CHAPTER XXII
Light at Last!
I sank back into my chair, overcome by such a flood of relief andthankfulness that I could not speak. But Dr. Schuyler laboured under nosuch disability.
"I cannot understand," he said, and I saw by his flushed face that hewas genuinely angry, "how you could have got the preposterous idea thatMarcia Lawrence was connected in any way with this affair. Any sane manwould have seen the utter absurdity of such a theory."
"I see it now," I assented hoarsely.
"Why, Marcia Lawrence could no more be concerned in a thing like that,"he went on hotly, "than--than a babe unborn. She could not be concernedin anything wrong, or mean, or criminal. I want you to understand, Mr.Lester, that she's absolutely spotless. If you knew her, I shouldn'tneed to tell you."
"I've always believed it," I protested. "In my heart of hearts, I'vealways believed it. We've been fools--we've been trying to make twothings fit which didn't fit. We imagined they must fit because theyhappened so close together. I see now that it was merely a coincidence,and I'm glad from the very bottom of my heart."
"You believed, then, that Miss Lawrence was really concerned in thismurder?"
"We thought her the active party in it."
"The active party! But on what grounds?"
"We thought the dead man was her husband--an adventurer who'd lured herinto a marriage while she was abroad. You'll remember I mentioned thistheory to you the other night."
"Yes, and I told you at the time how ridiculous I thought it."
"I've never wholly believed it," I repeated. "It wasn't mine. But itseemed to fit the facts so perfectly, and when you intimated thisafternoon, as I thought, that Miss Lawrence was subject to spells ofinsanity, I imagined that I understood the whole story."
He sat for a moment silent, regarding me from half-closed eyes; I sawthat he was considering whether he should speak or remain silent.
"I hope this mistake has gone no farther," he said, at last.
"No," I answered, and genuinely thankful I was that I could say so. "Ikept it absolutely to myself."
He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Then no harm has been done. I'm glad of that. I see that you're glad,too."
"Yes," I said; "I am--more glad than I can say."
"And now that you understand the matter," he continued, "I suppose yousee it in a different light?"
"In a different light?"
"At least, you'll hardly advise now that I keep silent?"
"By no means," I asserted heartily. "I think it is clearly your duty totell all you know. You will absolve Harriet Kingdon from responsibilityfor her act--as you said, change loathing to pity. Besides, if the deadman deserved death, let the world know it."
"I don't know that he did," corrected my companion; "I know nothingabout him."
"But you suspect?" I prompted.
"Perhaps I do," he admitted, "but suspicion uttered is such a deadlything! What I do know came to me in the way so many things come to aminister. I was asked for advice--I received a confidence----"
He stopped and pondered for a moment.
"I came very near telling you night before last," he continued, "whenyou were asking me about the Kingdons--telling you, at least, as much asI could without violating that confidence. But on second thought, I didnot see that any good would come of it, and so kept silent. Now,circumstances absolve me from any obligation of secrecy and I can speakfreely.
"I told you the other evening that John Kingdon had died in an asylumfor the insane, and that his family had a hard struggle for existence.After the mother's death, they had no means to maintain a home, andLucy, who was only a girl, went to the Lawrence house to help hercousin, Ruth Endicott, who was housekeeper there, as I have said. Theelder daughter, Harriet, secured a position in New York--I think asgoverness in a private family. She was called home, some time later, bythe illness of her cousin Ruth, whom she took to Florida, where Ruthdied. Mr. Lawrence was married soon afterwards, and Lucy Kingdonremained in his house as maid, first to his wife and afterwards to hisdaughter.
"Harriet Kingdon returned to New York and took up again her work ofteaching. About six months later, there was a quarrel of some sortbetween her and her sister Lucy--a violent quarrel--and they ceased tocorrespond or hold communication of any kind. Just how long a timeelapsed I don't know, but I should judge it was at least three years,when a letter came to Lucy Kingdon from Bloomingdale hospital, statingthat her sister had been brought there a year before, violently insane,that she was practically well again and wished to be taken away. Lucywent after her at once and brought her home."
"Home?" I repeated.
"Yes; it was at that time that Mrs. Lawrence gave them the cottage inwhich they still live. She virtually supported them for some time, untilHarriet was able to attend to the household duties, and Lucy to resumeher place as maid."
"Was Mr. Lawrence living at the time?"
"Yes; but it was generally understood that he had no part in thesebenefactions. He was not a charitable man."
"And no reason was ever given for this generosity on Mrs. Lawrence'spart?"
"None but her interest in the family. This was only one of her manycharities."
I paused for a moment's thought. After all, there was nothing peculiarabout it. Mrs. Lawrence would naturally be interested in a family whomshe had known so well, and who had suddenly been reduced to suchdesperate straits.
"Did you ever hear any explanation of Harriet Kingdon's madness?" Iasked at last.
"None but that of heredity--and that is an explanation I made to myself.I'm pretty sure that no one here except her sister and Mrs. Lawrenceknew that she had been at Bloomingdale."
"Mrs. Lawrence knew it, then?"
"Oh, yes; it was from her I learned the story. She came to me for advicea few months after Harriet Kingdon had been brought home. I don't thinkshe was ever wholly cured. She had slight relapses from time to time,and it was during one of these, rather more violent than usual, thatMrs. Lawrence came to me. I made an excuse for going to see her. But Isaw no reason for advising that she be sent to an asylum. I did advise,however, that a specialist be brought down from New York to look at her,and Mrs. Lawrence did this. He also advised against the asylum; he saidthat rest, and quiet, and freedom from worry would, in time, affordpermanent relief. She certainly grew better as time went on, and, thoughshe was always somewhat peculiar, I have regarded her as wholly out ofdanger of relapse, for several years past."
"And yet," I objected, harking back, "heredity of itself would hardly besufficient explanation. There must have been something to induceinsanity--some shock or grave trouble."
"Yes, I agree with you there. I have a theory, Mr. Lester, which somechance words of yours this afternoon served greatly to strengthen. Youremember, you remarked that a recurrence of insanity would be verylikely if the circumstances attending it were related in any way to theoriginal cause. My theory is that this man whom Harriet Kingdon killedwas the cause of her insanity--that he'd wronged her."
"Yes," I agreed; "yes--and yet, how explain his presence here? If he'dwronged her, he'd hardly seek her again."
"I don't know; there are queer depths in human nature. Unfortunately, Isee no way of proving the theory either right or wrong--of putting it tothe test; not, at least, until Lucy Kingdon recovers and chooses tospeak."
"I think I can put it to the test," I said, "if you'll permit me to layit before a friend. I must tell you, though, that he's a reporter, andif the theory proves to be the right one, he'll use it."
"I see no objection to that," said Dr. Schuyler, after a moment'sthought; "provided, of course, that he doesn't use it unless it's fullyproved."
"I can promise that," I said.
"And whether it proves right or wrong, I should like to know."
"You shall, at the first moment. And, by the way," I added, "you werespeaking the other evening of Ruth Endicott. There is a ratherremarkable portrait belonging to the Kingdons which ha
s her name in thecorner."
"Yes; I've seen it."
"Did she really paint it?"
"Oh, I think there's no doubt of that."
"Did she paint anything else?"
"She painted three or four crude portraits for people here in town, butthey've long since been banished to the garret--where they belong. Shehad talent, but she lacked training."
"She interests me, somehow," I said. "I don't know why. Is the portraita good one?"
"It isn't a portrait--it's rather an impression of her. As animpression, it's very good."
He opened his mouth as though to say something more, then thought betterof it.
"You haven't told me yet," he added, as I rose to go, "whether you'veheard anything more from Miss Lawrence. To-day's tragedy has so faroutdone yesterday's that I nearly forgot to ask you."
"I believe she's out in mid-ocean now," I said, and related briefly theincident of the telegram and of Burr Curtiss's starting in pursuit."He'll meet her at Liverpool," I concluded, "and they can fight outtheir battle there."
"Yes," he nodded. "God grant they find it not too bitter."
* * * * *
Godfrey was awaiting me at the hotel, and I told him in detail of Dr.Schuyler's revelation, pointing out at the same time--not without someobvious exultation--how, at a breath, it overthrew his elaboratelydeveloped theory.
"Well, we're all liable to make mistakes at times," he saidgood-humouredly. "Now that we're on the right track, I don't thinkthere'll be much difficulty in working the whole thing out."
"Dr. Schuyler hopes you'll be able to, and so do I--though I don't seejust how you're going to do it."
"Oh, I think I'll be able to do it--you see, we've got a starting-pointnow. But I'll have to go to New York. Won't you come along?"
I was tempted.
"How long will it take?" I asked.
"Not over three or four hours. You ought to get to bed by midnight, andyou can come down in the morning for the inquest."
I saw that he wanted me; the temptation was too strong to be resisted.
* * * * *
An hour later we were in the office of the Bloomingsdale asylum.
"It was about twenty years ago that Miss Kingdon was admitted," saidGodfrey to the chief physician, whose interest he had enlisted, and whohad been busy getting out the records, "and she remained here about ayear before she was discharged as cured."
"There oughtn't to be any trouble finding it," said the chief. "In fact,there ought to be a voluminous record of a case like that. Let mesee--Kingdon--Kingdon," and he ran his finger down an index. "No, Idon't see it--this covers five years."
"Perhaps she was registered under another name," I suggested.
"Yes, that's very likely," Godfrey admitted. "May I see the record,doctor? Perhaps I'll be able to pick her out. Cases that stay here thatlength of time aren't very common, are they?"
"No; they're rather exceptional; besides, twenty years ago, we hadn't somany as we have to-day."
Godfrey was examining the index.
"If there's no other way, we can sift out the cases which answer in ageneral way to the one we want, and investigate all of them. But I hopethat won't be necessary. Let me see--F--G--H----"
"There was an inquiry the other day about a case which was a good deallike yours--only that was for an Italian woman--a Harriet Parello."
Godfrey's lips were twitching and his finger trembled a little as he ranit down the column of names, but when he spoke, his tone was the mostcasual.
"Yes," he said, "here she is--Harriet Parello. She was brought here fromWest Twenty-seventh Street," and he named the number. "Not a verysavoury locality, is it, doctor?"
"No; though one can't tell what it was twenty years ago."
"That's true. I don't suppose you remember anything about her?"
"No; I wasn't here at that time."
Godfrey was still running down the column of names, and was seeminglylittle interested in the Parello case.
"The husband rather impressed me," went on the chief. "Rather a handsomefellow in his day, but now evidently a wreck--and a perfect brutemorally--or so I judge."
"What did he want?" inquired Godfrey negligently.
"He wanted to know what had become of her. I thought it peculiar heshould have waited so long to make inquiries."
"Were you able to help him out?"
"Oh, yes; our records give the history of every case."
Godfrey closed the index, evidently disappointed.
"I don't see any trace here of the case I'm looking for," he said."Maybe she didn't come here, after all. But I should like to look at therecords, doctor, just out of curiosity. This Parello case, now----"
The chief pulled a big ledger down from a shelf, referred to a number inthe index, and opened the book.
"Here it is," he said. "You see, she was suffering from emotionalinsanity--homicidal mania--stayed nearly a year--was very violent atfirst--gradually grew better and was finally discharged as cured. Hersister, Miss Lucy Kingdon--why, wasn't that the name you were lookingfor?"
"Yes; and this is the case. Please go ahead, doctor."
The chief looked at him for a moment in astonishment, then turned backto his book.
"Her sister, Miss Lucy Kingdon, of Elizabeth, New Jersey, was notifiedat her request," he continued, "and came after her. There have been noreports since."
"That's all we need to know," said Godfrey, permitting some of hissatisfaction to appear in his face. "This record was shown to thehusband, I suppose?"
"Yes; I had no reason for refusing to show it."
"Most certainly not," agreed Godfrey. "And I must compliment you,doctor, on the very thorough way in which your records are kept. Come,Lester, we haven't any time to lose.
"Our chain is complete in every link," he added, when we were in our cabagain, rattling westward across the city. "Nothing can break it. All weneed now is to learn the story of the Parellos."
"And that's what we're going after?"
"Yes--but it's a chance. Twenty years, in a neighbourhood like that, arecertain to work great changes. It's a long chance. Ten to one, there'llbe nobody there who remembers Parello."
And he was right. The block in which was the number we sought had beenconverted into a street-car barn. There were no longer any Italians inthe neighbourhood--it had become an outskirt of the negro quarter.
Godfrey took out his watch and glanced at it.
"Lester," he said, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to leave you. I've got toset my subterranean machinery to work, and I'm afraid I can't take youwith me, much as I'd like to. The agents I'll have to use are shy ofstrangers. Besides, I see you're getting sleepy."
"Yes," I confessed; "I am. I don't see how you hold up so well.Good-night, then; and good luck. I hope you'll win out."
"Oh, I shall," he said confidently. "You take the cab. I'll use theelevated. It's quicker, and every moment counts," and he waved megood-bye.