CHAPTER V.
MR. BURTON, THE DETECTIVE.
When I came out of the office, I encountered James on the steps, forthe first time that day. I could not stop to make known the robbery tohim, and telling him that his uncle wished to see him a few minutes, Ihurried to my boarding-house, where I had barely time to take somelunch in my room, while packing a small bag to be sent to the cars,before hurrying back to Mr. Argyll's to attend the funeral escort tothe train. James and I were two of the eight pall-bearers, yet neitherof us could summon fortitude to enter the parlor where the body lay; Ibelieve that James had not yet looked upon the corpse. We stoodoutside, on the steps of the piazza, only taking our share of theburden after the coffin was brought out into the yard. While we stoodthere, among many others, waiting, I chanced to observe his palenessand restlessness; he tore his black gloves in putting them on; I sawhis fingers trembling. As for me, my whole being seemed to pause, as asingle, prolonged shriek rung out of the darkened mansion and floatedoff on the sunshine up to the ear of God. They were taking the loveraway from his bride. The next moment the coffin appeared; I took myplace by its side, and we moved away toward the depot, passing over thevery spot where the corpse was found. James was a step in advance ofme, and as we came to the place, some strong inward recoil made himpause, then step aside and walk around the ill-starred spot. I noticedit, not only for the momentary confusion into which it threw the line,but because I had never supposed him susceptible to superstitious orimaginative influences.
A private car had been arranged for. James and I occupied one seat; theswift motion of the train was opposed to the idea of death; it had anexhilarating effect upon my companion, whose paleness passed away, andwho began to experience a reaection after his depression of feeling. Hetalked to me incessantly upon trifling subjects which I do not nowrecall, and in that low, yet sharp voice which is most easilydistinguished through the clatter of a moving train. The necessity forattending to him--for making answers to irrelevant questions, when mymind was preoccupied, annoyed me. My thoughts centered about thecoffin, and its inmate, taking his last ride under circumstances sodifferent from those under which he had set out, only two days ago, tomeet her whom his heart adored; whose hand he never clasped--whose lipshe never touched--the fruition of whose hopes was cut offutterly--whose fate, henceforth, was among the mysterious paths of thegreat eternity.
_I_ could not, for an instant, feel the least lightness of heart. Mynature was too sympathetic; the currents of my young blood flowed toowarmly, for me to feel otherwise than deeply affected by thecatastrophe. My eyes shed inward tears at the sight of the parents,sitting in advance of us, their heads bowed beneath the stroke; and,oh! my heart shed tears of blood at thought of Eleanor, left behind usto the utter darkness of a night which had fallen while it was yetmorning.
Musing upon _her_, I wondered that her cousin James could throw off thetroubles of others as he did, interesting himself in passing trifles. Ihave said that I never liked him much; but in this I was an exceptionto the general rule. He was an almost universal favorite. At least, heseldom failed to please and win those for whom he exerted himself to beagreeable. His voice was soft and well modulated--such a voice as,should one hear it from another apartment, would make him wish to seethe speaker; his manner was gracious and flattering. I had oftenwondered why his evident passion for Eleanor had not secured herinterest in return, before she knew Henry Moreland, and had answeredmyself that it was one of two reasons: either their cousinlyintercourse had invested him, to her, with the feelings of a brother orrelative, or her fine perceptions, being the superior woman which shewas, had unconsciously led her to a true estimate of his qualities.This day I felt less affinity for him than ever before, as I gazed athis dark, thin features, and met the light of eyes brilliant, unsteadyand cold. That intense selfishness which I had secretly attributed tohim, was now, to my perhaps too acute apprehension, painfully apparent.In my secret heart, as I listened to his light remarks, and perceivedthe rise of spirits which he hardly endeavored to check, I accused himof gladness that a rival was out of the way, and that the chances wereagain open for the hand of his beautiful and wealthy cousin. At firsthe had been shocked, as we all were; but now that he had time to viewthe occurrence with an eye to the future, I believed that he wasalready calculating the results with regard to his own hopes andwishes. I turned from him with a feeling of aversion.
After neglecting to reply to him until he was obliged to drop theone-sided conversation, I recollected that I had not yet spoken to himin regard to his uncle's loss; so I said to him quite suddenly,
"Mr. Argyll has been robbed of a sum of money."
An inexplicable expression flashed into his face and passed off; itwent as soon as it came.
"So he informed me, just before we started. He says that you will putthe police on the track of it--that possibly the five-hundred dollarbill will be identified. It was taken from his desk, it appears."
"Yes; I wonder what will happen next."
"Ay! I wonder what will."
"Who knows what a narrow escape _you_ may have had," said I. "It iswell that you came here in broad daylight; else, like poor Henry, youmight have fallen a victim to a blow in the dark. Mr. Argyll thinks youmust have been followed from the city by some professional burglar."
"He thinks so?" he asked, while the shadow of a smile just showed asecond in the mirror of his eyes; it was as if there was a smile in hisheart, and a reflection from its invisible self fell athwart his eyes;but he turned them away immediately.
"It's queer," he resumed; "horribly queer; don't you think so? I sawthat money in the desk Friday evening. Uncle asked me to hold the lampa moment, while he found some papers, and I noticed the roll of billslying in his cash-drawer, just as I had given them to him. It must havebeen abstracted Saturday or Sunday--it's queer--confoundedly so! Theremust be some great villain lurking in our midst!"--this last sentencehe uttered with an emphasis, looking me through with his black eyes.
There was suspicion in his gaze, and my own fell before it. Innocenceitself will blush if obliged to confront the insult of accusation. Ihad had many wild, and doubtless many wrong and suspicious thoughtsabout various persons, since the discovery of the murder; and this wasturning the tables on me rather suddenly. It never occurred to me thatamong the dozens upon whom vague and flying suspicions might alight,might be myself.
"There is an awful mystery somewhere," I stammered.
"Humph! yes, there is. My uncle Argyll is just the man to be wronged bysome one of his many friends and dependents. He is too confiding, toounsuspecting of others--as I have told him. He has been dupedoften--but this--this is too bad!"
I looked up again, and sharply, to see what he meant. If he intendedcovertly to insinuate that _I_ was open to imputation as one of the"friends or dependents" who could wrong a benefactor, I wished tounderstand him. A friend, I knew, Mr. Argyll was to me; a friend to begrateful for; but I was no dependent upon his bounty, as his nephewwas, and the hot blood rushed to my face, the fire to my eye, as Ianswered back the cool gaze of James with a haughty stare.
"There is no love lost between us, Richard," he said, presently, "whichis principally your fault; but I am friendly to you; and as a friend, Iwould suggest that you do not make yourself conspicuous in this affair.If you should put yourself forward at all, being so young, and having,apparently, so small an interest in the matter, you may bringunpleasant remark upon yourself. Let us stand back and allow our eldersto do the work. As to that money, whether it has or has not anyconnection with the--the other affair, time will perhaps show. Let thepolice do what they can with it--my advice to you is to keep in thebackground."
"Your course may be prudent, James," was my reply; "I do not ask yourapprobation of mine. But to one thing I have made up my mind. So longas I live, and the murderer of Henry Moreland is undiscovered, I willnever rest. In Eleanor's name, I consecrate myself to this calling. Ican face the whole wo
rld in her behalf, and fear nothing."
He turned away with a sneer, busying himself with the prospect from thewindow. During the rest of the ride we said little; his words had givenme a curious sensation; I had sustained so many shocks to my feelingswithin the last forty-eight hours, that this new one of finding myselfunder the eye of suspicion, mingled in with the perplexing whirl of thewhole, until I almost began to doubt my own identity and that ofothers. A vision of Leesy Sullivan, whose wild footsteps might still betracking hills and fields, hovered before me--and out of all thisdistraction, my thoughts settled upon Eleanor. I prayed God earnestlyto be with her in this hour; either to strengthen her heart and brainto bear her affliction without falling to ruins beneath the weight, orto take her at once to Himself, where Henry awaited her in the mansionsof their eternal home.
The arrival of the train at Thirtieth street recalled me to my presentduties. Carriages were in waiting to convey the coffin and its escortto the house of the parents, the funeral being arranged for thefollowing day. I saw the officer who had gone down from Blankville inthe morning, waiting in the depot to speak to me; but I did not need tobe told that he had not found the sewing-girl at her place of business.I made an appointment to meet him in the evening at the Metropolitan,and took my place in the sad procession to the house of the Morelands.
I was anxious to give notice of the robbery at the bank, and toascertain if they could identify any of the money, especially the largebill, which, being new, I hoped they would have on record. Bankinghours were over, however, for the day, and it was only by intruding thematter upon the notice of Mr. Moreland that I could get any thingaccomplished. This I decided to do; when he told me that, by goingdirectly to the bank, he thought I could gain access to the cashier;and if not, he gave me his address, so that I might seek him at hisresidence. Mr. Moreland also advised me to take with me some competentdetective, who should be witness to the statement of the cashier withregard to the money paid to James Argyll, on his uncle's draft, and beemployed to put the rest of the force on the lookout for it, or anyportion of it which was identifiable. He gave me the name of an officerwith whom he had a chance acquaintance, and of whose abilities he had ahigh opinion; telling me to make free use of his name and influence, ifhe had any, with him, and the police.
"And please, Mr. Redfield--or James here, if you should be toobusy--make out an advertisement for the morning papers, offering areward of five thousand dollars for the detection and conviction ofthe--the--murderer."
James was standing by us during the conversation; and I almost withdrewmy verdict upon his selfishness, as I marked how he shrunk when the eyeof the bereaved father rested upon him, and how vainly he endeavored toappear calm at the affecting spectacle of the gray-haired gentlemanforcing his quivering lips to utter the word--"murderer." He trembledmuch more than myself, as each of us wrung Mr. Moreland's hand, anddeparted down the steps.
"It unmanned him," he said, stopping a moment on the pavement to wipethe perspiration from his brow, though the day was not at all warm. "Ibelieve," he added, as he walked along, "that if the person whoresolves to commit a crime would reflect on all the consequences ofthat act, it would remain undone for ever. But he does not. He sees anobject in the way of his wishes, and he thrusts it aside, reckless ofthe ruin which will overwhelm surrounding things, until he sees thewreck about him. Then it is too late for remorse--to the devil with it.But I needn't philosophize before you, Richard, who have precociouslyearned that privilege of wisdom"--with that disagreeable half-laugh ofhis--"only I was thinking how the guilty party must have felt could hehave seen Henry's father as we saw him just now," and again I felt hiseye upon me. Certainly, there seemed no prospect of our friendshipincreasing. I would rather have dispensed with his company, while I putmy full energies into the business before me; but it was quite naturalthat he should expect to accompany me on an errand in which he musthave as deep an interest as myself. Coming out of the avenue uponBroadway we took a stage, riding down as far as Grand street, when wegot out and walked to the office of the detective-police.
The chief was not in at the moment of our entrance; we were received bya subordinate and questioned as to our visit. The morning papers hadheralded the melancholy and mysterious murder through the city;hundreds of thousands of persons had already marveled over the boldnessand success, the silence and suddenness with which the deed had beendone, leaving not a clue by which to trace the perpetrator. It had beenthe sensation of the day throughout New York and its environs. Thepublic mind was busy with conjectures as to the _motive_ for the crime.And this was to be one of the sharp thorns pressed into the hearts ofthe distressed friends of the murdered man. Suddenly, into the garishlight of day, beneath the pitiless gaze of a million curious eyes, wasdragged every word, or act, or circumstance of the life so abruptlyclosed. It was necessary to the investigation of the affair, that themost secret pages of his history should be read out--and it is not inthe nature of a daily paper to neglect such opportunities for turningan honest penny. Here let me say that not one character in ten thousandcould have stood this trial by fire as did Henry Moreland's. No wrongedhireling, no open enemy, no secret intrigue, no gambling debts--not oneblot on the bright record of his amiable, Christian life.
To return to the detective-office. Our errand at once receivedattention from the person in charge, who sent a messenger after thechief. He also informed us that several of their best men had gone upto Blankville that afternoon to confer with the authorities there. Thepublic welfare demanded, as well as the interest of privateindividuals, that the guilty should be ferreted out, if possible. Theapparent impunity with which the crime had been committed wasstartling, making every one feel it a personal matter to aid indiscouraging any more such practices; besides, the police knew thattheir efforts would be well rewarded.
While we sat talking with the official, I noticed the only other inmateof the room, who made a peculiar impression upon me for which I couldnot account.
He was a large man, of middle age, with a florid face and sandy hair.He was quietly dressed in the ordinary manner of the season, and withnothing to mark him from a thousand other men of similar appearance,unless it was the expression of his small, blue-gray eyes, whoseglance, when I happened to encounter it, seemed not to be looking at mebut into me. However, he turned it away, and occupied himself withlooking through the window at the passers-by. He appeared to be astranger, awaiting, like ourselves, the coming of the chief.
Desiring to secure the services of the particular detective whom Mr.Moreland had recommended, I asked the subordinate in attendance, if hecould inform me where Mr. Burton was to be found.
"Burton? I don't know of any one of that name, I think--if I may exceptmy stage experience with Mr. Toodles," he added, with a smile, calledup by some passing vision of his last visit to the theater.
"Then there is no Mr. Burton belongs to your force?"
"Not that I am acquainted with. He may be one of us, for all that. Wedon't pretend to know our own brothers here. You can ask Mr. Brownewhen he comes in."
All this time the stranger by the window sat motionless, absorbed inlooking upon the throng of persons and vehicles in the street beneath;and now I, having nothing else to do, regarded him. I felt a magnetismemanate from him, as from a manufactory of vital forces; I felt,instinctively, that he was possessed of an iron will and indomitablecourage; I was speculating, according to my dreamy habit, upon hischaracteristics, when the chief appeared, and we, that is, James andmyself, laid our case before him--at the same time I mentioned that Mr.Moreland had desired me to ask for Mr. Burton to be detailed to aid ourinvestigations.
"Ah! yes," said Mr. Browne, "there are not many outsiders who know thatperson. He is my right hand, but I don't let the left know what hedoeth. Mr. Moreland had his services once, I remember, in tracking someburglars who had entered his banking-house. Poor young Moreland! I'veseen him often! Shocking affair, truly. We mustn't rest till we knowmore about it. I only hope we may be of service to hi
s afflictedfather. Burton is just here, fortunately," and he beckoned to the verystranger sitting in the window, who had overheard the inquiries madefor him without the slightest demonstration that such a being had anyexistence as far as he was concerned, and who now slowly arose, andapproached us. We four went into an inner room, where we wereintroduced to each other, and drawing up our chairs in a close circle,we began, in low voices, the discussion of our business.
Mr. Browne was voluble when he heard that a robbery had been committedin Mr. Argyll's house. He had no doubt, he said, that the two crimeswere connected, and it would be strange, indeed, if nothing could bediscovered relating to either of them. He hoped that the lesser crimewould be the means of betraying the greater. He trusted the rogue,whoever he or she might be, had, in this imprudent act, done somethingto betray himself. He had hopes of the five-hundred dollar bill.
Mr. Burton said very little, beyond asking two or three questions; buthe was a good listener. Much of the time he sat with his eyes fixedupon James, who did a good deal of the talking. I could not, for thelife of me, tell whether James was conscious of those blue-gray eyes;if he was, they did not much disturb him; he made his statements in acalm and lucid manner, gazing into Mr. Burton's face with a clear andopen look. After a while, the latter began to grow uneasy; powerful aswas his physical and mental frame, I saw a trembling of both; he forcedhimself to remain quiet in his chair--but to me he had the air of alion, who sees its prey but a little distance off, and who trembleswith restraint. The light in his eye narrowed down to one gleam ofconcentrated fire--a steely, glittering point--he watched the rest ofus and said little. If I had been a guilty man I should have shrunkfrom that observation, through the very walls, or out of a five-storywindow, if there had been no other way; it struck me that it would havebeen unbearable to any accusing conscience; but my own mind beingburdened with no weightier sins than a few boyish follies--saving theselfishness and earthliness which make a part of all human natures--Ifelt quite free, breathing easily, while I noticed, with interest, thesilent change going on in the detective.
More and more like a lion about to spring, he grew; but whether hisprey was near at hand and visible, or far away and visible only to hismental gaze, I could not tell. I fairly jumped, when he at last rosequickly to his feet; I expected to see him bound upon some guilty ghostto us intangible, and shake it to pieces in an honest rage; butwhatever was the passion within him, he controlled it, saying only, alittle impatiently,
"Enough, gentlemen, we have talked enough! Browne, will you go with Mr.Argyll to the bank, and see about that money? I do not wish to be knownthere as belonging to your force. I will walk to his hotel with Mr.Redfield, and you can meet us there at any hour you choose to appoint."
"It will take until tea-time to attend to the bank. Say about eighto'clock, then, we will be at the--"
"Metropolitan," said I, and the quartette parted, half going up andhalf going down town.
On our way to the hotel we fell into an easy conversation on topicsentirely removed from the one which absorbed the gravest thoughts ofboth. Mr. Burton did more talking now than he had done at the office,perhaps with the object of making me express myself freely; though ifso, he managed with so much tact that his wish was not apparent. He hadbut poor success; the calamity of our house lay too heavily on me forme to forget it in an instant; but I was constantly surprised at thecharacter of the man whose acquaintance I was making. He wasintelligent, even educated, a gentleman in language and manner--a quitedifferent person, in fact, from what I had expected in a member of thedetective-police.
Shut up in the private parlor which I obtained at the Metropolitan, thesubject of the murder was again broached and thoroughly discussed. Mr.Burton won my confidence so inevitably that I felt no hesitation inunvailing to him the domestic hearth of Mr. Argyll, whenever the habitsor circumstances of the family were consulted in their bearing upon themystery. And when he said to me, fixing his eye upon me, but speakinggently,
"You, too, loved the young lady,"--I neither blushed nor grew angry.That penetrating eye had read the secret of my heart, which had neverbeen spoken or written, yet I did not feel outraged that he had daredto read it out to me. If he could find any matter against me in thatholiest truth of my existence, he was welcome to it.
"Be it so," I said; "that is with myself, and no one else."
"There are others who love her," he continued, "but there is adifference in the quality of love. There is that which sanctifies, andsomething, called by the same name, which is an excuse for infiniteperfidy. In my experience I have found the love of woman and the loveof money at the bottom of most mischief--the greed of gain is by farthe commonest and strongest; and when the two are combined, there ismotive enough for the darkest tragedy. But you spoke of a young woman,of whom you have suspicions."
I told Mr. Burton that in this matter I trusted to his discretion; thatI had not brought it to notice before Mr. Browne, because I shrunk fromthe danger of fixing a ruinous suspicion upon a person who might beperfectly innocent; yet that circumstances were such as to demandinvestigation, which I was sure he was the person to carry on. I thengave him a careful account of every thing I had seen or learned aboutthe sewing-girl. He agreed with me that she ought to be placed undersecret surveillance. I told him that the officer from Blankville wouldbe in after tea, when we could consult together and dispose of thediscussion before the arrival of James and Mr. Browne--and I then rungthe bell, ordering a light supper in our room.
The Blankville official had nothing to report of Miss Sullivan, exceptthat she had not arrived either at her boarding-house or at the shopwhere she was employed, and her character stood high at both places.She had been represented to him as a "strictly proper" person, veryreserved, in poor health, with a sad appearance, and an excellentworkwoman--that no gentlemen were ever known to call to see her, andthat she never went out after returning to her boarding-house at theclose of work-hours. We then requested him to say nothing about her tohis brother officers, and to keep the matter from the newspapers, as weshould regret doing an irreparable injury to one who might be guiltless.
It seemed as if the Fates were in favor of the guilty. Mr. Browne,punctually at eight o'clock, reported that there was none of the moneypaid out to James Argyll at Mr. Argyll's order, which the bank wouldidentify--not even its own bill of five hundred dollars, which was arecent issue. They had paid out such a bill on the draft, but thenumber was not known to them.
"However," said Mr. Browne, "bills of that denomination are not common,and we shall be on the lookout for them, wherever offered."
"But even should the robber be discovered, there is no proof that itwould establish any connection with the murder. It may have been acoincidence," remarked James. "I have often noticed that one calamityis sure to be followed by another. If there is a railroad disaster, apowder-mill explosion, a steamer destroyed by fire, before the horrorof the first accident has done thrilling our nerves, we are prettycertain to be startled by another catastrophe."
"I, too," said Mr. Burton, "have remarked the succession ofevents--echoes, as it were, following the clap of thunder. And I haveusually found that, like the echoes, there was a natural cause forthem."
James moved uneasily in his chair, arose, pulled aside the curtain, andlooked out into the night. I had often noticed that he was somewhatsuperstitious; perhaps he saw the eyes of Henry Moreland looking downat him from the starry hights; he twitched the curtains together with ashiver, and came back to us.
"It is not impossible," he said, keeping his face in the shadow, for hedid not like us to see how the night had affected him, "that some oneof the clerks in Mr. Moreland's banking-house--perhaps some trusted andresponsible person--was detected by Henry, in making false entries, orsome other dishonesty--and that to save himself the disgrace ofbetrayal and dismissal, he has put the discoverer out of the way. Thewhole business of the establishment ought to be thoroughly overhauled.It appears that Henry went directly to the cars from the office
; sothat if any trouble had arisen between him and one of the employees,there would have been no opportunity for his consulting his father, whowas not at the place all that afternoon."
"Your suggestion is good," said Mr. Browne, "and must be attended to."
"The whereabouts of every one of the employees, down to the porter, atthe time of the murder, are already accounted for. They were all in thecity," said Mr. Burton, with precision.
Shortly after, the party separated for the night. An urgent invitationcame from Mr. Moreland for James and myself to stop at his house duringour stay in the city; but we thought it better not to disturb the quietof the house of mourning with the business which we wished to pressforward, and returned an answer to that effect. It was nearly teno'clock when James recollected that we had not been to the offices ofthe daily journals with the advertisements which ought to appear in themorning. It was the work of a few minutes for me to write one out,which we then copied on three or four sheets of paper, and finding anerrand-boy below, we dispatched him with two of the copies to as manyjournals, and ourselves hurried off with the others. I went to oneestablishment and my companion to another, in order to hastenproceedings, knowing that it was doubtful if we could get them insertedat that late hour. Having succeeded to my satisfaction with my ownerrand, I thought I would walk over to the next street and meet James,whom, having a little further than I to go, I would probably meet,returning. As I neared the building to which he had gone, and which wasbrilliantly lighted up for its night-work, I saw James come out on thepavement, look around him an instant, and then start off in a directionopposite to that which would lead back to Broadway and his hotel. Hehad not observed me, who chanced to be in shadow at the moment; and I,without any particular motive which I could analyze, started after him,thinking to overtake him and offer to join him in a walk. He went,however, at so rapid a pace, that I still remained behind. Our courselay through Nassau and Fulton streets, to the Brooklyn ferry. Iquickened my pace almost to a run, as James passed into theferry-house, for I saw that a boat was about to start; but I had avexatious delay in finding small change, so that I got through just intime to see the boat move off, James himself having to take a flyingleap to reach it after it was under way. At that hour there was a boatonly every fifteen minutes; of course I gave up the pursuit; andsitting down at the end of the bridge, I allowed the cool wind from thebay and river to blow against my hot face, while I gazed out on thedark waters, listening to their incessant moaning about the piers, andwatching where they glimmered beneath the lights of the opposite shore.The blue and red lamps of the moving vessels, in my present mood, had aweird and ghastly effect; the thousands of masts of the moored shippingstood up naked against the sky, like a forest of blighted, skeletonpines. Sadness, the deepest I had ever felt in my life, fell uponme--sadness too deep for any expression. The shifting water, slippingand sighing about the works of men which fretted it; theunapproachable, glittering sky; the leafless forest, the wind freshfrom its ocean solitudes--these partially interpreted it, but notwholly. Their soul, as far as the soul of Nature goes, was in unisonwith mine; but in humanity lies a still deeper deep, rises a higherhight. I was as much alone as if nearly a million fellow-creatures werenot so encircling me. I thought of the many tragedies over which thesewaters had closed; of the secrets they had hidden; of the many livessucked under these ruthless bridges; of the dark creatures who hauntedthese docks at evil hours--but most I thought of a distant chamber,where a girl, who yesterday was as full of love and beauty as a morningrose is full of dew and perfume--whose life ran over with light--whosestep was imperial with the happiness of youth--lay, worn and pallid,upon her weary bed, breathing sighs of endless misery. I thought of thefuneral procession which to-morrow, at noon, should come by this roadand travel these waters, to that garden of repose, whose whitetombstones I knew, although I could not see them, gleamed now under the"cold light of stars."
BAFFLED.
Page 64.]
Thus I sat, wrapped in musings, until a policeman, who, it is likely,had long had his eye upon me, wondering if I were a suspiciouscharacter, called out--"Take care of your legs, young man!" and Isprung to my feet, as the return boat came into her slip, drifting upand bumping sullenly against the end of the bridge where my legs hadbeen dangling.
I waited until, among the not numerous passengers, I perceived Jameshurrying by, when I slipped my hand into his arm quietly, saying,
"You led me quite a race--what in the world have you been across toBrooklyn for?"
He jumped at my voice and touch; then grew angry, as people are apt todo when they are startled or frightened, after the shock is over.
"What business is that of yours, sir? How dare you follow me? If youhave taken upon yourself the office of spy, let me know it."
"I beg your pardon," I answered, withdrawing from his arm, "I walkedover to the H---- office to meet you, and saw you walk off in thisdirection. I had no particular object in following you, and perhapsought not to have done it."
"I spoke too hastily," he said, almost immediately. "Forget it,Richard. You pounced upon me so unexpectedly, you gave me a nervousshock--irritated my combativeness, I suppose. I thought, of course, youhad returned to the hotel, and feeling too restless to go back to mylittle bedroom, there, I determined to try the effect of a ride acrossthe river. The bracing air has toned me up. I believe I can go back andsleep"--offering his arm again, which I took, and we slowly retracedour steps to the Metropolitan.
I will not pain the heart of my reader by forcing him to be one of themournful procession which followed Henry Moreland to his untimelygrave. At two o'clock of Tuesday, all was over. The victim was hiddenaway from the face of the earth--smiling, as if asleep, dreaming of hisEleanor, he was consigned to that darkness from whence he should neverawaken and find her--while the one who had brought him low walkedabroad under the sunlight of heaven. To give that guilty creature nopeace was the purpose of my heart.
James resolved to return to Blankville by the five o'clock train. Helooked sick, and said that he felt so--that the last trying scene had"used him up;" and then, his uncle would surely want one of us toassist him at home. To this I assented, intending myself to stay in thecity a day or two, until Mr. Burton was prepared to go out toBlankville with me.
After such of the friends from the village as had come down to attendthe funeral, had started for home in the afternoon cars, I went to myroom to have another interview with the detective. In the mean time, Ihad heard some of the particulars of Mr. Burton's history, which hadgreatly increased the interest I already felt in him. He had chosen hispresent occupation out of a consciousness of his fitness for it. He wasin independent circumstances, and accepted no salary for what was withhim a labor of love; seldom taking any of the liberal sums pressed uponhim by grateful parties who had benefited by his skill, except to coverexpenses to which long journeys, or other necessities of the case,might have subjected him. He had been in the "profession" but a fewyears. Formerly he had been a forwarding-merchant, universally esteemedfor integrity, and carrying about him that personal influence which menof strong will and unusual discrimination exercise over those with whomthey come in contact. But that he had any extraordinary powers, of thekind which had since been developed, he was as ignorant as others. Anaccident, which revealed these to him, shaped the future course of hislife. One wild and windy night the fire-bells of New York rung a fiercealarm; the flames of a large conflagration lighted the sky; the firementoiled manfully, as was their wont, but the air was bitter and thepavements sleety, and the wintry wind "played such fantastic tricksbefore high heaven" as made the angel of mercy almost despair. Beforethe fire could be subdued, four large warehouses had been burned to theground, and in one of them a large quantity of uninsured merchandisefor which Mr. Burton was responsible.
The loss, to him, was serious. He barely escaped failure by drawing inhis business to the smallest compass, and, by the exercise of greatprudence, he managed to save a remnant of his fortune, with whi
ch, assoon as he could turn it to advantage, he withdrew from his mercantilecareer. His mind was bent on a new business, which unfitted him for anyother.
The fire was supposed to be purely accidental; the insurance companies,usually cautious enough, had paid over their varying amounts ofinsurance to those fortunate losers, who were not, like Mr. Burton,unprepared. These losers were men of wealth, and the highest positionas business firms--high and mighty potentates, against whom to breathea breath of slander, was to overwhelm the audacious individual in theruins of his own presumption. Mr. Burton had an inward conviction thatthese men were guilty of arson. He knew it. His mind perceived theirguilt. But he could make no allegation against them upon suchunsubstantial basis as this. He went to work, quietly and singly, togather up the threads in the cable of his proof; and when he had madeit strong enough to hang them twice over--for two lives, that of aporter and a clerk, had been lost in the burning buildings--hethreatened them with exposure, unless they made good to him the losswhich he had sustained through their villainy. They laughed at him fromtheir stronghold of respectability. He brought the case into court.Alas! for the pure, white statue of Justice which beautifies thedesecrated chambers of the law. Banded together, with inexhaustiblemeans of corruption at their command, the guilty were triumphant.
During this experience, Mr. Burton had got an inside view of life, inthe marts, on exchange, in the halls of justice, and in the high andlow places where men do congregate. It was as if, with the thread inhis hand, which he had picked out, he unraveled the whole web of humaniniquity. Burning with a sense of his individual wrongs, he could notlook calmly on and see others similarly exposed; he grew fascinatedwith his labor of dragging the dangerous secrets of a community to thelight. The more he called into play the peculiar faculties of his mind,which made him so successful a hunter on the paths of the guilty, themore marvelous became their development. He was like an Indian on thetrail of his enemy--the bent grass, the broken twig, the evanescentdew--which, to the uninitiated, were "trifles light as air," to himwere "proofs strong as Holy Writ."
In this work he was actuated by no pernicious motives. Upright andhumane, with a generous heart which pitied the innocent injured, hisconscience would allow him no rest if he permitted crime, which hecould see walking where others could not, to flourish unmolested in thesunshine made for better uses. He attached himself to the secretdetective-police; only working up such cases as demanded the benefit ofhis rare powers.
Thus much of Mr. Burton had the chief of police revealed to me, duringa brief interview in the morning; and this information, it may besupposed, had not lessened the fascinations which he had for me. Thefirst thing he said, after the greetings of the day, when he came to myroom, was,
"I have ascertained that our sewing-girl has one visitor, who is aconstant one. There is a middle-aged woman, a nurse, who brings achild, now about a year old, every Sunday to spend half the day withher, when she does not go up to Blankville. On such occasions it isbrought in the evening, some time during the week. It passes, so saysthe landlady, for the child of a cousin of Miss Sullivan's, who wasmarried to a worthless young fellow, who deserted her within threemonths, and went off to the west; the mother died at its birth, leavingit entirely unprovided for, and Miss Sullivan, to keep it out of thecharity-hospital, hired this woman to nurse it with her own baby, forwhich she pays her twelve shillings a week. She was, according to herstory to the landlady, very much attached to her poor cousin, and couldnot cast off the little one for her sake."
"All of which may be true--"
"Or false--as the case may turn."
"It certainly will not be difficult to ascertain if such a cousinreally married and died, as represented. The girl has not returned toher work yet, I suppose?"
"She has not. Her absence gives the thing a bad look. Some connectionshe undoubtedly has with the case; as for how deeply she was involvedin it, we will only know when we find out. Whoever the child's mothermay have been, it seems evident, from the tenor of the landlady'sstory, that Miss Sullivan is much attached to it; it is safe to presumethat, sooner or later, she will return to look after it. In her anxietyto reach the nest, she will fly into the trap. I have made arrangementsby which I shall be informed if she appears at any of her formerhaunts, or at the house of the nurse. And now, I believe, I will go upto Blankville with you for a single day. I wish to see the ground ofthe tragedy, including Mr. Argyll's residence, the lawn, the libraryfrom which the money was abstracted, etc. A clear picture of these,carried in my mind, may be of use to me in unexpected ways. If we hearnothing of her in the village, I will return to the city, and await herreaeppearance here, which will be sure to occur within a month."
"Why within a month?"
"Women risk themselves, always, where a little child demands it. Whenthe nurse finds the baby abandoned by its protector, and the wagesunpaid, she will throw the charge upon the authorities. To preventthis, the girl will be back here to see after it. However, I hope weshall not be a month getting at what we want. It will be curious if wedon't finish the whole of this melancholy business before that. And, bythe way, you and young Argyll had quite a hide-and-seek race the othernight!" and when I looked my astonishment at this remark, he onlylaughed. "It's my profession, you know," was his only explanation.