The Darrow Enigma Part 11

Gwen did not speak, but she listened to our conversation with a nearer approach to a healthy interest than I had known her to display on any other occasion since her father's death. I regarded this as a good omen. Her condition, since that sad occurrence, had worried me a good deal. She seemed to have lost her hold on life and to exist in a state of wearied listlessness. Nothing seemed to impress her and she would at times forget, in the midst of a sentence, what she had intended to say when she began it! Her elasticity was gone and every effort a visible burden to her. I knew the consciousness of her loss was as a dull, heavy weight bearing her down, and I knew, too, that she could not marshal her will to resist it,--that, in fact, she really didn't care, so tired was she of it all. Experience had taught me how the dull, heavy ache of a great loss will press upon the consciousness with the regular, persistent, relentless throb of a loaded wheel and eat out one's life with the slow certainty of a cancer. This I knew to have been Gwen's state since her father's death, and all my attempts to bring about a healthful reaction had hitherto been futile. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that even the transient interest she had evinced was hailed by me with delight as the beginning of that healthful reaction for which I had so long sought. When a human bark in the full tide of life is suddenly dashed upon the rocks of despair the wreckage is strewn far and wide, and it is with no little difficulty that enough can be rescued to serve in the rebuilding of even the smallest of craft. The thought, therefore, that Gwen's intellectual flotsam was beginning at length to swirl about a definite object in a way to facilitate the rescue of her faculties was to me a decidedly rea.s.suring one, and I noted with pleasure that the state of excited expectancy which she had tried in vain to conceal did not wane, but waxed stronger as the days went by.

THE EPISODE OF THE PARALLEL READERS

CHAPTER I

The events of the present are all strung upon the thread of the past, and in telling over this chronological rosary, it not infrequently happens that strange, unlike beads follow each other between our questioning fingers.

It was nearly a week after his letter before Maitland arrived. He sent us no further word, but walked in one evening as we were talking about him. He came upon us so suddenly that we were all taken aback and, for a moment, I felt somewhat alarmed about Gwen. She had started up quickly when the servant had mentioned Maitland's name and pressed her hand convulsively upon her heart, while her face and neck became of a deep crimson colour. I was saying to myself that this was a common effect of sudden surprise, when I saw her clutch quickly at the back of her chair, as if to steady herself.

A moment later she sank into her seat. Her face was now as pale as ashes, and I felt I had good reason to be alarmed. I think she was conscious of my scrutiny, for she turned her face from me and remained motionless. The movement told me she was trying to regain command of her faculties and I forbore to interfere in the struggle, though I watched her with some solicitude. My fears were at once dispelled, however, when Maitland entered, for Gwen was the first to welcome him. She extended her hand with much of her old impulsiveness, saying: "I have so much for which to thank you--"

but Maitland interrupted her. "Indeed, I regret to say," he rejoined, "that I have been unable thus far to be of any real service to you. The Ragobah clue was a miserable failure, though we may do ourselves the justice to admit that we had no alternative but to follow it to the end. I confess I have never been more disappointed than in the outcome of this affair." "My dear fellow," I said, "we all have much to be thankful for in your safe return, let us not forget that." Maitland laughed: "That reminds me," he said, "of the man who pa.s.sed the hat at a coloured camp-meeting. When asked how much he had collected, he replied: 'I didn't get no money, but I'se done got de hat back.' You've got your hat back, and that's about all. However, with Miss Darrow's permission, I shall go back to the starting point and begin all over again."

"You are making me your debtor," Gwen replied slowly, "beyond my power ever to repay you."

"It is in the hope that no payment may ever be demanded of you,"

he rejoined, "that I am busying myself in your affairs." The colour sprang to Gwen's cheeks, but she only replied by a grateful glance.

I knew what was pa.s.sing through her mind. She was thinking of her promise--of her father's last words, and of the terrible possibilities thereof from which Maitland was seeking to rescue her.

She felt that she could safely owe him any debt of grat.i.tude, however great, while he, on his part, took what I fancied, both then and afterward, were unnecessary pains to a.s.sure her that, in the event of his finding the a.s.sa.s.sin, she need have no fear of his making any claim whatsoever upon her. And so the whole affair was dropped for the time being and the rest of the evening devoted to listening to Maitland's account of his experiences while abroad.

The next morning I called upon our detective at his laboratory and asked him what he intended to do next. He replied that he had no plans as yet, but that he wished to review with me all the evidence at hand.

"You see," he said, "the thing that renders the solution of this mystery so difficult is the fact that all our clues, while they would be of the utmost service in the conviction of the a.s.sa.s.sin had we found him, are almost dest.i.tute of any value until he has been located. Add to this that we are now unable to find any motive for the crime and you can see how slight are our hopes of success. If ever we chance to find the man,--for I feel that such a consummation would result more from chance than from anything else,--I think we can convict him.

"Here, for example," he said, taking up a small slip of gla.s.s which he had cut from the eastern parlour window of the Darrow house, "is something I have never shown either you or Miss Darrow.

It is utterly worthless, so far as a.s.sisting us to track the a.s.sa.s.sin is concerned, but, if ever we suspect the right man, the evidence on that gla.s.s would probably convict him, though there were ten thousand other suspects."

I took the gla.s.s from him and, examining it with the utmost care, I detected a s.m.u.tch of yellowish paint upon it, nothing more.

"For Heaven's sake, Maitland!" I said in astonishment, "of what possible use can that formless daub of paint be, or is there something else on the gla.s.s that has escaped me?" He laughed at my excitement as he replied:

"There is nothing there but the paint spot. Regarding that, however, you have come to a very natural though erroneous conclusion. It is not formless"; and he pa.s.sed me a jeweller's eye-gla.s.s to a.s.sist me in a closer examination. He was right. The paint lay upon the gla.s.s in little irregular furrows which arranged themselves concentrically about a central oval groove somewhat imperfect in shape. "Well," continued. Maitland, as I returned him the magnifying gla.s.s, "what do you make of it?" "If you hadn't already attached so much importance to the thing," I said, "I should p.r.o.nounce it a daub of paint transferred to the gla.s.s by somebody's thumb, but, as such a thing would be clearly useless, I am at a loss to know what it is."

"Well," he rejoined, "you've hit the nail on the head,--that's just what it is, but you are entirely wrong in your a.s.sumption that the thumb-mark can have no value as evidence. Do you not know that there are no two thumbs in the world which are capable of making indistinguishable marks?" I was not aware of this. "How do you know," I asked, "that this mark was made by the a.s.sa.s.sin? It seems to me there can hardly be a doubt that one of the painters, while priming the sill, accidentally pressed his thumb against the gla.s.s.

His hands would naturally have been painty, and this impression would as naturally have resulted."

"What you say," replied Maitland, "is very good, so far as it goes.

My reasons for believing this thumb-mark was made by the a.s.sa.s.sin are easily understood. First: there was another impression of a thumb in the moist paint of the sill directly under that upon the gla.s.s.

Both marks were made by the same thumb and, in the lower one, the microscope revealed minute traces of gravel dust, not elsewhere discernible upon the sill. The thumb carried the dust there, and was the thumb of the hand pressed into the gravel,--the hand of which I have a cast. You see how this shows how the thumb came to have paint upon it when pressed upon the gla.s.s. Second: the two men engaged in priming the house, James Cogan and Charles Rice, were the only persons save the a.s.sa.s.sin known to have been upon that side of the house the day of the murder. "Here," he said, carefully removing two strips of gla.s.s from a box, "are the thumb-marks of Cogan and Rice made with the same paint. You see that neither of these men could, by any possibility, have made the mark upon the gla.s.s. So there you are. But we are missing the question before us. What line of procedure can you suggest, Doc? I'm all at sea."

"We must find someone," I said, "who could have had a motive. This someone ought to have a particularly good reason for concealing his footprints, and is evidently lame besides. I can't for the life of me see anything else we have to go by, unless it be the long nail of the little finger, and I don't see how that is going to help us find the a.s.sa.s.sin--unless we can find out why it was worn long.

If we knew that it might a.s.sist us. As I have already suggested, a Chinaman might have a long nail on the little finger, but he would also have the other nails long, wouldn't he? Furthermore, he might use the boards to conceal the prints of his telltale foot-gear; but why should he not have put on shoes of the ordinary type? If he had time to prepare the boards,--the whole affair shows premeditation, --clearly he had time to change his boots. The Chinese are usually small, and this might easily account for the smallness of the hand as shown by your cast. These are the pros and cons of the only clue that suggests itself to me. By the way, Maitland, it's a shame we did not try, before it was too late, to track this fellow down with a dog."

"Ah," he replied, "there is another little thing I have not told you.

After you had left the house with Miss Darrow on the night of the murder, and all the servants had retired, I locked the parlour securely and quietly slipped out to look about a bit. As you know, the moon was very bright and any object moderately near was plainly visible. I went around to the eastern side of the house where the prints of the hand and boards were found, and examined them with extreme care. What I particularly wished to learn was the direction taken by the a.s.sa.s.sin as he left the house and the point at which he had removed the boards from his feet. The imprints of the boards were clearly discernible so far as the loose gravel extended, but beyond that nothing could be discovered. I sat down and pondered over the matter. I had about concluded to drive two nails into the heels of my boots to enable me to distinguish my own footprints from any other trail I might intersect, and then, starting with the house as a centre, to describe an involute about it in the hope of being able to detect some one or more points where my course crossed that of the a.s.sa.s.sin, when I remembered that my friend Burwell, whose Uncle Tom's Cabin Combination recently stranded at Brockton was at home. As you are perhaps aware an Uncle Tom Company consists of a 'Legree,' one or two 'Markses,' one or two 'Topsies,' 'Uncle Tom,'

a 'Little Eva,' who should not be over fifty years old,--or at least should not appear to be,--two bloodhounds, and anybody else that happens to be available. It really doesn't make the least difference how many or how few people are in the cast. I have heard that an Uncle Tom manager on a Western circuit, most of whose company deserted him because the 'ghost' never walked, succeeded in cutting and rewriting the piece so as to double 'George Harris'

and 'Legree,' ' Marks' and 'Topsy,' 'Uncle Tom' and 'Little Eva.'

As for the rest he had it so arranged that he could himself 'get off the door' in time to 'do,' with the aid of the dogs, all the other characters. You see the dogs held the stage while he changed, say, from 'Eliza' to Eva's father. 'George Harris' would look off left second entrance and say that 'Legree' was after him. Then he would discharge a revolver, rush off right first entrance, where he would pa.s.s his weapon to 'Eva' and 'Uncle Tom,' and this bis.e.xual individual would discharge it in the wings at the imaginary pursuer, while 'Harris' would put on a wire beard, slouch hat, black melodramatic cape, and, rushing behind the flat, enter left as 'Legree.'

"The hardest thing to manage was the death of 'Little Eva' with 'Uncle Tom' by the bedside, but managerial genius overcame the difficulty after the style of Mantell's 'Corsican Brothers.' You see it is all easy enough when you know how. 'Little Eva' is discovered, sitting up in bed with the curtains drawn back. She says what she has to say to her father and the rest. Then her father has a line in which he informs 'Eva' that she is tired and had better try to sleep. She says she will try, just to please him, and he gently lowers her back upon the pillows and draws the curtains in front of the bed. But instead of utilising this seclusion for a refreshing sleep 'Eva' rolls out at the back side of the bed. 'Legree' s.n.a.t.c.hes off 'Eva's' wig and 'Topsy' deftly removes the white nightdress concealing his--'Eva's'--'Uncle Tom'

make-up, while the erstwhile little girl hastily blackens his face and hands, puts on a negro wig, and in less than a minute is changed in colour, race, and s.e.x. He 'gets round' left and enters the sick room as 'Uncle Tom' with 'Topsy.' They are both told that 'Little Eva' is asleep, and 'Topsy' peeps cautiously between the curtains and remarks that the child's eyes are open and staring.

The father looks in and, overcome by grief, informs the audience that his child is dead. 'Topsy,' tearful and grief-stricken, 'gets off' right and washes up to 'do' 'Little Eva' climbing the golden stair in the last tableau. Meanwhile 'Uncle Tom,' in a paroxysm of grief, throws himself upon the bed and holds the stage till he smells the red fire for the vision; then he staggers down stage, strikes an att.i.tude; the others do likewise; picture of 'Little Eva,' curtain. Talk about doubling 'Marcellus,' 'Polonius,'

'Osric,' and the 'First Grave Digger'! Why, that's nothing to these 'Uncle Tom' productions. But hold on, where did I get side-tracked?

Oh, yes, the dogs.

"Well, as I was saying, as soon as I thought of Burwell I made up my mind at once to borrow one of his hounds. It was late when I got to his house. When I knocked at the door both Pompey and Caesar began sub-ba.s.s solos of growls, and Burwell was awake in a minute.

I told him I wanted a dog for private business and took Caesar off with me. He found the trail with no difficulty, and followed it in a bee-line down to the water, where he raised his big muzzle and howled in dismal impotency. The a.s.sa.s.sin had taken to the water.

I took the dog up and down the sh.o.r.e to see if he had returned to land, but all I found of interest was a clump of alders from which a pole had been cut. I knew by the dog's actions that the a.s.sa.s.sin had been there, for Caesar immediately took a new trail back to the house. Try as I might I could learn nothing further, and I at once returned the dog. There is no doubt that the murderer made his escape in a boat and took with him the pole he had cut, the boards he had worn, and everything else, I dare say, connected with his crime. One thing seems clear, and that is that we are dealing with no ordinary criminal. I would wager a good deal that this fellow, if ever he is caught, will be found to be a man of brains. I don't place much confidence in the Chinese theory, Doc, but as I have nothing better to offer, let us go see Miss Darrow. If her father has ever had any dealings with Chinamen, we shall probably deem it wise to look the Orientals up a bit."

We immediately acted upon this suggestion, waiting upon Gwen at my house. She said she and her father had spent a year in San Francisco when she was about seven years of age. While there their household was looked after by two Chinese servants, named Wah Sing and Sam Lee. The latter had been discharged by her father because of his refusal to perform certain minor duties which, through oversight, had not been set down as part of his work when he was engaged. So far as she knew no altercation had taken place and there were no hard feelings on either side. Sam Lee had bade her good-bye and had seemed sorry to leave, notwithstanding which, however, he refused, with true Chinese pertinacity, to a.s.sume the new duties. She did not think it likely that either of these Chinamen had been instrumental in her father's death, yet she agreed with Maitland that it would be a point gained to be a.s.sured of this fact. Maitland accordingly determined to depart at once for San Francisco, and the next day he was off.

We received no letters from him during his absence and were, accordingly, unable to tell when he expected to get back. Since his return from India Gwen had given evidence of a reviving interest in life, but now that he was again away, she relapsed into her old listless condition, from which we found it impossible to arouse her.

Alice, who did her utmost to please her, was at her wit's end. She could never tell which of two alternatives Gwen preferred, since that young lady would invariably express herself satisfied with either and did not seem to realise why she should be expected to have any choice in the matter. Alice was quite at a loss to understand this state of affairs, until I told her that Gwen was in a condition of semi-torpor in which even the effort of choice seemed an unwarrantable outlay. She simply did not care what happened. She felt nothing, save a sense of fatigue, and even what she saw was viewed as from afar,--and seemed to her a drama in which she took no other part than that of an idle, tired, and listless spectator.

Clearly she was losing her hold on life. I told Alice we must do our utmost to arouse her, to stimulate her will, to awaken her interest, and we tried many things in vain.

Maitland had been gone, I think, about three weeks when my sister and I hit upon a plan which we thought might have the desired effect upon Gwen. Before her father's death she had been one of the most active members of a Young People's Club which devoted every Wednesday evening to the study of Shakespeare. She had attended none of its meetings since her bereavement, but Alice and I soon persuaded her to accompany us on the following week and I succeeded, by a little quiet wire-pulling, in getting her appointed to take charge of the following meeting, which was to be devoted to the study of "Antony and Cleopatra." When informed of the task which had been imposed upon her Gwen was for declining the honour at once, and the most Alice and I were able to do was to get her to promise to think it over a day or so before she refused.

The next morning Maitland walked in upon us. He had found both of Mr. Darrow's former servants and satisfied himself that they were in San Francisco on the night of the murder. So that ended my Chinese clue. While Alice and Gwen were discussing the matter, I took occasion to draw Maitland aside, and told him of Gwen's appointment to take charge of the Cleopatra night, and how necessary it was to her health that she should be aroused from her torpor. It doesn't take long for Maitland to see a thing, and before I had whispered a dozen sentences he had completely grasped the situation.

He crossed the room, drew a chair up beside Gwen, and sat down.

"Miss Darrow," he began, "I am afraid you will have a poor opinion of me as a detective. This is the second time I have failed. I feel that I should remind you again of our compact, at least, that part of it which permits you to dispense with my services whenever you shall see fit to do so, and, at the same time, to relieve you from your obligation to let me order your actions. I tell you frankly it will be necessary for you to discharge me, if you would be rid of me, for, unless you do so, or I find the a.s.sa.s.sin, I shall never cease my search so long as I have the strength and means to conduct it. What do you say? Have I not proved my uselessness?"

This was said in a tentative, half-jesting tone. Gwen answered it very seriously.

"You have done for me," she said, in the deep, vibrating tones of her rich contralto voice, "all that human intelligence could suggest. You have examined the evidence and conducted the whole affair with a thoroughness which I never could have obtained elsewhere. That your search has been unavailing is due, not to any fault of yours, but rather to the consummate skill of the a.s.sa.s.sin, who, I think, we may conclude, is no ordinary criminal. I do not know much of the abilities of Messrs. Osborne and Allen, but I understand that M.

G.o.din has the reputation of being the cleverest detective in America.

I cannot learn that he has made any progress whatsoever in the solution of this terrible mystery. I do not feel, therefore, that you have any right to reproach yourself. Such hope as I have that my father's murderer may ever be brought to justice rests in your efforts; else I should feel bound to relieve you of a task, which, though self-imposed, is, none the less, onerous and ill-paid. Do not consider me altogether selfish if I ask that you still continue the search, and that I--that I still be held to my covenant. I am aware that I can never fully repay the kindness I am asking of you, but--"

Maitland did not wait for her to finish. "Let us not speak of that,"

he said. "It is enough to know that you are still satisfied with my, thus far, unsuccessful efforts in your behalf. There is nothing affords me keener pleasure than to struggle with and solve an intricate problem, whether it be in algebra, geometry, or the mathematics of crime; and then--well, even if I succeed, I shall quit the work your debtor."

He had spoken this last impulsively, and when he had finished he remained silent, as if surprised and a bit nettled at his own failure to control himself. Gwen made no reply, not even raising her eyes; but I noticed that her fingers at once busied themselves with the entirely uncalled-for labour of readjusting the tidy upon the arm of her chair, and I thought that, if appearances were to be trusted, she was very happy and contented at the change she had made in the bit of lacework beneath her hands. With singular good sense, with which she was always surprising me, Alice now introduced the subject of the Young People's Club, and mentioned incidentally that Gwen was to have charge of the next meeting. Before Gwen had time to inform Maitland that she intended to decline this honour, he congratulated her upon it, and rendered her withdrawal difficult by saying: "I feel that I should thank you, Miss Darrow, for the faithful way in which you fulfil the spirit of your agreement to permit me to order your actions. I know, if you consulted your own desires, you would probably decline the honour conferred upon you, and that in accepting it, you are influenced by the knowledge that you are pursuing just the course I most wish you to follow. Verily, you make my office of tyrant over you a perfect sinecure. I had expected you to chafe a little under restraint, but, instead, I find you voluntarily yielding to my unexpressed desires."

Gwen made no reply, but we heard no more of her resignation. She applied herself at once to the preparation of her paper upon "Antony and Cleopatra." Maitland, who, like all vigorous, healthy, and informed intellects, was an ardent admirer of Shakespeare, found time to call on Gwen and to discuss the play with her. This seemed to please her very much, and I am sure his interest in the play was abnormal. He confessed to me that every morning, as he awoke, the first thing which flashed into his mind, even before he had full possession of his senses, was these words of Antony:

"I am dying, Egypt, dying."

He professed himself utterly unable to account for this, and asked me what I thought was the cause of it. He furthermore suddenly decided that he would ask Gwen to propose his name for membership at the next meeting of the Young People's Club. I hastily indorsed this resolution, for I had a vague sort of feeling that it would please Gwen.

The "Antony and Cleopatra" night at length arrived. We all attended the meeting and listened to a very able paper upon the play. One of the most marked traits of Gwen's character is that whatever she does she does thoroughly, and this was fully exemplified on the night in question. Maitland was very much impressed by some verse Gwen had written for the occasion, and a copy of which he succeeded in procuring from her. I think, from certain remarks he made, that it was the broad and somewhat unfeminine charity expressed in the verse which most astonished and attracted him, but of this, after what I have said, you will, when you have perused it, be as good a judge as I:

CLEOPATRA

In Egypt, where the lotus sips the waters Of ever-fruitful Nile, and the huge Sphinx In awful silence,--mystic converse with The stars,--doth see the pale moon hang her crescent on The pyramid's sharp peak,--e'en there, well in The straits of Time's perspective, Went out, by Caesarean gusts from Rome, The low-burned candle of the Ptolemies: Went out without a flicker in full glare Of noon-day glory. When her flame lacked oil Too proud was Egypt's queen to be The snuff of Roman spirits; so she said, "Good-night," and closed the book of life half read And little understood; perchance misread The greater part,--yet, who shall say? Are we An ermined bench to call her culprit failings up And make them plead for mercy? Or can we, Upon whom soon shall fall the awful shadow of The Judgment Seat, stand in her light and throw Ourselves that shadow? Rather let fall upon Her memory the softening gauze of Time, As mantle of a charity which else We might not serve. She was a woman, And as a woman loved! What though the fierce Simoom blew ever hot within the sail Of her desire? What if it shifted with Direction of her breath? Or if the rudder of Her will did lean as many ways as trampled straws, And own as little worth? She was a woman still, And queen. They do best understand themselves Who trust themselves the least; as they are wisest Who, for their safety, thank more the open sea Than pilot will. Oh, Egypt's self-born Isis!

Ought we to fasten in thy memory the fangs Of unalloyed distrust? We know how little Better is History's page than leaf whereat the ink Is thrown. Nor yet should we forget how much The nearer thou than we didst come to The rough-hewn corner-stone of Time. We know Thy practised love enfolded Antony; And that around the heart of Hercules'

Descendant, threading through and through, Like the red rivers of its life, in tangled mesh No circ.u.mstance could e'er unravel, thou Didst coil,--the dreamy, dazzling "Serpent of The Nile!" Thy sins stick jagged out From history's page, and bleeding tear Fair Judgment from thy merits. We perchance Do wrong thee, Isis; for that coward, History, Who binds in death his object's jaw and then Bes.m.u.ts her name, hath crossed his focus in Another age, and paled his spreading figment from Our sight. Thou art so far back toward The primal autocrat whose wish, hyena-like, Was his religion, that, appearing as thou dost On an horizon new flushed in the first Uncertain ray of Altruism, thou seem'st More ghost than human. Yet thou lovest, loving ghost, And thy fierce parent flame thyself snuffed out Scarce later than the dark'ning of the fire Thou gav'st to be eternal vestal of Thine Antony's spirit. Thou didst love and die Of love; let, therefore, no light tongue, brazen In censure, say that nothing in thy life Became thee like the leaving it. The cloth From which humanity is cut is woven of The warp and woof of circ.u.mstance, and all Are much alike. We spring from out the mantle, Earth, And hide at last beneath it; in the interim Our acts are less of us than it. We are No judge, then, of thy sins, thou ending link Of Ptolemy's chain. Forsooth, we are too much O'erfilled with wondering how like to thee We all had been, inclipt and dressed in thine Own age and circ.u.mstance.

The exercises of the evening concluded with the reading of the familiar poem, beginning: