widow, who sat quite alone, in a large chamber in therear. As I crossed the threshold she looked up, and I encountered a goodplain face, without the shadow of guile in it.
"Madam," said I, "I have not come to disturb you. I will ask two orthree questions only, and then leave you to your grief. I am told thatsome words came from the assassin before he delivered his fatal shot.Did you hear these distinctly enough to tell me what they were?"
"I was sound asleep," said she, "and dreamt, as I thought, that afierce, strange voice cried somewhere to some one: 'Ah! you did notexpect _me_!' But I dare not say that these words were really uttered tomy husband, for he was not the man to call forth hate, and only a man inthe extremity of passion could address such an exclamation in such atone as rings in my memory in connection with the fatal shot which wokeme."
"But that shot was not the work of a friend," I argued. "If, as thesewords seem to prove, the assassin had some other motive than gain in hisassault, then your husband had an enemy, though you never suspected it."
"Impossible!" was her steady reply, uttered in the most convincing tone."The man who shot him was a common burglar, and, frightened at havingbeen betrayed into murder, fled without looking for booty. I am sure Iheard him cry out in terror and remorse: 'God! what have I done!'"
"Was that before you left the side of the bed?"
"Yes; I did not move from my place till I heard the front door close. Iwas paralyzed by my fear and dread."
"Are you in the habit of trusting to the security of a latch-lock onlyin the fastening of your front door at night? I am told that the big keywas not in the lock, and that the bolt at the bottom of the door was notdrawn."
"The bolt at the bottom of the door is never drawn. Mr. Hasbrouck was sogood a man he never mistrusted any one. That is why the big lock was notfastened. The key, not working well, he took it some days ago to thelocksmith, and when the latter failed to return it, he laughed, and saidhe thought no one would ever think of meddling with his front door."
"Is there more than one night-key to your house?" I now asked.
She shook her head.
"And when did Mr. Hasbrouck last use his?"
"To-night, when he came home from prayer-meeting," she answered, andburst into tears.
Her grief was so real and her loss so recent that I hesitated to afflicther by further questions. So returning to the scene of the tragedy, Istepped out upon the balcony which ran in front. Soft voices instantlystruck my ears. The neighbors on either side were grouped in front oftheir own windows, and were exchanging the remarks natural under thecircumstances. I paused, as in duty bound, and listened. But I heardnothing worth recording, and would have instantly re-entered the house,if I had not been impressed by the appearance of a very graceful womanwho stood at my right. She was clinging to her husband, who was gazingat one of the pillars before him in a strange, fixed way whichastonished me till he attempted to move, and then I saw that he wasblind. Instantly I remembered that there lived in this row a blinddoctor, equally celebrated for his skill and for his uncommon personalattractions, and, greatly interested not only in his affliction, but inthe sympathy evinced for him by his young and affectionate wife, I stoodstill till I heard her say in the soft and appealing tones of love:
"Come in, Constant; you have heavy duties for to-morrow, and you shouldget a few hours' rest, if possible."
He came from the shadow of the pillar, and for one minute I saw his facewith the lamplight shining full upon it. It was as regular of feature asa sculptured Adonis, and it was as white.
"Sleep!" he repeated, in the measured tones of deep but suppressedfeeling. "Sleep! with murder on the other side of the wall!" And hestretched out his arms in a dazed way that insensibly accentuated thehorror I myself felt of the crime which had so lately taken place in theroom behind me.
She, noting the movement, took one of the groping hands in her own anddrew him gently towards her.
"This way," she urged; and, guiding him into the house, she closed thewindow and drew down the shades, making the street seem darker by theloss of her exquisite presence.
This may seem a digression, but I was at the time a young man of thirty,and much under the dominion of woman's beauty. I was therefore slow inleaving the balcony, and persistent in my wish to learn something ofthis remarkable couple before leaving Mr. Hasbrouck's house.
The story told me was very simple. Dr. Zabriskie had not been bornblind, but had become so after a grievous illness which had stricken himdown soon after he received his diploma. Instead of succumbing to anaffliction which would have daunted most men, he expressed his intentionof practising his profession, and soon became so successful in it thathe found no difficulty in establishing himself in one of the best-payingquarters of the city. Indeed, his intuition seemed to have developed ina remarkable degree after his loss of sight, and he seldom, if ever,made a mistake in diagnosis. Considering this fact, and the personalattractions which gave him distinction, it was no wonder that he soonbecame a popular physician whose presence was a benefaction and whoseword a law.
He had been engaged to be married at the time of his illness, and, whenhe learned what was likely to be its results, had offered to release theyoung lady from all obligation to him. But she would not be released,and they were married. This had taken place some five years previous toMr. Hasbrouck's death, three of which had been spent by them inLafayette Place.
So much for the beautiful woman next door.
There being absolutely no clue to the assailant of Mr. Hasbrouck, Inaturally looked forward to the inquest for some evidence upon which towork. But there seemed to be no underlying facts to this tragedy. Themost careful study into the habits and conduct of the deceased broughtnothing to light save his general beneficence and rectitude, nor wasthere in his history or in that of his wife any secret or hiddenobligation calculated to provoke any such act of revenge as murder. Mrs.Hasbrouck's surmise that the intruder was simply a burglar, and that shehad rather imagined than heard the words that pointed to the shooting asa deed of vengeance, soon gained general credence. But, though thepolice worked long and arduously in this new direction, their effortswere without fruit, and the case bade fair to remain an unsolvablemystery.
But the deeper the mystery the more persistently does my mind cling toit, and some five months after the matter had been delegated tooblivion, I found myself starting suddenly from sleep, with these wordsringing in my ears:
"_Who uttered the scream that gave the first alarm of Mr. Hasbrouck'sviolent death?_"
I was in such a state of excitement that the perspiration stood out onmy forehead. Mrs. Hasbrouck's story of the occurrence returned to me,and I remembered as distinctly as if she were then speaking, that shehad expressly stated that she did not scream when confronted by thesight of her husband's dead body. But some one had screamed, and thatvery loudly. Who was it, then? One of the maids, startled by the suddensummons from below, or some one else--some involuntary witness of thecrime, whose testimony had been suppressed at the inquest, by fear orinfluence?
The possibility of having come upon a clue even at this late day, sofired my ambition, that I took the first opportunity of revisitingLafayette Place. Choosing such persons as I thought most open to myquestions, I learned that there were many who could testify to havingheard a woman's shrill scream on that memorable night just prior to thealarm given by old Cyrus, but no one who could tell from whose lips ithad come. One fact, however, was immediately settled. It had not beenthe result of the servant-women's fears. Both of the girls were positivethat they had uttered no sound, nor had they themselves heard any, tillCyrus rushed to the window with his wild cries. As the scream, bywhomever given, was uttered before they descended the stairs, I wasconvinced by these assurances that it had issued from one of the frontwindows, and not from the rear of the house, where their own rooms lay.Could it be that it had sprung from the adjoining dwelling, and that----My thoughts went no further, but I made up my mind to visit the Doctor'shouse at once.
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bsp; It took some courage to do this, for the Doctor's wife had attended theinquest, and her beauty, seen in broad daylight, had worn such an aspectof mingled sweetness and dignity, that I hesitated to encounter it underany circumstances likely to disturb its pure serenity. But a clue, oncegrasped, cannot be lightly set aside by a true detective, and it wouldhave taken more than a woman's frown to stop me at this point. So I rangDr. Zabriskie's bell.
I am seventy years old now and am no longer daunted by the charms of abeautiful woman, but I confess that when I found myself in the finereception parlor on the first-floor, I experienced no little trepidationat the prospect of the interview which awaited me.
But as soon as the fine commanding form of the Doctor's wife crossed thethreshold, I recovered my senses and surveyed her with as