XXXV. FINE WORK
“No hinge nor loop To hang a doubt on!” “But yet the pity of it, Iago! Oh, Iago, the pity of it, Iago.” --Othello.
One sentence dropped by Mr. Gryce before leaving R---- prepared me forhis next move.
“The clue to this murder is supplied by the paper on which theconfession is written. Find from whose desk or portfolio this especialsheet was taken, and you find the double murderer,” he had said.
Consequently, I was not surprised when, upon visiting his house, earlythe next morning, I beheld him seated before a table on which laya lady’s writing-desk and a pile of paper, till told the desk wasEleanore’s. Then I did show astonishment. “What,” said I, “are you notsatisfied yet of her innocence?”
“O yes; but one must be thorough. No conclusion is valuable which is notpreceded by a full and complete investigation. Why,” he cried, castinghis eyes complacently towards the fire-tongs, “I have even beenrummaging through Mr. Clavering’s effects, though the confession bearsthe proof upon its face that it could not have been written by him. Itis not enough to look for evidence where you expect to find it. You mustsometimes search for it where you don’t. Now,” said he, drawing the deskbefore him, “I don’t anticipate finding anything here of a criminatingcharacter; but it is among the possibilities that I may; and that isenough for a detective.”
“Did you see Miss Leavenworth this morning?” I asked, as he proceededto fulfil his intention by emptying the contents of the desk upon thetable.
“Yes; I was unable to procure what I desired without it. And she behavedvery handsomely, gave me the desk with her own hands, and never raisedan objection. To be sure, she had little idea what I was looking for;thought, perhaps, I wanted to make sure it did not contain the letterabout which so much has been said. But it would have made but littledifference if she had known the truth. This desk contains nothing _we_want.”
“Was she well; and had she heard of Hannah’s sudden death?” I asked, inmy irrepressible anxiety.
“Yes, and feels it, as you might expect her to. But let us see what wehave here,” said he, pushing aside the desk, and drawing towards him thestack of paper I have already referred to. “I found this pile, just asyou see it, in a drawer of the library table at Miss Mary Leavenworth’shouse in Fifth Avenue. If I am not mistaken, it will supply us with theclue we want.”
“But----”
“But this paper is square, while that of the confession is of the sizeand shape of commercial note? I know; but you remember the sheet used inthe confession was trimmed down. Let us compare the quality.”
Taking the confession from his pocket and the sheet from the pile beforehim, he carefully compared them, then held them out for my inspection. Aglance showed them to be alike in color.
“Hold them up to the light,” said he.
I did so; the appearance presented by both was precisely alike.
“Now let us compare the ruling.” And, laying them both down on thetable, he placed the edges of the two sheets together. The lines on theone accommodated themselves to the lines on the other; and that questionwas decided.
His triumph was assured. “I was convinced of it,” said he. “From themoment I pulled open that drawer and saw this mass of paper, I knew theend was come.”
“But,” I objected, in my old spirit of combativeness, “isn’t there anyroom for doubt? This paper is of the commonest kind. Every family on theblock might easily have specimens of it in their library.”
“That isn’t so,” he said. “It is letter size, and that has gone out. Mr.Leavenworth used it for his manuscript, or I doubt if it would have beenfound in his library. But, if you are still incredulous, let us see whatcan be done,” and jumping up, he carried the confession to the window,looked at it this way and that, and, finally discovering what he wanted,came back and, laying it before me, pointed out one of the lines ofruling which was markedly heavier than the rest, and another which wasso faint as to be almost undistinguishable. “Defects like these oftenrun through a number of consecutive sheets,” said he. “If we could findthe identical half-quire from which this was taken, I might show youproof that would dispel every doubt,” and taking up the one that lay ontop, he rapidly counted the sheets. There were but eight. “It might havebeen taken from this one,” said he; but, upon looking closely at theruling, he found it to be uniformly distinct. “Humph! that won’t do!” came from his lips.
The remainder of the paper, some dozen or so half-quires, lookedundisturbed. Mr. Gryce tapped his fingers on the table and a frowncrossed his face. “Such a pretty thing, if it could have been done!” helongingly exclaimed. Suddenly he took up the next half-quire. “Count thesheets,” said he, thrusting it towards me, and himself lifting another.
I did as I was bid. “Twelve.”
He counted his and laid it down. “Go on with the rest,” he cried.
I counted the sheets in the next; twelve. He counted those in the onefollowing, and paused. “Eleven!”
“Count again,” I suggested.
He counted again, and quietly put them aside. “I made a mistake,” saidhe.
But he was not to be discouraged. Taking another half-quire, he wentthrough with the same operation;--in vain. With a sigh of impatience heflung it down on the table and looked up. “Halloo!” he cried, “what isthe matter?”
“There are but eleven sheets in this package,” I said, placing it in hishand.
The excitement he immediately evinced was contagious. Oppressed as Iwas, I could not resist his eagerness. “Oh, beautiful!” he exclaimed.“Oh, beautiful! See! the light on the inside, the heavy one on theoutside, and both in positions precisely corresponding to those onthis sheet of Hannah’s. What do you think now? Is any further proofnecessary?”
“The veriest doubter must succumb before this,” returned I.
With something like a considerate regard for my emotion, he turned away.“I am obliged to congratulate myself, notwithstanding the gravity of thediscovery that has been made,” said he. “It is so neat, so very neat,and so conclusive. I declare I am myself astonished at the perfectionof the thing. But what a woman that is!” he suddenly cried, in a toneof the greatest admiration. “What an intellect she has! what shrewdness!what skill! I declare it is almost a pity to entrap a woman who has doneas well as this--taken a sheet from the very bottom of the pile, trimmedit into another shape, and then, remembering the girl couldn’t write,put what she had to say into coarse, awkward printing, Hannah-like._Splendid_! or would have been, if any other man than myself hadhad this thing in charge.” And, all animated and glowing with hisenthusiasm, he eyed the chandelier above him as if it were theembodiment of his own sagacity.
Sunk in despair, I let him go on.
“Could she have done any better?” he now asked. “Watched, circumscribedas she was, could she have done any better? I hardly think so; the factof Hannah’s having learned to write after she left here was fatal. No,she could not have provided against that contingency.”
“Mr. Gryce,” I here interposed, unable to endure this any longer; “didyou have an interview with Miss Mary Leavenworth this morning?”
“No,” said he; “it was not in the line of my present purpose to do so. Idoubt, indeed, if she knew I was in her house. A servant maid who has agrievance is a very valuable assistant to a detective. With Molly at myside, I didn’t need to pay my respects to the mistress.”
“Mr. Gryce,” I asked, after another moment of silent self-congratulationon his part, and of desperate self-control on mine, “what do you proposeto do now? You have followed your clue to the end and are satisfied.Such knowledge as this is the precursor of action.”
“Humph! we will see,” he returned, going to his private desk andbringing out the box of papers which we had no opportunity of looking atwhile in R----. “First let us examine these documents, and see if theydo not contain some hint which may be of service to us.” And taking outthe dozen or so loose sheets which had
been torn from Eleanore’s Diary,he began turning them over.
While he was doing this, I took occasion to examine the contents ofthe box. I found them to be precisely what Mrs. Belden had led me toexpect,--a certificate of marriage between Mary and Mr. Clavering anda half-dozen or more letters. While glancing over the former, a shortexclamation from Mr. Gryce startled me into looking up.
“What is it?” I cried.
He thrust into my hand the leaves of Eleanore’s Diary. “Read,” said he.“Most of it is a repetition of what you have already heard from Mrs.Belden, though given from a different standpoint; but there is onepassage in it which, if I am not mistaken, opens up the way to anexplanation of this murder such as we have not had yet. Begin at thebeginning; you won’t find it dull.”
Dull! Eleanore’s feelings and thoughts during that anxious time, dull!
Mustering up my self-possession, I spread out the leaves in their orderand commenced:
“R------, July 6,----”
“Two days after they got there, you perceive,” Mr. Gryce explained.
“--A gentleman was introduced to us to-day upon the _piazza_ whomI cannot forbear mentioning; first, because he is the most perfectspecimen of manly beauty I ever beheld, and secondly, because Mary, whois usually so voluble where gentlemen are concerned, had nothing to saywhen, in the privacy of our own apartment, I questioned her as to theeffect his appearance and conversation had made upon her. The factthat he is an Englishman may have something to do with this; Uncle’santipathy to every one of that nation being as well known to her as tome. But somehow I cannot feel satisfied of this. Her experience withCharlie Somerville has made me suspicious. What if the story of lastsummer were to be repeated here, with an Englishman for the hero! ButI will not allow myself to contemplate such a possibility. Uncle willreturn in a few days, and then all communication with one who, howeverprepossessing, is of a family and race with whom it is impossible forus to unite ourselves, must of necessity cease. I doubt if I should havethought twice of all this if Mr. Clavering had not betrayed, upon hisintroduction to Mary, such intense and unrestrained admiration.
“July 8. The old story is to be repeated. Mary not only submits to theattentions of Mr. Clavering, but encourages them. To-day she sattwo hours at the piano singing over to him her favorite songs, andto-night--But I will not put down every trivial circumstance that comesunder my observation; it is unworthy of me. And yet, how can I shut myeyes when the happiness of so many I love is at stake!
“July 11. If Mr. Clavering is not absolutely in love with Mary, he is onthe verge of it. He is a very fine-looking man, and too honorable to betrifled with in this reckless fashion.
“July 13. Mary’s beauty blossoms like the rose. She was absolutelywonderful to-night in scarlet and silver. I think her smile the sweetestI ever beheld, and in this I am sure Mr. Clavering passionately agreeswith me; he never looked away from her to-night. But it is not so easyto read _her_ heart. To be sure, she appears anything but indifferentto his fine appearance, strong sense, and devoted affection. But did shenot deceive us into believing she loved Charlie Somerville? In her case,blush and smile go for little, I fear. Would it not be wiser under thecircumstances to say, I hope?
“July 17. Oh, my heart! Mary came into my room this evening, andabsolutely startled me by falling at my side and burying her face in mylap. ‘Oh, Eleanore, Eleanore!’ she murmured, quivering with what seemedto me very happy sobs. But when I strove to lift her head to my breast,she slid from my arms, and drawing herself up into her old attitude ofreserved pride, raised her hand as if to impose silence, and haughtilyleft the room. There is but one interpretation to put upon this. Mr.Clavering has expressed his sentiments, and she is filled with thatreckless delight which in its first flush makes one insensible to theexistence of barriers which have hitherto been deemed impassable. Whenwill Uncle come?
“July 18. Little did I think when I wrote the above that Uncle wasalready in the house. He arrived unexpectedly on the last train, andcame into my room just as I was putting away my diary. Looking a littlecare-worn, he took me in his arms and then asked for Mary. I dropped myhead, and could not help stammering as I replied that she was in her ownroom. Instantly his love took alarm, and leaving me, he hastened toher apartment, where I afterwards learned he came upon her sittingabstractedly before her dressing-table with Mr. Clavering’s family ringon her finger. I do not know what followed. An unhappy scene, I fear,for Mary is ill this morning, and Uncle exceedingly melancholy andstern.
“Afternoon. We are an unhappy family! Uncle not only refuses to considerfor a moment the question of Mary’s alliance with Mr. Clavering, buteven goes so far as to demand his instant and unconditional dismissal.The knowledge of this came to me in the most distressing way.Recognizing the state of affairs, but secretly rebelling against aprejudice which seemed destined to separate two persons otherwise fittedfor each other, I sought Uncle’s presence this morning after breakfast,and attempted to plead their cause. But he almost instantly stopped mewith the remark, ‘You are the last one, Eleanore, who should seek topromote this marriage.’ Trembling with apprehension, I asked himwhy. ‘For the reason that by so doing you work entirely for your owninterest.’ More and more troubled, I begged him to explain himself. ‘Imean,’ said he, ‘that if Mary disobeys me by marrying this Englishman,I shall disinherit her, and substitute your name for hers in my will aswell as in my affection.’
“For a moment everything swam before my eyes. ‘You will never make me sowretched!’ I entreated. ‘I will make you my heiress, if Mary persistsin her present determination,’ he declared, and without further wordsternly left the room. What could I do but fall on my knees and pray!Of all in this miserable house, I am the most wretched. To supplanther! But I shall not be called upon to do it; Mary will give up Mr.Clavering.”
“There!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce. “What do you think of that? Isn’t itbecoming plain enough what was Mary’s motive for this murder? But go on;let us hear what followed.”
With sinking heart, I continued. The next entry is dated July 19, andruns thus:
“I was right. After a long struggle with Uncle’s invincible will, Maryhas consented to dismiss Mr. Clavering. I was in the room when shemade known her decision, and I shall never forget our Uncle’s look ofgratified pride as he clasped her in his arms and called her his ownTrue Heart. He has evidently been very much exercised over this matter,and I cannot but feel greatly relieved that affairs have terminatedso satisfactorily. But Mary? What is there in her manner that vaguelydisappoints me? I cannot say. I only know that I felt a powerfulshrinking overwhelm me when she turned her face to me and asked if Iwere satisfied now. But I conquered my feelings and held out my hand.She did not take it.
“July 26. How long the days are! The shadow of our late trial is uponme yet; I cannot shake it off. I seem to see Mr. Clavering’s despairingface wherever I go. How is it that Mary preserves her cheerfulness? Ifshe does not love him, I should think the respect which she must feelfor his disappointment would keep her from levity at least.
“Uncle has gone away again. Nothing I could say sufficed to keep him.
“July 28. It has all come out. Mary has only nominally separated fromMr. Clavering; she still cherishes the idea of one day uniting herselfto him in marriage. The fact was revealed to me in a strange way notnecessary to mention here; and has since been confirmed by Mary herself.‘I admire the man,’ she declares, ‘and have no intention of giving himup.’ ‘Then why not tell Uncle so?’ I asked. Her only answer was a bittersmile and a short,--‘I leave that for you to do.’
“July 30. Midnight. Worn completely out, but before my blood cools letme write. Mary is a wife. I have just returned from seeing her give herhand to Henry Clavering. Strange that I can write it without quiveringwhen my whole soul is one flush of indignation and revolt. But let mestate the facts. Having left my room for a few minutes this morning,I returned to find on my dressing-table a note from Mary in which sheinformed me that she was goin
g to take Mrs. Belden for a drive and wouldnot be back for some hours. Convinced, as I had every reason to be, thatshe was on her way to meet Mr. Clavering, I only stopped to put on myhat--”
There the Diary ceased.
“She was probably interrupted by Mary at this point,” explained Mr.Gryce. “But we have come upon the one thing we wanted to know. Mr.Leavenworth threatened to supplant Mary with Eleanore if she persistedin marrying contrary to his wishes. She did so marry, and to avoid theconsequences of her act she----”
“Say no more,” I returned, convinced at last. “It is only too clear.”
Mr. Gryce rose.
“But the writer of these words is saved,” I went on, trying to graspthe one comfort left me. “No one who reads this Diary will ever dare toinsinuate she is capable of committing a crime.”
“Assuredly not; the Diary settles that matter effectually.”
I tried to be man enough to think of that and nothing else. To rejoicein her deliverance, and let every other consideration go; but in this Idid not succeed. “But Mary, her cousin, almost her sister, is lost,” Imuttered.
Mr. Gryce thrust his hands into his pockets and, for the first time,showed some evidence of secret disturbance. “Yes, I am afraid she is;I really am afraid she is.” Then after a pause, during which I felt acertain thrill of vague hope: “Such an entrancing creature too! It is apity, it positively is a pity! I declare, now that the thing is workedup, I begin to feel almost sorry we have succeeded so well. Strange,but true. If there was the least loophole out of it,” he muttered. “Butthere isn’t. The thing is clear as A, B, C.” Suddenly he rose, and beganpacing the floor very thoughtfully, casting his glances here, there, andeverywhere, except at me, though I believe now, as then, my face was allhe saw.
“Would it be a very great grief to you, Mr. Raymond, if Miss MaryLeavenworth should be arrested on this charge of murder?” he asked,pausing before a sort of tank in which two or three disconsolate-lookingfishes were slowly swimming about.
“Yes,” said I, “it would; a very great grief.”
“Yet it must be done,” said he, though with a strange lack of his usualdecision. “As an honest official, trusted to bring the murderer of Mr.Leavenworth to the notice of the proper authorities, I have got to doit.”
Again that strange thrill of hope at my heart induced by his peculiarmanner.
“Then my reputation as a detective! I ought surely to consider that.I am not so rich or so famous that I can afford to forget all that asuccess like this may bring me. No, lovely as she is, I have got to pushit through.” But even as he said this, he became still more thoughtful,gazing down into the murky depths of the wretched tank before him withsuch an intentness I half expected the fascinated fishes to rise fromthe water and return his gaze. What was in his mind?
After a little while he turned, his indecision utterly gone. “Mr.Raymond, come here again at three. I shall then have my report ready forthe Superintendent. I should like to show it to you first, so don’t failme.”
There was something so repressed in his expression, I could not preventmyself from venturing one question. “Is your mind made up?” I asked.
“Yes,” he returned, but in a peculiar tone, and with a peculiar gesture.
“And you are going to make the arrest you speak of?”
“Come at three!”
The Leavenworth Case Page 35