XXVII
Mr. Taggett, in spite of the excellent subjection under which heheld his nerves, caught his breath at these words, and a transientpallor overspread his face as he followed the pointing of Richard'sfinger. If William Durgin had testified falsely on that point, if hehad swerved a hair's-breadth from the truth in that matter, thenthere was but one conclusion to be drawn from his perjury. A flash oflightning is not swifter than was Mr. Taggett's thought in graspingthe situation. In an instant he saw all his carefully articulatedcase fall to pieces in his hands. Richard crossed the narrow room,and stood in front of him.
"Mr. Taggett, do you know why William Durgin lied? He lied becauseit was life or death with him! In a moment of confusion he hadcommitted one of those simple, fatal blunders which men in hiscircumstances always commit. He had obliterated the spots on hisclothes with red paint, when he ought to have used blue!"
"That is a very grave supposition."
"It is not a supposition," cried Richard. "The daylight is not aplainer fact."
"You are assuming too much, Mr. Shackford."
"I am assuming nothing. Durgin has convicted himself; he hasfallen into a trap of his own devising. I charge him with the murderof Lemuel Shackford; I charge him with taking the chisel and thematches from my workshop, to which he had free access; and I chargehim with replacing those articles in order to divert suspicion uponme. My unfortunate relations with my cousin gave color to thissuspicion. The plan was an adroit plan, and has succeeded, it seems."
Mr. Taggett did not reply at once, and then very coldly: "You willpardon me for suggesting it, but it will be necessary to ascertain ifthis is the cask which Durgin hoped, and also if the head has notbeen repainted since."
"I understand what your doubt implies. It is your duty to assureyourself of these facts, and nothing can be easier. The person whopacked the meat--it was probably a provision dealer namedStubbs--will of course be able to recognize his own work. The otherquestion you can settle with a scratch of your penknife. You see.There has been only one thin coat of paint laid on,--the grain of thewood is nearly distinguishable through it. The head is evidently new;but the cask itself is an old one. It has stood here these tenyears."
Mr. Taggett bent a penetrating look on Richard. "Why did yourefuse to answer the subpoena, Mr. Shackford?"
"But I haven't refused. I was on my way to Justice Beemis's officewhen you knocked. Perhaps I am a trifle late," added Richard,catching Mr. Taggett's distrustful glance.
"The summons said two o'clock," remarked Mr. Taggett, pressing thespring of his watch. "It is now after three."
"After three!"
"How could you neglect it,--with evidence of such presumableimportance in your hands?"
"It was only a moment ago that I discovered this. I had come herefrom Mr. Perkins's office. Mr. Perkins had informed me of thehorrible charge which was to be laid at my door. The intelligencefell upon me like a thunder-clap. I think it unsettled my reason fora while. I was unable to put two ideas together. At first he didn'tbelieve I had killed my cousin, and presently he seemed to believeit. When I got out in the street the sidewalk lurched under my feetlike the deck of a ship; everything swam before me. I don't know howI managed to reach this house, and I don't know how long I had beensitting in a room up-stairs when the recollection of the subpoenaoccurred to me. I was standing here dazed with despair; I saw that Iwas somehow caught in the toils, and that it was going to beimpossible to prove my innocence. If another man had been in myposition, I should have believed him guilty. I stood looking at thecask in the corner there, scarcely conscious of it; then I noticedthe blue paint on the head, and then William Durgin's testimonyflashed across my mind. Where is he?" cried Richard, turning swiftly."That man should be arrested!"
"I am afraid he is gone," said Mr. Taggett, biting his lip.
"Do you mean he has fled?"
"If you are correct--he has fled. He failed to answer the summonsto-day, and the constable sent to look him up has been unable to findhim. Durgin was in the bar-room of the tavern at eight o'clock lastnight; he has not been seen since."
"He was not in the yard this morning. You have let him slipthrough your fingers."
"So it appears, for the moment."
"You still doubt me, Mr. Taggett?"
"I don't let persons slip through my fingers."
Richard curbed an impatient rejoinder, and said quietly, "WilliamDurgin had an accomplice."
Mr. Taggett flushed, as if Richard had read his secret thought.Durgin's flight, if he really had fled, had suggested a freshpossibility to Mr. Taggett. What if Durgin were merely the pliantinstrument of the cleverer man who was now using him as a shield?This reflection was precisely in Mr. Taggett's line. In abscondingDurgin had not only secured his own personal safety, but hadexonerated his accomplice. It was a desperate step to take, but itwas a skillful one.
"He had an accomplice?" repeated Mr. Taggett, after a moment. "Whowas it?"
"Torrini!"
"The man who was hurt the other day?"
"Yes."
"You have grounds for your assertion?"
"He and Durgin were intimate, and have been much together lately.I sat up with Torrini the night before last; he acted and talked verystrangely; the man was out of his head part of the time, but now, asI think it over, I am convinced that he had this matter on his mind,and was hinting at it. I believe he would have made disclosures if Ihad urged him a little. He was evidently in great dread of a visitfrom some person, and that person was Durgin. Torrini ought to bequestioned without delay; he is very low, and may die at any moment.He is lying in a house at the further end of the town. If it is notimperative that I should report myself to Justice Beemis, we hadbetter go there at once."
Mr. Taggett, who had been standing with his head half bowed,lifted it quickly as he asked the question, "Why did you withholdLemuel Shackford's letter?"
"It was never in my possession, Mr. Taggett," said Richard,starting. "That paper is something I cannot explain at present. I canhardly believe in its existence, though Mr. Perkins declares that hehas had it in his hands, and it would be impossible for him to make amistake in my cousin's writing."
"The letter was found in your lodgings."
"So I was told. I don't understand it."
"That explanation will not satisfy the prosecuting attorney."
"I have only one theory about it," said Richard slowly.
"What is that?"
"I prefer not to state it now. I wish to stop at my boarding-houseon the way to Torrini's; it will not be out of our course."
Mr. Taggett gave silent acquiescence to this. Richard opened thescullery door, and the two passed into the court. Neither spoke untilthey reached Lime Street. Mrs. Spooner herself answered Richard'sring, for he had purposely dispensed with the use of his pass-key.
"I wanted to see you a moment, Mrs. Spooner," said Richard, makingno motion to enter the hall. "Thanks, we will not come in. I merelydesire to ask you a question. Were you at home all day on that Mondayimmediately preceding my cousin's death?"
"No," replied Mrs. Spooner wonderingly, with her hand still restingon the knob. "I wasn't at home at all. I spent the day and part of thenight with my daughter Maria Ann at South Millville. It was a boy,"added Mrs. Spooner, quite irrelevantly, smoothing her ample apron withthe disengaged hand.
"Then Janet was at home," said Richard. "Call Janet."
A trim, intelligent-looking Nova Scotia girl was summoned from thebasement kitchen.
"Janet," said Richard, "do you remember the day, about three weeksago, that Mrs. Spooner was absent at South Millville?"
"Yes," replied the girl, without hesitation. "It was the daybefore"--and then she stopped.
"Exactly; it was the day before my cousin was killed. Now I wantyou to recollect whether any letter or note or written message of anydescription was left for me at this house on that day."
Janet reflected. "I think there was, Mr. Richard,--a bit of paperlike."
Mr. Taggett riveted his eyes on the girl.
"Who brought the paper?" demanded Richard.
"It was one of the Murphy boys, I think."
"Did you hand it to me?"
"No, Mr. Richard, you had gone out. It was just after breakfast."
"You gave it to me when I came home to dinner, then?"
"No," returned Janet, becoming confused with a dim perception thatsomething had gone wrong and she was committing herself.
"I remember, I didn't come home. I dined at the Slocums'. What didyou do with that paper?"
"I put it on the table in your room up-stairs."
Mr. Taggett's eyes gleamed a little at this.
"And that is all you can say about it?" inquired Richard, with afallen countenance.
Janet reflected. She reflected a long while this time. "No, Mr.Shackford: an hour or so afterwards, when I went up to do thechamber-work, I saw that the wind had blow the paper off of thetable. I picked up the note and put it back; but the wind blew it offagain."
"What then?"
"Then I shut up the note in one of the big books, meaning to tellyou of it, and--and I forgot it! Oh, Mr. Richard, have I donesomething dreadful?"
"Dreadful!" cried Richard. "Janet, I could hug you!"
"Oh, Mr. Richard," said Janet with a little coquettish movementnatural to every feminine thing, bird, flower, or human being,"you've always such a pleasant way with you."
Then there was a moment of dead silence. Mrs. Spooner saw that thematter, whatever it was, was settled.
"You needn't wait, Janet!" she said, with a severe, mystified air.
"We are greatly obliged to you, Mrs. Spooner, not to mentionJanet," said Richard; "and if Mr. Taggett has no questions to ask wewill not detain you."
Mrs. Spooner turned her small amiable orbs on Richard's companion.That silent little man Mr. Taggett! "He doesn't look like much," wasthe landlady's unuttered reflection; and indeed he did not present aspirited appearance. Nevertheless Mrs. Spooner followed him down thestreet with her curious gaze until he and Richard passed out ofsight.
Neither Richard nor Mr. Taggett was disposed to converse as theywended their way to Mitchell's Alley. Richard's ire was slowlykindling at the shameful light in which he had been placed by Mr.Taggett, and Mr. Taggett was striving with only partial success toreconcile himself to the idea of young Shackford's innocence. YoungShackford's innocence was a very awkward thing for Mr. Taggett, forhe had irretrievably committed himself at head-quarters. WithRichard's latent ire was mingled a feeling of profound gratitude.
"The Lord was on my side," he said presently.
"He was on your side, as you remark; and when the Lord is on aman's side a detective necessarily comes out second best."
"Really, Mr. Taggett," said Richard, smiling, "that is a handsomeadmission on your part."
"I mean, sir," replied the latter, slightly nettled, "that itsometimes seems as if the Lord himself took charge of a case."
"Certainly you are entitled to the credit of going to the bottomof this one."
"I have skillfully and laboriously damaged my reputation, Mr.Shackford."
Mr. Taggett said this with so heavy an air that Richard felt astir of sympathy in his bosom.
"I am very sorry," he said good-naturedly.
"No, I beg of you!" exclaimed Mr. Taggett. "Any expression offriendliness from you would finish me! For nearly ten days I havelooked upon you as a most cruel and consummate villain."
"I know," said Richard. "I must be quite a disappointment to you,in a small way."
Mr. Taggett laughed in spite of himself. "I hope I don't take amorbid view of it," he said. A few steps further on he relaxed hisgait. "We have taken the Hennessey girl into custody. Do you imagineshe was concerned?"
"Have you questioned her?"
"Yes; she denies everything, except that she told Durgin you hadquarreled with the old gentleman."
"I think Mary Hennessey an honest girl. She's little more than achild. I doubt if she knew anything whatever. Durgin was much tooshrewd to trust her, I fancy."
As the speakers struck into the principal street, through thelower and busier end of which they were obliged to pass, Mr. Taggettcaused a sensation. The drivers of carts and the pedestrians on bothsidewalks stopped and looked at him. The part he had played inSlocum's Yard was now an open secret, and had produced an excitementthat was not confined to the clientele of Snelling's bar-room. It wasknown that William Durgin had disappeared, and that the constableswere searching for him. The air was thick with flying projectures,but none of them precisely hit the mark. One rumor there was whichseemed almost like a piece of poetical justice,--a whisper to theeffect that Rowland Slocum was suspected of being in some way mixedup with the murder. The fact that Lawyer Perkins, with his green bagstreaming in the wind, so to speak, had been seen darting into Mr.Slocum's private residence at two o'clock that afternoon wassufficient to give birth to the horrible legend.
"Mitchell's Alley," said Mr. Taggett, thrusting his arm throughRichard's, and hurrying on the escape the Stillwater gaze. "You wentthere directly from the station the night you got home."
"How did you know that?"
"I was told by a fellow-traveler of yours,--and a friend of mine."
"By Jove! Did it ever strike you, Mr. Taggett, that there is sucha thing as being too clever?"
"It has occurred to me recently."
"Here is the house."
Two sallow-skinned children, with wide, wistful black eyes, whowere sitting on the stone step, shyly crowded themselves togetheragainst the door-jamb to make passage-way for Richard and Mr.Taggett. Then the two pairs of eyes veered round inquiringly, andfollowed the strangers up the broken staircase and saw one of themknock at the door which faced the building.
Richard's hasty tap bringing no response, he lifted the latchwithout further ceremony and stepped into the chamber, Mr. Taggett apace or two behind him. The figure of Father O'Meara slowly risingfrom a kneeling posture at the bedside was the first object that mettheir eyes; the second was Torrini's placid face, turned a little onthe pillow; the third was Brigida sitting at the foot of the bed,motionless, with her arms wrapped in her apron.
"He is dead," said the priest softly, advancing a step towardsRichard. "You are too late. He wanted to see you, Mr. Shackford, butyou were not to be found."
Richard sent a swift glance over the priest's shoulder. "He wantedto tell me what part he had played in my cousin's murder?" saidRichard.
"God forbid! the wretched man had many a sin on his soul, but notthat."
"Not that!"
"No; he had no hand in it,--no more than you or I. His fault wasthat he concealed his knowledge of the deed after it was done. He didnot even suspect who committed the crime until two days' afterwards,when William Durgin"--
Richard's eyes lighted up as they encountered Mr. Taggett's. Thepriest mistook the significance of the glances.
"No," said Father O'Meara, indicating Brigida with a quick motionof his head, "the poor soul does not understand a word. But even ifshe did, I should have to speak of these matters here and now, whilethey are fresh in my mind. I am obeying the solemn injunctions of thedead. Two days after the murder William Durgin came to Torrini andconfessed the deed, offering to share with him a large sum in goldand notes if he would hide the money temporarily. Torrini agreed todo so. Later Durgin confided to him his plan of turning suspicionupon you, Mr. Shackford; indeed, of directly charging you with themurder, if the worst came to the worst. Torrini agreed to that also,because of some real or fancied injury at your hands. It seems thatthe implement which Durgin had employed in forcing the scullerydoor--the implement which he afterwards used so mercilessly--had beenstolen from your workshop. The next morning Durgin put the tool backin its place, not knowing what other disposition to make of it, andit was then that the idea of shouldering the crime upon you enteredhis wicked heart. According to Torrini, Durgin did not intend to harmthe old gentleman, but simply to rob him. The unfortunate
man wasawakened by the noise Durgin made in breaking open the safe, andrushed in to his doom. Having then no fear of interruption, Durginleisurely ransacked the house. How he came across the will, anddestroyed it with the idea that he was putting the estate out of yourpossession--this and other details I shall give you by and by."
Father O'Meara paused a moment. "After the accident at the milland the conviction that he was not to recover, Torrini's consciencebegan to prick him. When he reflected on Miss Slocum's kindness tohis family during the strike, when he now saw her saving his wife andchildren from absolute starvation, he was nearly ready to break theoath with which he had bound himself to William Durgin. Curiouslyenough, this man, so reckless in many things, held his pledged wordsacred. Meanwhile his wavering condition became apparent to Durgin,who grew alarmed, and demanded the stolen property. Torrini refusedto give it up; even his own bitter necessities had not tempted him totouch a penny of it. For the last three days he was in deadly terrorlest Durgin should wrest the money from him by force. The poor woman,here, knows nothing of all this. It was her presence, however, whichprobably prevented Durgin from proceeding to extremities withTorrini, who took care never to be left alone."
"I recollect," said Richard, "the night I watched with him he wasconstantly expecting some one. I supposed him to be wandering in hismind."
"He was expecting Durgin, though Torrini had every reason forbelieving that he had fled."
Mr. Taggett leaned forward, and asked, "When did he go,--andwhere?"
"He was too cunning to confide his plans to Torrini. Three nightsago Durgin came here and begged for a portion of the bank-note;previously he had reclaimed the whole sum; he said the place wasgrowing too warm for him, and that he had made up his mind to leave.But Torrini held on to the money, having resolved that it should berestored intact to you. He promised Durgin, however, to keep hisflight secret for three or four days, at the end of which timeTorrini meant to reveal all to me at confession. The night you satwith him, Mr. Shackford, he was near breaking his promise; yourkindness was coals of fire on his head. His agony, lest he should dieor lose his senses before he could make known the full depth ofDurgin's villainy, must have been something terrible. This is thesubstance of what the poor creature begged me to say to you with hisdying regrets. The money is hidden somewhere under the mattress, Ibelieve. A better man than Torrini would have spent some of it,"added Father O'Meara, waving a sort of benediction in the directionof the bed.
Richard did not speak for a moment or two. The wretchedness andgrimness of it all smote him to the heart. When he looked up Mr.Taggett was gone, and the priest was gently drawing the coverlet overTorrini's face.
Richard approached Father O'Meara and said: "When the money isfound, please take charge of it, and see that every decentarrangement is made. I mean, spare nothing. I am a Protestant, but Ibelieve in any man's prayers when they are not addressed to a heathenimage. I promised Torrini to send his wife and children to Italy.This pitiful, miserable gold, which cost so dear and is worth solittle, shall be made to do that much good, at least."
As Richard was speaking, a light footfall sounded on the staircaseoutside; then the door, which stood ajar, was softly pushed open, andMargaret paused on the threshold. At the rustle of her dress Richardturned, and hastened towards her.
"It is all over," he said softly, laying his finger on his lip.Father O'Meara was again kneeling by the bedside.
"Let us go now," whispered Richard to Margaret. It seemed fit thatthey should leave the living and the dead to the murmured prayers andsolemn ministration of the kindly priest. Such later services asMargaret could render to the bereaved woman were not to be wanting.
At the foot of the stairs Richard Shackford halted abruptly, and,oblivious of the two children who were softly chattering together inthe doorway, caught Margaret's hand in his.
"Margaret, Torrini has made a confession that sets at rest allquestion of my cousin's death."
"Do you mean that he"--Margaret faltered, and left the sentenceunfinished.
"No; it was William Durgin, God forgive him!"
"William Durgin!" The young girl's fingers closed nervously onRichard's as she echoed the name, and she began trembling."That--that is stranger yet!"
"I will tell you everything when we get home; this is no time orplace; but one thing I must ask you now and here. When you sat withme last night were you aware that Mr. Taggett firmly believed it wasI who had killed Lemuel Shackford?"
"Yes," said Margaret.
"That is all I care to know!" cried Richard; "that consoles me!"and the two pairs of great inquisitive eyes looking up from the stonestep saw the signorina standing quite mute and colorless with thestrange gentleman's arms around her. And the signorina was smiling!
XXVIII
One June Morning, precisely a year from that morning when thereader first saw the daylight breaking upon Stillwater, severalworkmen with ladders and hammers were putting up a freshly paintedsign over the gate of the marble yard. Mr. Slocum and Richard stoodon the opposite curbstone, to which they had retired in order to takein the general effect. The new sign read,--Slocum & Shackford.Richard protested against the displacement of its weather-stainedpredecessor; it seemed to him an act little short of vandalism; butMr. Slocum was obstinate, and would have it done. He was secretlyatoning for a deep injustice, into which Richard had been at once toosensitive and too wise closely to inquire. If Mr. Slocum had harboreda temporary doubt of him Richard did not care to know it; it wasquite enough to suspect the fact. His sufficient recompense was thatMargaret had not doubted. They had now been married six months. Theshadow of the tragedy in Welch's Court had long ceased to oppressthem; it had vanished with the hasty departure of Mr. Taggett.Neither he nor William Durgin was ever seen again in the flesh inStillwater; but they both still led, and will probably continue foryears to lead, a sort of phantasmal, legendary life in Snelling'sbar-room. Durgin in his flight had left no traces. From time to time,as the months rolled on, a misty rumor was blown to the town of hishaving been seen in some remote foreign city,--now in one place, andnow in another, always on the point of departing, self-pursued likethe Wandering Jew; but nothing authentic. His after-fate was to be asealed book in Stillwater.
"I really wish you had let the old sign stand," said Richard, asthe carpenters removed the ladders. "The yard can never be anythingbut Slocum's Yard."
"It looks remarkably well up thee," replied Mr. Slocum, shadinghis eyes critically with one hand. "You object to the change, but formy part I don't object to changes. I trust I may live to see the daywhen even this sign will have to be altered to--Slocum, Shackford &Son. How would you like that?"
"I can't say," returned Richard laughing, as they passed into theyard together. "I should first have to talk it over--with the son!"
The End
The Stillwater Tragedy Page 27