The Woman in the Alcove

by Anna Katharine Green

  XIII. THE MISSING RECOMMENDATION

  My patient slept that night, but I did not. The shock given by thissudden cry of Halt! at the very moment I was about to make my greatmove, the uncertainty as to what it meant and my doubt of its effectupon Mr. Durand's position, put me on the anxious seat and kept mythoughts fully occupied till morning.

  I was very tired and must have shown it, when, with the first rays of avery meager sun, Miss Grey softly unclosed her eyes and found me lookingat her, for her smile had a sweet compassion in it, and she said as shepressed my hand:

  "You must have watched me all night. I never saw any one look sotired,--or so good," she softly finished.

  I had rather she had not uttered that last phrase. It did not fit meat the moment,--did not fit me, perhaps, at any time. Good! I! when mythoughts had not been with her, but with Mr. Durand; when the dominatingfeeling in my breast was not that of relief, but a vague regret that Ihad not been allowed to make my great test and so establish, to my ownsatisfaction, at least, the perfect innocence of my lover even at thecost of untold anguish to this confiding girl upon whose gentle spiritthe very thought of crime would cast a deadly blight.

  I must have flushed; certainly I showed some embarrassment, for her eyesbrightened with shy laughter as she whispered:

  "You do not like to be praised,--another of your virtues. You have toomany. I have only one--I love my friends."

  She did. One could see that love was life to her.

  For an instant I trembled. How near I had been to wrecking thisgentle soul! Was she safe yet? I was not sure. My own doubts were notsatisfied. I awaited the papers with feverish impatience. They shouldcontain news. News of what? Ah, that was the question!

  "You will let me see my mail this morning, will you not?" she asked, asI busied myself about her.

  "That is for the doctor to say," I smiled. "You are certainly betterthis morning."

  "It is so hard for me not to be able to read his letters, or to write aword to relieve his anxiety."

  Thus she told me her heart's secret, and unconsciously added anotherburden to my already too heavy load.

  I was on my way to give some orders about my patient's breakfast, whenMr. Grey came into the sitting-room and met me face to face. He had anewspaper in his hand and my heart stood still as I noted his alteredlooks and disturbed manner. Were these due to anything he had found inthose columns? It was with difficulty that I kept my eyes from the paperwhich he held in such a manner as to disclose its glaring head-lines.These I dared not read with his eyes fixed on mine.

  "How is Miss Grey? How is my daughter?" he asked in great haste anduneasiness. "Is she better this morning, or--worse?"

  "Better," I assured him, and was greatly astonished to see his browinstantly clear.

  "Really?" he asked. "You really consider her better? The doctors sayso' but I have not very much faith in doctors in a case like this," headded.

  "I have seen no reason to distrust them," I protested. "Miss Grey'sillness, while severe, does not appear to be of an alarming nature. Butthen I have had very little experience out of the hospital. I am youngyet, Mr. Grey."

  He looked as if he quite agreed with me in this estimate of myself, and,with a brow still clouded, passed into his daughter's room, the paperin his hand. Before I joined them I found and scanned another journal.Expecting great things, I was both surprised and disappointed to findonly a small paragraph devoted to the Fairbrother case. In this it wasstated that the authorities hoped for new light on this mystery as soonas they had located a certain witness, whose connection with thecrime they had just discovered. No more, no less than was containedin Inspector Dalzell's letter. How could I bear it,--the suspense, thedoubt,--and do my duty to my patient! Happily, I had no choice. I hadbeen adjudged equal to this business and I must prove myself to be so.Perhaps my courage would revive after I had had my breakfast;perhaps then I should be able to fix upon the identity of the newwitness,--something which I found myself incapable of at this moment.

  These thoughts were on my mind as I crossed the rooms on my way backto Miss Grey's bedside. By the time I reached her door I was outwardlycalm, as her first words showed:

  "Oh, the cheerful smile! It makes me feel better in spite of myself."

  If she could have seen into my heart!

  Mr. Grey, who was leaning over the foot of the bed, cast me a quickglance which was not without its suspicion. Had he detected me playing apart, or were such doubts as he displayed the product simply of his ownuneasiness? I was not able to decide, and, with this unanswered questionadded to the number already troubling me, I was forced to face the daywhich, for aught I knew, might be the precursor of many others equallytrying and unsatisfactory.

  But help was near. Before noon I received a message from my uncle to theeffect that if I could be spared he would be glad to see me at his homeas near three o'clock as possible. What could he want of me? I couldnot guess, and it was with great inner perturbation that, having won Mr.Grey's permission, I responded to his summons.

  I found my uncle awaiting me in a carriage before his own door, andI took my seat at his side without the least idea of his purpose.I supposed that he had planned this ride that he might talk to meunreservedly and without fear of interruption. But I soon saw that hehad some very different object in view, for not only did he start downtown instead of up, but his conversation, such as it was, confineditself to generalities and studiously avoided the one topic of supremeinterest to us both.

  At last, as we turned into Bleecker Street, I let my astonishment andperplexity appear.

  "Where are we bound?" I asked. "It can not be that you are taking me tosee Mr. Durand?"

  "No," said he, and said no more.

  "Ah, Police Headquarters!" I faltered as the carriage made another turnand drew up before a building I had reason to remember. "Uncle, what amI to do here?"

  "See a friend," he answered, as he helped me to alight. Then as Ifollowed him in some bewilderment, he whispered in my ear: "InspectorDalzell. He wants a few minutes conversation with you."

  Oh, the weight which fell from my shoulders at these words! I was tohear, then, what had intervened between me and my purpose. The wearingnight I had anticipated was to be lightened with some small spark ofknowledge. I had confidence enough in the kind-hearted inspector to besure of that. I caught at my uncle's arm and squeezed it delightedly,quite oblivious of the curious glances I must have received from thevarious officials we passed on our way to the inspector's office.

  We found him waiting for us, and I experienced such pleasure at sight ofhis kind and earnest face that I hardly noticed uncle's sly retreat tillthe door closed behind him.

  "Oh, Inspector, what has happened?" I impetuously exclaimed in answerto his greeting. "Something that will help Mr. Durand without disturbingMr. Grey--have you as good news for me as that?"

  "Hardly," he answered, moving up a chair and seating me in it with afatherly air which, under the circumstances, was more discouraging thanconsolatory. "We have simply heard of a new witness, or rather a facthas come to light which has turned our inquiries into a new direction."

  "And--and--you can not tell me what this fact is?" I faltered as heshowed no intention of adding anything to this very unsatisfactoryexplanation.

  "I should not, but you were willing to do so much for us I must setaside my principles a little and do something for you. After all, it isonly forestalling the reporters by a day. Miss Van Arsdale, this is thestory: Yesterday morning a man was shown into this room, and said thathe had information to give which might possibly prove to have somebearing on the Fairbrother case. I had seen the man before andrecognized him at the first glance as one of the witnesses who made theinquest unnecessarily tedious. Do you remember Jones, the caterer,who had only two or three facts to give and yet who used up the wholeafternoon in trying to state those facts?"

  "I do, indeed," I answered.

  "Well, he was the man, and I own that I was none too delighted to seehim.
But he was more at his ease with me than I expected, and I soonlearned what he had to tell. It was this: One of his men had suddenlyleft him, one of his very best men, one of those who had been with himin the capacity of waiter at the Ramsdell ball. It was not uncommon forhis men to leave him, but they usually gave notice. This man gave nonotice; he simply did not show up at the usual hour. This was a weekor two ago. Jones, having a liking for the man, who was an excellentwaiter, sent a messenger to his lodging-house to see if he were ill.But he had left his lodgings with as little ceremony as he had left thecaterer.

  "This, under ordinary circumstances, would have ended the business, butthere being some great function in prospect, Jones did not feel likelosing so good a man without making an effort to recover him, so helooked up his references in the hope of obtaining some clue to hispresent whereabouts.

  "He kept all such matters in a special book and expected to have notrouble in finding the man's name, James Wellgood, or that of his formeremployer But when he came to consult this book, he was astonished tofind that nothing was recorded against this man's name but the date ofhis first employment--March 15.

  "Had he hired him without a recommendation? He would not be likely to,yet the page was clear of all reference; only the name and the date.But the date! You have already noted its significance, and later he did,too. The day of the Ramsdell ball! The day of the great murder! Ashe recalled the incidents of that day he understood why the record ofWellgood's name was unaccompanied by the usual reference. It had beena difficult day all round. The function was an important one, and theweather bad. There was, besides, an unusual shortage in his number ofassistants. Two men had that very morning been laid up with sickness,and when this able-looking, self-confident Wellgood presented himselffor immediate employment, he took him out of hand with the merestglance at what looked like a very satisfactory reference. Later, hehad intended to look up this reference, which he had been careful topreserve by sticking it, along with other papers, on his spike-file. Butin the distractions following the untoward events of the evening, he hadneglected to do so, feeling perfectly satisfied with the man's work andgeneral behavior. Now it was a different thing. The man had lefthim summarily, and he felt impelled to hunt up the person who hadrecommended him and see whether this was the first time that Wellgoodhad repaid good treatment with bad. Running through the papers withwhich his file was now full, he found that the one he sought was notthere. This roused him in good earnest, for he was certain that he hadnot removed it himself and there was no one else who had the right to doso. He suspected the culprit,--a young lad who occasionally had accessto his desk. But this boy was no longer in the office. He had dismissedhim for some petty fault the previous week, and it took him several daysto find him again. Meantime his anger grew and when he finally came faceto face with the lad, he accused him of the suspected trick with so muchvehemence that the inevitable happened, and the boy confessed. This iswhat he acknowledged. He had taken the reference off the file, but onlyto give it to Wellgood himself, who had offered him money for it. Whenasked how much money, the boy admitted that the sum was ten dollars,--anextraordinary amount from a poor man for so simple a service, if the manmerely wished to secure his reference for future use; so extraordinarythat Mr. Jones grew more and more pertinent in his inquiries, elicitingfinally what he surely could not have hoped for in the beginning,--theexact address of the party referred to in the paper he had stolen, andwhich, for some reason, the boy remembered. It was an uptown address,and, as soon as the caterer could leave his business, he took theelevated and proceeded to the specified street and number.

  "Miss Van Arsdale, a surprise awaited him, and awaited us when he toldthe result of his search. The name attached to the recommendation hadbeen--'Hiram Sears, Steward.' He did not know of any such man--perhapsyou do--but when he reached the house from which the recommendation wasdated, he saw that it was one of the great houses of New York, thoughhe could not at the instant remember who lived there. But he soon foundout. The first passer-by told him. Miss Van Arsdale, perhaps you can dothe same. The number was--Eighty-sixth Street."

  "--!" I repeated, quite aghast. "Why, Mr. Fairbrother himself! Thehusband of--"

  "Exactly so, and Hiram Sears, whose name you may have heard mentioned atthe inquest, though for a very good reason he was not there in person,is his steward and general factotum."

  "Oh! and it was he who recommended Wellgood?"

  "Yes."

  "And did Mr. Jones see him?"

  "No. The house, you remember, is closed. Mr. Fairbrother, on leavingtown, gave his servants a vacation. His steward he took with him,--thatis, they started together. But we hear no mention made of him inour telegrams from Santa Fe. He does not seem to have followed Mr.Fairbrother into the mountains."

  "You say that in a peculiar way," I remarked.

  "Because it has struck us peculiarly. Where is Sears now? And why didhe not go on with Mr. Fairbrother when he left home with every apparentintention of accompanying him to the Placide mine? Miss Van Arsdale, wewere impressed with this fact when we heard of Mr. Fairbrother's lonelytrip from where he was taken ill to his mine outside of Santa Fe; but wehave only given it its due importance since hearing what has come to usto-day.

  "Miss Van Arsdale," continued the inspector, as I looked up quickly, "Iam going to show great confidence in you. I am going to tell you whatour men have learned about this Sears. As I have said before, it is butforestalling the reporters by a day, and it may help you to understandwhy I sent you such peremptory orders to stop, when your whole heart wasfixed on an attempt by which you hoped to right Mr. Durand. We can notafford to disturb so distinguished a person as the one you have underyour eye, while the least hope remains of fixing this crime elsewhere.And we have such hope. This man, this Sears, is by no means the simplecharacter one would expect from his position. Considering the short timewe have had (it was only yesterday that Jones found his way into thisoffice), we have unearthed some very interesting facts in his regard.His devotion to Mr. Fairbrother was never any secret, and we knew asmuch about that the day after the murder as we do now. But thefeelings with which he regarded Mrs. Fairbrother--well, that is anotherthing--and it was not till last night we heard that the attachment whichbound him to her was of the sort which takes no account of youth or age,fitness or unfitness. He was no Adonis, and old enough, we are told, tobe her father; but for all that we have already found several personswho can tell strange stories of the persistence with which his eagerold eyes would follow her whenever chance threw them together during thetime she remained under her husband's roof; and others who relate, witheven more avidity, how, after her removal to apartments of her own, heused to spend hours in the adjoining park just to catch a glimpse of herfigure as she crossed the sidewalk on her way to and from her carriage.Indeed, his senseless, almost senile passion for this magnificent beautybecame a by-word in some mouths, and it only escaped being mentioned atthe inquest from respect to Mr. Fairbrother, who had never recognizedthis weakness in his steward, and from its lack of visible connectionwith her horrible death and the stealing of her great jewel.Nevertheless, we have a witness now--it is astonishing how manywitnesses we can scare up by a little effort, who never thought ofcoming forward themselves--who can swear to having seen him one nightshaking his fist at her retreating figure as she stepped haughtily byhim into her apartment house. This witness is sure that the man hesaw thus gesticulating was Sears, and he is sure the woman was Mrs.Fairbrother. The only thing he is not sure of is how his own wife willfeel when she hears that he was in that particular neighborhood onthat particular evening, when he was evidently supposed to be somewhereelse." And the inspector laughed.

  "Is the steward's disposition a bad one." I asked, "that this display offeeling should impress you so much?"

  "I don't know what to say about that yet. Opinions differ on this point.His friends speak of him as the mildest kind of a man who, withoutnative executive skill, could not manage the great household he has incharge. Hi
s enemies, and we have unearthed a few, say, on the contrary,that they have never had any confidence in his quiet ways; that thesewere not in keeping with the fact or his having been a California minerin the early fifties.

  "You can see I am putting you very nearly where we are ourselves. Nordo I see why I should not add that this passion of the seemingly subduedbut really hot-headed steward for a woman, who never showed him anythingbut what he might call an insulting indifference, struck us as a clue tobe worked up, especially after we received this answer to a telegram wesent late last night to the nurse who is caring for Mr. Fairbrother inNew Mexico."

  He handed me a small yellow slip and I read:

  "The steward left Mr. Fairbrother at El Moro. He has not heard from himsince.

  "ANNETTA LA SERRA

  "For Abner Fairbrother."

  "At El Moro?" I cried. "Why, that was long enough ago."

  "For him to have reached New York before the murder. Exactly so, if hetook advantage of every close connection."