at so unusual anhour."
"You need make no apologies," returned the Coroner. "Will you state onwhat line of cars you came from your office?"
"I came up Third Avenue."
"Ah! and walked towards Broadway?"
"Yes."
"So that you necessarily passed very near the Van Burnam mansion?"
"Yes."
"At what time was this, can you say?"
"At four, or nearly four. It was half-past three when I left my office."
"Was it light at that hour? Could you distinguish objects readily?"
"I had no difficulty in seeing."
"And what did you see? Anything amiss at the Van Burnam mansion?"
"No, sir, nothing amiss. I merely saw Howard Van Burnam coming down thestoop as I went by the corner."
"You made no mistake. It was the gentleman you name, and no other whomyou saw on this stoop at this hour?"
"I am very sure that it was he. I am sorry----"
But the Coroner gave him no opportunity to finish.
"You and Mr. Van Burnam are friends, you say, and it was light enoughfor you to recognize each other; then you probably spoke?"
"No, we did not. I was thinking--well of other, things," and here heallowed the ghost of a smile to flit suggestively across his firm-setlips. "And Mr. Van Burnam seemed preoccupied also, for, as far as Iknow, he did not even look my way."
"And you did not stop?"
"No, he did not look like a man to be disturbed."
"And this was at four on the morning of the eighteenth?"
"At four."
"You are certain of the hour and of the day?"
"I am certain. I should not be standing here if I were not very sure ofmy memory. I am sorry," he began again, but he was stopped asperemptorily as before by the Coroner.
"Feeling has no place in an inquiry like this." And the witness wasdismissed.
Mr. Stone, who had manifestly given his evidence under compulsion,looked relieved at its termination. As he passed back to the room fromwhich he had come, many only noticed the extreme elegance of his formand the proud cast of his head, but I saw more than these. I saw thelook of regret he cast at his friend Howard.
A painful silence followed his withdrawal, then the Coroner spoke to thejury:
"Gentlemen, I leave you to judge of the importance of this testimony.Mr. Stone is a well-known man of unquestionable integrity, but perhapsMr. Van Burnam can explain how he came to visit his father's house atfour o'clock in the morning on that memorable night, when according tohis latest testimony he left his wife there at twelve. We will give himthe opportunity."
"There is no use," began the young man from the place where he sat. Butgathering courage even while speaking, he came rapidly forward, andfacing Coroner and jury once more, said with a false kind of energy thatimposed upon no one:
"I can explain this fact, but I doubt if you will accept my explanation.I was at my father's house at that hour, but not in it. My restlessnessdrove me back to my wife, but not finding the keys in my pocket, I camedown the stoop again and went away."
"Ah, I see now why you prevaricated this morning in regard to the timewhen you missed those keys."
"I know that my testimony is full of contradictions."
"You feared to have it known that you were on the stoop of your father'shouse for the second time that night?"
"Naturally, in face of the suspicion I perceived everywhere about me."
"And this time you did not go in?"
"No."
"Nor ring the bell?"
"No."
"Why not, if you left your wife within, alive and well?"
"I did not wish to disturb her. My purpose was not strong enough tosurmount the least difficulty. I was easily deterred from going where Ihad little wish to be."
"So that you merely went up the stoop and down again at the time Mr.Stone saw you?"
"Yes, and if he had passed a minute sooner he would have seen this: seenme go up, I mean, as well as seen me come down. I did not linger long inthe doorway."
"But you did linger there a moment?"
"Yes; long en
ough to hunt for the keys and get over my astonishment atnot finding them."
"Did you notice Mr. Stone going by on Twenty-first Street?"
"No."
"Was it as light as Mr. Stone has said?"
"Yes, it was light."
"And you did not notice him?"
"No."
"Yet you must have followed very closely behind him?"
"Not necessarily. I went by the way of Twentieth Street, sir. Why, I donot know, for my rooms are uptown. I do not know why I did half thethings I did that night."
"I can readily believe it," remarked the Coroner.
Mr. Van Burnam's indignation rose.
"You are trying," said he, "to connect me with the fearful death of mywife in my father's lonely house. You cannot do it, for I am as innocentof that death as you are, or any other person in this assemblage. Nordid I pull those shelves down upon her as you would have this jurythink, in my last thoughtless visit to my father's door. She diedaccording to God's will by her own hand or by means of some strange andunaccountable accident known only to Him. And so you will find, ifjustice has any place in these investigations and a manly intelligencebe allowed to take the place of prejudice in the breasts of the twelvemen now sitting before me."
And bowing to the Coroner, he waited for his dismissal, and receivingit, walked back not to his lonely corner, but to his former placebetween his father and brother, who received him with a wistful air andstrange looks of mingled hope and disbelief.
"The jury will render their verdict on Monday morning," announced theCoroner, and adjourned the inquiry.
_BOOK II._
THE WINDINGS OF A LABYRINTH.