The Leavenworth Case (Penguin Classics)

by Anna Katharine Green

  “There is a customer,” said I, “that may interest you.”

  Mrs. Belden seemed to awake from a trance. Rising slowly she looked out, and with a rapidly softening gaze surveyed the forlorn creature before her.

  “Poor thing!” she muttered; “there is a case for charity, to be sure. But I cannot do much for her tonight,” she cried as the woman stopped at the gate. “A good supper is all I can give her.”

  And going to the front door she bade her step round the house to the kitchen, where in another moment I heard the rough creature’s voice rise in one long “Bless you!” that could only have been produced by the setting before her of the good things with which Mrs. Belden’s larder seemed to be teeming.

  But supper was not all she wanted. After a decent length of time employed as I should judge in mastication, I heard her voice rise once more in a plea for shelter.

  “The barn, ma’am,” I heard her say, “or the wood-house, any place where I can lie out of the wind.” And she commenced a long tale of want and disease, so piteous to hear, that I was not at all surprised when Mrs. Belden told me, upon reentering, that she had consented, notwithstanding her previous determination, to allow the woman to lie before the kitchen fire for the night.

  “She has such an honest eye,” said she, “and charity is my only luxury, you know.”

  The interruption of this incident effectually broke up our conversation. Mrs. Belden went upstairs and for some time I was left alone to ponder over what I had heard, and determine upon my future course of action. I had just reached the conclusion that she would be fully as liable to be carried away by her feelings to the destruction of the papers in her charge, as to be governed by the rules of equity I had laid down for her, when I heard her stealthily descend the stairs and go out of the front door. Distrustful of her intentions, I took my hat and hastily followed her. She was on her way down the main street, and my first thought was that she was bound for some neighbor’s house or perhaps for the hotel itself; but the settled swing into which she soon altered her restless pace satisfied me that she had some more distant goal in prospect; and before long I found myself passing the hotel with its appurtenances, even the little school-house that was the last building at this end of the village, and stepping out into the country beyond. What could it mean?

  But still her fluttering figure hastened on, the outlines of her form with its close shawl and neat bonnet growing fainter and fainter in the now settled darkness of an April night, and still I followed, walking on the turf at the side of the road lest she should hear my footsteps and look round. At last we reached a bridge. Over this I could hear her pass, and then every sound ceased. She had paused and was evidently listening. It would not do for me to pause, too, so gathering myself into as awkward a shape as possible, I sauntered by her down the road; but arrived at a certain point, stopped and began retracing my steps with a sharp look-out for her advancing figure, till I had arrived once more at the bridge. She was not there.

  Convinced now that she had discovered my motive for being in her house, and by leading me from it, had undertaken to supply Hannah with an opportunity to escape, I was about to hasten back to the charge I had so incautiously left, when a strange sound heard at my left arrested me. It came from the banks of the puny stream which ran under the bridge, and was like the creaking of an old door on worn-out hinges.

  Leaping the fence I made my way as best I could down the sloping field in the direction from which the sound had come. It was quite dark, and my progress was slow; so much so, that I began to fear I had ventured upon a wild-goose chase, when an unexpected streak of lightning shot across the sky, and by its glare I saw before me what seemed, in the momentary glimpse I had of it, to be an old barn. From the rush of waters near at hand, I judged that it was built on the edge of the stream, and consequently hesitated to advance, when I heard the sound of heavy breathing near me, followed by a stir as of someone feeling his way over a pile of loose boards, and presently while I stood there, a faint blue light flashed up from the interior of the barn, and I saw through the tumbled-down door that faced me the form of Mrs. Belden standing with a lighted match in her hand, gazing round on the four walls that encompassed her. Hardly daring to breathe lest I should alarm her, I watched her while she turned and peered at the roof above her, which was so old as to be more than half-open to the sky, at the flooring beneath which was in a state of equal dilapidation, and finally at a small tin box which she drew from under her shawl and laid on the ground at her feet. The sight of that box at once satisfied me as to the nature of her errand. She was going to hide what she dared not destroy; and relieved upon this point, I was about to take a step forward, when the match went out in her hand. While she was engaged in lighting another, I considered that perhaps it would be better for me not to arouse her apprehensions by accosting her at this time and thus endanger the success of my main scheme, but to wait till she was gone, before I endeavored to secure the box. Accordingly I edged my way up to the side of the barn and waited till she should leave it, knowing that if I attempted to peer in at the door, I ran great risk of being seen, owing to the frequent streaks of lightning which now flashed about us on every side. Minute after minute went by with its weird alternations of heavy darkness and sudden glare; and still she did not come. At last, just as I was about to start impatiently from my hiding-place, she reappeared and began to withdraw with faltering steps toward the bridge. When I thought her quite out of hearing, I stole from my retreat and entered the barn. It was, of course, as dark as Erebus, but thanks to being a smoker I was as well provided with matches as she had been, and having struck one, I held it up; but the light it gave was very feeble, and as I did not know just where to look, it went out before I had obtained more than a cursory glimpse of the spot where I was. I thereupon lit another, but though I confined my attention to one place, namely, the floor at my feet, it too went out before I could conjecture, by means of any sign seen there, where she had hidden the box. I now for the first time realized the difficulty before me. She had probably made up her mind before she left home, in just what portion of this old barn she would conceal her treasure; but I had nothing to guide me: I could only waste matches. And I did waste them. A dozen had been lit and extinguished before I was so much as sure the box was not under a pile of debris that lay in one corner, and I had taken the last in my hand, before I became aware that one of the broken boards of the floor was pushed a little out of its proper position. One match! and that board was to be raised, the space beneath examined, and the box, if there, lifted safely out.

  I concluded not to waste my resources, so kneeling down in the darkness, I groped for the board, tried it and found it to be loose. Wrenching at it with all my strength, I tore it free and cast it aside: then lighting my match looked into the hole thus made. Something, I could not tell what, stone or box, met my eye, but while I reached for it, the match flew out of my hand. Deploring my carelessness, but determined at all hazards to secure what I had seen, I dived down deep into the hole, and in another moment had the object of my curiosity in my hands. It was the box.

  Satisfied at this result of my efforts, I turned to depart, my one wish now being to arrive home before Mrs. Belden. Was it possible? She had several minutes the start of me; I would have to pass her on the road and in so doing might be recognized. Was the end worth the risk? I decided that it was.

  Regaining the highway I started at a brisk pace. For some little distance I kept it up, neither overtaking nor meeting anyone. But suddenly at a turn in the road I came unexpectedly upon Mrs. Belden standing in the middle of the path, looking back. Somewhat disconcerted, I hastened swiftly by her, expecting, of course, that she would make some effort to stop me. But she let me pass without a word. Indeed, I doubt now if she even saw or heard me. Astonished at this treatment, and still more surprised that she made no attempt to follow me, I looked back, when I saw what it was that enchained her to the spot, and made her so unmindful of my presence. The barn be
hind us was on fire!

  Instantly I realized that it was the work of my hands; I had dropped a half-extinguished match, and it had fallen upon some inflammable substance.

  Aghast at the sight, I paused in my turn and stood staring. Higher and higher the red flames mounted, brighter and brighter glowed the clouds above the stream beneath; and in the fascination of watching it all, I forgot Mrs. Belden. But a short agitated gasp from her soon recalled her presence to mind, and drawing nearer, I heard her exclaim like a person speaking in a dream: “Well, I didn’t mean to do it,” then lower, and with a certain satisfaction in her tone, “but it’s all right anyway; the thing is now lost for good, and Mary will be satisfied without anyone being to blame.”

  I did not linger to hear more; if that was the conclusion she had come to, she would not wait there long, especially as the sound of distant shouts and running feet announced that a crowd of village boys was on its way to the scene of conflagration.

  The first thing I did upon my arrival at the house was to assure myself that no evil effects had followed my inconsiderate desertion of it to the mercies of the tramp she had taken in; the next to retire to my room and take a peep at the box. I found it to be a neat, tin coffer, fastened with a lock. Satisfied from its weight that it contained nothing heavier than the papers of which Mrs. Belden had spoken, I hid it under the bed and returned to the sitting room. I had barely taken a seat and lifted a book when Mrs. Belden came in.

  “Well!” cried she, taking off her bonnet and revealing a face much flushed with exercise but greatly relieved in expression; “this is a night! It lightens, and there is a fire somewhere down street, and altogether it is perfectly dreadful out. I hope you have not been lonesome,” continued she with a keen look at my face, which I bore in the best way I could. “I had an errand to attend to, but didn’t expect to stay so long.”

  I returned some nonchalant reply, and she hastened from the room to fasten up the house.

  I waited, but she did not come back; fearful perhaps of betraying herself, she had retired to her own apartment, leaving me to take care of myself as best I might. I own that I was rather relieved at this. The fact is, I did not feel equal to any more excitement that night, and was glad to put off further action until the next day. As soon, then, as the storm was over I myself went to bed, and after several ineffectual efforts, succeeded in getting asleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Missing Witness

  I fled and cried out death.

  —MILTON.

  “Mr. Raymond!”

  The voice was low and searching, it reached me in my dreams, waked me and caused me to look up. Morning had begun to break, and by its light I saw standing in the open door leading into the dining room the forlorn figure of the tramp who had been admitted into the house the night before. Angry and perplexed, I was about to bid her begone, when to my great surprise she pulled out a red handkerchief from her pocket and I recognized Q.

  “Read that,” said he, hastily advancing and putting a slip of paper into my hand. And without another word or look he left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Rising in considerable agitation I took it to the window, and by the rapidly increasing light succeeded in making out the rudely scrawled lines as follows:

  “She is here; I have seen her; in the room marked with a cross in the accompanying plan. Wait till eight o’clock, then go up. I will contrive some means of getting Mrs. B——out of the house.”

  Sketched below this was the following plan of the upper floor.

  Hannah, then, was in the small back room over the dining room and I had not been deceived when I imagined that I heard steps overhead the evening before. Greatly relieved and yet at the same time much moved at the near prospect of being brought face to face with the one who there was every reason to believe was acquainted with the dreadful secret involved in the Leavenworth murder, I lay down once more and endeavored to catch another hour’s rest. But one might as well try to sleep watching the approach of an enemy with his hand on the trigger of a pistol! I soon gave up the effort in despair and contented myself with listening to the sounds of awakening life which now began to make themselves heard in the house and neighborhood.

  As Q had closed the door after him, I could only faintly hear Mrs. Belden when she came downstairs. But the short surprised exclamation which she uttered upon reaching the kitchen and finding the tramp gone and the back door wide open came plainly enough to my ears, and for a moment I was not sure but that Q had made a mistake in thus leaving so unceremoniously. But he had not studied Mrs. Belden’s character in vain the night before. As she came in the course of her preparation for breakfast into the room adjoining mine, I could hear her murmur to herself:

  “Poor thing! she has lived so long in the fields and at the roadside, she finds it unnatural to be cooped up in the house all night.”

  The trial of that breakfast! The effort to eat and appear unconcerned, to chat and make no mistake. May I never be called upon to go through such another. But at last it was over and I was left free to await in my own room the time for the dreaded though much to be desired interview. Slowly the minutes passed, eight o’clock struck, when just as the last vibration ceased, there came a loud knock at the back door, and a little boy burst into the kitchen crying at the top of his voice: “Papa’s got a fit! Oh, Mrs. Belden, papa’s got a fit, do come.”

  Rising as was natural, I hastened toward the kitchen, meeting Mrs. Belden’s serious face in the doorway.

  “A poor wood-chopper down the street has fallen in a fit,” she said, “and they have sent for me. Will you please watch over the house while I am gone? I won’t be absent any longer than I can help.”

  And almost without waiting for my reply, she caught up a shawl from off the chair, threw it over her head and followed the urchin, who was in a state of great excitement, out into the street.

  Instantly the silence of death seemed to fill the house, and a dread, the greatest I had ever experienced, settled upon me. To leave the kitchen, go up those stairs and confront that girl, seemed for the moment beyond my power. I could not have hesitated more had I been about to lift a curtain that enshrouded the corpse of all I held dearest upon earth. And yet I was conscious of eagerly longing to know the worst, and of an emotion strong as either, of utter thankfulness for Eleanore’s sake that all had come around so easily and well. It was some seconds before I could muster up courage to face the duty before me, but once on the stair, I found myself relieved from the especial dread which had overwhelmed me, and possessed instead a sort of combative curiosity that led me to throw open the door which I saw at the top with a certain fierceness new to my nature and not altogether suitable, perhaps, to the occasion.

  I found myself in a large bedroom, evidently the one occupied by Mrs. Belden the night before. Barely stopping to note certain evidences which were apparent of her having passed a restless night, I passed on to the door leading into the room marked with a cross in the plan drawn for me by Q. It was a rough affair, made of pine boards and rudely painted, as though it had been put up in a hurry long after the rest of the house was finished. Pausing before it, I listened. All was still. Raising the latch I endeavored to enter. The door was locked. Pausing again, I bent my ear to the keyhole. Not a sound came from within; the grave itself could not have been stiller. Awe-struck and irresolute, I looked about me and questioned what I had best do. Suddenly I remembered that in the plan Q had given me, I had seen an intimation of another door leading into this same room from the one on the opposite side of the hall. Going hastily around to it, I tried it with my hand as I had the one before. But this was also fastened. Convinced at last that nothing was left but force, I spoke for the first time and calling the girl by name, commanded her to open the door. Receiving no response, I said aloud with an accent of severity:

  “Hannah Chester, you are discovered; if you do not open the door, we shall be obliged to break it down; save us the trouble, then, and open immediately.�
�� Still no reply.

  Going back a step I threw my whole weight against the door. It creaked ominously but still resisted. Stopping only long enough to be sure no movement had taken place within, I pressed against it once more, this time with all my strength, when it flew from its hinges and I fell forward into a room so stifling, chill, and dark that I paused for a moment to collect my scattered senses before venturing to look around me. It was well I did so. In another moment the pallor and fixity of the pretty Irish face staring upon me from amidst the tumbled clothes of a bed drawn up against the wall at my side struck me with so deathlike a chill, that had it not been for that one instant of preparation, I should have been seriously dismayed. As it was, I could not prevent a feeling of sickly apprehension from seizing me, as I turned toward the silent figure stretched so near, and observed with what marble-like repose it lay beneath the patchwork quilt drawn across it, asking myself if sleep could be indeed so like death in its appearance. For that it was a sleeping woman I beheld I did not seriously doubt. There were too many evidences of careless life in the room for any other inference. The clothes left just as she had stepped from them in a circle on the floor; the liberal plate of food placed in waiting for her on the chair by the door—food amongst which I recognized, even in this first casual glance, the same dish which we had had for breakfast—all and everything in the room spoke of robust life and reckless belief in the morrow.

  And yet so white was the brow turned up to the bare beams of the unfinished wall above her, so glassy the look of the half-opened eyes, so motionless the arm lying half-under, half-over the edge of the coverlid, that it was impossible not to shrink from contact with a creature so dire in her unconsciousness. But contact seemed to be necessary; any cry which I could raise at that moment would be ineffectual enough to pierce those dull ears. Nerving myself, therefore, I stooped and lifted the hand which lay with its telltale scar mockingly uppermost, intending to speak, call, do something, anything to arouse her. But at the first touch of her hand on mine, an unspeakable horror thrilled me. It was not only icy cold but stiff. Dropping it in my agitation I started back and again surveyed the face. Great God, when did life ever look like that? What sleep ever wore such pallid hues, such accusing fixedness? Bending once more, I listened at the lips. Not a breath, nor a stir. Shocked to the core of my being, I made one final effort. Tearing down the clothes I laid my hand upon her heart. It was pulseless as stone.