CHAPTER XIV
When Logotheti and his doctor had taken Mr. Feist away from the hotel,to the no small satisfaction of the management, they had left preciseinstructions for forwarding the young man's letters and for informinghis friends, if any appeared, as to his whereabouts. But Logotheti hadnot given his own name.
Sir Jasper Threlfall had chosen for their patient a privateestablishment in Ealing, owned and managed by a friend of his, a placefor the treatment of morphia mania, opium-eating, and alcoholism.
To all intents and purposes, as Logotheti had told Margaret,Charles Feist might as well have been in gaol. Every one knows howindispensable it is that persons who consent to be cured of drinkingor taking opium, or whom it is attempted to cure, should be absolutelyisolated, if only to prevent weak and pitying friends from yieldingto their heart-rending entreaties for the favourite drug and bringingthem 'just a little'; for their eloquence is often extraordinary, andtheir ingenuity in obtaining what they want is amazing.
So Mr. Feist was shut up in a pleasant room provided with double doorsand two strongly barred windows that overlooked a pretty garden,beyond which there was a high brick wall half covered by a brightcreeper, then just beginning to flower. The walls, the doors, theceiling, and the floor were sound-proof, and the garden could not inany way be reached without passing through the house.
As only male patients were received, the nurses and attendants wereall men; for the treatment needed more firmness and sometimes strengththan gentleness. It was uncompromising, as English methods often are.Except where life was actually in danger, there was no drink and noopium for anybody; when absolutely necessary the resident doctorgave the patient hypodermics or something which he called by anunpronounceable name, lest the sufferer should afterwards try to buyit; he smilingly described it as a new vegetable poison, and in factit was nothing but dionine, a preparation of opium that differs butlittle from ordinary morphia.
Now Sir Jasper Threlfall was a very great doctor indeed, and hisname commanded respect in London at large and inspired awe in thehospitals. Even the profession admitted reluctantly that he didnot kill more patients than he cured, which is something for onefashionable doctor to say of another; for the regular answer to anyinquiry about a rival practitioner is a smile--'a smile more dreadfulthan his own dreadful frown'--an indescribable smile, a meaning smile,a smile that is a libel in itself.
It had been an act of humanity to take the young man into medicalcustody, as it were, and it had been more or less necessary for thesafety of the public, for Logotheti and the doctor had found him in areally dangerous state, as was amply proved by his attempting to cuthis own throat and then to shoot Logotheti himself. Sir Jasper said hehad nothing especial the matter with him except drink, that whenhis nerves had recovered their normal tone his real character wouldappear, so that it would then be possible to judge more or lesswhether he had will enough to control himself in future. Logothetiagreed, but it occurred to him that one need not be knighted, andwrite a dozen or more mysterious capital letters after one's name, andlive in Harley Street, in order to reach such a simple conclusion; andas Logotheti was a millionaire, and liked his doctor for his own sakerather than for his skill, he told him this, and they both laughedheartily. Almost all doctors, except those in French plays, have somesense of humour.
On the third day Isidore Bamberger came to the door of the privatehospital and asked to see Mr. Feist. Not having heard from him, he hadbeen to the hotel and had there obtained the address. The doorkeeperwas a quiet man who had lost a leg in South Africa, after having beenotherwise severely wounded five times in previous engagements. Mr.Bamberger, he said, could not see his friend yet. A part of the cureconsisted in complete isolation from friends during the first stagesof the treatment. Sir Jasper Threlfall had been to see Mr. Feist thatmorning. He had been twice already. Dr. Bream, the resident physician,gave the doorkeeper a bulletin every morning at ten for the benefit ofeach patient's friend; the notes were written on a card which the manheld in his hand.
At the great man's name, Mr. Bamberger became thoughtful. A smartbrougham drove up just then and a tall woman, who wore a thick veil,got out and entered the vestibule where Bamberger was standing by theopen door. The doorkeeper evidently knew her, for he glanced at hisnotes and spoke without being questioned.
'The young gentleman is doing well this week, my lady,' he said.'Sleeps from three to four hours at a time. Is less excited. Appetiteimproving.'
'Can I see him?' asked a sad and gentle voice through the veil.
'Not yet, my lady.'
She sighed as she turned to go out, and Mr. Bamberger thought itwas one of the saddest sighs he had ever heard. He was rather asoft-hearted man.
'Is it her son?' he asked, in a respectful sort of way.
'Yes, sir.'
'Drink?' inquired Mr. Bamberger in the same tone.
'Not allowed to give any information except to family or friends,sir,' answered the man. 'Rule of the house, sir. Very strict.'
'Quite right, of course. Excuse me for asking. But I must see Mr.Feist, unless he's out of his mind. It's very important.'
'Dr. Bream sees visitors himself from ten to twelve, sir, after he'sbeen his rounds to the patients' rooms. You'll have to get permissionfrom him.'
'But it's like a prison!' exclaimed Mr. Bamberger.
'Yes, sir,' answered the old soldier imperturbably. 'It's just like aprison. It's meant to be.'
It was evidently impossible to get anything more out of the man, whodid not pay the slightest attention to the cheerful little noise Mr.Bamberger made by jingling sovereigns in his waistcoat pocket; therewas nothing to do but to go away, and Mr. Bamberger went out very muchannoyed and perplexed.
He knew Van Torp well, or believed that he did, and it was likethe man whose genius had created the Nickel Trust to have boldlysequestrated his enemy's chief instrument, and in such a clever wayas to make it probable that Mr. Feist might be kept in confinementas long as his captor chose. Doubtless such a high-handed act wouldultimately go against the latter when on his trial, but in themeantime the chief witness was locked up and could not get out. SirJasper Threlfall would state that his patient was in such a state ofhealth, owing to the abuse of alcohol, that it was not safe to sethim at liberty, and that in his present condition his mind was sounsettled by drink that he could not be regarded as a sane witness;and if Sir Jasper Threlfall said that, it would not be easy to getCharles Feist out of Dr. Bream's establishment in less than threemonths.
Mr. Bamberger was obliged to admit that his partner, chief, and enemyhad stolen a clever march on him. Being of a practical turn of mind,however, and not hampered by much faith in mankind, even in the mosteminent, who write the mysterious capital letters after their names,he wondered to what extent Van Torp owned Sir Jasper, and he went tosee him on pretence of asking advice about his liver.
The great man gave him two guineas' worth of thumping, auscultating,and poking in the ribs, and told him rather disagreeably that hewas as healthy as a young crocodile, and had a somewhat similarconstitution. A partner of Mr. Van Torp, the American financier?Indeed! Sir Jasper had heard the name but had never seen themillionaire, and asked politely whether he sometimes came to England.It is not untruthful to ask a question to which one knows the answer.Mr. Bamberger himself, for instance, who knew that he was perfectlywell, was just going to put down two guineas for having been told so,in answer to a question.
'I believe you are treating Mr. Feist,' he said, going more directlyto the point.
'Mr. Feist?' repeated the great authority vaguely.
'Yes. Mr. Charles Feist. He's at Dr. Bream's private hospital in WestKensington.'
'Ah, yes,' said Sir Jasper. 'Dr. Bream is treating him. He's not apatient of mine.'
'I thought I'd ask you what his chances are,' observed IsidoreBamberger, fixing his sharp eyes on the famous doctor's face. 'He usedto be my private secretary.'
He might just as well have examined the back of the doctor's head
.
'He's not a patient of mine,' Sir Jasper said. 'I'm only one of thevisiting doctors at Dr. Bream's establishment. I don't go there unlesshe sends for me, and I keep no notes of his cases. You will have toask him. If I am not mistaken his hours are from ten to twelve.And now'--Sir Jasper rose--'as I can only congratulate you on yoursplendid health--no, I really cannot prescribe anything--literallynothing--'
Isidore Bamberger had left three patients in the waiting-room and wasobliged to go away, as his 'splendid health' did not afford him theslightest pretext for asking more questions. He deposited his twoguineas on the mantelpiece neatly wrapped in a bit of note-paper,while Sir Jasper examined the handle of the door with a stony gaze,and he said 'good morning' as he went out.
'Good morning,' answered Sir Jasper, and as Mr. Bamberger crossed thethreshold the single clanging stroke of the doctor's bell was heard,summoning the next patient.
The American man of business was puzzled, for he was a good judge ofhumanity, and was sure that when the Englishman said that he had neverseen Van Torp he was telling the literal truth. Mr. Bamberger wasconvinced that there had been some agreement between them to make itimpossible for any one to see Feist. He knew the latter well, however,and had great confidence in his remarkable power of holding histongue, even when under the influence of drink.
When Tiberius had to choose between two men equally well fitted for apost of importance, he had them both to supper, and chose the one whowas least affected by wine, not at all for the sake of seeing thematch, but on the excellent principle that in an age when heavydrinking was the rule the man who could swallow the largest quantitywithout becoming talkative was the one to be best trusted with asecret; and the fact that Tiberius himself had the strongest head inthe Empire made him a good judge.
Bamberger, on the same principle, believed that Charles Feist wouldhold his tongue, and he also felt tolerably sure that the formersecretary had no compromising papers in his possession, for his memoryhad always been extraordinary. Feist had formerly been able to carryin his mind a number of letters which Bamberger 'talked off' to himconsecutively without even using shorthand, and could type themafterwards with unfailing accuracy. It was therefore scarcely likelythat he kept notes of the articles he wrote about Van Torp.
But his employer did not know that Feist's memory was failing fromdrink, and that he no longer trusted his marvellous faculty. Van Torphad sequestrated him and shut him up, Bamberger believed; but neitherVan Torp nor any one else would get anything out of him.
And if any one made him talk, what great harm would be done, afterall? It was not to be supposed that such a man as Isidore Bambergerhad trusted only to his own keenness in collecting evidence, or to afew pencilled notes as a substitute for the principal witness himself,when an accident might happen at any moment to a man who led such alife. The case for the prosecution had been quietly prepared duringseveral months past, and the evidence that was to send Rufus Van Torpto execution, or to an asylum for the Criminal Insane for life, was inthe safe of Isidore Bamberger's lawyer in New York, unless, at thatvery moment, it was already in the hands of the Public Prosecutor. Acouple of cables would do the rest at any time, and in a few hours.In murder cases, the extradition treaty works as smoothly as thetelegraph itself. The American authorities would apply to the EnglishHome Secretary, the order would go to Scotland Yard, and Van Torpwould be arrested immediately and taken home by the first steamer, tobe tried in New York.
Six months earlier he might have pleaded insanity with a possiblechance, but in the present state of feeling the plea would hardly beadmitted. A man who has been held up to public execration in the pressfor weeks, and whom no one attempts to defend, is in a bad case if awell-grounded accusation of murder is brought against him at such amoment; and Isidore Bamberger firmly believed in the truth of thecharge and in the validity of the evidence.
He consoled himself with these considerations, and with the reflectionthat Feist was actually safer where he was, and less liable toaccident than if he were at large. Mr. Bamberger walked slowly downHarley Street to Cavendish Square, with his head low between hisshoulders, his hat far back on his head, his eyes on the pavement, andthe shiny toes of his patent leather boots turned well out. His bowedlegs were encased in loose black trousers, and had as many angles asthe forepaws of a Dachshund or a Dandie Dinmont. The peculiarities ofhis ungainly gait and figure were even more apparent than usual, andas he walked he swung his long arms, that ended in large black gloveswhich looked as if they were stuffed with sawdust.
Yet there was something in his face that set him far beyond and aboveridicule, and the passers-by saw it and wondered gravely who andwhat this man in black might be, and what great misfortune and stillgreater passion had moulded the tragic mark upon his features; andnone of those who looked at him glanced at his heavy, ill-made figure,or noticed his clumsy walk, or realised that he was most evidentlya typical German Jew, who perhaps kept an antiquity shop in WardourStreet, and had put on his best coat to call on a rich collector inthe West End.
Those who saw him only saw his face and went on, feeling that they hadpassed near something greater and sadder and stronger than anything intheir own lives could ever be.
But he went on his way, unconscious of the men and women he met, andnot thinking where he went, crossing Oxford Street and then turningdown Regent Street and following it to Piccadilly and the Haymarket.Just before he reached the theatre, he slackened his pace and lookedabout him, as if he were waking up; and there, in the cross street,just behind the theatre, he saw a telegraph office.
He entered, pushed his hat still a little farther back, and wrote acable message. It was as short as it could be, for it consisted of oneword only besides the address, and that one word had only two letters:
'Go.'
That was all, and there was nothing mysterious about the syllable,for almost any one would understand that it was used as in startinga footrace, and meant, 'Begin operations at once!' It was the wordagreed upon between Isidore Bamberger and his lawyer. The latter hadbeen allowed all the latitude required in such a case, for he hadinstructions to lay the evidence before the District Attorney-Generalwithout delay, if anything happened to make immediate action seemadvisable. In any event, he was to do so on receiving the messagewhich had now been sent.
The evidence consisted, in the first place, of certain irrefutableproofs that Miss Bamberger had not died from shock, but had beenkilled by a thin and extremely sharp instrument with which she hadbeen stabbed in the back. Isidore Bamberger's own doctor had satisfiedhimself of this, and had signed his statement under oath, andBamberger had instantly thought of a certain thin steel letter-openerwhich Van Torp always had in his pocket.
Next came the affidavit of Paul Griggs. The witness knew the OperaHouse well. Had been in the stalls on the night in question. Had notmoved from his seat till the performance was over, and had been one ofthe last to get out into the corridor. There was a small door in thecorridor on the south side which was generally shut. It opened upon apassage communicating with the part of the building that is let forbusiness offices. Witness's attention had been attracted by part ofa red silk dress which lay on the floor outside the door, the latterbeing ajar. Suspecting an accident, witness opened door, found MissBamberger, and carried her to manager's room not far off. On reachinghome had found stains of blood on his hands. Had said nothing of this,because he had seen notice of the lady's death from shock in nextmorning's paper. Was nevertheless convinced that blood must have beenon her dress.
The murder was therefore proved. But the victim had not been robbedof her jewellery, which demonstrated that, if the crime had not beencommitted by a lunatic, the motive for it must have been personal.
With regard to identity of the murderer, Charles Feist deposed that onthe night in question he had entered the Opera late, having only anadmission to the standing room, that he was close to one of the doorswhen the explosion took place and had been one of the first to leavethe house. The emergency l
ights in the corridors were on a separatecircuit, but had been also momentarily extinguished. They were upagain before those in the house. The crowd had at once become jammedin the doorways, so that people got out much more slowly than mighthave been expected. Many actually fell in the exits and were trampledon. Then Madame Cordova had begun to sing in the dark, and the panichad ceased in a few seconds. The witness did not think that more thanthree hundred people altogether had got out through the several doors.He himself had at once made for the main entrance. A few personsrushed past him in the dark, descending the stairs from the boxes. Oneor two fell on the steps. Just as the emergency lights went up again,witness saw a young lady in a red silk dress fall, but did not see herface distinctly; he was certain that she had a short string of pearlsround her throat. They gleamed in the light as she fell. She wasinstantly lifted to her feet by Mr. Rufus Van Torp, who must have beenfollowing her closely. She seemed to have hurt herself a little,and he almost carried her down the corridor in the direction ofthe carriage lobby on the Thirty-Eighth Street side. The two thendisappeared through a door. The witness would swear to the door, andhe described its position accurately. It seemed to have been leftajar, but there was no light on the other side of it. The witness didnot know where the door led to. He had often wondered. It was notfor the use of the public. He frequently went to the Opera and wasperfectly familiar with the corridors. It was behind this door thatPaul Griggs had found Miss Bamberger. Questioned as to a possiblemotive for the murder, the witness stated that Rufus Van Torp wasknown to have shown homicidal tendencies, though otherwise perfectlysane. In his early youth he had lived four years on a cattle-ranch asa cow-puncher, and had undoubtedly killed two men during that time.Witness had been private secretary to his partner, Mr. IsidoreBamberger, and while so employed Mr. Van Torp had fired a revolver athim in his private office in a fit of passion about a message witnesswas sent to deliver. Two clerks in a neighbouring room had heard theshot. Believing Mr. Van Torp to be mad, witness had said nothing atthe time, but had left Mr. Bamberger soon afterwards. It was alwayssaid that, several years ago, on board of his steam yacht, Mr. VanTorp had once violently pulled a friend who was on board out of hisberth at two in the morning, and had dragged him on deck, saying thathe must throw him overboard and drown him, as the only way of savinghis soul. The watch on deck had had great difficulty in overpoweringMr. Van Torp, who was very strong. With regard to the late MissBamberger the witness thought that Mr. Van Torp had killed her to getrid of her, because she was in possession of facts that would ruin himif they were known and because she had threatened to reveal them toher father. If she had done so, Van Torp would have been completely inhis partner's power. Mr. Bamberger could have made a beggar of him asthe only alternative to penal servitude. Questioned as to the natureof this information, witness said that it concerned the explosion,which had been planned by Van Torp for his own purposes. Either in amoment of expansion, under the influence of the drug he was in thehabit of taking, or else in real anxiety for her safety, he had toldMiss Bamberger that the explosion would take place, warning her toremain in her home, which was situated on the Riverside Drive, veryfar from the scene of the disaster. She had undoubtedly been sohorrified that she had thereupon insisted upon dissolving herengagement to marry him, and had threatened to inform her father ofthe horrible plot. She had never really wished to marry Van Torp, buthad accepted him in deference to her father's wishes. He was knownto be devoting himself at that very time to a well-known primadonnaengaged at the Metropolitan Opera, and Miss Bamberger probably hadsome suspicion of this. Witness said the motive seemed sufficient,considering that the accused had already twice taken human life. Hischoice lay between killing her and falling into the power of hispartner. He had injured Mr. Bamberger, as was well known, and Mr.Bamberger was a resentful man.
The latter part of Charles Feist's deposition was certainly more inthe nature of an argument than of evidence pure and simple, and itmight not be admitted in court; but Isidore Bamberger had instructedhis lawyer, and the Public Prosecutor would say it all, and more also,and much better; and public opinion was roused all over the UnitedStates against the Nickel Tyrant, as Van Torp was now called.
In support of the main point there was a short note to Miss Bambergerin Van Torp's handwriting, which had afterwards been found on herdressing-table. It must have arrived before she had gone out todinner. It contained a final and urgent entreaty that she would not goto the Opera, nor leave the house that evening, and was signed withVan Torp's initials only, but no one who knew his handwriting would belikely to doubt that the note was genuine.
There were some other scattered pieces of evidence which fitted therest very well. Mr. Van Torp had not been seen at his own house,nor in any club, nor down town, after he had gone out on Wednesdayafternoon, until the following Friday, when he had returned to makehis final arrangements for sailing the next morning. Bamberger hademployed a first-rate detective, but only one, to find out all thatcould be discovered about Van Torp's movements. The millionaire hadbeen at the house on Riverside Drive early in the afternoon to seeMiss Bamberger, as he had told Margaret on board the steamer, butBamberger had not seen his daughter after that till she was broughthome dead, for he had been detained by an important meeting at whichhe presided, and knowing that she was dining out to go to the theatrehe had telephoned that he would dine at his club. He himself had triedto telephone to Van Torp later in the evening but had not been able tofind him, and had not seen him till Friday.
This was the substance of the evidence which Bamberger's lawyer andthe detective would lay before the District Attorney-General onreceiving the cable.