assertions aretrue, and we will lay your case before the prosecuting attorney."
"Proof? Is not a man's word----"
"No man's confession is worth much without some evidence to support it.In your case there is none. You cannot even produce the pistol withwhich you assert yourself to have committed the deed."
"True, true. I was frightened by what I had done, and the instinct ofself-preservation led me to rid myself of the weapon in any way I could.But some one found this pistol; some one picked it up from the sidewalkof Lafayette Place on that fatal night. Advertise for it. Offer areward. I will give you the money." Suddenly he appeared to realize howall this sounded. "Alas!" cried he, "I know the story seems improbable;all I say seems improbable; but it is not the probable things thathappen in this life, but the improbable, as you should know, who everyday dig deep into the heart of human affairs."
Were these the ravings of insanity? I began to understand the wife'sterror.
"I bought the pistol," he went on, "of--alas! I cannot tell you his name.Everything is against me. I cannot adduce one proof; yet she, even she,is beginning to fear that my story is true. I know it by her silence, asilence that yawns between us like a deep and unfathomable gulf."
But at these words her voice rang out with passionate vehemence.
"No, no, it is false! I will never believe that your hands have beenplunged in blood. You are my own pure-hearted Constant, cold, perhaps,and stern, but with no guilt upon your conscience, save in your own wildimagination."
"Helen, you are no friend to me," he declared, pushing her gently aside."Believe me innocent, but say nothing to lead these others to doubt myword."
And she said no more, but her looks spoke volumes.
The result was that he was not detained, though he prayed for instantcommitment. He seemed to dread his own home, and the surveillance towhich he instinctively knew he would henceforth be subjected. To see himshrink from his wife's hand as she strove to lead him from the room wassufficiently painful; but the feeling thus aroused was nothing to thatwith which we observed the keen and agonized expectancy of his look ashe turned and listened for the steps of the officer who followed him.
"I shall never again know whether or not I am alone," was his finalobservation as he left our presence.
* * * * *
I said nothing to my superiors of the thoughts I had had while listeningto the above interrogatories. A theory had presented itself to my mindwhich explained in some measure the mysteries of the Doctor's conduct,but I wished for time and opportunity to test its reasonableness beforesubmitting it to their higher judgment. And these seemed likely to begiven me, for the Inspectors continued divided in their opinion of theblind physician's guilt, and the District-Attorney, when told of theaffair, pooh-poohed it without mercy, and declined to stir in the matterunless some tangible evidence were forthcoming to substantiate the poorDoctor's self-accusations.
"If guilty, why does he shrink from giving his motives," said he, "andif so anxious to go to the gallows, why does he suppress the very factscalculated to send him there? He is as mad as a March hare, and it is toan asylum he should go and not to a jail."
In this conclusion I failed to agree with him, and as time wore on mysuspicions took shape and finally ended in a fixed conviction. Dr.Zabriskie had committed the crime he avowed, but--let me proceed a littlefurther with my story before I reveal what lies beyond that "but."
Notwithstanding Dr. Zabriskie's almost frenzied appeal for solitude, aman had been placed in surveillance over him in the shape of a youngdoctor skilled in diseases of the brain. This man communicated more orless with the police, and one morning I received from him the followingextracts from the diary he had been ordered to keep.
"The Doctor is settling into a deep melancholy from which he tries to rise at times, but with only indifferent success. Yesterday he rode around to all his patients for the purpose of withdrawing his services on the plea of illness. But he still keeps his office open, and to-day I had the opportunity of witnessing his reception and treatment of the many sufferers who came to him for aid. I think he was conscious of my presence, though an attempt had been made to conceal it. For the listening look never left his face from the moment he entered the room, and once he rose and passed quickly from wall to wall, groping with outstretched hands into every nook and corner, and barely escaping contact with the curtain behind which I was hidden. But if he suspected my presence, he showed no displeasure at it, wishing perhaps for a witness to his skill in the treatment of disease.
"And truly I never beheld a finer manifestation of practical insight in cases of a more or less baffling nature than I beheld in him to-day. He is certainly a most wonderful physician, and I feel bound to record that his mind is as clear for business as if no shadow had fallen upon it.
* * * * *
"Dr. Zabriskie loves his wife, but in a way that tortures both himself and her. If she is gone from the house he is wretched, and yet when she returns he often forbears to speak to her, or if he does speak, it is with a constraint that hurts her more than his silence. I was present when she came in to-day. Her step, which had been eager on the stairway, flagged as she approached the room, and he naturally noted the change and gave his own interpretation to it. His face, which had been very pale, flushed suddenly, and a nervous trembling seized him which he sought in vain to hide. But by the time her tall and beautiful figure stood in the doorway he was his usual self again in all but the expression of his eyes, which stared straight before him in an agony of longing only to be observed in those who have once seen.
"'Where have you been, Helen?' he asked, as, contrary to his wont, he moved to meet her.
"'To my mother's, to Arnold & Constable's, and to the hospital, as you requested,' was her quick answer, made without faltering or embarrassment.
"He stepped still nearer and took her hand, and as he did so my physician's eye noted how his finger lay over her pulse in seeming unconsciousness.
"'Nowhere else?' he queried.
"She smiled the saddest kind of smile and shook her head; then, remembering that he could not see this movement, she cried in a wistful tone:
"'Nowhere else, Constant; I was too anxious to get back.'
"I expected him to drop her hand at this, but he did not; and his finger still rested on her pulse.
"'And whom did you see while you were gone?' he continued.
"She told him, naming over several names.
"'You must have enjoyed yourself,' was his cold comment, as he let go her hand and turned away. But his manner showed relief, and I could not but sympathize with the pitiable situation of a man who found himself forced to means like these for probing the heart of his young wife.
"Yet when I turned towards her I realized that her position was but little happier than his. Tears are no strangers to her eyes, but those that welled up at this moment seemed to possess a bitterness that promised but little peace for her future. Yet she quickly dried them and busied herself with ministrations for his comfort.
* * * * *
"If I am any judge of woman, Helen Zabriskie is superior to most of her sex. That her husband mistrusts her is evident, but whether this is the result of the stand she has taken in his regard, or only a manifestation of dementia, I have as yet been unable to determine. I dread to leave them alone together, and yet when I presume to suggest that she should be on her guard in her interviews with him, she smiles very placidly and tells me that nothing would give her greater joy than to see him lift his hand against her, for that would argue that he is not accountable for his deeds or for his assertions.
"Yet it woul
d be a grief to see her injured by this passionate and unhappy man.
* * * * *
"You have said that you wanted all details I could give; so I feel bound to say, that Dr. Zabriskie tries to be considerate of his wife, though he often fails in the attempt. When she offers herself as his guide, or assists him with his mail, or performs any of the many acts of kindness by which she continually manifests her sense of his affliction, he thanks her with courtesy and often with kindness, yet I know she would willingly exchange all his set phrases for one fond embrace or impulsive smile of affection. That he is not in the full possession of his faculties would be too much to say, and yet upon what other hypothesis can we account for the