XX
Mr. Taggett's diary was precisely a diary,--disjoined, full ofcurt, obscure phrases and irrelevant reflections,--for which reasonit will not be reproduced here. Though Mr. Slocum pondered everysyllable, and now and then turned back painfully to reconsider somedoubtful passage, it is not presumed that the reader will care to doso. An abstract of the journal, with occasional quotation where thewriter's words seem to demand it, will be sufficient for thenarrative.
In the opening pages Mr. Taggett described his novel surroundingswith a minuteness which contrasted oddly with the brief, hurriedentries further on. He found himself, as he had anticipated, in asociety composed of some of the most heterogeneous elements.Stillwater, viewed from a certain point, was a sort of microcosm, alittle international rag-fair to which nearly every country on earthhad contributed one of its shabby human products. "I am moving,"wrote Mr. Taggett, "in an atmosphere in which any crime is possible.I give myself seven days at the outside to light upon the traces ofShackford's murder. I feel him in the air." The writer's theory wasthat the man would betray his identity in one of two ways: either bytalking unguardedly, or by indulging in expenditures not warranted byhis means and position. If several persons had been concerned in thecrime, nothing was more likely than a disagreement over the spoil,and consequent treachery on the part of one of them. Or, again, someof the confederates might become alarmed, and attempt to savethemselves by giving away their comrades. Mr. Taggett, however,leaned to the belief that the assassin had had no accomplices.
The sum taken from Mr. Shackford's safe was a comparatively largeone,--five hundred dollars in gold and nearly double that amount inbank-notes. Neither the gold nor the paper bore any known mark bywhich it could be recognized; the burglar had doubtless assuredhimself of this, and would not hesitate to disburse the money. Thatwas even a safer course, judiciously worked, than to secrete it. Thepoint was, Would he have sufficient self-control to get rid of it bydegrees? The chances, Mr. Taggett argued, were ten to one he wouldnot.
A few pages further on Mr. Taggett compliments the Unknown on theadroit manner in which he is conducting himself. He has neither letslip a suspicious word, nor made an incautious display of his booty.Snelling's bar was doing an unusually light business. No one appearedto have any money. Many of the men had run deeply into debt duringthe late strike, and were now drinking moderately. In the paragraphwhich closes the week's record Mr. Taggett's chagrin is evident. Heconfesses that he is at fault. "My invisible friend does not_materialize_ so successfully as I expected," is Mr. Taggett'scomment.
His faith in the correctness of his theory had not abated; but hecontinued his observation sin a less sanguine spirit. Theseobservations were not limited to the bar-room or the workshop; heinformed himself of the domestic surroundings of his comrades. Wherehis own scrutiny could not penetrate, he employed the aid ofcorrespondents. He knew what workmen had money in the localsavings-bank, and the amount of each deposit. In the course of hisexplorations of the shady side of Stillwater life, Mr. Taggettunearthed many amusing and many pathetic histories, but nothing thatserved his end. Finally, he began to be discouraged.
Returning home from the tavern, one night, in a rather despondingmood, he found the man Wollaston smoking his pipe in bed. Wollastonwas a taciturn man generally, but this night he was conversational,and Mr. Taggett, too restless to sleep, fell to chatting with him.Did he know much about the late Mr. Shackford? Yes, he had known himwell enough, in an off way,--not to speak of him; everybody knew himin Stillwater; he was a sort of miser, hated everybody, and bulliedeverybody. It was a wonder somebody didn't knock the old silvertop onthe head years ago.
Thus Mr. Wollaston grimly, with his pores stopped up withiron-fillings,--a person to whom it would come quite easy to knockany one on the head for a slight difference of opinion. He amused Mr.Taggett in his present humor.
No, he wasn't aware that Shackford had had trouble with anyparticular individual; believed he did have a difficulty once withSlocum, the marble man; but he was always fetching suits against thetown and shying lawyers at the mill directors,--a disagreeable oldcuss altogether. Adopted his cousin, one time, but made the house sohot for him that the lad ran off to sea, and since then had hadnothing to do with the old bilk.
Indeed! What sort of fellow was young Shackford? Mr. Wollastoncould not say of his own knowledge; thought him a plucky chap; he hadput a big Italian named Torrini out of the yard, one day, for talkingback. Who was Torrini? The man that got hurt last week in the DanaMill. Who were Richard Shackford's intimates? Couldn't say; had seenhim with Mr. Pinkham, the school-master, and Mr. Craggie,--went withthe upper crust generally. Was going to be partner in the marble yardand marry Slocum's daughter. Will Durgin knew him. They livedtogether one time. He, Wollaston, was going to turn in now.
Several of these facts were not new to Mr. Taggett, but Mr.Wollaston's presentation of them threw Mr. Taggett into a reverie.
The next evening he got Durgin alone in a corner of the bar-room.With two or three potations Durgin became autobiographical. Was heacquainted with Mr. Shackford outside the yard? Rather. DickShackford? His (Durgin's) mother had kept Dick from starving when hewas a baby,--and no thanks for it. Went to school with him, and knewall about his running off to sea. Was near going with him. Old manShackford never liked Dick, who was a proud beggar; they couldn'tpull together, down to the last,--both of a piece. They had a jollyrumpus a little while before the old man was fixed.
Mr. Taggett pricked up his ears at this.
A rumpus? How did Durgin know that? A girl told him. What girl? Agirl he was sweet on. What was her name? Well, he didn't mind tellingher name; it was Molly Hennessey. She was going through Welch's Courtone forenoon,--may be it was three days before the strike,--and sawDick Shackford bolt out of the house, swinging his arms and swearingto himself at an awful rate. Was Durgin certain that Molly Hennesseyhad told him this? Yes, he was ready to take his oath on it.
Here, at last, was something that looked like a glimmer ofdaylight.
It was possible that Durgin or the girl had lied; but the storyhad an air of truth to it. If it were a fact that there had recentlybeen a quarrel between these cousins, whose uncousinly attitudetowards each other was fast becoming clear to Mr. Taggett, then herewas a conceivable key to an enigma which had puzzled him.
The conjecture that Lemuel Shackford had himself torn up thewill--if it was a will, for this still remained in dispute--had neverbeen satisfactory to Mr. Taggett. He had accepted it because he wasunable to imagine an ordinary burglar pausing in the midst of hiswork to destroy a paper in which he could have no concern. ButRichard Shackford would have the liveliest possible interest in thedestruction of a document that placed a vast estate beyond his reach.Here was a motive on a level with the crime. That money had beentaken, and that the fragments of the will had been carelessly throwninto a waste-paper basket, just as if the old man himself had thrownthem there, was a stroke of art which Mr. Taggett admired more andmore as he reflected upon it.
He did not, however, allow himself to lay too much stress on thesepoints; for the paper might turn out to be merely an expired lease,and the girl might have been quizzing Durgin. Mr. Taggett would havegiven one of his eye-teeth just then for ten minutes with MaryHennessey. But an interview with her at this stage was neitherprudent nor easily compassed.
"If I have not struck a trail," writes Mr. Taggett, "I have comeupon what strongly resembles one; the least I can do is to follow it.My first move must be to inspect that private workshop in the rear ofMr. Slocum's house. How shall I accomplish it? I cannot apply to himfor permission, for that would provoke questions which I am not readyto answer. Moreover, I have yet to assure myself that Mr. Slocum isnot implicated. There seems to have been also a hostile feelingexisting between him and the deceased. Why didn't some one tell methese things at the start! If young Shackford is the person, there isa tangled story to be unraveled. _Mem:_ Young Shackford is MissSlocum's lover."
Mr. Slocum read this pa
ssage twice without drawing breath, andthen laid down the book an instant to wipe the sudden perspirationfrom his forehead.
In the note which followed, Mr. Taggett described the difficultyhe met with in procuring a key to fit the wall-door at the rear ofthe marble yard, and gave an account of his failure to effect anentrance into the studio. He had hoped to find a window unfastened;but the window, as well as the door opening upon the veranda, waslocked, and in the midst of his operations, which were conducted atnoon-time, the approach of a servant had obliged him to retreat.
Forced to lay aside, at least temporarily, his designs on theworkshop, he turned his attention to Richard's lodgings in LimeStreet. Here Mr. Taggett was more successful. On the pretext that hehad been sent for certain drawings which were to be found on thetable or in a writing-desk, he was permitted by Mrs. Spooner toascend to the bedroom, where she obligingly insisted on helping himsearch for the apocryphal plans, and seriously interfered with hispurpose, which was to find the key of the studio. While Mr. Taggettwas turning over the pages of a large dictionary, in order to gaintime, and was wondering how he could rid himself of the old lady'simportunities, he came upon a half-folded note-sheet, at the bottomof which his eye caught the name of Lemuel Shackford. It was in thehandwriting of the dead man. Mr. Taggett was very familiar with thathandwriting. He secured the paper at a venture, and put it in hispocket without examination.
A few minutes later, it being impossible to prolong the pretendedquest for the drawings, Mr. Taggett was obliged to follow Mrs.Spooner from the apartment. As he did so he noticed a bright objectlying on the corner of the mantel-shelf,--a small nickel-plated key.In order to take it he had only to reach out his hand in passing. Itwas, as Mr. Taggett had instantly surmised, the key of Richard'sworkshop.
If it had been gold, instead of brass or iron, that bit of metalwould have taken no additional value in Mr. Taggett's eyes. Onleaving Mrs. Spooner's he held it tightly clasped in his fingersuntil he reached an unfrequented street, where he halted a moment inthe shadow of a building to inspect the paper, which he had halfforgotten in his satisfaction at having obtained the key. A stifledcry rose to Mr. Taggett's lips as he glanced over the crumplednote-sheet.
It contained three lines, hastily scrawled in lead-pencil,requesting Richard Shackford to call at the house in Welch's Court ateight o'clock on a certain Tuesday night. The note had been written,as the date showed, on the day preceding the Tuesday night inquestion--the night of the murder!
For a second or two Mr. Taggett stood paralyzed. Ten minutesafterwards a message in cipher was pulsing along the wires to NewYork, and before the sun went down that evening Richard Shackford wasunder the surveillance of the police.
The doubtful, unknown ground upon which Mr. Taggett had beenfloundering was now firm under his feet,--unexpected ground, butsolid. Meeting Mary Hennessey in the street, on his way to the marbleyard, Mr. Taggett no longer hesitated to accost her, and question heras to the story she had told William Durgin. The girl's story wasundoubtedly true, and as a piece of circumstantial evidence was onlyless important than the elder Shackford's note. The two cousins hadbeen for years on the worst of terms. At every step Mr. Taggett hadfound corroboration of Wollaston's statement to that effect.
"Where were Coroner Whidden's eyes and ears," wrote Mr.Taggett,--the words were dashed down impatiently on the page, as ifhe had sworn a little internally while writing them,--"when heconducted that inquest! In all my experience there was never a thingso stupidly managed."
A thorough and immediate examination of Richard Shackford'sprivate workshop was now so imperative that Mr. Taggett resolved tomake it even if he had to do so under the authority of asearch-warrant. But he desired as yet to avoid publicity.
A secret visit to the studio seemed equally difficult by day andnight. In the former case he was nearly certain to be deranged by theservants, and in the latter a light in the unoccupied room wouldalarm any of the household who might chance to awaken. From thewatchman no danger was to be apprehended, as the windows of theextension were not visible from the street.
Mr. Taggett finally decided on the night as the more propitioustime for his attempt,--a decision which his success justified. Abrilliant moon favored the in-door part of the enterprise, though itexposed him to observation in his approach from the marble yard tothe veranda.
With the dense moonlight streaming outside against thewindow-shades, he could safely have used a candle in the studioinstead of the screened lantern which he had provided. Mr. Taggettpassed three hours in the workshop,--the last hour in waiting for themoon to go down. Then he stole through the marble yard into thesilent street, and hurried home, carrying two small articlesconcealed under his blouse. The first was a chisel with a triangularpiece broken out of the centre of the bevel, and the other was a boxof safety-matches. The peculiarity of this box of matches was--thatjust one match had been used from it.
Mr. Taggett's work was done.
The last seven pages of the diary were devoted to a review of thecase, every detail of which was held up in various lights, andexamined with the conscientious pains of a lapidary deciding on thevalue of a rare stone. The concluding entries ran as follow:--
_"Tuesday Night_. Here the case passes into other hands. Ihave been fortunate rather than skillful in unmasking the chief actorin one of the most singular crimes that ever came under myinvestigation. By destroying three objects, very easily destroyed,Richard Shackford would have put himself beyond the dream ofsuspicion. He neglected to remove these dumb witnesses, and now thedumb witnesses speak! If it could be shown that he was a hundredmiles from Stillwater at the time of the murder, instead of in thevillage, as he was, he must still be held, in the face of the proofsagainst him, accessory to the deed. These proofs, roughly summarized,are:--
_"First_. The fact that he had had an altercation with hiscousin a short time previous to the date of the murder,--a murderwhich may be regarded not as the result of a chance disagreement, butof long years of bitter enmity between the two men.
_"Secondly_. The fact that Richard Shackford had had anappointment with his cousin on the night the crime was committed, andhad concealed that fact from the authorities at the time of thecoroner's inquest.
_"Thirdly_. That the broken chisel found in the privateworkshop of the accused explains the peculiar shape of the woundwhich caused Lemuel Shackford's death, and corresponds in everyparticular with the plaster impression taken of that wound.
_"Fourthly_. That the partially consumed match found on thescullery floor when the body was discovered (a style of match notused in the house in Welch's Court) completes the complement of a boxof safety-matches belonging to Richard Shackford, and hidden in acloset in his workshop.
"Whether Shackford had an accomplice or not is yet to beascertained. There is nothing whatever to implicate Mr. RowlandSlocum. I make the statement because his intimate association withone party and his deep dislike of the other invited inquiry, and atfirst raised an unjust suspicion in my mind."
The little red book slipped from Mr. Slocum's grasp and fell athis feet. As he rose from the chair, the reflection which he caughtof himself in the dressing-table mirror was that of a wrinkled, whiteold man.
Mr. Slocum did not believe, and no human evidence could haveconvinced him, that Richard had deliberately killed Lemuel Shackford;but as Mr. Slocum reached the final pages of the diary, a horribleprobability insinuated itself in his mind. Could Richard have done itaccidentally? Could he--in an instant of passion, stung to suddenmadness by that venomous old man--have struck him involuntarily, andkilled him? A certain speech which Richard had made in Mr. Slocum'spresence not long before came back to him now with fearfulemphasis:--
_"Three or four times in my life I have been carried away by adevil of a temper which I couldn't control, it seized me sounawares."_
"It seized me so unawares!" repeated Mr. Slocum, half aloud; andthen with a swift, unconscious gesture, he pressed his hands over hisears, as if to shut out the words.