CHAPTER VI.
TWO LINKS IN THE CHAIN.
We went up to Blankville that evening, arriving late. I confess that Ifelt a thrill as of cold steel, and peered over my shoulder as wewalked up the hill from the depot; but my companion was guilty of nosuch weakness. He kept as sharp a lookout as the light of a settingmoon would permit, but it was only with a view to making himselffamiliar with the premises. We passed the Argyll mansion on our way tomy boarding-place; it was too late to call; the lights wereextinguished, except the faint one always left burning in the hall, andin two or three of the chambers. A rush of emotion oppressed me, as Idrew near it; I would fain have laid my head against the pillars of thegateway and wept--tears such as a man may shed without reproach, whenthe woman he loves suffers. A growing anxiety possessed me to hear ofEleanor, no report of her mental or physical condition having reachedme since that piercing shriek had announced the parting of herheart-strings when the strain of final separation came. I would havegone to the door a moment, to make inquiries, had I not inferred that aknock at that late hour must startle the family into nervousanticipations. The wan glimmer of the sinking moon struck under thebranches of the silent trees, which stood about the dark mass of thestately mansion; not a breath stirred the crisp foliage. I heard aleaf, which loosened itself and rustled downward to the sod.
"It is a fine old place," remarked my companion, pausing because my ownsteps had come to a standstill.
I could not answer; he drew my arm into his, and we went on. Mr. Burtonwas growing to me in the shape of a friend, instead of adetective-officer.
That night I gave up my room to him, taking a hall-bedroom adjoining.After breakfast we went forth into the village, making our first callat the office. Mr. Argyll was there, looking thin and care-worn. Hesaid that he was glad to have me back, for he felt unfit for business,and must let the mantle of labor drop upon my shoulders hereafter.
There had been an implied understanding, although it had never beendefinitely agreed upon, that I was to become a partner in the law withmy teacher, when I had been admitted to practice. He had no oneassociated with him in his large and lucrative business, and he was nowgetting of an age to feel like retiring from at least the drudgery ofthe profession. That he designed to offer me the place open for somecandidate, I had not doubted, for he had said as much many times. Thisprospect was an unusually fair one for so young a person as myself; ithad urged me to patient study, to eager, ambitious effort. For Irightly deemed that a respect for my habits of mental application and afaith in my as yet undeveloped talents, had decided Mr. Argyll to offerme the contemplated encouragement. This had been another reason forJames' dislike of me. He could not look favorably upon one who had, asit were, supplanted him. Instead of seeing that the fault lay inhimself, and applying the remedy, he pursued the false course ofconsidering me as a rival and an interloper. He, also, was a student inthe office, and that he was a year behind me in his studies, and that,if he ever became a partner, it would be as a third member of the firm,was owing solely to his habitual indolence, which gave him a distastefor the dry details of a lawyer's work. What he would have liked wouldbe to have his examination shirked over, to be admitted on the strengthof his uncle's reputation, and then to be employed only in makingbrilliant oratorical efforts before the judge, jury and audience, aftersome one else had performed all the hard labor of the case, and placedhis weapons ready at his hand.
If Mr. Argyll really intended to take the son of his old friend intothe firm, instead of his nephew, it was simply on the prudentprinciples of business. I was to pass my examination on the first ofNovember; this remark, then, which he made, as I observed how weary andunwell he looked, was not a surprise to me--it came only as aconfirmation of my expectations.
At that moment James entered the office. There was a cloud on his brow,called up by his uncle's words; he hardly took time to shake hands withme, before he said,
"How is it, uncle, if you are worried and overworked, that you do nottell _me_? I should have been glad to help you. But it seems I am of nopossible account nowadays."
Mr. Argyll smiled at this outbreak, as he would at the vexation of achild. A father could not be kinder to a son than he was to James; butto depend upon him for solid aid or comfort would be to lean upon abroken reed. The cloud upon the young man's face grew thunderous whenhe perceived Mr. Burton; although, if I had not been looking straightin his eyes, I should not have noticed it, for it passed instantly, andhe stepped forward with frank cordiality, extending his hand, andsaying,
"We did not know you were to come up. Indeed, we did not expect Richardback so soon. Has any thing transpired?"
"We hope that something will transpire, very soon," answered thedetective. "You are very anxious, I see--and no wonder."
"No--no wonder! We are all of us perfectly absorbed--and, as for me, myheart bleeds for my friends, Mr. Burton."
"And your friends' hearts bleed for you."
Mr. Burton had a peculiar voice, searching, though not loud; I wastalking with Mr. Argyll, and yet I heard this reply without listeningfor it; I did not comprehend it, and indeed, I let it in at one ear andout at the other, for I was asking about Eleanor.
"She is better than we hoped for," said the father, wiping the mistfrom his eyes which gathered at the mention of her name, "but, alas,Richard, that is not saying much. My girl never will be herself again.My pretty Eleanor will never be my sunshine anymore. Not that her mindis shaken--that remains only too acutely sensitive. But her heart isbroken. I can see that--broken, past mending. She has not left her bedsince Henry was carried away; the doctor assures me there is nothingdangerous about her illness--only the natural weakness of the systemafter intense suffering, the same as if she had endured great physicalpain. He says she will rally presently."
"If I could take her burden upon myself, I would ask no greater boon,"I said.
My voice must have been very full of the feeling within me, for it madeMr. Argyll give me a wondering look; I think it was the first time hehad a suspicion of the hopeless passion I had cherished for hisdaughter.
"We must all bear our own troubles," he said. "Poor Richard, I fear youhave your own, like the rest of us."
When I again noticed what was passing between the other two, James wastelling Mr. Burton, with great animation, of some information which hadbeen lodged with the authorities of the village. I became absorbed init, of course.
A respectable citizen of a town some thirty or forty miles beyond, onthe railroad, hearing of the murder, had taken the trouble to come downto Blankville and testify to some things which had fallen under hisobservation on the night of the murder. He stated that he was apassenger on the Saturday afternoon train from New York; that the seatin front of his own, in the car, was occupied by a young gentleman,who, by the description since given, he knew must be Henry Moreland;that, as there were but few people in that car, he had given the moreattention to those near him; that he was particularly attracted by theprepossessing appearance of the young gentleman, with whom he exchangeda few remarks with regard to the storm, and who informed him that hewas going no further than Blankville.
"After we had been riding a while," said the witness--I do not giveJames' words in telling it, but his own, as I afterward read them inthe sworn testimony--"I noticed a person who sat on the opposite sideof the car, facing us. His forehead was bent on his hand, and he waslooking out from under his fingers, at the young man in front of me. Itwas his sinister expression which compelled me to notice him. Hissmall, glittering, black eyes were fixed upon my neighbor with a lookwhich made me shudder. I smiled at myself for my own sensation--said tomyself it was none of my business--that I was nervous--yet, in spite ofmy attempts to be unconcerned, I was continually compelled to lookacross at the individual of whose serpent-gaze the young gentlemanhimself appeared totally unconscious. If he had once met those eyes, Iam certain he would have been on his guard--for I assert, without otherproof tha
n what afterward transpired, that there was _murder_ in them,and that that person was Henry Moreland's murderer. I can not proveit--but my conviction is unalterable. I only wish, now, that I hadyielded to my impulse to shake my unknown neighbor, and say tohim--'See! there is an enemy! beware of him!' There was nothing but theman's look to justify such a proceeding, and of course I curbed myfeelings.
"The man was a common-looking person, dressed in dark clothes; he worea low-crowned felt hat, slouched down on his forehead; I do notremember about his hair, but his eyes were black, his complexionsallow. I noticed a scar across the back of the hand which he held overhis eyes, as if it had sometime been cut across with a knife; also thathe had a large ring, with a red stone in it, on his little finger.
"When the cars stopped at Blankville, this person arose and followedHenry Moreland from the car. I saw him step off the platform behindhim, which was the last I saw of either of them."
It may be imagined with what a thrill of fearful interest we listenedto this account, and the thousand conjectures to which it gave rise.
"It can not be difficult," I exclaimed, "to find other witnesses totestify of this man."
We were assured by James that every effort had been made to get sometrace of him. No person answering to the description was a resident ofthe village, and no one could be heard of as having been seen in thevicinity. Not a solitary lounger about the depot, or the hotel close athand, could recall that he had seen such a stranger leave the cars; nosuch person had stopped at the hotel; even the conductor of the traincould not be certain of such a passenger, though he had a dimrecollection of a rough fellow in the car with Mr. Moreland--he had notobserved where he left the train--thought his ticket was for Albany.
"But we do not despair of some evidence, yet," said Mr. Argyll.
"The New York police, not being able to do any thing further here, havegone home," continued James. "If such a villain lurks in New York, hewill be found. That scar on the hand is a good point for identifyinghim--don't you think so, sir?" to Mr. Burton.
"Well--yes! unless it was put on for the purpose. It may have been donein red ocher, and washed off afterward. If the fellow was a practicedhand, as the skill and precision of the blow would imply, he will be upto all such tricks. If he had a real scar, he would have worn gloves onsuch an errand."
"You think so?" and James drew a long breath, probably ofdiscouragement at this new statement of the case.
"I would like to go down to the depot, and along the docks for anhour," continued Mr. Burton, "if there's nothing else to be doneimmediately."
James politely insisted upon accompanying us.
"What the deuce did you bring another of those detectives up here for?"he asked me, _sotto voce_, at the first opportunity. "We've had asurfeit of them--they're regular bores! and this Burroughs or Burton,or whatever his name is, is the most disagreeable of them all. Aconceited fellow--one of the kind I dislike, naturally."
"You mistake his character. He is intelligent and a gentleman."
"I wish you joy of his society," was the sneering reply.
Nevertheless, James favored us with his company during our morning'stour. One sole fact the detective ascertained in the course of his twohours' work. A fisherman had lost a small-boat during the storm ofSaturday night. He had left it, fastened to its accustomed moorings,and, in the morning, found that the chain, which was old and rusty, hadparted one of its links, probably by the extreme violence with whichthe wind had dashed the boat about. Mr. Burton had asked to see theremnant of the chain. It was still attached to the post around which ithad been locked. An examination of the broken link showed that it waspartly rusted away; but there were also marks upon it, as if a knife orchisel might have been used.
"I see my boy, Billy, a-tinkerin' with it," said the fisherman. "Likeas not he's been a-usin' of it to whittle on. That boy breaks moreknives'n his neck's wuth. He's goin' on nine, now, and he's had sixjack-knives in as many months."
Mr. Burton stood, holding the chain in his hand, and looking up anddown the river. His face glowed with a light which shone through fromsome inward fire. I, who had begun to watch his varying expressionswith keen interest, saw that he was again becoming excited; but not inthe same way as on that first evening of our meeting, when he grew soleonine.
He looked at the water and the sky, the fair shores and the dull dock,as if these mute witnesses were telling to him a tale which he readlike a printed book. A few moments he stood thus in silence, hiscountenance illuminated by that wonderful intelligence. Then, sayingthat his researches were through with in this part of the village, wereturned, almost in silence, to the office; for when this man waspondering the enigmas whose solution he was so certain to announce,sooner or later, he grew absorbed and taciturn.
Mr. Argyll made us go home with him to dinner. I knew that I should notsee Eleanor; yet, even to be under the same roof with her, made metremble. Mary, who was constantly in attendance upon her sister, wouldnot appear at the table. She came down, for a moment, to greet me, andto thank me for my poor efforts. The dear child had changed some, likethe rest of us. She could not look like any thing but the rosebud whichshe was--a fresh and pure young creature of sixteen summers--a rosebuddrenched in dew--a little pale, with a quiver in her smile, and brighttears beading her eye-lashes, ready, at any moment, to drop. It wastouching to see one naturally so joyous, subdued by the shadow whichhad fallen over the house. Neither of us could say much; our lipstrembled when we spoke _her_ name; so, after a moment's holding myhand, while the tears began to flow fast, Mary unclasped my fingers,and went up stairs. I saw Mr. Burton hide those blue-gray eyes of hisin his handkerchief; my respect for him deepened as I felt that thoseeyes, sharp and penetrating as they were, were not too cold to warmwith a sudden mist at the vision he had beheld.
"Ah!" murmured I to myself, "if he could see Eleanor!"
When dinner was over, Mr. Argyll went up to see his children, giving mepermission to show the house and grounds to the detective. James wenton the portico to smoke a cigar. Mr. Burton sat a short time in thelibrary, taking an impression of it on his mind, examined the lock ofthe desk, and noticed the arrangement of the one window, which was alarge bay-window opening to the floor and projecting over theflower-garden which lay behind the house and bordered the lawn to theright. It was about three feet to the ground, and although quiteaccessible, as a mode of entrance, to any one compelled to thatresource, the window was not ordinarily used as a mode of ingress oregress. I had sometimes chased Mary, when she was not so old as now,and sent her flying through the open casement into the mignonette andviolets beneath, and I after; but since we had both grown more sedate,such pranks were rare.
We then went out upon the lawn. I took my companion to the tree beneathwhich I had stood, when that dark figure had approached, and passed me,to crouch beneath the window from which the death-candles shone. Fromthis spot, the bay-window was not visible, that being at the back ofthe house and this on the side. Mr. Burton looked carefully about him,walking all over the lawn, going up under the parlor windows, andthence pursuing his way into the garden and around to the bay-window.It was quite natural to search closely in this precinct for some markor footsteps, some crushed flowers, or broken branches, or scratchesupon the wall, left by the thief, if he or she had made his or herentrance at this spot. Going over the ground thus, inch by inch, Iobserved a bit of white lawn, soiled and weather-beaten, lying under arose-bush a few feet from the window. I picked it up. It was a woman'shandkerchief, of fine lawn, embroidered along the edge with a delicaterunning vine, and a spray of flowers at the corner.
"One of the young ladies has dropped it, some time ago," I said, "or ithas blown across from the kitchen grass-plot, where the linen is putout to dry."
Then I examined the discolored article more closely, and, involved inthe graceful twinings of the spray of flowers, I saw worked theinitials--"L. S."
"Leesy Sullivan," said my companion, taking it from my hand.
"It seems t
oo dainty an article for her ownership," I said, at last,for, at first, I had been quite stupefied.
"A woman's vanity will compass many things beyond her means. This thingshe has embroidered with her own needle--you remember, she is aproficient in the art."
"Yes, I remember. She may have lost it Sunday night, during that visitwhich I observed; and the wind has blown it over into this spot."
"You forget that there has been no rain since that night. Thishandkerchief has been beaten into the grass and earth by a violentrain. A thorn upon this bush has pulled it from her pocket as shepassed, and the rain has set its mark upon it, to be used as atestimony against her."
"The evidence seems to conflict. She can not be a man and woman both."
"Why not?" was the quiet reply. "There may be a principal and anaccomplice. A woman is a safer accomplice for a man than one of his ownsex--and _vice versa_."
The face which I had seen, in its despair, the face of Leesy Sullivan,rose in my memory, full of passion, marked in every soft yet impressivelineament with slumbering power--"such a nature," I thought, "can bemaddened into crime, but it will not consort with villainy."
Mr. Burton put the handkerchief in the inside pocket of his coat, andwe returned into the house. He inquired the names of the servants, noneof whose initials corresponded with those we had found, nor could Irecall any lady visitors of the family to whom the handkerchief mightbelong by virtue of its inscription. There was not the shadow of adoubt but that it had been the property of the sewing-girl. Someerrand, secret and unlawful, had brought her to these grounds, andunder this window. We now considered it proper to show the handkerchiefto Mr. Argyll, and relate to him our grounds of suspicion against thegirl. Mary and James were admitted to the council. The former said thatshe remembered Miss Sullivan; that she had been employed in the family,for a few days at a time, on several different occasions, but none ofthem recent. "We liked her sewing very much, and wanted to engage herfor the next six weeks," she added, with a sigh, "but on inquiring forher, learned that she was now employed in New York."
"She must, then, have been perfectly familiar with the arrangement ofthe house, and with the habits of the family; as for instance, at whathour you dined. She might enter while the family were at table, since,had she been surprised by the entrance of a servant, or other person,she could affect to have called on an errand, and to be waiting for theyoung ladies," remarked Mr. Burton.
The servants were then summoned, one at a time, and questioned as towhether they had observed any suspicious persons whatever about thehouse or grounds within a week. They were, of course, in a nationalstate of high excitement, and immediately upon a question being put tothem, answered every other imaginary case in the world but that,blessed themselves, called on the Virgin Mary, gave an account of allthe beggars as called at the kitchen last year and the year afore,cried abundantly, and gave no coherent information.
"Ah, sure!" said Norah, the cook, "there was the blackin'-and-bluin'man come around last Wednesday, and I tuk a bottle of the blue for theclothes. It's a poor mimiry I have, sure, since I came across the say.Afore that I could recollect beyond any thing, and the praste used topraise my rading. I think it was the tossin' an' rollin' ov the shipupsot my brain. It was Saturday, it wur, and oh, Lordy, it is settingme all of a trimble a-thinkin' of that day, and I see a little yellerdog a-stickin' his nose into the kitching door, which was open abouthalf, and says I, there's vagabonds around sure, now, I knew by thedog, and I wint and looked out, and sure as me name's Norah, there wasan old lame man wid a stick a-pretinding to look for rags an' bones inthe alley to the stable, which I niver allows such about, as it'sagainst the master's orthers, and I druv him off immajetly--and that, Ithink, was Saturday two weeks now, but I won't be sure; and I don'tmind nobody else but the chany-woman, wid her basket, which I don'tthink it could have been her as done any thin' bad, for she's beenround rig'ler, for a good while, and is a dacent-spoken body that I'vehad some dalin's wid myself. I sowld her my old plaid gown for thematch-box of ebony that sits on the kitching-mantel now, and oh dear!but my heart's dead broke, sure! Margaret and I daren't set in thekitching of nights no more, unless Jim's there, an' I've woke upscr'aming two nights now--och hone! and if I'd seed any thing, I'd atold it long afore, which I wish I had, seein' you've axed me, sir. Itdon't do no good a-cooking delicacies which nobody eats no longer--Iwish I had never come to Amyriky, to see poor Miss Eleanor so tukdown!" and having relieved herself of the sympathy which she had beenaching to express, without the opportunity, she threw her apron overher head, and sobbed after the manner of her people.
Margaret's testimony was no more to the point than Norah's. Mr. Burtonlet each one go on after her own heart, putting up with the tediouscircumlocution, in the hope of some kernel of wheat in the bushel ofchaff.
After a deluge of tears and interjections, Maggie did finally come outwith a statement which arrested the attention of her listeners.
"I've never seen none gawking about as didn't belong here--not a livingsowl. The howly Virgin prevint that iver I should see what Jim did--itwasn't a human being at all, but a wraith, and he seen it that verynight. He niver told us of it, till the Tuesday night, as we sottalking about the funeral, and it frightened us so, we niver slept awink till morning. Poor Jim's worried with it, too; he pretinds heisn't afraid of the livin' nor dead, but it's no shame to the best tostand in awe of the sperits, and I see he's backward about going aboutthe place, alone, after dark, and no wonder! Sure, he saw a ghost!"
"What was it like?"
"Sure, you'd best call him, and let him describe it for hisself--it'llmake your blood run cold to think of sich things in a Christian family."
Jim was summoned. His story, weeded out, was this: On Saturday evening,after tea, his mistress, Miss Eleanor, had asked him to go to thepost-office for the evening mail. It was very dark and rainy. Helighted the lantern. As he went out the back gate, he stopped a minuteand lifted his lantern to take a look about the premises, to see ifthere was any thing left out which ought to be taken in from the storm.As he waved the light about, he saw something in the flower-garden,about six feet from the bay-window. It had the appearance of a woman;its face was white, its hair hung down on its shoulders; it stood quitestill in the rain, just as if the water was not coming down bybucketfuls. It had very large, bright eyes, which shone when the candlethrew the light on them, as if they had been made of fire. He was sofrightened that he let his lantern fall, which did not happen toextinguish the candle, but when he lifted it up again, the wraith hadvanished. He felt very queer about it, at the time; and next day, whenthe bad news came, he knew it was a warning. They often had such in theold country.
We did not undeceive Jim as to the character of the phantom. With theassurance that it probably would not come again, since its mission hadbeen accomplished, and a caution not to make the girls in the kitchentoo nervous about it, we dismissed him.