Initials Only

by Anna Katharine Green

  Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer

  INITIALS ONLY

  by Anna Katharine Green

  CONTENTS

  BOOK I

  AS SEEN BY TWO STRANGERS

  I POINSETTIAS II "I KNOW THE MAN" III THE MAN IV SWEET LITTLE MISS CLARKE V THE RED CLOAK VI INTEGRITY VII THE LETTERS VIII STRANGE DOINGS FOR GEORGE IX THE INCIDENT OF THE PARTLY LIFTED SHADE

  BOOK II

  AS SEEN BY DETECTIVE SWEETWATER

  X A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION XI ALIKE IN ESSENTIALS XII Mr. GRYCE FINDS AN ANTIDOTE FOR OLD AGE XIII TIME, CIRCUMSTANCE, AND A VILLAIN'S HEART XIV A CONCESSION XV THAT'S THE QUESTION XVI OPPOSED XVII IN WHICH A BOOK PLAYS A LEADING PART XVIII WHAT AM I TO DO NOW? XIX THE DANGER MOMENT XX CONFUSION XXI A CHANGE XXII O. B. AGAIN

  BOOK III

  THE HEART OF MAN

  XXIII DORIS XXIV SUSPENSE XXV THE OVAL HUT XXVI SWEETWATER RETURNS XXVII THE IMAGE OF DREAD XXVIII I HOPE NEVER TO SEE THAT MAN XXIX DO YOU KNOW MY BROTHER? XXX CHAOS XXXI WHAT IS HE MAKING? XXXII TELL ME, TELL IT ALL XXXIII ALONE! XXXIV THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME XXXV SILENCE--AND A KNOCK XXXVI THE MAN WITHIN AND THE MAN WITHOUT XXXVII HIS GREAT HOUR XXXVIII NIGHT XXXIX THE AVENGER XL DESOLATE XLI FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING XLII AT SIX

  BOOK I. AS SEEN BY TWO STRANGERS

  I. POINSETTIAS

  "A remarkable man!"

  It was not my husband speaking, but some passerby. However, I looked upat George with a smile, and found him looking down at me with much thesame humour. We had often spoken of the odd phrases one hears in thestreet, and how interesting it would be sometimes to hear a little moreof the conversation.

  "That's a case in point," he laughed, as he guided me through the crowdof theatre-goers which invariably block this part of Broadway at thehour of eight. "We shall never know whose eulogy we have just heard. 'Aremarkable man!' There are not many of them."

  "No," was my somewhat indifferent reply. It was a keen winter night andsnow was packed upon the walks in a way to throw into sharp relief thefigures of such pedestrians as happened to be walking alone. "But itseems to me that, so far as general appearance goes, the one in frontanswers your description most admirably."

  I pointed to a man hurrying around the corner just ahead of us.

  "Yes, he's remarkably well built. I noticed him when he came out of theClermont." This was a hotel we had just passed.

  "But it's not only that. It's his height, his very striking features,his expression--" I stopped suddenly, gripping George's arm convulsivelyin a surprise he appeared to share. We had turned the corner immediatelybehind the man of whom we were speaking and so had him still in fullview.

  "What's he doing?" I asked, in a low whisper. We were only a few feetbehind. "Look! look! don't you call that curious?"

  My husband stared, then uttered a low, "Rather." The man ahead of us,presenting in every respect the appearance of a gentleman, had suddenlystooped to the kerb and was washing his hands in the snow, furtively,but with a vigour and purpose which could not fail to arouse thestrangest conjectures in any chance onlooker.

  "Pilate!" escaped my lips, in a sort of nervous chuckle. But Georgeshook his head at me.

  "I don't like it," he muttered, with unusual gravity. "Did you see hisface?" Then as the man rose and hurried away from us down the street, "Ishould like to follow him. I do believe--"

  But here we became aware of a quick rush and sudden clamour around thecorner we had just left, and turning quickly, saw that something hadoccurred on Broadway which was fast causing a tumult.

  "What's the matter?" I cried. "What can have happened? Let's go see,George. Perhaps it has something to do with our man."

  My husband, with a final glance down the street at the fast disappearingfigure, yielded to my importunity, and possibly to some new curiosity ofhis own.

  "I'd like to stop that man first," said he. "But what excuse have I? Hemay be nothing but a crank, with some crack-brained idea in hishead. We'll soon know; for there's certainly something wrong there onBroadway."

  "He came out of the Clermont," I suggested.

  "I know. If the excitement isn't there, what we've just seen is simply acoincidence." Then, as we retraced our steps to the corner "Whateverwe hear or see, don't say anything about this man. It's after eight,remember, and we promised Adela that we would be at the house beforenine."

  "I'll be quiet."

  "Remember."

  It was the last word he had time to speak before we found ourselves inthe midst of a crowd of men and women, jostling one another in curiosityor in the consternation following a quick alarm. All were looking oneway, and, as this was towards the entrance of the Clermont, it wasevident enough to us that the alarm had indeed had its origin in thevery place we had anticipated. I felt my husband's arm press me closerto his side as we worked our way towards the entrance, and presentlycaught a warning sound from his lips as the oaths and confused crieseverywhere surrounding us were broken here and there by articulate wordsand we heard:

  "Is it murder?"

  "The beautiful Miss Challoner!"

  "A millionairess in her own right!"

  "Killed, they say."

  "No, no! suddenly dead; that's all."

  "George, what shall we do?" I managed to cry into my husband's ear.

  "Get out of this. There is no chance of our reaching that door, and Ican't have you standing round any longer in this icy slush."

  "But--but is it right?" I urged, in an importunate whisper. "Should wego home while he--"

  "Hush! My first duty is to you. We will go make our visit; butto-morrow--"

  "I can't wait till to-morrow," I pleaded, wild to satisfy my curiosityin regard to an event in which I naturally felt a keen personalinterest.

  He drew me as near to the edge of the crowd as he could. There were newmurmurs all about us.

  "If it's a case of heart-failure, why send for the police?" asked one.

  "It is better to have an officer or two here," grumbled another.

  "Here comes a cop."

  "Well, I'm going to vamoose."

  "I'll tell you what I'll do," whispered George, who, for all his blusterwas as curious as myself. "We will try the rear door where there arefewer persons. Possibly we can make our way in there, and if we can,Slater will tell us all we want to know."

  Slater was the assistant manager of the Clermont, and one of George'soldest friends.

  "Then hurry," said I. "I am being crushed here."

  George did hurry, and in a few minutes we were before the rear entranceof the great hotel. There was a mob gathered here also, but it wasneither so large nor so rough as the one on Broadway. Yet I doubt if weshould have been able to work our way through it if Slater had not,at that very instant, shown himself in the doorway, in company with anofficer to whom he was giving some final instructions. George caughthis eye as soon as he was through with the man, and ventured on what Ithought a rather uncalled for plea.

  "Let us in, Slater," he begged. "My wife feels a little faint; she hasbeen knocked about so by the crowd."

  The manager glanced at my face, and shouted to the people around us tomake room. I felt myself lifted up, and that is all I remember ofthis part of our adventure. For, affected more than I realised bythe excitement of the event, I no sooner saw the way cleared forour entrance than I made g
ood my husband's words by fainting away inearnest.

  When I came to, it was suddenly and with perfect recognition of mysurroundings. The small reception room to which I had been taken was oneI had often visited, and its familiar features did not hold my attentionfor a moment. What I did see and welcome was my husband's face bendingclose over me, and to him I spoke first. My words must have soundedoddly to those about. "Have they told you anything about it?" I asked."Did he--"

  A quick pressure on my arm silenced me, and then I noticed that we werenot alone. Two or three ladies stood near, watching me, and one hadevidently been using some restorative, for she held a small vinaigrettein her hand. To this lady, George made haste to introduce me, and fromher I presently learned the cause of the disturbance in the hotel.

  It was of a somewhat different nature from what I expected, and duringthe recital, I could not prevent myself from casting furtive andinquiring glances at George.

  Edith, the well-known daughter of Moses Challoner, had fallen suddenlydead on the floor of the mezzanine. She was not known to have been inpoor health, still less in danger of a fatal attack, and the shock wasconsequently great to her friends, several of whom were in the building.Indeed, it was likely to prove a shock to the whole community, for shehad great claims to general admiration, and her death must be regardedas a calamity to persons in all stations of life.

  I realised this myself, for I had heard much of the young lady's privatevirtues, as well as of her great beauty and distinguished manner. Aheavy loss, indeed, but--

  "Was she alone when she fell?" I asked.

  "Virtually alone. Some persons sat on the other side of the room,reading at the big round table. They did not even hear her fall. Theysay that the band was playing unusually loud in the musicians' gallery."

  "Are you feeling quite well, now?"

  "Quite myself," I gratefully replied as I rose slowly from the sofa.Then, as my kind informer stepped aside, I turned to George with theproposal we should go now.

  He seemed as anxious as myself to leave and together we moved towardsthe door, while the hum of excited comment which the intrusion of afainting woman had undoubtedly interrupted, recommenced behind us tillthe whole room buzzed.

  In the hall we encountered Mr. Slater, whom I have before mentioned.He was trying to maintain order while himself in a state of greatagitation. Seeing us, he could not refrain from whispering a few wordsinto my husband's ear.

  "The doctor has just gone up--her doctor, I mean. He's simplydumbfounded. Says that she was the healthiest woman in New Yorkyesterday--I think--don't mention it, that he suspects something quitedifferent from heart failure."

  "What do you mean?" asked George, following the assistant manager downthe broad flight of steps leading to the office. Then, as I pressed upclose to Mr. Slater's other side, "She was by herself, wasn't she, inthe half floor above?"

  "Yes, and had been writing a letter. She fell with it still in herhand."

  "Have they carried her to her room?" I eagerly inquired, glancingfearfully up at the large semi-circular openings overlooking us from theplace where she had fallen.

  "Not yet. Mr. Hammond insists upon waiting for the coroner." (Mr.Hammond was the proprietor of the hotel.) "She is lying on one of thebig couches near which she fell. If you like, I can give you a glimpseof her. She looks beautiful. It's terrible to think that she is dead."

  I don't know why we consented. We were under a spell, I think. At allevents, we accepted his offer and followed him up a narrow staircaseopen to very few that night. At the top, he turned upon us with awarning gesture which I hardly think we needed, and led us down a narrowhall flanked by openings corresponding to those we had noted from below.At the furthest one he paused and, beckoning us to his side, pointedacross the lobby into the large writing-room which occupied the betterpart of the mezzanine floor.

  We saw people standing in various attitudes of grief and dismay about acouch, one end of which only was visible to us at the moment. The doctorhad just joined them, and every head was turned towards him and everybody bent forward in anxious expectation. I remember the face of onegrey haired old man. I shall never forget it. He was probably herfather. Later, I knew him to be so. Her face, even her form, wasentirely hidden from us, but as we watched (I have often thought withwhat heartless curiosity) a sudden movement took place in the wholegroup--and for one instant a startling picture presented itself to ourgaze. Miss Challoner was stretched out upon the couch. She was dressedas she came from dinner, in a gown of ivory-tinted satin, relieved atthe breast by a large bouquet of scarlet poinsettias. I mention thisadornment, because it was what first met and drew our eyes and the eyesof every one about her, though the face, now quite revealed, would seemto have the greater attraction. But the cause was evident and one not tobe resisted. The doctor was pointing at these poinsettias in horrorand with awful meaning, and though we could not hear his words, we knewalmost instinctively, both from his attitude and the cries which burstfrom the lips of those about him, that something more than broken petalsand disordered laces had met his eyes; that blood was there--slowlyoozing drops from the heart--which for some reason had escaped all eyestill now.

  Miss Challoner was dead, not from unsuspected disease, but from theviolent attack of some murderous weapon; As the realisation of thisbrought fresh panic and bowed the old father's head with emotions evenmore bitter than those of grief, I turned a questioning look up atGeorge's face.

  It was fixed with a purpose I had no trouble in understanding.