A LITERATURE HOUSE BOOK








The
Leavenworth Case
Anna Katherine Green Rohits
LITERATURE HOUSE / GREGG PRESS
Upper Saddle River, N. J.


Bar
R7301
1970
Republished in 1970 by
LITERATURE HOUSE
an imprint of The Gregg Press
121 Pleasant Avenue
Upper Saddle River, N. J. 07458
Standard Book Number—8398-0666-3
Library of Congress Card—79-104467
Printed in United States of America








THE
LEAVENWORTH CASE:
A LAWYER'S STORY.
BY
ANNA KATHARINE/GREEN Poties
NEW YORK:
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS,
182 FIFTH AVENUE.
1879.


COPYRIGHT,
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS,
1878.


8 bin 377.013
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
PAGE
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THE PROBLEM.
CHAPTER
1. “A GREAT CASE" . .
II. THE CORONER'S INQUEST . .
III. FACTS AND DEDUCTIONS.
IV. A CLUE . . . . . .
V. EXPERT TESTIMONY . .
VI. SIDE-LIGHTS . . . . .
VII. MARY LEAVENWORTH
VIII. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
IX. A DISCOVERY
X. MR. GRYCE RECEIVES NEW IMPETUS
XI. THE SUMMONS. . . . .
XII. ELEANORE . . . . . .
XIII. THE PROBLEM . . . . .
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. 115
. 123
. 131
BOOK II.
HENRY CLAVERING.
. 141
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XIV. MR. GRYCE AT HOME
XV. WAYS OPENING
XVI. THE WILL OF A MILLIONAIRE
XVII. THE BEGINNING OF GREAT SURPRISES ..
XVIII. ON THE STAIRS.
XIX. IN MY OFFICE . .
XX. “TRUEMAN | TRUEMAN! TRUEMANI” .
. 196
. 204
.


iv
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
XXI. A PREJUDICE . . . . . .
XXII. PATCH-WORK . . . . . .
XXIII. THE STORY OF A CHARMING WOMAN .
XXIV. A REPORT FOLLOWED BY SMOKE
XXV. TIMOTHY COOK . . . . .
XXVI. MR. GRYCE EXPLAINS HIMSELF . .
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PAGE.
. 211
. 220
. 242
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. 266
. 276
BOOK III.
HANNAH.
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XXVII. AMY BELDEN . . . .
XXVIII. A WEIRD EXPERIENCE .
XXIX. THE MISSING WITNESS.
XXX. BURNED PAPER
XXXI. Q . . . . . .
XXXII. MRS. BELDEN'S NARRATIVE .
XXXIII. UNEXPECTED TESTIMONY .
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. 331
. 344
. 378
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BOOK IV.
THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
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XXXIV. MR. GRYCE RESUMES CONTROL . .
XXXV. FINE WORK . . . . . .
XXXVI. GATHERED THREADS . . . .
XXXVII. CULMINATION . . . . . .
XXXVIII. A FULL CONFESSION . . . .
XXXIX. THE OUTCOME OF A GREAT CRIME .
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. 385
. 408
. 423
. 433
. 445
. 470


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
BOOK I.
THE PROBLEM.
I.
"A GREAT CASE.”
A deed of dreadful note.
MACBBTH.
I HAD been a junior partner in the firm of Veeley,
Carr & Raymond, attorneys and counsellors at law, for
about a year, when one morning, in the temporary absence
of both Mr. Veeley and Mr. Carr, there came into our
office a young man whose whole appearance was so indic-
ative of haste and agitation that I involuntarily rose as
he approached, and advanced to meet him.
“What is the matter, sir?" I inquired. “You have
no bad news to tell me, I hope."
“I have come to see Mr. Veeley ; is he in?”
“No," I replied ; "he was unexpectedly called away
this morning to Washington ; cannot be home before to-
morrow; but if you will make your business known to
as
me”
“To you sir ? ” interrupted he, turning a very cold, but


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
steady eye on mine ; then seeming to be satisfied with his
scrutiny, continued, “There is no reason why I shouldn't;
my business is no secret. I came to inform him that Mr.
Leavenworth is dead.”
“Mr. Leavenworth !” I exclaimed, falling back a step.
Mr. Leavenworth was an old client of our firm, to say
nothing of his being the particular friend of Mr. Veeley.
“Yes, murdered ; shot through the head by some un-
known person while sitting at his library table."
“Shot! murdered !” I could scarcely believe my ears.
What! the genial, whole-souled old gentleman, who, but
a week before had stood in that very spot, twitting me with
my bachelorhood and asking me in the same breath to
come to his house and see what he had there to show me!
I stared at the man beside me, half incredulously.
“How? when ?" I gasped.
“ Last night. At least so we suppose. He was not
found till this morning. I am Mr. Leavenworth's private
secretary," he explained, “and live in the family. It was
a dreadful shock,” he went on, “ especially to the ladies.”
"Dreadful !" I repeated. “Mr. Veeley will be over-
whelmed by it.”
“They are all alone,” continued he in a low business-
like way I afterwards found to be inseparable from the
man; "the Misses Leavenworth I mean-Mr. Leaven-
worth's nieces; and as an inquest is to be held there to-day,
it is deemed proper they should have some one present
capable of advising them. As Mr. Veeley was their uncle's


THE PROBLEM.
best friend, they naturally sent me for him, but he being
absent, I don't know what to do or where to go."
“Well," replied I, “I am a stranger to the ladies, but
if I can be of any assistance to them, my respect for their
uncle is such—"
The expression of the secretary's eye stopped me.
Without seeming to wander from my face, its pupil had
suddenly dilated till it appeared to embrace my whole per-
son within its scope.
"I don't know," remarked he finally, a slight frown
testifying to the fact that he was not altogether pleased
with the turn affairs were taking. “ Perhaps it would be
best. The ladies must not be left alone"
“Say no more,” interrupted I ; “I will go.” And sitting
down I despatched a hurried message to Mr. Veeley, after
which, and the few other preparations necessary, I accom-
panied the secretary to the street.
“Now," said I, “ tell me all you know of this frightful
affair.”
“All I know? A few words will do that. I left him
last night sitting as usual at his library table, and found
him this morning, seated in the same place, almost in the
same position, but with a bullet hole in his head as large
as the end of my little finger."
“ Dead ?”
“ Stone dead.”
“Horrible!” I exclaimed. Then after a moment,
" Could it have been a suicide ?"


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“No. The pistol with which the deed was committed
is not to be found.”
“But if it was a murder, there must have been some
motive. Mr. Leavenworth was too benevolent a man to
have enemies, and if robbery was intended ”
“There was no robbery. There is nothing missing,"
he again interrupted. “The whole affair is a mystery.”
“A mystery ?”
“An utter mystery.”
Turning, I looked at my informant curiously. The in-
mate of a house in which a mysterious murder had oc-
curred was rather an interesting object. But the good
featured and yet totally unimpressive countenance of the
man beside me, offered but little basis for even the wildest
imagination to work upon, and glancing almost im-
mediately away I asked,
“ Are the ladies very much overcome?”
He took at least a half dozen steps before replying.
" It would be unnatural if they were not,” he said at
last; and whether it was the expression of his face at the
time or the nature of the reply itself, I felt that in speak-
ing of these ladies to this uninteresting self-possessed
secretary of the late Mr. Leavenworth, I was somehow
treading upon dangerous ground. As I had heard they
were very accomplished women, I was not altogether
pleased at this discovery. It was, therefore, with a certain
consciousness of relief that I saw a Fifth avenue stage
approach.
VAN
as


THE PROBLEM.
“We will defer our conversation,” said I. “Here's
the stage.”
But once seated within it, we soon discovered that all
intercourse upon such a subject was impossible. Employ-
ing the time, therefore, in running over in my mind what I
knew of Mr. Leavenworth, I found that my knowledge was
limited to the bare fact of his being a retired merchant of.
great wealth and fine social position, who in default of
possessing children of his own, had taken into his home
two nieces, one of whom had already been declared his
heiress. To be sure I had heard Mr. Veeley speak of his
eccentricities, giving as an instance this very fact of his
making a will in favor of one niece to the utter exclusion
of the other, but of his habits of life and connection with
the world at large, I knew little or nothing.
There was a great crowd in front of the house when
we arrived there, and I had barely time to observe
that it was a corner dwelling of unusual depth as well as
width, when I was seized by the throng and carried quite
to the foot of the broad stone steps. Extricating myself,
though with some difficulty, owing to the importunities of
a boot-black and butcher-boy, who seemed to think that by
clinging to my arms they might be able to smuggle them-
selves into the very scene of the tragedy, I mounted the
steps, and finding the secretary by some unaccountable
good fortune close to my side, hurriedly rang the bell. Im-
mediately the door opened, and a face I recognized as
that of one of our city detectives, appeared in the gap.


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,
“ Mr. Gryce !” I exclaimed.
“The same,” replied he. “ Come in, Mr. Raymond.”
And drawing us quietly into the house, he shut the door
with a grim smile on the disappointed crowd without. “I
trust you are not surprised to see me here,” said he, hold-
ing out his hand, with a side glance at my companion.
"No," returned I. Then with a vague idea that I
ought to introduce the young man at my side, continued,
“This is Mr. — Mr. -, -excuse me, but I do not
know your name,” I said turning with a glance of inquiry
to my companion—" the private secretary of the late Mr.
Leavenworth,” I hastened to add.
“O,” returned he, “the secretary! The coroner has
been asking for you, sir.”
“The coroner is here then," said I.
“Yes; the jury have just gone up stairs to view the
body; would you like to follow them?”.
“No," said I. “ It is not necessary. I have merely
come in the hope of being of some assistance to the young
ladies. Mr. Veeley is away.”
“And you thought the opportunity too good to be lost,"
he went on; "just so. Still now that you are here and as
the case promises to be a marked one, I should think that
as a rising young lawyer, you would wish to make yourself
acquainted with it in all its details. But follow your own
judgment.”
I made an effort and overcame my repugnance. “I
will go,” said I.


THE PROBLEM.
“Very well then,” he replied, “follow me.”
But just as I set foot on the stairs I heard the jury de-
scending, so drawing back with Mr. Gryce into the recess
between the reception room and parlor, I had time to re-
mark,
“ The young man says that it could not have been the
work of a burglar."
“Indeed!” fixing his eye on a door-knob near by.
“That nothing has been found missing—"
“And that the fastenings to the house were all found
secure this morning ; just so.”
“He did not tell me that. In that case”—and I shud-
dered—“the murderer must have been in the house all
night.”
Mr. Gryce smiled darkly at the door-knob.
“It has a dreadful look !” exclaimed I.
Mr. Gryce immediately frowned at the door-knob.
And here let me say that Mr. Gryce, the detective, was
not the thin, wiry individual with a shrewd eye that seems
to plunge into the core of your being and pounce at once
upon its hidden secret, that you are doubtless expecting to
see. Mr. Gryce was a portly, comfortable personage with
an eye°that never pounced, that did not even rest-on you.
If it rested anywhere, it was always on some insignificant
object in your vicinity, some vase, inkstand, book or but-
ton. These things he would seem to take into his con-
fidence, make the repositories of his conclusions, but you
-you might as well be the steeple on Trinity Church, for


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
all the connection you ever appeared to have with him or
his thoughts. At present then, Mr. Gryce was, as I have
already suggested, on intimate terms with the door-knob.
“A dreadful look," I repeated.
His eye shifted to the button on my sleeve.
“Come,” he said, “ the coast is clear at last."
Leading the way, he mounted the stairs, but stopped
on the upper landing. “Mr. Raymond,” said he, “I am
not in the habit of talking much about the secrets of my
profession, but in this case every thing depends upon getting
the right clew at the start. We have no common villainy
to deal with here ; genius has been at work. Now some-
times an absolutely uninitiated mind will intuitively catch
at something which the most highly trained intellect will
miss. If such a thing should occur, remember that I am
your man. Don't go round talking, but come to me. For
this is going to be a great case, mind you, a great case.
Now come on.”
“But the ladies ? "
“ They are in the rooms above ; in grief of course, but
tolerably composed for all, I hear.” And advancing to a
door, he pushed it open and beckoned me in.
All was dark for a moment, but presently my eyes be-
coming accustomed to the place, I saw that we were in the
library.
“It was here that he was found," said he ; "in this
room and upon this very spot.” And advancing he laid
his hand on the end of a large, baize-covered table that,


THE PROBLEM.
together with its attendant chairs, occupied the centre of
the room. “You see for yourself that it is directly op-
posite this door,” and, crossing the floor, he paused in front
of the threshold of a narrow passage way, opening into a
room beyond.* “As the murdered man was discovered
sitting in this chair, and consequently with his back to-
wards the passage-way, the assassin must have advanced
through the doorway to deliver his shot, pausing let us say
about here." And Mr. Gryce planted his feet firmly upon a
certain spot in the carpet, about a foot from the threshold
before mentioned.
“ But-" I hastened to interpose.
“There is no room for but," he cried. “We
have studied the situation.” And without deigning to
dilate upon the subject, he turned immediately about and
stepping swiftly before me, led the way into the passage
named. “Wine closet, clothes closet, washing apparatus,
• For those who are interested in the details of this affair, the following diagram
is given :-
Library.
Bedroom.
D
.
Door.
Door.
Hall.
.. Library Table. 2. Chair. 3. Passage-way. 4. Bed. 5. Shaving Stando


1ο
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
en
towel-rack,” explained he, waving his hand from side to
side as we hurried through, finishing with “Mr. Leaven-
worth's private apartment," as that room in all its elegance
opened upon us.
Mr. Leavenworth's private apartment! It was here
then that it ought to be, the horrible blood-curdling it that
yesterday was a living breathing man. Advancing to the
bed that was hung with heavy curtains, I raised my hand
to put them back, when Mr. Gryce drawing them from my
clasp, disclosed lying upon the pillow a cold, calm face
looking so natural, I involuntarily started.
"His death was too sudden to distort the features,"
said he, turning the head to one side in a way to make
visible a ghastly wound in the back of the cranium. “ Such
a hole as that sends a man out of the world without much
notice. The surgeon will convince you it could never have
been inflicted by himself. It is a case of deliberate mur-
der.”
Horrified I drew hastily back, when my glance fell
upon a door situated directly opposite me in the side of
the wall towards the hall. It appeared to be the only out-
let from the room with the exception of the passage
through which we had entered, and I could not help won-
dering if it was through there the assassin had come on his
roundabout course to the library. But Mr. Gryce seem-
ingly observant of my glance, though his own was fixed
upon the chandelier, made haste to remark, as if in reply
to the inquiry in my face,


THE PROBLEM.
II
“Found locked on the inside ; may have come that
way and may not: we don't pretend to say.”
Observing now that the bed was undisturbed in its ar-
rangement, I remarked, “He had not retired then?”.
“No; the tragedy must be ten hours old. Time for the
murderer to have studied the situation and provided for
all contingencies.”
" The murderer ? Whom do you suspect ?" I whisp-
ered.
He looked impassively at the ring on my finger.
“Every one and nobody. It is not for me to suspect
but to detect." And dropping the curtain into its former
position he led me from the room.
The coroner's inquest being now in session, I felt a
strong desire to be present, so requesting Mr. Gryce to in-
form the ladies that Mr. Veeley being absent from town,
I had come as one of his partners, to render them any as-
sistance they might require on so melancholy an occasion,
I proceeded to the large parlor below and took my seat
among the various persons there assembled.


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
II.
THE CORONER'S INQUEST.
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
For a few minutes I sat dazed by the sudden flood of
light that greeted me from the many open windows, then
as the strongly contrasting features of the scene before me
began to impress themselves upon my consciousness, I
found myself experiencing something of the same sensa-
tion of double personality, which years before had followed
an enforced use of ether. As at that time it appeared to
me that I was living two lives at once, in two distinct
places, with two separate sets of incidents going on, so now
did I seem to be divided between two irreconcilable trains
of thought; the gorgeous house, its elaborate furnishing,
the little glimpses of yesterday's life as seen in the open
piano with its sheet of music held in place by a lady's
dainty fan, occupying my attention fully as much as the
aspect of the throng of incongruous and impatient people,
huddled about me.
Perhaps one reason of this lay in the extraordinary
splendor of the room I was in ; the glow of satin, glitter of
bronze and glimmer of marble meeting the eye at every
turn. But I am rather inclined to think that it was mainly


THE PROBLEM.
13
due to the force and eloquence of a certain picture that
confronted me from the opposite wall. A sweet picture-
sweet enough and poetic enough to have been conceived
by the most idealistic of artists: simple too—the vision of
a young, golden-haired, blue-eyed coquette, dressed in the
costume of the First Empire, standing in a woodpath look-
ing back over her shoulder as at some one following—yet
with such a dash of something not altogether saintlike in
the corners of her meek eyes and baby-like lips, that it
impressed me with the individuality of life. Had it not
been for the open dress with its waist almost beneath the
armpits, the hair cut short on the forehead and the per-
fection of the neck and shoulders, I should have taken
it for a literal portrait of one of the ladies of the house.
As it was, I could not rid myself of the idea that one, if
not both of Mr. Leavenworth's nieces, looked down upon
me from the eyes of this entrancing blonde, with the beckon-
ing glance and forbidding hand. So vividly did this fancy
impress me, that I half shuddered as I looked, wondering
if this sweet creature did not know what had occurred in
this house since the happy yesterday, that she should stand
there smiling so invitingly,—when suddenly I became
aware that I had been watching the little crowd of men
about me, with as complete an attention as if there were
nothing else in the room but themselves. That the face of
the coroner, sternly intelligent and attentive, was as dis-
tinctly imprinted upon my mind, as that of this lovely pic-
ture, or the clearer-cut and more noble features of the
veny


14
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
sculptured Psyche, shining in mellow beauty from the
crimson-hung window at his right. Yes, even that the va.
rious countenances of the jurymen clustered before me,
commonplace and insignificant as most of them were, the
trembling forms of the excited servants. crowded into a far
corner, and the still more disagreeable aspect of the pale-
faced seedy reporter, seated at a small table and writing
with a ghoul-like avidity that made my flesh creep, were
each and all as fixed an element in the remarkable scene
before me, as the splendor of the surroundings which made
their presence such a nightmare of discord and unreality.
I have spoken of the coroner. As fortune would have
it, he was no stranger to me. I had not only seen him be-
fore, but had had frequent conversation with him, in fact
knew him. His name was Hammond, and he was univer-
sally regarded as a man of more than ordinary acuteness,
fully capable of conducting an important examination with
the necessary skill and address. Interested as I was, or
rather was likely to be in this particular inquiry, I could
not but congratulate myself upon our good fortune in
having so intelligent a coroner.
As for his jurymen, they were, as I have intimated, very
much like all other bodies of a similar character. Picked
up at random from the streets, but from such streets as the
Fifth and Sixth avenues, they presented much the same
appearance of average intelligence and refinement as
might be seen in the chance occupants of one of our city
stages rolling down Broadway, with its quota of business
LIO


THE PROBLEM.
15
men. Indeed, I marked but one amongst them all who
seemed to take any interest in the inquiry, as an inquiry ;
all the rest appearing to be actuated in the fulfilment of
their duty, by the commoner instincts of pity and indigna-
tion.
Dr. Maynard, the well-known surgeon of Thirty-sixth
Street, was the first witness called. His testimony was
mainly concerning the nature of the wound found in the
murdered man's head. As some of the facts presented by
him are likely to prove of importance to us in our narra-
tive, I will proceed to give a synopsis of what he said.
Prefacing his remarks with some account of himself,
and the manner in which he had been summoned to the
house by one of the servants, he went on to state that upon
his arrival, he found the deceased lying on a bed in the
second-story front room, with the blood clotted about a
pistol wound in the back of the head ; having evidently
been carried there from the arljoining apartment some
hours after death. It was the only wound discovered
on the body, and having probed it, he had found and
exracted the bullet which he now handed to the jury.
It was lying in the brain, having entered at the base
of the skull, passed obliquely upward, and at once struck
the medulla oblongata, causing instant death. The fact
of the ball having entered the brain in this peculiar
manner, he deemed worthy of note, since it would pro-
duce not only instantaneous death but an utterly motion-
less one. Further, from the position of the bullet hole


16
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
and the direction taken by the bullet, it was manifestly
impossible that the shot should have been fired by the man
himself, even if the condition of the hair about the wound
did not completely demonstrate the fact, that the shot was
fired from a point some three or four feet distant. Still
further, considering the angle at which the bullet had en-
tered the skull, it was evident that the deceased must not
only have been seated at the time, a fact about which there
could be no disputė, but he must also have been engaged
in some occupation which drew his head forward. For, in
order that a ball should enter the head of a man sitting
erect at the angle seen here, of 45°, it would be necessary
not only for the pistol to be held very low down, but
in a peculiar position; while if the head had been bent
forward as in the act of writing, a man holding a pistol
naturally with the elbow bent, might very easily fire a ball
into the brain at the angle observed.
Upon being questioned in regard to the bodily health
of Mr. Leavenworth, he replied that the deceased appeared
to have been in good condition at the time of his death,
but that not being his attendant physician, he could not
speak conclusively upon the subject without further ex-
amination; and to the remark of a juryman, observed that
he had not seen pistol or weapon lying upon the floor, or
indeed anywhere else in either of the above-mentioned
rooms.
I might as well add here what he afterwards stated, that
from the position of the table, the chair and the door be-


THE PROBLEM.
hind it, the murderer, in order to satisfy all the conditions
imposed by the situation, must have stood upon or just
within the threshold of the passage way leading into the
room beyond. Also, that as the ball was small and from a
rifled barrel, and thus especially liable to deflections while
passing through bones and integuments, it seemed to him
evident, that the victim had made no effort to raise or turn
his head when advanced upon by his destroyer; the fear-
ful conclusion being, that the footstep was an accustomed
one, and the presence of its possessor in the room either
known or expected.
The physician's testimony being ended, the coroner
picked up the bullet which had been laid on the table be-
fore him, and for a moment rolled it contemplatively be-
tween his fingers, then drawing a pencil from his pocket,
hastily scrawled a line or two on a piece of paper and call-
ing an officer to his side, delivered some command in a
low tone. The officer taking up the slip, looked at it for
an instant knowingly, then catching up his hat left the
room. Another moment, and the front door closed on him,
and a wild halloo from the crowd of urchins without, told
of his appearance in the street. Sitting where I did, I had
a full view from the window of the corner. Looking out,
I saw the officer stop there, hail a cab, hastily enter it and
disappear in the direction of Broadway.
obel
N


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
III.
FACTS AND DEDUCTIONS.
Confusion now hath made his master-piece ;
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's anointed temple and stolen thence
The life of the building.
MACBETH.
TURNING my attention back into the room where I was,
I found the coroner consulting a memorandum, through a
very impressive pair of gold eye-glasses.
“Is the butler here?” he asked.
Immediately there was a stir among the group of ser-
vants in the corner, and an intelligent-looking though some-
what pompous Irishman stepped out from their midst and
confronted the jury. “Ah," thought I to myself as my
glance encountered his precise whiskers, steady eye, and re-
spectfully attentive though by no means humble expression,
“here is a model servant who is likely to prove a model
witness." And I was not mistaken, Thomas, the butler,
was in all respects one in a thousand—and he knew it.
The coroner, upon whom as upon all others in the room,
he seemed to have made the like favorable impression,
proceeded without hesitation to interrogate him.
“ Your name, I am told, is Thomas Dougherty ? "
“Yes, sir."


THE PROBLEM.
“Well, Thomas, how long have you been employed in
your present situation ?”.
“It must be a matter of two years now, sir."
“You are the person who first discovered the body of
Mr. Leavenworth ?”
“Yes, sir; I and Mr. Harwell.”
“ And who is Mr. Harwell ?”
“Mr. Harwell is Mr. Leavenworth's private secretary,
sir; the one who did his writing.”
“Very good. Now at what time of the day or night
was it that you made this discovery?”
“It was early, sir ; early this morning, about eight.”
“And where ?"
“In the library, sir, off Mr. Leavenworth's bedroom.
We had forced our way in, feeling anxious about his not
coming to breakfast.”.
“ You forced your way in ; the door then was locked?"
“Yes, sir."
“ On the inside ?"
“ That I cannot tell; there was no key in the door."
“Where was Mr. Leavenworth lying when you first
found him ?”
“He was not lying, sir. He was seated at the large
table in the centre of the room, his back to the bedroom
door ; leaning forward, his head on his hands."
“How was he dressed ?"
“In his dinner suit, sir, just as he came from the table
last night.”


20
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Were there any evidences in the room that a struggle
had taken place?”
“No, sir."
“Any pistol on the floor or table?”
“ No, sir."
“ Any reason to suppose that robbery had been at-
tempted ?”
“No, sir. Mr. Leavenworth's watch and purse were
both in his pockets."
Being asked to mention who were in the house at the
time of the discovery, he replied, “ The young ladies, Miss
Mary Leavenworth and Miss Eleanore, Mr. Harwell, Kate
the cook, Molly the up-stairs girl, and myself."
“ The usual members of the household ?”
“Yes, sir."
“Now tell me whose duty it is to close up the house
nights."
“Mine, sir."
“ Did you secure it as usual, last night?”
“I did, sir."
“Who unfastened it this morning?"
“I, sir.”
“How did you find it?"
"Just as I left it.”
“What, not a window open nor a door unlocked ? "
“No, sir.”
By this time you could have heard a pin drop. The
certainty that the murderer, whoever he was, had not left


THE PROBLEM.
21
the house, at least till after it was opened in the morning,
seemed to weigh upon all minds. Forewarned as I had
been of the fact, I could not but feel a certain degree of
emotion at having it thus brought before me; and moving
so as to bring the butler's face within view, searched it for
some secret token that he had spoken thus emphatically
in order to cover up his own dereliction of duty. But it
was unmoved in its candor, and sustained the concentrated
gaze of all in the room like a rock.
Being now asked when he had last seen Mr. Leaven-
worth alive, he replied, " At dinner last night.”
“ He was, however, seen later by some of you?”
“ Yes, sir ; Mr. Harwell says he saw him as late as-
half-past ten in the evening.”
“What room do you occupy in this house ?”
“A little one on the basement floor.”
“And where do the other members of the household
sleep?"
“Mostly on the third floor, sir, the ladies in the large
back rooms, and Mr. Harwell in the little one in front.
The girls sleep above."
“There was then no one on the same floor with Mr
Leavenworth?”
“No, sir."
“ At what hour did you go to bed ?”
“Well, I should say about eleven.”
“Did you hear any noise in the house either before or
after that time, that you remember?"


22
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
ol
“No, sir."
“ So that the discovery you made this morning was a
surprise to you?”
“ Yes, sir.”
Requested now to give a more detailed account of that
discovery, he went on to say that it was not till Mr. Leav-
enworth failed to come to his breakfast at the call of the
bell, that any suspicion arose in the house that all was not
right. Even then they waited sometime before doing any
thing, but as minute after minute went by and he did not
come, Miss Eleanore grew very anxious, and finally left
the room saying she would go see what was the matter,
but soon returned looking very much frightened, saying
she had knocked at her uncle's door, and had even called
to him, but could get no answer. At which he and Mr.
Harwell had gone up and together tried both doors, and
finding them locked, burst open that of the library, when
they saw Mr. Leavenworth as he had already said, sitting
at the table, dead.”
“ And the ladies ?”.
“O, they followed us up and came into the room and
Miss Eleanore fainted away."
“And the other one, Miss Mary, I believe they call
her ?”
“I don't remember any thing about her, I was so busy
fetching water for Miss Eleanore, I didn't notice.”
“Well, how long was it before Mr. Leavenworth was
carried into the next room?"


THE PROBLEM.
23
“Almost immediate, as soon as Miss Eleanore recovered,
and that was as soon as ever the water touched her lips."
" Who proposed that the body should be carried from
the spot ?"
“She, sir. As soon as ever she stood up she went over
to it and looked at it and shuddered, and then calling Mr.
Harwell and me, bade us carry him in and lay him on the
bed and go for the doctor, which we did.”
“Wait a moment; did she go with you when you went
into the other room?"
“ No, sir.”
“What did she do ?”
“She stayed by the library table.”
“What doing?”
“I couldn't see ; her back was to me."
“How long did she stay there?”
“ She was gone when we came back.”
“Gone from the table ?”.
“Gone from the room."
“Humph! when did you see her again ?”
“In a minute. She came in at the library door as we
went out."
“ Any thing in her hand ?”
“Not as I see.”
“Did you miss any thing from the table ?”
“I never thought to look sir. The table was nothing
to me. I was only thinking of going for the doctor though
I knew it was of no use."
we cam


24
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Whom did you leave in the room when you went
out?"
“The cook, sir, and Molly, sir, and Miss Eleanore."
“Not Miss Mary?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well. Have the jury any questions to put to
this man?"
A movement at once took place in that profound body.
“I would like to ask a few,” exclaimed a weazened faced
excitable little man whom I had before noticed shifting in
his seat in a restless manner strongly suggestive of an in-
tense but hitherto repressed desire to interrupt the pro-
ceedings.
“Very well, sir ;” returned Thomas.
But the juryman stopping to draw a deep breath, a large
and decidedly pompous man who sat at his right hand,
seized the opportunity to inquire in a round listen-to-me
sort of voice,
"You say you have been in the family for two years.
Was it what you might call a united family?”
u United ?”
“Affectionate you know—on good terms with each
other.” And the juryman lifted the very long and heavy
watch chain that hung across his vest as if that as well as
himself had a right to a suitable and well-considered reply.
The butler, impressed perhaps by his manner, glanced
uneasily around. “Yes, sir, as far as I know."
“ The young ladies were attached to their uncle?”


THE PROBLEM.
“O yes, sir."
" And to each other ? "
“ Well, yes, I suppose so ; it's not for me to say.”
“ You suppose so. Have you any reason to think oth-
erwise?" And he doubled the watch chain about his fin-
gers as if he would double its attention as well as his own.
Thomas hesitated a moment. But just as his interloc-
utor was about to repeat his question, he drew himself up
into a rather stiff and formal attitude and replied,
“Well, sir, no."
The juryman for all his self-assertion seemed to respect
the reticence of a servant who declined to give his opinion
in regard to such a matter, and drawing complacently
back, signified with a wave of his hand that he had no
more to say.
Immediately the excitable little man, before mentioned,
slipped forward to the edge of his chair and asked this
time without hesitation, “ At what time did you unfasten
the house this morning ?”
“ About six, sir.”
“Now could any one leave the house after that time
without your knowledge ?".
Thomas glanced a trifle uneasily at his fellow-servants,
but answered up promptly and as if without reserve,
“I don't think it would be possible for anybody to
leave this house after six in the morning without either
myself or the cook's knowing of it. Folks don't jump
from second story windows in broad daylight, and as to


26
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
leaving by the doors, the front door closes with such a
slam all the house can hear it from top to bottom, and as
for the back door, no one that goes out of that can get
clear of the yard without going by the kitchen window,
and no one can go by that kitchen window without the
cook's a-seeing of them, that I can just swear to.” And
he cast a half quizzing, half malicious look at the round
red-faced individual in question, strongly suggestive of late
and unforgotten bickerings over the kitchen coffee-urn and
castor.
This reply, which was of a nature calculated to deepen
the forebodings which had already settled upon the minds
of those present, produced a visible effect. The house
found locked, and no one seen to leave it ! Evidently,
then, we had not far to look for the assassin.
Shifting on his chair with increased fervor, if I may so
speak, the juryman glanced sharply around. But per-
ceiving the renewed interest on the faces about him,
declined to weaken the effect of the last admission, by
any further questions. Settling, therefore, comfortably
back, he left the field open for any other juror who might
choose to press the inquiry. But no one seeming to be
ready to do this, Thomas in his turn evinced impatience,
and at last looking respectfully around inquired,
“Would any other gentleman like to ask me any
thing?”
No one replying, he threw a hurried glance of relief
towards the servants at his side, then while each one


28
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Broadway, unless you except the look of concentration
and solemnity which pervaded his whole person ; a solem-
nity which at this time would not have been noticeable,
perhaps, if it had not appeared to be the habitual ex-
pression of one who in his short life had seen more of
sorrow than joy, less of pleasure than care and anxiety.
The coroner, to whom his appearance one way or the
other seemed to be a matter of no moment, addressed him
immediately and without reserve.
“Your name ?"
“James Trueman Harwell.”
“ Your business ? "
“I have occupied the position of private secretary and
amanuensis to Mr. Leavenworth for the past eight
months,”
“You are the person who last saw Mr. Leavenworth
alive, are you not ?"
The young man raised his head with a haughty gesture
that well nigh transfigured it.
“ Certainly not; as I am not the man who killed him."
This answer, which seemed to introduce something
akin to levity or badinage into an examination the serious-
ness of which we were all beginning to realize, produced
an immediate revulsion of feeling toward the man who in
face of facts revealed and to be revealed, could so lightly
make use of it. A hum of disapproval swept through the
room, and in that one remark, James Harwell lost all that
he had previously won by the self-possession of his bear-
ai
son
veny


THE PROBLEM.
29
ing and the unflinching regard of his eye. He seemed
himself to realize this, for he lifted his head still higher,
though his general aspect remained unchanged.
“I mean," the coroner exclaimed evidently nettled
that the young man had been able to draw such a con-
clusion from his words, “ that you were the last one to see
him previous to his assassination by some unknown indi-
vidual ?"
The secretary folded his arms, whether to hide a cer-
tain tremble that had seized him or by that simple action
to gain time for a moment's further thought, I could not
then determine. “ Sir," he replied at length, “I cannot
answer yes or no to that question. In all probability I
was the last so to see him, but in a house as large as this
I cannot be sure of even so simple a fact as that." Then
observing the unsatisfied look on the faces around, added
slowly, “ It is my business to see him late."
“ Your business, oh, as his secretary, I suppose ?”
He gravely nodded.
“Mr. Harwell,” the coroner went on, “the office of
private secretary in this country is not a common one.
Will you explain to us what your duties were in that
capacity ; in short, what use Mr. Leavenworth had for
such an assistant and how he employed you?”
“Certainly. Mr. Leavenworth was, as you perhaps
know, a man of great wealth. Connected with various
societies, clubs, institutions, etc., besides being known far
and near as a giving man, he was accustomed every day


30
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
of his life to receive numerous letters, begging and other-
wise, which it was my business to open and answer; his
private correspondence always bearing a mark upon it
which distinguished it from the rest. But this was not all
I was expected to do. Having in his early life been
engaged in the tea-trade, he had made more than one
voyage to China, and was consequently much interested in
the question of international communication between that
country and our own. Thinking that in his various visits
there he had learned much which if known to the American
people, would conduce to our better understanding of the
nation, its peculiarities and the best manner of dealing
with it, he has been engaged for some time in writing a
book on the subject, which same it has been my business
for the last eight months to assist him in preparing, by
writing at his dictation, three hours out of the twenty-four,
the last hour being commonly taken from the evening, say
from half-past nine to half-past ten ; Mr. Leavenworth
being a very methodical man and accustomed to regulate
his own life and that of those about him, with almost
mathematical precision.”
“You say that you were accustomed to write at his
dictation evenings? Did you do this as usual last even-
ing?"
“I did, sir."
“What can you tell us of his manner and appearance
at the time. Were they in any way unusual ?”
A frown crossed the secretary's brow.
were


THE PROBLEM.
31
* As he probably had no premonition of his doom, how
should there have been any change in his manner?”
This giving the coroner an opportunity to revenge him-
self for his discomforture of a moment before, he said
somewhat severely,
“It is the business of a witness to answer questions,
not to put them.”
The secretary flushed and the account stood even.
“ Very well then sir ; if Mr. Leavenworth felt any fore-
bodings of his end, he did not reveal them to me. On the
contrary, he seemed to be more absorbed in his work than
usual. One of the last words he said to me was, “In a
month we will have this book in press, eh, Trueman?” I
remember this particularly, as he was filling his wineglass
at the time. He always drank one glass of wine before
retiring, it being my duty to bring the decanter of sherry
from the closet, the last thing before leaving him. I was
standing with my hand on the knob of the hall door, but
advanced as he said this and replied, 'I hope so indeed,
Mr. Leavenworth.' "Then join me in drinking a glass of
sherry,' he cried, motioning me to procure another glass
from the closet. I did so, and he poured me out the wine
with his own hand. I am not especially fond of sherry,
but the occasion was a pleasant one and I drained my
glass. I remember being slightly ashamed of doing so,
for Mr. Leavenworth set his down half full. It was half
full when we found him this morning."
•


32
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Do what he would, and being a reserved man, he ap-
peared anxious to control his emotion, the horror of his
first shock seemed to overwhelm him here. Pulling his
handkerchief from his pocket he wiped his forehead.
“Gentlemen, that is the last action of Mr. Leavenworth I
ever saw. As he set the glass down on the table, I said
good-night to him and left the room.”
The coroner, with a characteristic imperviousness to
all expressions of emotion, leaned back and surveyed the
young man with a scrutinizing glance. “And where did
you go then?” he asked.
“To my own room."
“Did you meet anybody on the way ?”
“No, sir.”
“Hear any thing or see any thing unusual ? "
The secretary's voice fell a trifle. “No, sir.”
"Mr. Harwell, think again. Are you ready to swear
that you neither met anybody, heard anybody or saw any
thing which lingers yet in your memory as unusual ?”
His face grew quite distressed. Twice he opened his
lips to speak and as often closed them without doing so.
At last with an effort he replied,
“I saw one thing, a little thing, too slight to mention,
but it was unusual, and I could not help thinking of it when
you spoke.”
“What was it?"
“Only a door half open."
“ Whose door?"


THE PROBLEM.
33
“Miss Eleanore Leavenworth's." His voice was almost
a whisper now.
“Where were you when you observed this fact?"
“I cannot say exactly. Probably at my own door, as I
did not stop on the way. If this frightful occurrence had
not taken place I should never have thought of it again.”
“When you went into your room did you close your
door?”
“ I did, sir."
“How soon did you retire ?"
“Immediately."
“Did you hear nothing before you fell asleep?"
Again that indefinable hesitation.
“Barely nothing."
“Not a footstep in the hall ?”
“I might have heard a footstep.”
“Did you ?”
“I cannot swear I did."
“Do you think you did ?”
“Yes, I think I did. To tell the whole, I remember
hearing, just as I was falling into a doze, a rustle and a
footstep in the hall, but it made no impression upon me
and I dropped asleep.”
“Well ?”
“ Sometime later I woke, woke suddenly, as if some-
thing had startled me, but what, a noise or move, I cannot
say. I remember rising up in my bed and looking


34
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
oner
around, but hearing nothing further, soon yielded to the
drowsiness which possessed me and fell into a deep
sleep. I did not wake again till morning.”
Here requested to relate how and when he became
acquainted with the fact of the murder, he substantiated, in
all particulars, the account of the matter already given by
the butler ; which subject being exhausted, the coroner
went on to ask if he had noted the condition of the library
table after the body had been removed.
“ Somewhat, yes, sir.”
“ What was on it?”
“ The usual properties sir, books, paper, a pen with
the ink dried on it, besides the decanter and the wineglass
from which he drank the night before."
“Nothing more?”
“I remember nothing more."
“In regard to that decanter and glass,” broke in the
juryman of the watch and chain,“ did you not say that the
latter was found in the same condition in which it was
at the time you left Mr. Leavenworth sitting in his
library?"
“Yes, sir, very much."
“Yet he was in the habit of drinking a full glass?"
“Yes, sır.”
“ An interuption must then have ensued very close
upon your departure, Mr. Harwell.”
A cold bluish palor suddenly broke out upon the young


THE PROBLEM.
man's face. He started and for a moment looked as
if struck by some horrible thought. “That does not
follow sir," he articulated with some difficulty. “Mr.
Leavenworth might—” but suddenly stopped as. if too
much distressed to proceed.
“Go on, Mr. Harwell, let us hear what you have to
say."
“There is nothing," he returned faintly as if battling
with some strong emotion.
As he had not been answering a question, only volun.
teering an explanation, the coroner let it pass, but I saw
more than one pair of eyes roll suspiciously from side
to side as if many there felt they had at last found some
sort of a clue in this man's emotion. The coroner, ig-
noring in his easy way both the emotion and the univer-
sal excitement it had produced, now proceeded to ask, —
“Do you know whether the key to the library was in its
place or not when you left the room last night ?”
“ No, sir; I did not notice.”
“ The presumption is, it was?”
“I suppose so."
“ At all events the door was locked in the morning,
and the key gone?”
“ Yes, sir."
“Then whoever committed this murder locked the
door on passing out and took away the key?”
“ It would seem so.”
The coroner turning, faced the jury with an earnest


36
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
look. “Gentlemen,” said he, “there seems to be a mystery
in regard to this key which must be looked into."
Immediately a universal murmur swept through the
room, testifying to the acquiescence of all present. The
little juryman rising hastily proposed that an instant search
should be made for it, but the coroner, turning upon him
with what I should denominate as a quelling look, decided
that the inquest should proceed in the usual manner, till
the verbal testimony was all in.
“Then allow me to ask a question," said the irrepres-
sible. “Mr. Harwell, we are told that upon the breaking
in of the library door this morning, Mr. Leavenworth's two
nieces followed you into the room."
“One of them, sir, Miss Eleanore.”
“Is Miss Eleanore the one who is said to be Mr. Leav-
enworth's sole heiress ?” the coroner here interposed.
“No sir, that is Miss Mary."
“That she gave orders,” pursued the juryman, “ for the
removal of the body into the further room?"
“ Yes, sir.”
“And that you obeyed her by helping to carry it in ?"
“Yes, sir."
“Now in thus passing through the rooms did you ob.
serve any thing to lead you to form a suspicion of the mur-
derer?”
The secretary shook his head. “I have no suspicion,"
he said emphatically.
Somehow I did not believe him. Whether it was the


'THE PROBLEM.
ver
asser-
tone of his voice, the clutch of his hand on his sleeve-and
the hand will often reveal more than the countenance--I
felt that this man was not to be relied upon in making this
assertion.
“I would like to ask Mr.Harwell a question,” said a jury-
man who had not yet spoken. “We have had a detailed
account of what looks like the discovery of a murdered
man. Now murder is never committed without some mo-
tive. Does the secretary know whether Mr. Leavenworth
had any secret enemy?"
“I do not."
“Everyone in the house seemed to be on good terms
with him?"
“Yes, sir,” with a little quaver of dissent in the asser-
tion however.
“Not a shadow lay between him and any other mem-
ber of his household, as far as you know?”
“I am not ready to say that,” he returned quite dis-
tressed. “A shadow is a very slight thing. There might
have been a shadow ".
“Between him and whom?"
A long hesitation. “ One of his nieces, sir."
“Which one ?"
Again that defiant lift of the head. “Miss Eleanore."
“ How long has this shadow been observable?”
“I cannot say."
" You do not know the cause ?"
“I do not."


38
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Nor the extent of the feeling?"
“ No, sir."
“ You open Mr. Leavenworth's letters ? "
“I do.”
“Has there been any thing in those lately received by
him that, recurring to your memory now, might seem to
throw any light upon this deed ?”.
It actually seemed as if he never would answer. Was
he simply pondering over his reply or was the man turned
to stone!
"Mr. Harwell, did you hear the juryman?” inquired the
coroner.
“ Yes, sir ; I was thinking."
“Very well, now answer.”
“Sir,” he replied, turning and looking the juryman full
in the face and in that way revealing his unguarded left
hand to my gaze, “I have opened Mr. Leavenworth's let-
ters as usual for the last two weeks, and I can think of
nothing in them bearing in the least upon this tragedy."
The man lied; I knew it instantly. The clenched hand
pausing irresolute, then making up its mind to go through
with the lie firmly, was enough for me.
“Mr. Harwell, this is undoubtedly true according to
your judgment,” said the coroner ; “but Mr. Leavenworth's
correspondence will have to be searched for all that."
“Of course,” he replied carelessly, " that is only right.”
This remark ended Mr. Harwell's examination for the
time. As he sat down I made note of four things.


THE PROBLEM.
39
That Mr. Harwell himself, for some reason not given,
was conscious of a suspicion which he was anxious to sup-
press even from his own mind.
That a woman was in some way connected with it, a
rustle as well as a footstep having been heard by him on
the stairs.
That a letter had arrived at that house and not long
since, which if found would be likely to throw some light
upon this subject.
That Eleanore Leavenworth's name came with diffi-
culty from his lips; this evidently unimpressible man, man-
ifesting more or less emotion whenever he was called upon
to utter it.


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
IV.
A CLUE.
Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.
HAMLET.
The cook of the establishment being now called, that
portly, ruddy-faced individual stepped forward with alac-
rity, displaying upon her good-humored countenance such
an expression of mingled eagerness and anxiety that more
than one person present found it difficult to restrain a
smile at her appearance. Observing this and taking it as
a compliment, being a woman as well as a cook, she imme-
diately dropped a curtsey, and opening her lips was about
to speak when the coroner, rising impatiently in his seat,
took the word from her mouth by saying sternly,
“Your name?"
“Katherine Malone, sir."
“Well, Katherine, how long have you been in Mr.
Leavenworth's service ?”
“Shure, it is a good twelvemonth now, sir, since I
came, on Mrs. Wilson's ricommindation, to that very
front door, and—”
“Never mind the front door, but tell us why you left
this Mrs. Wilson ?"
“Shure, and it was she as left me, being as she went


THE PROBLEM.
41
sailing to the ould country the same day when on her
ricommindation I came to this very front door—".
“Well, well; no matter about that. You have been
in Mr. Leavenworth's family a year?”
6 Yes, sir."
“And liked it? found him a good master ?”
“Och, sir, .niver have I found a better, worse luck to
the villain as killed him. He was that free and ginerous,
sir, that many's the time I have said to Hannah " She
stopped with a sudden comical gasp of terror, looking at
her fellow-servants like one who had incautiously made a
slip. The coroner, observing this, inquired hastily,
“ Hannah? who is Hannah ?”
The cook, drawing her roly-poly figure up into some
sort of shape in her efforts to appear unconcerned, ex-
claimed boldly, “She? O, only the ladies' maid, sir."
“But I don't see any one here answering to that de-
scription. You didn't speak of any one by the name of
Hannah, as belonging to the house,” said he, turning to
Thomas.
“No, sir," the latter replied with a bow and a side-long
look at the red-cheeked girl at his side. “You asked me
who were in the house at the time the murder was discov-
ered, and I told you." .
“O,” cried the coroner satirically, “used to police
courts, I see.” Then turning back to the cook, who had
all this while been rolling her eyes in a vague fright about
the room, inquired, “ And where is this Hannah ?"
ansy


42
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ Shure, sir, she's gone."
“ How long since ?"
The cook caught her breath hysterically. “Since last
night.”
“What time last night ?”
“Troth, sir, and I don't know. I don't know any thing
about it.”
“Was she dismissed ?"
“Not as I knows on; her clothes is here."
“O, her clothes are here. At what hour did you miss
her ?"
“I didn't miss her. She was here last night, and she
isn't here this morning, and so I says she's gone."
“Humph !” cried the coroner, casting a slow glance
down the room, while every one looked about him as if he
had suddenly stumbled upon a door in a closed wall.
“Where did this girl sleep?”.
The cook, who had been fumbling uneasily with her
apron, looked up.
“ Shure, we all sleeps at the top of the house, sir."
“In one room?”
Slowly. “ Yes, sir.'
“ Did she come up to the room last night?"
“Yes, sir."
“ At what hour ?"
“Shure, it was ten when we all came up. I heard the
clock a-striking."
“ Did you observe any thing unusual in her appear-
ance ?"


THE PROBLEM.
“ She had a toothache, sir.”
“O, a toothache ; what then? Tell me all she did.”
But at this the cook broke into tears and wails.
“Shure, she didn't do nothing, sir. It wasn't her, sir,
as did any thing, don't you believe it. Hannah is a good
girl, and honest, sir, as ever you see. I am ready to swear
on the Book that she never put her hand to the lock of his
door. What should she for? She only went down to
Miss Eleanore for some toothache drops, her face was
paining her that awful; and O, sir”
“ There, there," interrupted the coroner, “I am not
accusing Hannah of any thing. I only asked you what
she did after you reached your room. She went down
stairs, you say. How long after you went up?"
“ Troth, sir, I couldn't tell ; but Molly says—".
“Never mind what Molly says. You didn't see her
go down ? "
“No, sir."
“ Nor see her come back ?"
“No, sir."
“ Nor see her this morning ?”
“No, sir ; how could I when she's gone ?”
“ But you did see last night, that she seemed to be
suffering with toothache ?"
“Yes, sir."
“Very well ; now tell me how and when you first be-
came acquainted with the fact of Mr. Leavenworth's death.”
But her replies to this question, while over-garrulous,


44
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
contained but little information, and seeing this, the coro-
ner was on the point of dismissing her, when the little
juror, remembering an admission she had made, of having
seen Miss Eleanore Leavenworth coming out of the library
door a few minutes after Mr. Leavenworth's body had
been carried into the next room, asked if her mistress had
any thing in her hand at the time.
“I don't know, sir. Faith!” she suddenly exclaimed,
“I believe she did have a piece of paper. I recollect,
now, seeing her put it in her pocket.”
The next witness was Molly, the up-stairs girl.
Molly O'Flanagan, as she called herself, was a rosy-
cheeked, black-haired, pert girl of about eighteen, who
under ordinary circumstances would have found herself
able to answer, with a due degree of smartness, any ques-
tions which might have been addressed to her. But fright
will sometimes cower the stoutest heart, and Molly, stand-
ing before the coroner at this juncture, presented any
thing but a reckless appearance, her naturally rosy cheeks
blanching at the first word addressed to her, and her head
falling forward on her breast in a confusion too genuine to
be dissembled, and too transparent to be misunderstood.
As her testimony related mostly to Hannah, and what
she knew of her and her remarkable disappearance, I shall
confine inyself to a mere synopsis of it.
As far as she, Molly, knew, Hannah was what she had
given herself out to be, an uneducated girl of Irish extrac-
tion, who had come from the country to act as lady's maid


THE PROBLEM.
45
y
and seamstress to the two Misses Leavenworth. She had
been in the family for some time, before Molly herself in
fact; and though by nature remarkably reticent, refusing
to tell any thing about herself or her past life, she had
managed to become a great favorite with all in the house.
But she was of a melancholy nature and fond of brooding,
often getting up nights to sit and think in the dark; as
though she was a lady!” exclaimed Molly.
This habit being a singular one for a girl in her sta-
tion, an attempt was made to win from the witness further
particulars in regard to it. But Molly, with a toss of her
head, confined herself to the one statement. She used to
get up nights and sit in the window, and that was all she
knew about it.
Drawn away from this topic, during the consideration
of which, a little of the sharpness of Molly's disposition
had asserted itself, she went on to state in connection with
the events of the past night, that Hannah had been ill for
two days or more with a swelled face; that last night it
had given her so much trouble she got out of bed, and
dressing herself—Molly was closely questioned here, but
insisted upon the fact that Hannah had fully dressed her-
self, even to arranging her collar and ribbon-lighted a
candle, and made known her intention of going down to
Miss Eleanore for aid.
“Why Miss Eleanore ?” a juryman here asked.
“O, she was the one who always gave out medicines
and such like to the servants."


46
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
A
can-
Urged to proceed, she went on to state that that was
all she knew about it. Hannah did not come back, nor
was she to be found in the house at breakfast time.
“You say she took a candle with her," said the coro-
ner. “Was it in a candlestick ?”
“ No, sir; loose like."
“Why did she take a candle? Does not Mr. Leaven-
worth burn gas in his halls ?”
“ Yes, sir ; but we put the gas out as we came up, and
Hannah is afraid of the dark.”
“If she took a candle it must be lying somewhere
about the house. Now has anybody seen a stray can-
dle ?"
“Not as I knows on, sir.”
“Is this it?" exclaimed a voice over my shoulder.
It was Mr. Gryce, and he was holding up into view a
half-burned parafine candle.
“Yes, sir ; lor', where did you find it?”
“In the grass of the carriage yard, half way from the
kitchen door to the street,” he returned quietly.
Sensation. A clue, then, at last. Something had
been found which seemed to connect this mysterious mur-
der with the outside world. Instantly the back door as-
sumed the chief position of interest. The candle found
lying in the yard seemed to prove not only that Hannah
had left the house shortly after descending from her room,
but had left it by the back door, which we now remembered
was only a few steps from the iron gate opening into the


THE PROBLEM.
47
side street. But Thomas, being recalled, repeated his as-
sertion that not only the back door, but all the lower win-
dows of the house, had been found by him securely locked
and bolted at six o'clock that morning. Inevitable con-
clusion-some one had locked and bolted them after the
girl. Who? Alas! that had now become the very serious
and momentous question.


SP
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
EXPERT TESTIMONY.
And often-times, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence.
МАСвитн.
In the midst of the universal gloom that had now
fallen upon all present, there came a sharp ring at the bell.
Instantly all eyes turned toward the parlor door, when it
slowly opened, and the officer who had been sent off so
mysteriously by the coroner an hour before, entered with
a young man at his side, whose sleek appearance, intelli-
gent eye and general air of trustworthiness, seemed to
proclaim him to be, what in fact he was, the confidential
clerk of a responsible mercantile house.
Advancing without apparent embarrassment, though
each and every eye in the room was fixed upon him with
lively curiosity, he made a slight bow to the coroner.
“You have sent for a man from Bohn & Co.," he said.
Strong and immediate excitement. Bohn & Co. was
the well-known pistol and ammunition store of — Broad-
way.
“ Yes, sir," returned the coroner. “We have here a
bullet, which we would be glad to have you examine. You
are fully acquainted with all matters connected with your
business?”
TY


THE PROBLEM.
49
The young man merely elevating an expressive eye-
brow took the bullet carelessly in his hand.
“Can you tell us from what make of pistol that was
delivered ?"
The young man rolled it slowly round between his
thumb and forefinger, and then laid it down. “It is a No.
32 ball, usually sold with the small pistol made by Smith
& Wesson.”
“A small pistol !” exclaimed the butler jumping up
from his seat. “Master used to keep a little pistol, in
his stand drawer. I have often seen it. We all knew
about it."
Great and irrepressible excitement, especially among
the servants. “That's so," I heard a heavy voice ex-
claim, “I saw it once myself-master was cleaning it.” It
was the cook who spoke.
“ In his stand drawer ?” the coroner inquired.
“ Yes, sir ; at the head of his bed.”
An officer was sent to examine the stand drawer. In
a few moments he returned, bringing a small pistol which
he laid down on the coroner's table, saying, “ Here it is.”
Immediately every one sprang to his feet, but the
coroner handing it over to the clerk from Bohn's, inquired
if that was of the make before mentioned. Without hesita-
tion he replied, “ Yes, Smith & Wesson, you can see for
yourself,” and he proceeded to examine it.
“Where did you find this pistol ? " asked the coroner of
the officer.


50
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ In the top drawer of a shaving table that stands at the
head of Mr. Leavenworth's bed. It was lying in a velvet
case together with a box of cartridges, one of which I
bring as a sample,” and he laid it down beside the bullet.
"Was the drawer locked ?”
“Yes, sir ; but the key was not taken out."
Interest had now reached its climax. A universal cry
swept through the room, “ Is it loaded ?"
The coroner frowning on the assembly, with a look of
great dignity, remarked :
“I was about to ask that question myself, but first I
must request order.” An immediate calm followed.
Every one was too much interested, to interpose any obstacle
in the way of gratifying his curiosity.
“Now sir !” exclaimed the coroner.
The clerk from Bohn's, taking out the cylinder, held it
up. “There are seven chambers here, and they are all
loaded.”
A murmur of disappointment followed this' assertion.
"But,” he quietly said after a momentary examination
of the face of the cylinder, “they have not all been loaded
long. A bullet has been recently shot from one of these
chambers."
“How do you know ?” cried one of the jury.
“How do I know? sir," said he turning to the coro-
ner,“ will you be kind enough to examine the condition
of this pistol ?” and he handed it over to that gentleman.
“Look first at the barrel ; it is clean and bright, you will


THE PROBLEM.
51
say, and shows no evidence of a bullet having passed out
of it very lately; that is because it has been cleaned.
But now observe the face of the cylinder, what do you see
there?”
“ I see a faint line of smut near one of the chambers.”
“ Just so; show it to the gentlemen."
It was immediately handed down.
“ That faint line of smut on the edge of one of the
chambers, is the tell-tale, sirs. A bullet passing out, al-
ways leaves smut behind. The man who fired this, re-
membering the fact, cleaned the barrel, but forgot the
cylinder.” And stepping aside he folded his arms.
“ Jerusalem !” spoke out a rough hearty voice,
“ isn't that wonderful ! ” It was a countryman who had
stepped in from the street, and now stood all agape in the
doorway.
It was a rough but not altogether unwelcome inter-
ruption. A smile passed round the room, and each man
seemed to breathe easier. Order being at last restored,
the officer was requested to describe the position of the
stand, and its distance from the library table.
“The library table is in one room and the stand in an-
other. To reach the former from the latter, one would be
obliged to cross Mr. Leavenworth's bed-room in a diag-
onal direction, pass through the passage way separating
that one apartment from the other, and"
“Wait a moment; how does this table stand in regard
to the door which leads from the bed-room into the hall ?”


52
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ One might enter that door, pass directly round the
foot of the bed to the stand, procure the pistol, and cross
half way over to the passage way, without being seen by
any one sitting or standing in the library beyond.”
“Holy Virgin !” exclaimed the horrified cook throwing
her apron over her head as if to shut out some dreadful
vision. “Hannah niver would have the pluck for that, niver
niver!” But Mr. Gryce laying a heavy hand on the wo-
man, forced her back into her seat, reproving and calming
her at the same time, with a dexterity that was marvellous
to behold. I beg your pardons," she cried deprecatingly
to those around, “but it niver was Hannah, niver."
The clerk from Bohn's here being dismissed, those
assembled took the opportunity of making some change in
their position, after which, the name of Mr. Harwell was
again called. That person rose with manifest reluctance.
Evidently the preceding testimony had either upset some
theory of his, or indubitably strengthened some unwelcome
suspicion.
“Mr. Harwell,” the coroner began, “we are told of the
existence of a pistol belonging to Mr. Leavenworth, and
upon searching, we discover it in his room. Did you
know of his possessing such an instrument?”
“I did.”
“Was it a fact generally known in the house?”
“So it would seem.”
“How was that? Was he in the habit of leaving it
around where any one could see it?”
TON
ve a


54
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
His face grew even more pallid and deprecatory. “I
am obliged to introduce the name of a lady," said he hesi.
tatingly.
“We are very sorry,” remarked the coroner.
The young man turned fiercely upon him, and I could
not help wondering that I had ever thought him common-
place. “ Of Miss Eleanore Leavenworth,” he exclaimed.
At that name, so uttered, every one started but Mr.
Gryce; he was engaged in holding a close and confidential
confab with his finger tips, and did not appear to notice.
“Surely it is contrary to the rules of decorum and the
respect we all feel for the lady herself, to introduce her
name into this discussion,” Mr. Harwell went on hur-
riedly. But the coroner still insisting upon an answer,
he refolded his arms, a movement indicative of resolution
with him, and began in a low forced tone to say,
“It is only this, gentlemen. One afternoon about
three weeks since, I had occasion to go to the library at
an unusual hour. Crossing over to the mantel-piece for
the purpose of procuring a penknife which I had care-
lessly left there in the morning, I heard a noise in the
adjoining room. Knowing that Mr. Leavenworth was out
and supposing that the ladies had gone with him, I took
the liberty of looking to see who was there ; when what
was my astonishment to behold Miss Eleanore Leaven-
worth standing at the side of her uncle's bed, with this
pistol in her hand. Confused at my indiscretion, I attempt-
ed to escape without being observed, but in vain, for just


THE PROBLEM.
55
as I set foot on the threshold of the door, she turned
around and, detecting me, called me by name, and upon my
advancing, asked me if I would not explain the pistol to her.
Gentlemen, in order to do so, I was obliged to take it in
my hand ; and that, sirs, is the only other occasion upon
which I ever saw or handled the pistol of Mr. Leaven-
worth.” Drooping his head he waited in indescribable
agitation for the next question.
“She asked you to explain the pistol to her; what do
you mean by that ?”
“I mean," continued he faintly, catching his breath in a
vain effort to appear calm, “how to load, aim and fire it.”
A flash like the glare of sudden lightning, shot across
the faces of all present. Even the coroner showed sud..
den signs of emotion, and sat staring at the bowed form
and pale countenance of the man before him, with a pecu-
liar look of surprised compassion, that could not fail of
producing its effect, not only upon the young man himself,
but upon all who saw him.
“Mr. Harwell,” he inquired at length,“ have you any
thing to add to the statement you have just made ?"
The secretary sadly shook his head.
“Mr. Gryce," I here whispered, clutching that person
by the arm and dragging him down to my side ; "assure
me, I entreat you— " but he would not let me finish.
“ The coroner is about to ask for the young ladies," he
quickly interposed. “If you desire to fulfil your duty
towards them, be ready, that's all.”


56
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Fulfil my duty! The simple words recalled me to my-
self. What had I been thinking of; was I mad? In-
stantly the present, with its doubt and horror rolled away
from me like a scroll, leaving only a tender picture of the
lovely cousins bowed in anguish over the remains of one
who had been dear as a father to them. As this vision
deepened and impressed itself upon me, I slowly rose, and
upon demand being made for Miss Mary and Miss
Eleanore Leavenworth, advanced and said that, as a
friend of the family—a pretty lie, which I hope will not be
laid up against me—I begged the privilege of going for
the ladies and escorting them down.
Instantly a dozen eyes flashed upon me, and I experi-
enced the embarrassment of one, who by some unexpected
word or action, has drawn upon himself the concentrated
attention of a whole room.
But the permission sought, being almost immediately
accorded, I was speedily enabled to withdraw from my
rather trying position, finding myself almost before I knew
it, in the hall; my face aflame, my heart beating with ex-
citement and these words of Mr. Gryce's ringing in my
ears. “Third floor, rear room, first door at the head of
the stairs. You will find the young ladies expecting you."


THE PROBLEM.
57
VI.
SID E-LIGHTS.
Oh I she has beauty might ensnare
A conqueror's soul, and make him leave his crown
At random, to be scuffled for by slaves.
OTWAY.
THIRD floor, rear room, first door at the head of the
stairs! What was I about to see there?
Mounting the lower flight and shuddering by the li-
brary wall, that to my troubled fancy seemed written all
over with horrible suggestions, I took my way slowly up
stairs, revolving in my mind many things, among which an
admonition uttered long ago by my mother, occupied a
prominent place.
“ My son, remember that a woman with a secret may
be a fascinating study, but she can never be a safe nor
even a satisfactory companion."
A sentence, wise no doubt, but wholly uncalled for
under the circumstances; for certainly I had no intention
of especially interesting myself in these women. Yet
notwithstanding all my efforts to elude it, it continued to
haunt me, till the sight of the door to which I had been
directed, put every other thought to fight save this, that I
was about to meet the stricken nieces of a brutally mur
dered man.
Pausing only long enough on the threshold to compose


58
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
myself for the interview, I lifted my hand to knock, when
a rich clear voice rose from within, and I heard distinctly
uttered these ominous words : “ I do not accuse your hand,
though I know of none other which would or could have
done this; but your heart, your head, your will, those I do
and must accuse in my secret mind at least, and it is well
that you should know it.”
Struck as if by a blow, I staggered back. Good God !
what depths of horror and depravity were about to open
before me! Shuddering and sick, I cowered there, my
hands over my ears, when suddenly I felt a touch on my
arm, and turning, saw Mr. Gryce standing close beside me
with his finger on his lip, and the last Aickering shadow
of a flying emotion, fading from his steady, almost compas-
sionate countenance.
“ Come, come,” whispered he ;“ I see you don't begin
to know what kind of a world you have got into. Rouse
yourself ; remember they are waiting down below.”
“ But who is it? Who was it that spoke?"
“ That we shall soon see ;” exclaimed he shortly. And
without waiting to meet, much less answer my appealing
look, he struck his hand against the door, and flung it wide
open.
Instantly a fush of loveliest color burst upon us. Blue
curtains, blue carpets, blue walls. It was like a glimpse of
azure heaven let unexpectedly into the depths of a gloomy
prison. Fascinated by the splendor before me, and drawn
almost from myself by the suddenness of the vision, I


THE PROBLEM.
59
stepped impetuously forward, but instantly paused again,
overcome and impressed by the exquisite picture which
opened before me.
Seated in an easy chair of embroidered satin, but rous-
ing from her half recumbent position, like one who was in
the act of launching a powerful invective, I beheld a glori-
ous woman. Fair, pale, proud, delicate ; looking like a
lily in the thick creamy-tinted wrapper that alternately
clung to and swayed from her richly moulded figure ; with
her grecian front, crowned with the palest of pale tresses,
lifted and flashing with power; one quivering hand clasp-
ing the arm of her chair, the other outstretched and point-
ing toward some distant object in the room,-her whole
appearance was so splendid, so startling, so extraordinary,
doubting if it were a living woman I beheld, or some
famous pythoness conjured up from ancient story, to ex-
press in one tremendous gesture, the supreme indignation of
outraged womanhood.
“ Miss Mary Leavenworth ;” whispered that ever
present voice over my shoulder.
Ah! Mary Leavenworth ! and I felt a sudden thrill of
relief. This beautiful creature, then, was not the Eleanore
who could load, aim, and fire a pistol. Turning my head,
I followed the guiding of that uplifted hand, now frozen
into its place by a new emotion, the emotion of being
interrupted in the midst of a direful and pregnant
revelation, and saw-but no, here description fails me;


60
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Eleanore Leavenworth must be painted by other hands
than mine. I could sit half the day and dilate upon the
subtle grace, the pale magnificence, the perfection of form
and feature which make Mary Leavenworth the wonder of
all who behold her, but Eleanore-I could as soon paint
the beatings of my own heart. Beguiling, terrible, grand,
pathetic, that face of faces, flashed upon my gaze, and in-
stantly, the moonlight loveliness of her cousin faded from
my memory, and I saw only Eleanore-only Eleanore from
that moment on forever.
When my glance first fell upon her, she was standing
by the side of a small table with her face turned toward
her cousin, and her two hands resting, the one upon her
breast, the other on the table, in an attitude of antagon-
ism. But before the sudden pang which shot through me
at the sight of her beauty, had subsided, her head had
turned, her gaze had encountered mine; all the horror of
the situation had burst upon her, and instead of a haughty
woman drawn up to receive and trample upon the insinua.
tions of another, I beheld, alas ! a trembling, panting
human creature, conscious that a sword hung above her
head, and without a word to say why it should not fall and
slay her.
It was a pitiable change; a heart-rending revelation. I
turned from it as from a confession. But just then, her
cousin, who had apparently regained her self.possession at
the first betrayal of emotion on the part of the other, step-
ped forward, and holding out her hand, inquired,
Wom


THE PROBLEM.
“ Is not this Mr. Raymond ? How kind of you, sir.
And you ?” turning to Mr. Gryce ; “ you have come to
tell us we are wanted below, is it not so ?”.
It was the voice I had heard through the door, but
modulated to a sweet, winning, almost caressing tone.
Glancing hastily at Mr. Gryce, I looked to see how he
was affected by it. Evidently much, for the bow with
which he greeted her words was lower than ordinary, and
the smile with which he met her earnest look, both
deprecatory and reassuring. He did not look toward
her cousin, though her deathly conscious eyes were fixed
upon his face with an inquiry in their depths, more
agonizing than the utterance of any cry would have been.
Knowing Mr. Gryce as I did, I felt that nothing could
promise worse or be more significant, than this same trans-
parent disregard of one who seemed to fill the room with
her terror. And struck with pity, I forgot that Mary
Leavenworth had spoken, forgot her very presence in fact,
and turning hastily away, took one step toward her cousin,
when Mr. Gryce's hand falling on my arm, stopped me.
“ Miss Leavenworth speaks,” said he.
Recalled to myself, I turned my back upon what had so
interested me even while it repelled, and forcing myself to
make some sort of reply to the fair creature before me,
offered my arm and led her toward the door.
Immediately the, pale proud countenance of Mary
Leavenworth softened almost to the point of smiling; -
and here let me say, there never was a woman who could
e
.


62
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
0
V
smile and not smile like Mary Leavenworth. Looking in
my face with a frank and sweet appeal in her eyes, she
murmured,
“ You are very good. I do feel the need of support,
the occasion is so horrible, and my cousin there,”-here a
little gleam of alarm flickered into her eyes—“is so very
strange to day."
“ Humph !” thought I to myself, “ where is the grand
indignant pythoness with the unspeakable wrath and
menace in her countenance, whom I saw when I first en-
tered the room?” Could it be that she was trying to be
guile us from our conjectures, by making light of her former
expressions? Or was it possible that she had deceived
herself so far, as to believe us unimpressed by the weighty
accusation overheard by us at a moment so critical.
But Eleanore Leavenworth, leaning on the arm of the
detective, soon absorbed all my attention. She had re-
gained in a manner also, by this time, her self-possession,
but not so entirely as her cousin. Her step faltered as she
endeavored to walk, and the hand which rested on his arm
trembled like a leaf. “Would to God I had never entered
this house,” said I to myself. And yet, before the exclama-
tion was half uttered, I became conscious of a secret re-
bellion against the thought, an emotion, shall I say, of
thankfulness, that I and not another, was the one to break
in upon their privacy, overhear that significant remark, and
shall I acknowledge it, follow Mr. Gryce and the trem-
bling, swaying figure of Eleanore Leavenworth down stairs.
aan


THE PROBLEM.
63
Not that I felt the least relenting in my soul towards guilt.
Crime had never looked so black; revenge, selfishness,
hatred, cupidity, never seemed more loathsome, and yet-
but why enter into the consideration of my feelings at that
time. They cannot be of interest ; besides, who can fathom
the depths of his own soul, or untangle for others the secret
cords of repulsion and attraction, which are and ever have
been, a mystery and wonder to himself. Enough, that sup-
porting upon my arm the clinging, half fainting form of one
woman, but with my attention and interest with another, I
descended the stairs of the Leavenworth mansion, and en-
tered again the dreaded presence of those inquisitors of
the law, who had been so impatiently awaiting us.
As I once more crossed that threshold, and faced the
eager countenances of those I had left so short a time be-
fore, I felt as if ages had elapsed in the interval, so much
can a human soul experience in the short space of a few
over-weighted moments.


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
VII.
MARY LEAVENWORTH.
For this relief much thanks.
HAMLET.
HAVE you ever observed the effect of the sunlight
bursting suddenly upon the earth from behind a mass of
heavily surcharged clouds? If so, you can have some
idea of the sensation produced in that room, by the
entrance of these two beautiful ladies. Possessed of a
loveliness that would have been conspicuous in all places
and under all circumstances, Mary at least, if not her less
striking, though by no means less interesting cousin,
could never have entered any assemblage without drawing
to herself the wondering attention of all present. But
heralded as here by the most fearful of tragedies, what
could you expect from a collection of men such as I have
already described, but overmastering wonder and incredu-
lous admiration ? Nothing, perhaps, and yet at the first
murmuring sound of amazement and satisfaction, I felt my
soul recoil in disgust.
Making haste to seat my now trembling companion in
the most retired spot I could find, I looked around for her
cousin. But Eleanore Leavenworth, weak as she had
appeared in the interview above, showed at this moment


THE PROBLEM.
65
neither hesitation nor embarrassment. Advancing upon
the arın of the detective, whose suddenly assumed air of
persuasion in the presence of the jury, was any thing but
reassuring, she stood for an instant gazing calmly upon
the scene before her. Then bowing to the coroner with
a grace and condescension that seemed at once to place
him on the footing of a politely endured intruder in this
home of elegance, she took the seat which her own ser-
vants hastened to procure for her, with an ease and
dignity, that rather recalled the triumphs of the drawing-
room, than the self-consciousness of a scene such as that
in which we were. Palpable acting, though this was, it
was not without its effect. Instantly the murmurs ceased,
the obtrusive glances fell, and something like a forced
respect made itself visible upon the countenances of all
present. Even I, impressed as I had been by her very
different demeanor in the room above, experienced a sen-
sation of relief; and was more than startled when upon
turning to the lady at my side, I beheld her eyes riveted
upon her cousin with an inquiry in their depths that was
any thing but encouraging. Fearful of the effect this look
might have upon those about us, I hastily seized her hand
which clenched and unconscious, hung over the edge of
her chair, and was about to beseech her to have care,
when her name, called in a slow impressive way by the
coroner, roused her from her abstraction. Hurriedly with-
drawing her gaze from her cousin, she lifted her face to
the jury, and I saw a gleam pass over it that brought back


66
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,
my early fancy of the pythoness. But it passed, and it
was with an expression of great modesty that she settled
herself to respond to the demand of the coroner, and
answer the first few opening inquiries.
But what can express the anxiety of the moment to
me ? Gentle as she now appeared, she was capable of
great wrath as I knew. Was she going to reiterate her
suspicions here? Did she hate as well as mistrust her
cousin ? Would she dare assert in this presence and
before the world, what she found it so easy to utter in the
privacy of her own room and the hearing of the one person
concerned ? Did she wish to ? Her own countenance
gave me no clue to her intentions, and in my anxiety, I
turned once more to look at Eleanore. But she in a dread
and apprehension I could easily understand, had recoiled
at the first intimation that her cousin was to speak, and
now sat with her face covered from sight, by hands that
were blanched to an almost deathly whiteness.
The testimony of Mary Leavenworth was short. After
some few questions mostly referring to her position in the
house and her connection with its deceased master, she
was asked to relate what she knew of the murder itself,
and of its discovery by her cousin and the servants.
Lifting up a brow that seemed never to have known till
now the shadow of care or trouble, and a voice that whilst
low and womanly, rang like a bell through the room, she
replied:
“You ask me, gentlemen, a question which I cannot


THE PROBLEM.
answer of my own personal knowledge. I know nothing
of this murder nor of its discovery, save what has come to
me through the lips of others."
My heart gave a bound of relief and I saw Eleanore
Leavenworth's hands drop from her brow like stone,
while a flickering gleam as of hope fled over her face and
then died away like sunlight leaving marble.
“For strange as it may seem to you,” Mary earnestly
continued, the shadow of a past horror revisiting her
countenance, “I did not enter the room where my uncle
lay. I did not even think of doing so ; my only impulse
was to fly from what was so horrible and heart-rending.
But Eleanore went in and she can tell you—"
“We will question Miss Eleanore Leavenworth later,"
interrupted the coroner but very gently for him. Evidently
the grace and elegance of this sweet woman were making
their impression. "What we want to know is what
you saw. You say then that you cannot tell us of any thing
that passed in the room at the time of the discovery?”
“No, sir."
“Only what occurred in the hall ?”
“Nothing occurred in the hall," she remarked inno-
cently.
“Did not the servants pass in from the hall, and your
cousin come out there, after her revival from the fainting
fit that overcame her at the first sight of her uncle?”
Mary Leavenworth's violet eyes opened wonderingly.
“Yes, sir; but that was nothing."


68
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“You remember, however, that she did come out into
the hall ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“With a paper in her hand ?”
“ Paper?” and she wheeled suddenly and looked at
her cousin. “Did you have a paper, Eleanore ?”.
The moment was intense. Eleanore Leavenworth,
who at the first mention of the word paper had started
perceptibly, rose to her feet at this naïve appeal, and
opening her lips seemed about to speak, when the coroner,
with a strict sense of what was regular, lifted his hand
with decision and said,
“ You need not ask your cousin, Miss ; but let us hear
what you have to say yourself.”
Immediately Eleanore Leavenworth sank back, a pink
spot breaking out on either cheek; while a slight murmur
testified to the disappointment of those in the room who
were more anxious to have their curiosity gratified, than
the forms of law adhered to.
Satisfied with having done his duty, and disposed to be
easy with so charming a witness, the coroner repeated his
question. “Tell us, if you please, if you saw any such
thing in her hand.”
“I? O, no, no; I saw nothing."
Being now questioned in relation to the events of the
previous night, she had no new light to throw upon the
subject. She acknowledged that her uncle was perhaps a
little reserved at dinner, but no more so than any one
venwC


THE PROBLEM.
might be, who was not perfectly well, or who had any
ordinary care or anxiety upon his mind.
Asked if she had seen her uncle again that evening,
she said no, that she had been detained in her room.
That the sight of him sitting in his seat at the head of
the table, was the very last remembrance she had of him.
There was something so touching, so forlorn, and yet
so unobtrusive in this simple recollection of hers, that a
look of sympathy passed slowly round the room. I even
detected Mr. Gryce softening towards the inkstand. But
Eleanore Leavenworth sat unmoved.
“Was your uncle on ill terms with any one?” was
now asked. “Had he valuable papers or secret sums of
money in his possession?”
To all these inquiries she returned an equal negative.
“Has your uncle met any stranger lately, or received
any important letter during the last few weeks, that might
seem in any way to throw light upon this mystery ?”
There was the slightest perceptible hesitation in her
voice as she replied : “No, not to my knowledge ; I don't
know of any such." But here stealing a side glance at
Eleanore, she evidently saw something that reassured her,
for she hastened to add-
“I believe I may go further than that, and say positive-
ly no. My uncle was in the habit of confiding in me, and
I should have known if any thing of importance to him
had occurred.”
Questioned in regard to Hannah, she gave that person


70
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the best of characters; knew of nothing which could have
led either to her strange disappearance, or to her connec-
tion with crime. Could not say whether she kept any
company or had any visitors, only knew that no one with
any such pretensions came to the house. Finally, when
asked when she had last seen the pistol which Mr Leaven-
worth always kept in his stand drawer, she returned, not
since the day he bought it, Eleanore, and not herself, hav-
ing the charge of her uncle's apartments.
It was the only thing she had said, which, even to a
mind freighted like mine, would seem to point to any pri-
vate doubt or secret suspicion, and this uttered in the
careless manner in which it was, would have passed without
comment, if Eleanore herself had not directed at that mo-
ment, a very much aroused and inquiring look upon the
speaker.
But it was time for the inquisitive juror to make him-
self heard again. Edging to the brink of his chair, he
drew in his breath with a vague awe of Mary's beauty,
almost ludicrous to see, and asked if she had properly con-
sidered what she had just said.
“I hope, sir, I consider all that I say at such a time
as this," was her earnest reply.
The little juror drew back, and I looked to see her ex-
amination terminate, when suddenly his ponderous col-
league of the watch chain, catching the young lady's eye,
inquired,
“Miss Leavenworth, did your uncle ever make a will ?”


THE PROBLEM.
71
Instantly every man in the room was in arms, and even
she could not prevent the slow blush of injured pride from
springing to her cheek. But her answer was given firmly
and without any show of resentment.
“Yes, sir ;” she returned simply.
“More than one ?"
“I never heard of but one."
“Are you acquainted with the contents of that will?”
“I am. He made no secret of his intentions to any
one.”
The juryman lifted his eye-glass and looked at her.
Her grace was little to him, her beauty or her elegance.
“ Perhaps then, you can tell me who is the one most likely
to be benefited by his death ? "
The brutality of this question was too marked to pass
unchallenged. Not a man in that room, myself included,
but frowned with sudden disapprobation. But Mary Leav-
enworth, drawing herself up, looked her interlocutor calmly
in the face, and restrained herself to say,
“I know who would be the greatest losers by it. The
children he took to his bosom in their helplessness and
sorrow; the young girls he enshrined with the halo of his
love and protection, when love and protection were what
their immaturity most demanded ; the women who looked
to him for guidance when childhood and youth were passed
—these, sir, these are the ones to whom his death is a loss,
in comparison to which all other losses which may come
to theni, must, ever seem trivial and unimportant."


72
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
It was a noble reply to the basest of insinuations, and
the juryman drew back rebuked ; but here another of them,
one who had not spoken before, but whose appearance was
not only superior to the rest, but also almost imposing in its
gravity, leaned from his seat and in a solemn voice said,
“Miss Leavenworth, the human mind cannot help
forming impressions. Now have you, with or without rea-
son, felt at any time a suspicion as to who the murderer of
your uncle might be ?"
It was a frightful moment. To me and to one other, I
am sure it was not only frightful but agonizing. Would
her courage fail ? would her determination to shield her
cousin remain firm in the face of duty and at the call of
probity? I dared not hope it.
But Mary Leavenworth, rising to her feet, looked judge
and jury calmly in the face, and, without raising her voice,
giving it an indescribably clear and sharp detonation, re-
plied,-
“No; I have neither suspicion nor reason for any.
The assassin of my uncle is not only entirely unknown to,
but completely unsuspected by me.”
It was like the removal of a stifling pressure. Amid a
universal outgoing of the breath, Mary Leavenworth stood
aside and Eleanore was called in her place.


THE PROBLEM.
VIII.
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
“O dark, dark, dark !"
And now that the interest was at its height; that the
veil which shrouded this horrible tragedy seemed about to
be lifted, if not entirely withdrawn, I felt a desire to fly the
scene, to leave the spot, to know no more. Not that I was
conscious of any particular fear that this woman was going
to betray herself. The cold steadiness of her now fixed
and impassive countenance was sufficient warranty in itself
against the possibility of any such catastrophe. But if in-
deed the suspicions of her cousin were the offspring, not
only of hatred, but of knowledge ; if that face of beauty was
in truth only a mask, and Eleanore Leavenworth was what
the words of her cousin, and her own after behavior would
seem to imply, how could I bear to sit there and see the
frightful serpent of deceit and sin, evolve itself from the
bosom of this white rose! And yet, such is the fascination
of uncertainty, that although I saw something of my own
feelings reflected in the countenances of many about me,
not a man in all that assemblage showed any disposition to
depart, I least of all.
The çoroner, upon whom the blonde loveliness of
Mary had impressed itself to Eleanore's apparent detri-
ment, was the only one in the room who showed himself


74
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
unaffected at this moment. Turning toward the witness
with a look which, while respectful, had a touch of aus-
terity in it, he began:
“You have been an inmate of Mr. Leavenworth's fam-
ily from childhood, they tell me Miss Leavenworth ?”
“From my tenth year,” returned she.
It was the first time I had heard her voice, and it sur-
prised me, it was so like, and yet so unlike that of her
cousin. Similar in tone, it lacked its expressiveness, if I
may so speak, sounding without vibration on the ear and
ceasing without an echo.
“Since that time you have been treated like a daugh-
ter, they tell me?”
“Yes, sir, like a daughter indeed ; he was more than a
father to both of us."
“You and Miss Mary Leavenworth are cousins, I be-
lieve. When did she enter the family ?”
“ At the same time that I did. Our respective parents
were victims of the same disaster. If it had not been for
our uncle, we should have been thrown, children as we
were, upon the world. But he "-here she paused, her
firm lips breaking into a half tremble—“but he in the.
goodness of his heart, adopted us into his family, and gave
us what we had both lost, a father and a home.”
“You say that he was a father to you as well as to your
cousin—that he adopted you. Do you mean by that, that
he not only surrounded you with present luxury, but gave
you to understand that the same should be secured to you
ve


THE PROBLEM.
75
after his death; in short, that he intended to leave any
portion of his property to you?”
“No, sir; I was given to understand from the first, that
his property would be bequeathed by will to my cousin.”
“ Your cousin was no more nearly related to him than
yourself, Miss Leavenworth ; did he never give you any
reason for this evident partiality ? ”
“ None but his pleasure, sir.”
Her answers up to this point had been so straightfor-
ward and satisfactory that a gradual confidence seemed to
be taking the place of the rather uneasy doubts which had
from the first, circled about this woman's name and person.
But at this admission, uttered as it was in a calm unim-
passioned voice, not only the jury, but myself, who had so
much truer reason for mistrusting her, felt that actual sus-
picion in her case, must be very much shaken before the
utter lack of motive which this reply so clearly betokened.
Meanwhile the coroner continued, “ If your uncle did
for you all that you say, you must have become very much
attached to him?”
“Yes, sir,” her mouth taking a sudden determined
curve.
“ His death, then, must have been a great shock to
um
ome
you?"
“ Very, very great.”
“Enough of itself to make you faint away, as they tell
me you did, at the first glimpse you had of his body?”
“Enough, quite.”


THE PROBLEM.
77
“ Yesterday," visibly trembling at the admission.
“At what time?"
“Near noon, I should judge.”
Was the pistol he was accustomed to keep there, in
its place at that time?”.
“I presume so, I did not observe."
“ Did you turn the key upon closing the drawer ?”
“I did.”
“ Take it out?"
“ No, sir."
“Miss Leavenworth, that pistol, as you have perhaps
observed, lies on the table before you. Will you look at
it?" And lifting it up into view, he held it towards her.
If he had meant to startle her by the sudden action, he
amply succeeded. At the first sight of the murderous
weapon she shrank back, and a horrified, but quickly sup-
pressed shriek, burst from her lips. “O no, no," she
moaned, flinging out her hands before her.
“I must insist upon your looking at it, Miss Leaven-
worth,” pursued the coroner. “When it was found just
now, all the chambers were loaded.”
Instantly the agonized look left her countenance. “O
then-” She did not finish, but put out her hand for the
weapon.
But the coroner, looking at her steadily, continued, " It
has been lately fired off for all that. The hand that cleaned
the barrel forgot the cartridge-chamber, Miss Leaven-
worth.”
mo


78
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
She did not shriek again, but a hopeless, helpless look
slowly settled over her face, and she seemed about to sink,
but like a flash the reaction came, and lifting her head with
a steady, grand action I have never seen equalled, she ex-
claimed, “Very well, what then?”
The coroner laid the pistol down; men and women
glanced at each other ; every one seemed to hesitate to
proceed. I heard a tremulous sigh at my side, and turn-
ing, beheld Mary Leavenworth staring at her cousin with a
startled flush on her cheek, as if she began to recognize
the fact that others beside herself, felt that there was
something unexplained about this woman.
At last the coroner summoned up courage to con-
tinue.
“You ask me, Miss Leavenworth, upon the evidence
given, what then? Your question obliges me to say that
no burglar, no hired assassin, would have used this pistol
for a murderous purpose, and then taken the pains not
only to clean it, but to reload it, and lock it up again in
the drawer from which he had taken it.”
She did not reply to this, but I saw Mr. Gryce make
a note of it with that peculiar emphatic nod of his.
“ Nor,” he went on even more gravely, “would it be
possible for any one who was not accustomed to pass in
and out of Mr. Leavenworth's room, at all hours, to enter
his door so late at night, procure this pistol from its place
of concealment, traverse his apartment, and advance so
closely upon him as the facts show to have been necessary,


THE PROBLEM.
79
e
—without causing him at least to turn his head to one side,
which in consideration of the doctor's testimony, we cannot
believe he did.”
It was a frightful suggestion, and we looked to see
Eleanore Leavenworth recoil. But that expression of out-
raged feeling was left for her cousin to exhibit. Starting
indignantly from her seat, Mary cast one hurried glance
around her, and opened her lips to speak, but Eleanore,
slightly turning, motioned her to have patience, and replied
in a cold and calculating voice, “You are not sure, sir, that
this was done. If my uncle for some purpose of his own,
had fired the pistol off yesterday, let us say,—which is
surely possible if not probable—the like results would be
observed, and the same conclusions drawn.”
“Miss Leavenworth," the coroner went on, “the ball
has been extracted from your uncle's head.”
“Ah!”
“It corresponds with those in the cartridges found in
his stand-drawer, and is of the number used with this pistol.”
Her head fell forward on her hands, her eyes sought
the floor, her whole attitude expressed disheartenment.
Seeing it, the coroner grew still more grave.
“Miss Leavenworth," said he, “I have now some ques-
tions to put you concerning last night. Where did you
spend the evening?”
“ Alone in my own room."
“ You, however, saw your uncle or your cousin during
the course of it?"


THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“No, sir ; I saw no one after leaving the dinner table ;
-except Thomas,” she added after a moment's pause.
“ And how came you to see him ?".
“He came to bring me the card of a gentleman who
called.”
“May I ask the name of the gentleman ?”
“ The name on the card was Mr. Le Roy Robbins.”
The matter seemed trivial, but the sudden start given
by the lady at my side made me remember it.
“Miss Leavenworth, when seated in your room are you
in the habit of leaving your door open?”
A startled look at this, quickly suppressed. “Not in
the habit, no, sir.”
" Why did you leave it open last night?"
“I was feeling warm."
“No other reason ?”.
“I can give no other.”
“When did you close it?"
“Upon retiring.”
“Was that before or after the servants went up?"
“ After.”
“Did you hear Mr. Harwell when he left the library
and ascended to his room ?”
* I did, sir."
“How much longer did you leave your door open after
that? *
“I-I-a few minutes a-I cannot say," she added
hurriedly.


THE PROBLEM.
81
ven
“Cannot say? why do you forget ?”
“ I forget just how long after Mr. Harwell came up,
I closed it.”
“ Was it more than ten minutes ?”
“ Yes."
“More than twenty?"
“ Perhaps." How pale her face was, and how she
trembled.
“Miss Leavenworth, according to evidence, your uncle
came to his death not very long after Mr. Harwell left
him. If your door was open, you ought to have heard if
any one went to his room or any pistol shot was fired.
Now did you hear any thing ? *
“I heard no confusion, no, sir.”
“ Did you hear any thing?”
“Nor any pistol shot.”
“Miss Leavenworth, excuse my persistence, but did you
hear any thing ?”
.“ I heard a door close."
“What door?
“The library door.”
“When?"
“I do not know.” She clasped her hands hysterically;
“I cannot say. Why do you ask me so many questions?"
I leaped to my feet; she was swaying, almost fainting.
But before I could reach her, she had drawn herself up
again and resumed her former demeanor. “Excuse me,”
said she, “ I am not myself this morning. I beg your par-


82
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
don," and she turned steadily to the coroner. “What
was it you asked ?”
“I asked,” and his voice grew thin and high,-evidently
her manner was beginning to tell against her,—“when it
was you heard the library door shut ?”.
“I cannot fix the precise time, but it was after Mr.
Harwell came up and before I closed my own."
“ And you heard no pistol shot?"
"No, sir.”
The coroner cast a quick look at the jury, who almost
to a man dropped their eyes as he did so.
“Miss Leavenworth, we are told that Hannah, one of
the servants, started for your room late last night after
some medicine. Did she come there ?"
“No, sir.”
“ When did you first learn of her remarkable dis-
appearance from this house during the night?”
“ This morning before breakfast. Molly met me in the
hall, and asked how Hannah was. I thought the inquiry
a strange one, and so questioned her. A moment's talk
made the conclusion plain that the girl was gone."
“What did you think when you became assured of this
fact?”
“I did not know what to think.”
“No suspicion of foul play crossed your mind ?”
“No, sir.”
“ You did not connect the fact with that of your uncle's
murder?”


THE PROBLEM.
"I did not know of this murder then."
“And afterwards?”.
“O, some thought of the possibility of her knowing
something about it may have crossed my mind, I cannot
say."
“Can you tell us any thing of this girl's past history."
“I can tell you no more in regard to it than my cousin
has done.”
“Do not know what made her so sad nights ?"
Her cheek flushed angrily ; was it at his tone or at the
question itself? “No, sir; she never confided her secrets
to my keeping."
“ Then you cannot tell us where she would be likely to
go upon leaving this house?”
“ Certainly not.”
“Miss Leavenworth, we are obliged to put another
question to you. We are told that you were the one who
ordered your uncle's body to be removed from where it
was found, into the next room."
She bowed her head.
“ Didn't you know that it is not proper to disturb the
body of a person found dead, except in the presence and
under the authority of the proper officer ?”
“I did not consult my knowledge, sir, in regard to the
subject, only my feelings.”
“Then I suppose it was your feelings that prompted
you to remain standing by the table at which he was mur-
dered, instead of following the body in and seeing it prop-


84
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
erly deposited ? Or perhaps," he went on with relentless
sarcasm “ you were too much interested just then, in the
piece of paper you took away, to think much of the pro-
prieties of the occasion?”
“ Paper ?" lifting her head with determination. “Who
says that I took a piece of paper from the table ? I am
sure I have not."
“One witness has sworn that he saw you bending over
the table upon which there were lying several papers,
another, that when she met you a few minutes later in the
hall, you were in the act of putting a piece of paper in
your pocket. The inference follows, Miss Leavenworth."
This was a home thrust and we looked to see some
show of agitation, but her haughty lip never quivered.
“ You have drawn the inference, and you must prove
the fact.”
The answer was stateliness itself, and we were not sur-
prised to see the coroner look a trifle baffled ; but recov-
ering himself he said,
“Miss Leavenworth, I must ask you again, whether you
did or did not take any thing from that table ?"
She folded her arms; "I decline answering the ques-
tion,” she said quietly.
“Pardon me,” he rejoined, “it is necessary that you
should.”
Her lip took a still more determined curve. “When
any suspicious paper is found in my possession, it will be
time enough then, for me to explain how I came by it."


THE PROBLEM.
85
This defiance seemed to quite stagger the coroner.
“ Do you realize to what this refusal is liable to subject
you?"
She drooped her head. “I am afraid that I do ; yes
sir."
Mr. Gryce lifted his hand and softly twirled the tassel
of the window-curtain.
* And you still persist ? "
She absolutely disdained to reply.
The coroner did not press it further.
It had now become evident to all, that Eleanore Leav-
enworth not only stood upon her defence, but was per-
fectly aware of her position and prepared to maintain
it. Even her cousin, who until now had preserved some
sort of composure, began to show signs of strong and un-
controllable agitation, as if she found it one thing to
utter an accusation herself, and quite another to see it
working its way to light in the countenances of the men
about her.
“ Miss Leavenworth," the coroner continued, chang-
ing the line of attack, “ you have always had free access
to your uncle's apartments, have you not ?"
“ Yes, sir.”
“Might even have entered his room late at night, crossed
it and stood at his side, without disturbing him sufficiently
to cause him to turn his head ?”
“Yes ;" her hands pressing themselves painfully to-
gether.


86
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ Miss Leavenworth, the key to the library door is
missing."
She made no answer.
“It has been testified to, that previous to the actual
discovery of the murder, you visited the door of the
library alone. Will you tell us if the key was then in the
lock ? "
“It was not.”
“ Are you certain ?"
“I am.”
“Now, was there any thing peculiar about this key,
either in size or shape ?”.
She strove to repress the sudden terror which this ques-
tion produced, glanced carelessly around at the group of
servants stationed at her back and trembled. “ It was a
little different from the others,” she murmured at last.
“In what respect ? "
“ The handle was broken."
" Ah, gentlemen, the handle was broken," the coroner
observed, looking towards the jury
Mr. Gryce seemed to take this information to himself,
for he gave another of his quick nods.
“You would, then, recognize this key, Miss Leaven-
wurth, if you should see it?".
She cast a startled look at him, as if she expected to be-
hold it in his hand, but seeming to gather courage at not
finding it produced, replied quite easily,
" I think I should, sir."
S


THE PROBLEM.
87
CU.
" Very well, then,” said he, waving his hand in dismis-
sal, “ that is all, gentlemen,” continued he, looking at the
jurymen, "you have heard the testimony of the members
of the household, and—” But here Mr. Gryce quietly ad-
vancing, touched him on the arm. “ One moment,” said
he, and stooping, he whispered a few words in the coroner's
ear, then recovering himself, stood with his right hand in
his breast pocket and his eye upon the chandelier.
I scarcely dared to breathe. Had he repeated to the
coroner the words he had inadvertently overheard in the
hall above ? But a glance at the latter's face satisfied me
that nothing so important as that had transpired. He
looked not only tired but a trifle annoyed.
“ Miss Leavenworth,” said he, turning again in her
direction, "you have declared that you were not with your
uncle last evening, did not visit his room. Do you repeat
the assertion ?"
“ I do."
He glanced at Mr. Gryce, who immediately drew from
his breast a handkerchief curiously soiled. “It is strange,
then,” remarked he, “ that this handkerchief of yours in the
hands of the officer, should have been found this morning
in that room.”
The girl uttered a cry: then while Mary's face har-
dened into a sort of strong despair, Eleanore tightened her
lips and coldly replied, “I do not see as it is so very
strange. I was in that room early this morning."
“ And you dropped it then?"


88
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
A distressed blush crossed her face ; she did not reply.
“ Soiled in this way?” he went on.
“I know nothing about the soil.” What is it? let me
see."
“In a moment; what we now wish, is to know how it
came to be in your uncle's apartment.”
“ There are many ways. I might have left it there, days
ago. I have told you that I was in the habit of visiting his
room. But first, let me see if it is my handkerchief.” And
she held out her hand.
“ I presume so, as I am told it has your initials em-
broidered in the corner,” he returned, as Mr. Gryce passed
it to her.
But she with horrified voice interrupted him. “ These
dirty spots ! what are they? they look like—".
“ Like what they are," said the coroner. “If you have
ever cleaned a pistol you must know what they are, Miss
Leavenworth.”
She let the handkerchief fall convulsively from her hand,
and stood staring at it, lying before her on the floor. “I
know nothing about it, gentlemen,” she said. “ It is my
handkerchief, but—" for some cause she did not finish
her sentence, but again repeated, “ Indeed, gentlemen, I
know nothing about it.” This closed her testimony.
Kate, the cook, was now recalled, and asked to tell
when she last washed the handkerchief.
“ This, sir ; this handkerchief? O some time this week,
sir," throwing a deprecatory glance at her mistress.


THE PROBLEM.
“ What day?"
“ Well, I wish I could forget, Miss Eleanore, but I
can't. It is the only one like it in the house. I washed it
day before yesterday.”
“When did you iron it?”.
“ Yesterday morning," half choking over the words,
“And when did you take it to her room?"
The cook threw her apron over her head. “ Yesterday
afternoon with the rest of the clothes, just before dinner.
Indade, I could not help it, Miss Eleanore,” whispered she;
“ it was the truth."
Eleanore Leavenworth frowned. This somewhat con-
tradictory evidence had very sensibly affected her; and
when a moment later, the coroner having dismissed the
witness, turned towards her, and inquired if she had any
thing further to say in regard to this matter, in the way of
explanation or otherwise, she threw her hands up almost
spasmodically, slowly shook her head, and without word or
warning, fainted quietly away in her chair.
A commotion of course followed, during which I noticed
that Mary did not hasten to her cousin, but left it for Molly
and Kate to do what they could toward her resuscitation.
In a few moments this was in so far accomplished, that
they were enabled to lead her from the room. As they did
so, I observed a tall man rise and follow her out.
A momentary silence ensued, soon broken, however, by
an impatient stir as our little juryman rose and proposed
that the jury should now adjourn for the day. This seem.


90
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
ing to fall in with the coroner's views, he announced that
the inquest would stand adjourned till three o'clock the
next day, when he trusted all the jurors would be present.
A general rush followed, that in a few minutes emptied
the room of all but Miss Leavenworth, Mr. Gryce and my-
self.


THE PROBLEM.
91
IX.
A DISCOVERY.
His rolling Eies did never rest in place,
But walkte each where for feare of hid mischance,
Holding a lattis still before his Face,
Through which he still did peep as forward he did pace.
FABRIB QUEBN.
Miss LEAVENWORTH, who appeared to have lingered
from a vague terror of every thing and everybody in the
house, not under her immediate observation, shrank from
my side the moment she found we were left comparatively
alone, and retiring to a distant corner, gave herself up to
grief. Turning my attention, therefore, in the direction of
Mr. Gryce, I found that person busily engaged in counting
his own fingers with a troubled expression upon his coun-
tenance, which may or may not have been the result of
that arduous employment. But at my approach, satisfied
perhaps that he possessed no more than the requisite num-
ber, he dropped his hands and greeted me with a faint
smile that was, considering all things, too suggestive to be
pleasant.
“Well,” said I, taking my stand before him, “I cannot
blame you. You had a right to do as you thought best,
but how had you the heart ? Was she not sufficiently
compromised without your bringing out that wretched
handkerchief, which she may or may not have dropped in
that room, but whose presence there, soiled though it was


92
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
with pistol grease, is certainly no proof that she herself
was connected with this murder ?"
“Mr. Raymond," returned he, “I have been detailed
as police officer and detective to look after this case, and I
propose to do it.”
“Of course," I hastened to reply, “I am the last man
to wish you to shirk your duty; but you cannot have the
temerity to declare, that this young and tender creature,
can by any possibility be considered as at all likely to be
implicated in a crime so monstrous and unnatural. The
mere assertion of another woman's suspicions on the sub-
ject ought not—"
But here Mr. Gryce interrupted me, “You talk when
your attention should be directed to more important mat-
ters. That other woman, as you are pleased to designate
the fairest ornament of New York society, sits over there
in tears; go and comfort her.”
Looking at him in amazement, I hesitated to comply,
but seeing he was in earnest, crossed to Mary Leaven-
worth and sat down by her side. She was weeping,
but in a slow unconscious way, as if grief had been
mastered by fear. The fear was too undisguised and the
grief too natural for me to doubt the genuineness of
either.
“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “any attempt at consola-
ation on the part of a stranger, must seem at a time like
this the most bitter of mockeries, but do try and consider
that circumstantial evidence is not always absolute proof.”
me
ess


THE PROBLEM.
93
Starting like one caught back from the verge of a
precipice, just as destruction seemed inevitable, she turned
her eyes upon me with a slow comprehensive gaze wonder-
ful to see in orbs so tender and womanly.
“No," murmured she," circumstantial evidence is not
absolute proof, but Eleanore does not know this. She is
so intense ; she cannot see but one thing at a time. She
has been running her head into a noose and 0,-" Paus-
ing she clutched my arm with a passionate grasp, “Do you
think there is any danger? Will they—” She could not
go on.
"Miss Leavenworth,” whispered I with a warning look
toward the detective, “what do you mean?”
Like a flash her glance followed mine, an instant change
taking place in her bearing.
“Your cousin may be intense,” I went on as if noth
ing had occurred, “but I do not know to what you refer,
when you say that she has been running her head into a
noose.”
“I mean this,” returned she firmly; "that wittingly or
unwittingly, she has so parried and met the questions which
have been put to her in this room, that any one listening
to her, would give her the credit of knowing more than she
ought to, of this horrible affair. She acts,”—Mary whis-
pered, but not so low but that every word could be dis-
tinctly heard in all quarters of the room—"as if she were
anxious to conceal something. But she is not, I am sure
she is not. Eleanore and I are not good friends, but all


94
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
NOW
the world could never make me believe that she has any more
knowledge of this murder than I have. Won't somebody tell
her then,—won't you—that her manner is a mistake, that
it is calculated to arouse suspicion, that it has already done
so ? And 0, tell her from me," she went on, her voice
sinking to a low whisper now—“what you have just said,
that circumstantial evidence is not always absolute proof.”
I surveyed her with great astonishment. What an
actress this woman was !
“You request me to tell her this,” said I: “wouldn't it
be better for you to speak to her yourself?”
“Eleanore and I hold little or no confidential com-
munication,” replied she.
I could easily believe that and yet I was puzzled.
Indeed there was something incomprehensible in her
whole manner. Not knowing what else to say, I re-
marked, “ That is unfortunate. She ought to be told
that the straightforward course is the best by all means."
Mary Leavenworth only wept, “O why has this awful
trouble come to me who have always been so happy be-
fore !”
“Perhaps for the very reason that you have always
been so happy."
" It was not enough that dear uncle should die in this
horrible manner; but she, my own cousin had to—"
I touched her arm, and the action seemed to recall her
to herself. Stopping short she bit her lip.
“Miss Leavenworth," I whispered, “ you should hope


THE PROBLEM.
95
for the best. Besides, I honestly believe that you are dis-
turbing yourself unnecessarily. If nothing fresh tran-
spires, a mere prevarication or so of your cousin's will not
suffice to injure her.”
I said this to see if she had any reason to doubt the
future. I was amply rewarded.
“ Any thing fresh ? How could there be any thing fresh,
when she is perfectly innocent ?"
Suddenly a thought seemed to strike her.
“Mr. Raymond,” said she, wheeling round in her seat
till her lovely, perfumed wrapper brushed my knee, “why
didn't they ask me more questions? I could have told
them, Eleanore never left her room last night.”
“ You could ?” What was I to think of this woman.
“ Yes; my room is nearer the head of the stairs than
hers; to have gone down, she would have been obliged
to pass my door. I should have heard her, don't you see?”
Ah, was that all ?
“That does not follow," I answered sadly. “Can you
give no other reason ?".
“ I would say whatever was necessary," she whispered.
I started back. Yes, this woman would lie now to
save her cousin, had lied during the inquest, but then I
felt grateful, and now I was simply horrified.
“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “nothing can justify one
in violating the dictates of his own conscience, not even
the safety of one we do not altogether love."
“No ?” returned she; and her lip took a tremulous


96
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
curve, the lovely bosom heaved and she softly looked
away.
If Eleanore's beauty had made one jot less of an impres-
sion on my fancy, or her frightful situation awakened one
iota less of anxiety in my breast, I should have been a lost
man from that moment.
“I did not mean to do any thing very wrong,” murmur-
ed she ; “ do not think too badly of me.”
“No, no,” said I ; and there is not a man living who
would not have said the same in my place.
What more might have passed between us on this sub-
ject I cannot say, for just then the door opened and a man
entered, whom I recognized as the one who had followed
Eleanore Leavenworth out, a short time before.
“Mr. Gryce," said he, pausing just inside the door, “ a
word if you please.”
The detective nodded, but did not hasten towards him ;
instead of that, walked deliberately away to the other end
of the room, where he lifted the lid of an inkstand he saw
there, muttered some unintelligible words into it, and
speedily shut it again.
Immediately the uncanny fancy seized me, that if I
should leap to that inkstand, open it and peer in, I should
surprise and capture the bit of confidence he had intrusted
to it. But I restrained my foolish impulse, and contented
myself with noting the subdued look of respect with which
the gaunt subordinate watched the approach of his su-
perior.
OILIS


THE PROBLEM.
97
“Well ?” inquired the latter as he reached him, “what
now?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and drew his princi-
pal through the open door. Once in the hall their voices
sank to a whisper, and as their backs only were visible, I
turned to look at my companion. She was pale but com-
posed.
“Has he come from Eleanore ?"
“I do not know; I fear so. Miss Leavenworth,"
said I, “can it be possible that your cousin has any thing
in her possession that she desires to conceal ? "
“ Then you think she is trying to conceal something?"
“I do not say so. But there was considerable talk
about a paper—"
“They will never find any paper or any thing else sus-
picious in Eleanore's possession," interrupted she. “In the
first place, there was no paper of importance enough "-I
saw Mr. Gryce's form suddenly stiffen—“for any one to
think of concealment. Don't I know ? Was I not my
uncle's confidant?”
“I do not suppose there was,” suggested I, “as far as
your knowledge goes. But could she not have been ac-
quainted with something"
She drew back coldly. “There was nothing to be ac-
quainted with, Mr Raymond. We lived the most methodi-
cal and domestic of lives. I cannot understand for my
part why so much should be made out of this. My uncle
undoubtedly came to his death by the hand of some in-


98
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
tended burglar. That nothing was stolen from the house,
is no proof that a burglar never entered it. As for the
doors and windows being locked, will you take the word
of an Irish servant as infallible upon such a point as that?
I cannot. I believe the assassin to be one of a gang who
make their living by breaking into houses, and if you can-
not honestly agree with me, do try and consider such an
explanation as possible, if not for the sake of the family
credit, why then—" and she turned her face with all its
fair beauty upon mine, eyes, cheeks, mouth all so exquisite
and winsome-"why then for mine."
Instantly Mr. Gryce turned towards us. “Mr. Ray-
mond, will you be kind enough to step this way?”.
Glad to escape from my present position, I hastily
obeyed.
“What has happened ?" I inquired.
“We propose to take you into our confidence," mur-
mured Mr. Gryce easily. “Excuse me, Mr. Raymond, Mr.
Fobbs."
I bowed to the man I saw before me, and stood uneasi-
ly waiting. Anxious as I was to know what we really had
to fear, I still intuitively shrank from any communication
with one whom I looked upon as a spy.
"A matter of some importance,” continued Mr. Gryce.
“It is not necessary for me to remind you that it is in con-
fidence, is it?"
“ No,"
“I thought not. Mr. Fobbs you may proceed.”


THE PROBLEM.
99
Instantly the whole appearance of the man Fobbs
changed. Assuming an expression of lofty importance, he
laid his large hand outspread upon his heart and com-
menced.
“Detailed by Mr. Gryce to watch the movements of
Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, I left this room upon her
departure from it, and followed her and the two servants
who conducted her, up stairs to her own apartment. Once
there"
Mr. Gryce interrupted him. “Once there? where?”
“Her own room, sir.”
“Where situated ? "
“At the head of the stairs.”
“ That is not her room. Go on."
“Not her room ? then it was the fire she was after,"
cried he, clapping himself on the knee.
“The fire ?"
“Excuse me, I am ahead of my story. She did not ap-
pear to notice me much, though I was right behind her. It
was not until she had reached the door of this room—which
was not her room,” he interpolated dramatically," and
turned to dismiss her servants, that she seemed conscious
that she was followed. Looking at me then with an air of
great dignity, quickly eclipsed, however, by an expression
of patient endurance, she walked in, leaving the door open
behind her in a courteous way that I cannot sufficiently
commend.”
I could not help frowning. Honest as the man ap-


100
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
peared, this was evidently any thing but a sore subject with
him. Observing me frown, he softened his manner.
“Not seeing any other way of keeping her under my
eye, and thus performing my duty creditably, except by
entering the room, I followed her in and took a seat in
a remote corner. She flashed one look at me as I did so,
and commenced pacing the room in a restless kind of way
I'm not altogether unused to. At last she stopped ab-
ruptly, right in the middle of the room. “Get me a glass of
water,' she gasped ; ' I'm faint again-quick! on the stand
in the corner.' Now in order to get that glass of water
it was necessary for me to pass behind a dressing mirror
that reached almost to the ceiling, and I naturally hesi-
tated. But she turned and looked at me, and–Well, gentle-
men, I think either of you would have hastened to do
what she asked ; or at least” with a doubtful look at Mr.
Gryce—“have given your two ears for the privilege, even
if you didn't succumb to the temptation."
“Well, well !” exclaimed Mr. Gryce impatiently.
“I am going on,” said he. “I stepped out of sight, then,
for a moment, but it seemed long enough for her purpose,
for when I emerged glass in hand, she was kneeling at the
grate full five feet from the spot where she had been
standing, and was fumbling with the waist of her dress
in a way that convinced me, she had something concealed
there, which she was anxious to dispose of. I eyed her
pretty closely as I handed her the glass of water, but she
was gazing into the grate with a look on her face such as


THE PROBLEM.
IOI
I don't remember ever seeing before, and didn't appear to
notice. Drinking barely a drop, she gave it back, and in
another moment was holding out her hands over the fire.
O, I am so cold,' murmured she, .so cold.' And I
verily believe she was. At any rate she shivered most
naturally. But there were a few dying embers in the grate,
and when I saw her thrust her hand again into the folds
of her dress, I became distrustful of her intentions, and
drawing a step nearer, looked over her shoulder, when I
distinctly saw her drop something into the grate that
clinked as it fell. Suspecting what it was, I was about to
interfere, when she sprang to her feet, seized the scuttle of
coal that was upon the hearth, and with one move emptied
the whole upon the dying embers. "I want a fire,' she
cried, “a fire.' "That is hardly the way to make one,' I
returned, carefully taking the coal out with my hands,
piece by piece, and putting it back into the scuttle, till,—”
“ Till what?” I asked, seeing him and Mr. Gryce ex-
change a hurried look.
“Till I found this,” opening his large hand and show-
ing me a broken handled key.


102
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
MR. GRYCE RECEIVES NEW IMPETUS.
There's nothing ill
Can dwell in such a temple.
TEMPEST.
This astounding discovery, thus made, was dreadful to
me. It was true then. Eleanore the beautiful, the love-
some, was—I did not, could not finish the sentence, even
in the silence of my own mind.
" You look surprised,” said Mr. Gryce, glancing curiously
towards the key. "Now I ain't. A woman does not
thrill and blush and equivocate and faint for nothing;
especially such a woman as Miss Leavenworth.”
“A woman who could do such a deed would be the
last to thrill, equivocate, and faint,” retorted I. “Give
me the key; let me see it."
He complacently put it in my hand. “It is the one we
want,” said he. “No getting out of that.”
I returned it. “If she declares she is innocent, I will
believe her."
He stared with great amazement. “ You have strong
faith in the women,” laughed he. “I hope you will live to
find them worthy of it.”
I had no reply for this, and a short silence ensued, first
broken by Mr. Gryce. “There is but one thing left to do,"


THE PROBLEM.
103
said he. “Fobbs, you will have to request Miss Leaven-
worth to come down. Do not alarm her, only see that
she comes. To the reception-room,” added he as the man
drew off.
No sooner were we left alone than I made a move to
return to Mary, but he stopped me.
“Come and see it out,” whispered he. “ She will be
down in a moment; see it out, you had best."
Glancing back, I hesitated; but the prospect of behold-
ing Eleanore again, drew me in spite of myself. Telling
him to wait, I returned to Mary's side to make my ex-
cuses.
“What is the matter—what has occurred ?" said she
breathlessly.
“Nothing as yet to disturb you much. Do not be
alarmed.” But my face betrayed me.
“ There is something,” said she.
“ Your cousin is coming down.”
“Down here ?" and she shrank visibly.
“No, to the reception-room."
“I do not understand. It is all dreadful, and no one
tells me any thing."
“ Miss Leavenworth,” I essayed, “I pray God there
may be nothing to tell. Judging from your present faith in
your cousin, there will not be. Take comfort, then, and
believe that I will inform you if any thing occurs which you
ought to know.”
“Giving her a look of reassurance, I left her crushed


104
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
against the crimson pillows of the sofa on which she sat,
and rejoined Mr. Gryce. We had scarcely entered the
reception-room, when Eleanore Leavenworth came in.
More languid than she was an hour before, but haughty
still, she slowly advanced, and meeting my eye, gently bent
her head.
“I have been summoned here,” said she, directing
herself exclusively to Mr. Gryce, “by an individual whom I
take to be in your employ. If so, may I request that you
will make your wishes known at once, as I am quite ex-
hausted and ain in great need of rest.”
“Miss Leavenworth,” returned Mr. Gryce rubbing his
hands together and staring in quite a fatherly manner at
the door-knob, “I am very sorry to trouble you, but the
fact is I wish to ask you,"
But here she stopped him. “Any thing in regard to
the key which that man has doubtless told you, he saw me
drop into the ashes ? "
“ Yes, Miss.”
“ Then I must refuse to answer any questions concern-
ing it. I have nothing to say on the subject, unless it is
this ;”-giving him a look full of suffering but full of a
certain sort of courage too—“that he was right if he told
you I had the key in hiding about my person, and that
I attempted to conceal it in the ashes of the grate."
“ Still, Miss ”
But she had already withdrawn to the door. “I pray
you to excuse me,” said she. “No argument you could


THE PROBLEM.
105
advance would make any difference in my determination,
therefore it would be but a waste of energy on your part
to attempt any." And with a flitting glance in my direction,
that was not without its appeal, she quietly left the room.
For a moment Mr. Gryce stood gazing after her with a
look of great interest, then bowing almost to the ground in
his homage, he hastily followed her out.
I had scarcely recovered from the surprise occasioned
by this unexpected movement, when a quick step was
heard in the hall, and Mary, flushed and anxious, appeared
at my side.
“What is it?" said she. “What has Eleanore been
saying ?"
“Alas !" I answered, “she has not said any thing.
That is the trouble, Miss Leavenworth. Your cousin pre-
serves a reticence upon certain points that is very painful
to witness. She ought to understand that if she persists
in doing this, that—".
“That what?” There was no mistaking the fearful
anxiety that prompted this question.
“That she cannot avoid the trouble that will ensue.”
For a moment she stood gazing at me with great
horror-stricken, incredulous eyes ; then sinking back into
a chair, flung her hands over her face with the cry,
“Oh, why were we ever born! Why were we allowed
to live! Why did we not perish with those who gave
us birth ! ”
In the face of anguish like this, I could not keep still.


106
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Own
“Dear Miss Leavenworth,” I essayed, " there is no
cause for such despair as this. The future looks dark, but
not impenetrable. Your cousin will listen to reason, and
in explaining"
But she, deaf to my words, had again risen to her feet
and stood before me in an attitude almost appalling
"Some women in my position would go mad !" she
whispered, “ mad, mad !”
I looked at her with growing wonder. I thought I
knew what she meant. She conceived that she had given
us the cue, which had led to this suspicion of her cousin,
and that in this way the trouble which hung over their
heads was of her own making. I endeavored to soothe
her, but my efforts were all unavailing. Absorbed in her
own anguish, she paid but little attention to me. Satis-
fied at last that I could do uothing more for her, I turned
to go ; the movement seemed to arouse her.
“I am sorry to leave," said I, “ without having afforded
you any comfort. Believe me that I am very anxious to
assist you. Is there no one I can send to your side; no
woman friend nor relative ? It is sad to leave you alone in
this house at such a time.”
“And do you suppose,” said she, “that I intend remain-
ing here? Why, I should die. Here to-night?" and the
long shudders shook her very frame.
“It is not at all necessary," broke in a bland voice over
our shoulders, “ that you should do so, Miss Leavenworth.”
I turned with a start. Mr. Gryce was not only at our


THE PROBLEM.
107
back, but had evidently been there for some moments.
Seated in an easy chair near the door, one hand in his
pocket, the other caressing the arm of his chair, he met our
gaze with a sidelong smile that seemed at once to beg par-
don for the intrusion, and to assure us that it was made
with no unworthy motive. “Every thing will be properly
looked after, Miss ; you can leave with perfect safety.”
I expected to see her resent this interference, but in-
stead of that she manifested a certain satisfaction in be-
holding him there.
Drawing me to one side she whispered, “You think
this Mr. Gryce very clever, do you not ?"
“Well,” replied I cautiously," he ought to be to hold
the position he does. The authorities evidently repose
great confidence in him.”
Stepping from my side as suddenly as she had approached
it, she crossed the room and stood before Mr. Gryce.
“Sir," said she, gazing at him with a glance of en-
treaty, “I hear that you have great talents; that you
can ferret out the real criminal from a score of doubtful
characters, and that nothing can escape the penetration of
your eye. If this is so, have pity on two orphan girls
suddenly bereft of their guardian and protector, and use
your acknowledged skill in finding out who has committed
this crime. It would be folly in me to endeavor to hide
from you that my cousin in her testimony has given cause
for suspicion ; but I here declare that I believe her to be
as innocent of wrong as I am myself, and I am only en-


108
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
deavoring to turn the eye of justice from the guiltless to
to the guilty, when I entreat you to look elsewhere for the
culprit who committed this deed." Pausing, she held her
two hands out before him. “It must have been some
common burglar or desperado ; can you not bring him,
then, to justice?"
Her attitude was so touching, her whole appearance so
earnest and appealing, that I saw Mr. Gryce's countenance
brim with suppressed emotion, though his eye never left
the coffee-urn upon which it had fixed itself at her first
approach.
“ You must find out-you can,” she went on—“ Hannah,
the girl who is gone, must know all about it. Search for
her, then, ransack the world, do any thing; my property is
at your disposal. I will offer a large reward, for the de-
tection of the burglar who did this deed.”
Mr. Gryce slowly rose. “Miss Leavenworth,” said he,
and then stopped ; the man was actually agitated. “Miss
Leavenworth, I did not need your very touching appeal to
incite me to my utmost duty in this case. Personal and
professional pride were in themselves sufficient. But since
you have honored me with this expression of your wishes,
I will not conceal from you, that I shall feel a certain in-
creased interest in the affair from this hour. What mortal
man can, I will do, and if in one month from this day I do
not come to you for my reward, Ebenezer Gryce is not
the individual I have always taken him to be.”
“ And Eleanore ?"
crea


THE PROBLEM.
109
“We will mention no names," said he, gently waving
his hand to and fro.
A few minutes later I Jeft the house with Miss Leaven-
worth, she having testified her wish that I would accom-
pany her to the home of her friend Mrs. Gilbert, with
whom she had decided to take refuge. As we rolled
away in the carriage, Mr. Gryce had been kind enough to
provide for us, I noticed my companion cast a look of
regret behind her, as if she could not help feeling some
compunctions at this desertion of her cousin. But this
expression was soon changed for the alert look of one who
dreads to see a certain face start up from some unknown
quarter. Glancing up and down the street, peering fur-
tively into doorways as we passed, starting and trembling
if a sudden figure appeared on the curb stone, she did not
seem to breathe with perfect ease, till we had left the
avenue behind us and entered upon Thirty-seventh Street.
Then all at once her natural color returned, and leaning
gently toward me she asked if I had a pencil and piece of
paper I could give her. I fortunately possessed both.
Handing them to her, I watched her with some little curi-
osity, while she wrote two or three lines, wondering she
should choose such a time and place for the purpose.
“A little note I wish to send,” she remarked, glancing
at the almost illegible scrawl with an expression of doubt.
“ Couldn't you stop the carriage a moment while I direct
it?"
I did so, and in another instant the leaf which I had


IIO
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
torn from my note-book was folded, directed, and sealed
with a stamp which she had taken from her own pocket-
book.
“That is a crazy looking epistle,” she murmured, as
she laid it, direction downwards, in her lap.
“Why not wait, then,” I suggested, “ till you arrive at
your destination, where you can seal it properly, and direct
it at your leisure ?”
“Because I am in haste. I wish to mail it now.
Look, there is a box on the corner; please ask the driver
to stop once more."
“Shall I not post it for you ?" I asked, holding out my
hand.
But she shook her head, and without waiting for my
assistance, opened the door on her own side of the
carriage and leaped to the ground. Even then she
paused to glance up and down the street, before venturing
to drop it into the box. But when it was done she looked
brighter and more hopeful than I had yet seen her. And
when in a few moments later she turned to bid me good-
bye in front of her friend's house, it was with almost a
cheerful air, she put out her hand and entreated me to call
on her the next day and inform her how the inquest pro-
gressed
I shall not attempt to disguise from you the fact that
I spent all that long evening in going over the testimony
given at the inquest, endeavoring to reconcile what I had
heard with any other theory than that of Eleanore's guilt.


THE PROBLEM.
III
Taking a piece of paper, I jotted down the leading causes
of suspicion as follows :
1. Her late disagreement with her uncle, and evident
estrangement from him, as testified to by Mr. Harwell.
2. The mysterious disappearance of one of the servants
of the house.
3. The forcible accusation of her cousin, -overheard,
however, only by Mr. Gryce and myself.
4. Her equivocation in regard to that handkerchief of
hers, found stained with pistol smut on the scene of the
tragedy.
5. Her refusal to speak in regard to the paper which
she was supposed to have taken from Mr. Leavenworth's
table, immediately upon the removal of the body.
6. The finding of the library key in her possession.
“A dark record," I involuntarily cried as I looked it
over, but even in doing so began jotting down on the other
side of the sheet the following explanatory notes:
1. Disagreements and even estrangements between
relatives are common. Cases where such disagreements
and estrangements have led to crime, rare.
2. The disappearance of Hannah pointed no more in
one direction than another.
3. If Mary's private accusation of her cousin was for-
cible and convincing, her public declaration that she
neither knew nor suspected who might be the author of
this crime, was equally so. To be sure the former pos-
sessed the advantage of being uttered spontaneously, but


II2
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
it was likewise true that it was spoken under momentary
excitement, without foresight of the consequences, and
possibly without due consideration of the facts.
4, 5. An innocent man or woman, under the influence
of terror, will often equivocate in regard to matters that
seem to criminate them.
But the key! What could I say to that? Nothing.
With that key in her possession and unexplained, Eleanore
Leavenworth stood in an attitude of suspicion, which even
I, who was so adverse to believing her guilty, was forced
to recognize. Brought to this point, I thrust the paper
into my pocket and took up the evening Express. In-
stantly my eye fell upon these words :
SHOCKING MURDER.
MR. LEAVENWORTH, THE WELL-KNOWN MILLIONAIRE,
FOUND DEAD IN HIS ROOM.
NO CLUE TO THE PERPETRATOR OF THE DEED.
THE AWFUL CRIME COMMITTED WITH A PISTOL-EXTRAORDI.
NARY FEATURES OF THE AFFAIR.
Ah! here at least was one comfort; her name was not
yet mentioned as that of a suspected party. But what
might not the morrow bring? I thought of Mr. Gryce's
expressive look as he handed me that key, and shuddered.
“She must be innocent ; she cannot be otherwise," I
reiterated to myself, and then pausing, asked what war-


THE PROBLEM.
113
ranty I had of this ? Only her beautiful face ; only, only
her beautiful face. Abashed, I dropped the newspaper,
and went down stairs with the wild idea, I believe, of en-
countering on the stoop the telegraph boy, whom I expect-
ed every moment with a message from Mr. Veeley. By
some great good fortune I did, and taking the telegram
from his hand, I opened it on the door-step. It was from
the proprietor of the hotel at which Mr. Veeley was then
stopping, and ran thus :
WASHINGTON, D. C.
MR. EVERETT RAYMOND-
Mr. Veeley is lying at my house ill. Have not shown
him telegram, fearing results. Will do so as soon as ad-
visable.
THOMAS LOWORTHY.
I went in musing. Why this sudden sensation of relief
on my part? Could it be that I had unconsciously been
guilty of cherishing a latent dread of my senior's return?
Why, who else could know so well the secret springs which
governed this family? Who else could so effectually put me
upon the right track? Was it possible that I, Everett Ray-
mond, hesitated to know the truth in any case? No, that
should never be said ; and sitting down again, I drew out the
memoranda I had made, and looking them carefully over,
wrote against No. 6 the word SUSPICIOUs in good round
characters. There ! no one could say, after that, I was a
man to be blinded by a bewitching face, from seeing


114
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
what, in one with no claims to comeliness, would be con-
sidered at once an almost indubitable evidence of guilt.
And yet after it was all done, I found myself repeating
aloud as I gazed at it, “ If she declares that she is inno-
cent, I will believe her.” So completely are we the crea-
tures of our own predilections.


THE PROBLEM.
115
XI.
THE SUMMONS.
The pink of courtesy.
Romeo and Juliet.
The morning papers contained a more detailed account
of the murder than those of the evening before. Read-
ing over the evidence given at the inquest with almost
feverish haste, I sought for the one thing I most dreaded
to see ; but it was not there. Hannah the seamstress and
lady's maid, whose remarkable disappearance was as yet
unaccounted for, was mentioned as the possible accomplice
of the murderer, if not the virtual assassin ; but Eleanore's
name was not so much as hinted at in this connection.
The final paragraph in the Times ran thus;
“The detectives are upon the track of the missing
girl :"
And in the Herald I read the following notice.
A Liberal Reward will be given by the relatives of
Horatio Leavenworth, Esq, deceased, for any news of the
whereabouts of one Hannah Chester, disappeared from
the house --- Fifth Avenue since the evening of
March 4. Said girl was of Irish extraction; in age about
twenty-five, and may be known by the following character-
istics. Form tall and slender ; hair dark brown with a
tinge of red ; complexion fresh ; features delicate and well
made; hands small but with the fingers much pricked by


116
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the use of the needle ; feet large and of a coarser type
than the hands. She had on when last seen a checked
gingham dress, brown and white, and was supposed to have
wrapped herself in a red and green blanket shawl very
old. Beside the above distinctive marks, she had upon
her right hand wrist the scar of a large burn; also a pit or
two of small-pox upon the left temple.
This paragraph turned my thoughts in a new direction.
Oddly enough I had expended very little thought upon this
girl, and yet how apparent it was that she was the one
upon whose testimony, if given, the whole case in reality
hinged. I could not agree with those who considered her
as personally implicated in the murder. An accomplice,
conscious of what was before her, would have stopped to
put what money she had into her pocket before engaging
in such an enterprise, and this the inspection of her trunk
had proved her not to have done. But if, on the contrary,
she had unexpectedly come upon the assassin at his work,
how could she have been hustled from the house without
creating a disturbance loud enough to have been heard by
the ladies, one of whom had her door open ? An innocent
girl's first impulse upon such an occasion would have been
to scream, and yet no scream was heard ; she simply dis-
appeared. What were we to think then? That the person
seen by her was one both known and trusted ? I would not
consider that possibility, so laying down the paper, I en-
deavored to put away all further consideration of the affair
till I had acquired more facts upon which to base a theory.
But who can control his thoughts when over-excited upon


THE PROBLEM.
117
any one theme? All the morning I found myself turning
the case over in my mind, arriving ever at one of two con-
clusions. Hannah Chester must be found, or Eleanore
Leavenworth must explain when and by what means the
key of the library door came into her possession.
At two o'clock I started from my office to attend the
inquest, but being delayed on the way, missed arriving at
the house until after the delivery of the verdict. This
was a disappointment to me, especially as I thus lost the
opportunity of seeing Eleanore Leavenworth, she having
retired to her room immediately upon the dismissal of the
jury. But Mr. Harwell was visible, and from him I heard
what the verdict had been.
“Death by means of a pistol-shot from the hand of
some person unknown.”
This result of the inquest was a great relief to me. I
had feared worse. Nor could I help seeing that for all his
studied self-command, the pale-faced secretary shared in my
satisfaction.
What was less of a relief to me was the fact, soon com-
municated, that Mr. Gryce and his subordinates had left
the premises immediately upon the delivery of the verdict.
Mr. Gryce was not the man to forsake an affair like this,
while any thing of importance connected with it remained
unexplained. Could it be he meditated any decisive action ?
Somewhat alarmed, I was about to hurry from the house
for the purpose of learning what his intentions were, when
a sudden movement in the front lower window of the
son
On


118
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
house on the opposite side of the way, arrested my atten-
tion, and looking closer I detected the face of Mr. Fobbs
peering out from behind the curtain. The sight assured
me I was not wrong in my estimate of Mr. Gryce; and
struck with pity for the desolate girl left to meet the
exigencies of a fate, to which this watch upon her move-
ments was but the evident precursor, I stepped back and
sent her a note, in which, as Mr. Veeley's representative, I
proffered my services in case of any sudden emergency,
saying I was always to be found in my rooms between the
hours of six and eight. This done, I proceeded to the
house in Thirty-seventh street where I had left Miss
Mary Leavenworth the day before.
Ushered into the long and narrow drawing-room which
of late years has been so fashionable in our up-town
houses, I found myself almost immediately in the pres-
ence of Miss Leavenworth.
“Oh," said she with an eloquent cry of welcome, “I
had begun to think I was forsaken ;” and advancing im-
pulsively, she held out her hand. “What is the news from
home?"
“A verdict of murder, Miss Leavenworth."
Her eyes did not lose their question.
“ Perpetrated by party or parties unknown.”
A look of relief broke softly across her features.
“ And they are all gone?" exclaimed she in a bright,
keen way, that showed me how animated she must have
been in former days.


THE PROBLEM.
I19
reas
10
“ I found no one in the house that did not belong
there." I returned.
“O then we need have no more trouble, need we?”
I glanced hastily up and down the room.
“There is no one here," she cried.
And still I hesitated. At length in an awkward way
enough, I turned towards her and said :
"I do not wish either to offend or to alarm you, but
I must say that I think it is your duty to return to your
own home to-night.”
“Why?” she stammered. “Is there any particular
reason for my doing so ? Do you not know that I cannot
be in the same house with Eleanore ?”
“I do not know that, nor can I stop to consider the
question. She is your cousin, has been brought up to re-
gard you as a sister ; it is not worthy of you to desert her
in the time of her necessity. You will see it as I do, if
you will allow yourself a moment's dispassionate thought."
“Dispassionate thought is hardly possible under the
circumstances," returned she with a smile of bitter irony.
But before I could reply to this, she softened and
asked if I was very anxious she should return, and when I
replied “More so than I could say,” trembled and looked
for a moment as if she were half inclined to yield, but sud-
denly broke into tears, crying it was impossible, and that
I was cruel to ask it.
I drew back baffled and sore. “Pardon me," said I,
“I have indeed transgressed the bounds allotted to me. I


120
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
will not do so again ; you have doubtless many friends, let
some of them advise you.”
She turned upon me all fire. “The friends you speak
of would cringe and bow and urge me to do as I please.
You alone have the courage to command me to do what is
right."
“Excuse me," said I. “I do not command; I only en-
treat."
She made no reply, but began pacing the room, her
eyes fixed, her hands working convulsively. “You little
know what you ask,” said she. “I feel as though the very
atmosphere of that house would destroy me, but-Why
cannot Eleanore come here?” she suddenly inquired. “I
know Mrs. Gilbert will be quite willing, and I could keep
my room, and we need not meet.”
“You forget there is another call at home, besides the
one I have already mentioned. To-morrow afternoon your
uncle is to be buried.”
“O yes ; poor, poor uncle ! ”
“You are the head of the household," I now ventured,
“and the proper one to attend to the final offices towards
one who has done so much for you."
There was something strange in the look which she
gave me. “It is true,” she murmured. Then with a
grand turn of her body and a quick air of determination,
“I am desirous of being worthy of your good opinion ; I
will go back to my cousin, Mr. Raymond.”
I felt my spirits rise a little ; I took her by the hand.


THE PROBLEM.
121
“May that cousin have no need of the comfort which I
am now sure you will not shrink from giving her if neces-
sity calls.”
Her hand dropped from mine. “I mean to do my
duty," she responded.
As I descended the stoop, I met a certain thin and
fashionably dressed young man, who gave me a very sharp
look as he passed. As he wore his clothes a little too con-
spicuously for the perfect gentleman, and as I had some
remembrance of having seen him at the inquest, I set him
down for a man in Mr. Gryce's employ, and hasted on
towards the avenue ; when what was my surprise to find
on the corner another person, who, while pretending to
be on the look-out for a car, cast upon me, as I approached,
a furtive glance of intense inquiry. As this latter was
undoubtedly a gentleman, I felt some annoyance, and walk.
ing quietly up to him, asked if he found my countenance
familiar that he scrutinized it so closely?
“I find it a very agreeable one,” he returned, and
bowing with a Chesterfieldian grace, walked from me down
the avenue.
Irritated and a trifle ashamed, I stood for a moment
watching him, trying to determine who and what he might
be. For he was not only a gentleman, but a marked one;
possessing features of extraordinary beauty as well as a
form of great elegance. Not so very young, having seen,
as I should judge, full forty years of mingled pleasure and
disappointment, he still bore the impress of youth's strong-


122
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
est emotions, not a curve of his chin nor a glance of his
eye betraying in any way the slightest leaning towards
ennui, though face and figure were of that type which
seems most to invite and cherish it.
“He can have no connection with the police force,"
thought I ; “nor is it by any means certain that he knows
me, or is interested in my affairs, but I shall not soon for-
get him for all that.”
The summons from Eleanore Leavenworth came about
eight o'clock in the evening. It was brought by Thomas,
and read as follows :
“ Come, O come; 14" there breaking off in a trem-
ble, as if the pen had fallen from a nerveless hand.
It did not take me long to find my way to her home


THE PROBLEM.
123
XII.
ELEANORE.
Constant you are-
. . And for secrecy
No lady closer.
HENRY IV.
No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile.
CYMBELINE.
roon
The door was opened by Molly. “You will find Miss
Eleanore in the drawing-room, sir,” she said, ushering
me in.
Fearing I knew not what, I hurried to the room thus
indicated, feeling as never before the sumptuousness of
the magnificent hall with its antique flooring, carved woods
and bronze ornamentations :—the mockery of things for the
first time forcing itself upon me. Laying my hand on the
drawing-room door, I listened. All was silent. Slowly
pulling it open, I lifted the heavy satin curtains hanging
before me to the floor, and looked within. What a picture
met my eyes !
Sitting in the light of a solitary gas-jet, whose faint
glimmering just served to make visible the glancing satin
and stainless marble of the gorgeous apartment, I beheld
Eleanore Leavenworth. Pale as the sculptured image of


124
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the Psyche that towered above her from the mellow dusk of
the bow-window near which she sat, beautiful as it, and al-
most as immobile, she crouched with rigid hands frozen in
forgotten entreaty before her, apparently insensible to
sound, movement or touch; a silent figure of despair in
presence of an implacable fate.
Impressed by the scene, I stood with my hand upon
the curtain, hesitating if to advance or retreat, when sud-
denly a sharp tremble shook her impassive frame, the rigid
hands unlocked, the stony eyes softened, and springing to
her feet, she uttered a cry of satisfaction, and advanced
towards me.
“Miss Leavenworth !” exclaimed I, starting at the
sound of my own voice.
She paused and pressed her hands to her face, as if the
world and all that she had forgotten, had rushed back upon
her at this simple utterance of her name.
“What is it?" asked I.
Her hands fell heavily. “Do you not know?" she
cried. “They—they are beginning to say that I —" she
paused and clutched her throat. “Read," she murmured,
pointing to a newspaper lying on the floor at her feet.
I stooped and lifted what showed itself at first glance
to be the Evening Telegram. It needed but a single look
to inform me to what she referred. There, in startling
characters, I beheld,


THE PROBLEM.
125
THE LEAVENWORTH MURDER.
LATEST DEVELOPMENTS IN THE MYSTERIOUS
CASE.
A MEMBER OF THE MURDERED MAN'S OWN FAMILY
STRONGLY SUSPECTED OF THE CRIME.
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN NEW YORK UNDER A
CLOUD.
PAST HISTORY OF MISS ELEANORE LEAVENWORTH.
I was prepared for it ; had schooled myself for this
very thing, you might say; and yet I could not help recoil-
ing. Dropping the paper from my hand, I stood before
her, longing and yet dreading to look into her face.
“What does it mean?" she gasped, “what, what does
it mean? Is the world mad?” and her eyes, fixed and
glassy, stared into mine as if she found it impossible to
grasp the sense of this outrage.
I shook my head, I could not reply.
“To accuse me," she murmured ; "me, me,” striking
her breast with her clenched hand ; " who loved the very
ground he trod upon, who would have cast my own body
between him and the deadly bullet if I had only known
his danger. “Oh,” cried she, “it is not a slander they
utter, but a dagger which they thrust into my heart.”
Overcome by this, but determined not to show my con-


126
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
passion until more thoroughly convinced of her complete
innocence, I replied, after a pause :
“This seems to strike you with great surprise, Miss
Leavenworth; were you not then able to foresee what
must follow your determined reticence upon certain points ?
Did you know so little of human nature as to imagine that,
situated as you are, you could keep silence in regard to
any matter connected with this crime, without arousing the
antagonism of the crowd, to sav nothing of the suspicions
of the police ?"
“But-but-"
I hurriedly waved my hand. “When you defied the
coroner to find any suspicious paper in your possession;
when—" I forced myself to speak—"you refused to tell
Mr. Gryce how you came in possession of the key—"
She drew hastily back, a heavy pall seeming to fall
over her with my words.
“Don't,” she whispered, looking agonizedly about her.
“Don't! sometimes I think the walls have ears, the very
shadows seem to listen.”
“Ah,” returned I,“ do you then hope to keep from the
world, what is known to the detectives ?”
She did not answer.
“Miss Leavenworth,” I went on, “I am afraid that
you do not comprehend your position. Try to look at the
case for a moment in the light of an unprejudiced person;
try to see for yourself the necessity of explaining—”.
“But I cannot explain,” she murmured, huskily.


THE PROBLEM.
127
see
“ Cannot !"
I do not know whether it was the tone of my voice or
the word itself, but that simple expression seemed to affect
her like a blow upon the face.
“O!” she cried, shrinking back, "you do not, cannot
doubt me too? I thought that you—” and stopped. “I
did not dream that 1—" and stopped again. Suddenly
her whole form quivered. “O I see,” she murmured,
“you have mistrusted me from the first; the appear-
ances against me have been too strong ;” and she sank
inert, lost in the depths of her shame and humiliation.
" Ah, but now I am forsaken ! ” she murmured.
The appeal went to my heart. Starting forward, I ex-
claimed, “ Miss Leavenworth I am but a man ; I cannot
see you so distressed. Say that you are innocent, and I
will believe you, without regard to appearances.”
Springing erect, she towered upon me. “Can any one
look in my face and accuse me of guilt ?” Then as I sadly
shook my head, she hurriedly gasped, “You want further
proof!" and quivering like a suddenly awakened deer, she
sprang to the door.
“ Come then,” she cried, “come !" her eyes flashing
full of resolve upon me.
Aroused, appalled, moved in spite of myself, I crossed
the room to where she stood, but she was already in the
hall. Hastening after her, filled with a fear I dared not
express, I stood at the foot of the stairs ; she was half way
to the top. Following her into the hall above, I saw her


128
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
form standing erect and noble at the door of her uncle's
bedroom.
“ Come !” she again cried, but this time in a calm and
reverential tone; and flinging the door open before her,
she passed in.
Subduing the wonder which I felt, I slowly followed
her. There was no light in the room of death, but the
flame of the gas-burner at the far end of the hall, shone
weirdly in, and by its glimmering I beheld her kneeling at
the shrouded bed, her head bowed above that of the mur-
dered man, her hand upon his breast.
“You have said that if I declared my innocence you
would believe me," exclaimed she, lifting her head as I
entered. “See here," and laying her cheek against the
pallid brow of her dead benefactor, she kissed the clay-
cold lips softly, wildly, agonizedly, then leaping to her feet,
cried in a subdued, but thrilling tone, “ Could I do that if I
were guilty ? Would not the breath freeze on my lips, the
blood congeal in my veins, the life faint away at my heart?
Son of a father loved and reverenced, can you believe me
to be a woman stained with crime when I can do this?" and
kneeling again she cast her arms over and about that inani-
mate form, looking in my face at the same time with an
expression no mortal touch could paint, nor tongue describe.
“In olden times," she went on, “ they used to say that
a dead body would bleed, if its murderer came in contact
with it. What then would happen here if I, his daughter,
his cherished child, loaded with benefits, enriched with his


THE PROBLEM.
129
jewels, warm with his kissés, should be the thing they ac-
cuse me of? Would not the body of the outraged dead
burst its very shroud and repel me?"
I could not answer; in the presence of some scenes,
the tongue forgets its functions.
“O!” she went on, “if there is a God in heaven who
loves justice and hates a crime, let Him hear me now. If
I, by thought or action, with or without intention, have
been the means of bringing this dear head to this pass ; if
so much as the shadow of guilt, lew alone the substance,
lies upon my heart and across these feeble woman's hands,
may His wrath speak in righteous retribution to the world,
and here upon the breast of the dead, let this guilty fore-
head fall, never to rise again!"
An awed silence followed this invocation. It seemed to
me as if the world stood still to listen ; then a long, long
sigh of utter relief rose tremulously from my breast, and
all the feelings hitherto suppressed in my heart, the ex-
ceeding great awe, the boundless interest, the unspeakable
compassion, hope, longing, tenderness, that had against
my better judgment, reason, and prejudice, made their
way into my heart, burst their bonds, and leaning towards
her I took her hand in mine.
“You do not, cannot believe me tainted by crime
now?” she whispered, the smile which does not stir the
lips, but rather emanates from the countenance like the
flowering of an inner peace, breaking softly out on cheek
and brow.


130
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Crime !” the word broke uncontrollably from my
lips; “crime !"
“No," she said calmly, “the man does not live who
could accuse me of aught, here."
For reply I took her hand which lay in mine,and placed
it on the breast of the dead.
Softly, slowly, gratefully, she bowed her head.
“Now let the struggle come,” she whispered. “There
is one who will believe in me, however dark appearances
may be."


THE PROBLEM.
131
ΧΙΙΙ.
THE PROBLEM.
But who would force the soul, tilts with a straw
Against a champion cased in adamant.
WORDSWORTH.
WHEN we re-entered the parlor below, the first sight
that met our eyes was Mary, standing wrapped in her long
cloak in the centre of the room. She had arrived during
our absence, and now awaited us with lifted head and
countenance fixed in its proudest expression. Looking in
her face, I realized what the embarrassment of this meeting
must be to these women, and would have retreated, but
something in the attitude of Mary Leavenworth seemed to
forbid my doing so. At the same time determined that
the opportunity should not pass without some sort of rec-
oncilement between them, I stepped forward, and bow-
ing to Mary said, -
“Your cousin has just succeeded in doing what you
have expressed yourself so desirous of accomplishing, Miss
Leavenworth ; convinced me of her entire innocence in re-
gard to this whole matter. I am now ready to join Mr.
Gryce heart and soul, in finding out the true culprit.”
“I should have thought that it would have been suf-
ficient for any one to have looked Eleanore Leavenworth
in the face, to know her guiltless of crime.” And


132
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
lifting her head with a proud gesture, she fixed her eyes
steadfastly on mine.
I felt the blood flash to my brow, but before I could
speak, her voice rose again still more coldly than before.
“ It is hard for a delicate girl, reared in the lap of love
and luxury, unused to aught but adulation and sincerest
expressions of regard, to be obliged to assure the world of
her innocence in respect to the committal of a great crime.
Eleanore has my sympathy." And sweeping her cloak from
her shoulders with a quick gesture, she turned her gaze
for the first time upon her cousin.
Instantly Eleanore advanced as if to meet it, and I
could not but feel that for some reason, this moment pos-
sessed an importance for them, which I was scarcely com-
petent to measure. But if I found myself unable to realize
its significance, I at least responded to its intensity. And
indeed it was an occasion to remember. To have beheld
two such women, either of whom must have been consid-
ered the model of her time, face to face and drawn up in
evident antagonism, would have been a sight to move the
dullest sensibilities. But there was something more in it
than that. It was the shock of all the most passionate
emotions of the human soul; the meeting of waters of
whose depth and force I could only guess by the effect.
Eleanore was the first to recover. Drawing back with the
cold haughtiness which alas, I had almost forgotten in the
display of later and softer emotions, she exclaimed-
“There is something better than sympathy, and that is


THE PROBLEM.
133
justice ;” and turned as if to go. “I will confer with you
in the reception room, Mr. Raymond.”.
But Mary springing forward, caught her back with one
powerful hand. "No," she cried, "you shall confer with
me;" I have something to say to you, Eleanore Leaven-
worth.” And taking her stand in the centre of the room,
she waited.
I glanced at Eleanore, saw this was no place for me,
and hastily withdrew. For ten long minutes I paced the
floor of the reception room, a prey to a thousand doubts
and conjectures. What was the secret of this home?
What had given rise to the deadly mistrust continually
manifested between these cousins fitted by nature for the
completest companionship and the most cordial friend-
ship? It was not a thing of to-day or yesterday. No
sudden flame could awake such concentrated heat of emo-
tion as that of which I had just been the unwilling witness.
One must go further back than this murder to find the root
of a mistrust so great, that the struggle it caused made
itself felt even where I stood, though nothing but the
faintest murmur came to my ears through the closed doors.
Presently the drawing-room curtain was raised, and
Mary's voice was heard in distinct articulation.
“The same roof can never shelter us both after this.
To-morrow, you or I, find another home.” And blushing
and panting she stepped into the hall and advanced to
where I stood. But at the first sight of my face, a change
came over her ; all her pride seemed to dissolve, and Ainging


134
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
ca
out her hands as if to forbid me to look, she fled from my
side, and rushed weeping up stairs.
I was yet laboring under the oppression caused by this
painful termination of the strange scene, when the parlor
curtain was again lifted, and Eleanore entered the room
where I was. Pale but calm, showing no evidences of the
struggle she had just been through, unless it was a little
extra weariness about the eyes, she sat down by my side,
presenting such a contrasted picture to herself as seen by
me upon my first entrance, that I could only look and
marvel. Whether it was, that with the consciousness
one soul thoroughly believed in her, she had received a
fresh influx of strength or whether it was, that in her in-
terview with the dead she had found a new endurance and
patience, I cannot say ; I only know that a new creature
confronted me now, a resigned, earnest and forbearing
woman, who might be called upon to endure ignominy, but
who felt and was determined that others should feel, it
was an ignominy brought about by circumstances; a con-
comitant of her fate, and not a thing that tainted her spirit
or touched her soul :-as a great queen overcome by the
force of a brutish conqueror, might submit her arms to the
chains, without feeling herself less a queen and great, be-
cause the iron of a base victor grounded itself into her flesh.
Meeting my gaze with one unfathomable in its courage,
she said after a pause,—“Tell me where I stand ; let me
know the worst at once; I fear that I have not indeed
comprehended my own position."
wa


THE PROBLEM.
135
Rejoiced to hear her say this, I hastened to comply. I
began by placing before her the whole case as it appeared
to an unprejudiced person ; enlarged upon the causes of
suspicion, and pointed out in what 'regard some things
looked dark against her, which perhaps to her own mind
were easily explainable and of small account; tried to
make her see the importance of her decision and finally
wound up with an appeal. Would she not confide in
me ?
“But I thought you were satisfied ?" she inquired
trembling
“And so I am ; but I am but one, and I want the whole
world to view you as I do."
“I fear that can never be,” she said sadly. “The
finger of suspicion never forgets the way it has once pointed.
My name is tainted forever.”
“And you will submit to this when a word "
“I am thinking that any word of mine now, would
make very little difference,” she murmured.
I looked away, the vision of Mr. Fobbs in hiding be-
hind the curtains of the opposite house, recurring painfully
to my mind.
“If the affair looks as bad as you intimate,” pursued
she, “it is scarcely probable that Mr. Gryce will care much
for any interpretation of mine in regard to the matter."
“Mr. Gryce would be glad to know where you pro-
cured that key, if only to assist him in turning his inquiries
in the right direction."


136
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
She did not reply, and a weight settled again upon my
heart.
"It is worth your while to satisfy him," I pursued ; " and
though it may compromise some one you desire to shield—”
She rose, a light flaming suddenly across her face. “I
shall never divulge to any one how I came in possession of
that key.” And sitting again, she locked her hands in
fixed resolve before her.
I rose in my turn and paced the floor, the fang of a
deadly serpent striking deep down into my heart.
“Mr. Raymond, if the worst should come, and all who
love me should plead on bended knees for me to tell, I
should never do it.”
“Then,” said I, determined not to disclose my secret
thought, but equally resolved to find out if possible her
motive for this silence, "you desire to defeat the cause
of justice.”
She neither spoke nor moved.
“Miss Leavenworth,” I now said, “this determined
shielding of another at the expense of your own good name
is no doubt generous of you, but your friends and the
lovers of truth and justice cannot accept such a sacrifice."
She started haughtily. “Sir!” she said.
“If you will not assist us," I went on calmly but de-
terminedly, “we must do without your aid. That you were
the adopted child of Mr. Veeley's friend, would have been
sufficient to have nerved me to exert myself to the utmost
to clear your name from the shadows enveloping it; but


THE PROBLEM.
137
after the scene I have just witnessed above ; after the
triumphant assurance which you have forced upon me, not
only of your innocence, but your horror of the crime and
its consequences, I should feel myself less than a man,
if I did not sacrifice even your own good opinion in urging
your cause, and clearing your character from this foul
aspersion."
Again that heavy silence.
“What do you propose to do,” she asked at last.
Crossing the room, I stood before her. “I propose,”
said I, “ to relieve you utterly and forever from suspicion,
by finding out and revealing to the world, the true cul-
prit."
I expected to see her recoil, so positive had I become
by this time as to whom that culprit was. But instead of
that, she merely folded her hands still more tightly and
exclaimed :-
“I doubt if you will be able to do that, Mr. Raymond.”
“Doubt if I will be able to put my finger upon the
guilty man, or doubt if I will be able to bring him to
justice ?"
“I doubt,” she said with strong effort, “if any one
ever knows who is the guilty person in this case.”
“ There is one who knows,” I said with a desire to test
her.
“One?"
“ The girl Hannah is acquainted with the mystery of
that night's evil doings, Miss Leavenworth. Find Hannah,


138
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
and we find one who can point out to us the assassin of
your uncle.
“That is mere supposition,” she said ; but I saw the
blow had told.
“ Your cousin has offered a large reward for the girl, and
the whole country is on the look-out. Within a week we
shall see her in our midst.”
A change took place in her expression and bearing.
“The girl cannot help me,” she said.
Baffled by her manner, I drew back. “Is there any
thing or anybody that can?”.
She slowly looked away.
“Miss Leavenworth,” I continued with renewed
earnestness, "you have no brother to plead with you, you
have no mother to guide you, let me then entreat in de-
fault of nearer and dearer friends, that you will rely
sufficiently upon me to tell me one thing?”
“What is it?" she asked.
“Whether you took the paper imputed to you from
the library table.”
She did not instantly respond, but sat looking earnestly
before her with an intentness which seemed to argue that
she was weighing the question as well as her reply. Finally
turning toward me, she said,
“In answering you, I speak in confidence. Mr. Ray
mond, I did.”
Crushing back the sigh of despair that arose to my lips,
I went on.


THE PROBLEM.
139
CII
“I will not inquire what the paper was,”—she waved
her hand deprecatingly—“but this much more you will
tell me. Is that paper still in existence ? "
She looked me steadily in the face.
“It is not.”
I could with difficulty forbear showing my disappoint-
ment." Miss Leavenworth,” I now said, “it may seem
cruel for me to press you at this time ; nothing less than
my strong realization of the peril in which you stand,
would induce me to run the risk of incurring your dis-
pleasure, by asking what under other circumstances would
seem puerile and insulting questions. You have told me
one thing which I strongly desired to know, will you also
inform me what it was you heard that night while sitting
in your room, between the time of Mr. Harwell's going up
stairs and the closing of the library door of which you
made mention at the inquest ?”
I had pushed my inquiries too far, and I saw it imme-
diately.
“Mr. Raymond,” she returned, "influenced by my de-
sire not to appear utterly ungrateful to you, I have been
led to reply in confidence to one of your urgent appeals,
but I can go no further. Do not ask me then.”
Stricken to the heart by her look of reproach, I an-
swered with some sadness that her wishes should be re-
spected. “Not but what I intend to make every effort in
my power to discover the true author of this crime," said I:
" that is a sacred duty which I feel myself called upon to
SW
re.


140
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
perform ; but I will ask you no more questions nor urge
any further appeal upon you. What is done shall be ac-
complished without your assistance, and if I succeed in
what I here undertake, I will ask for no further reward
than this ; that you will then acknowledge what you must
now believe, my motives to have been pure and my action
disinterested."
“I am ready to acknowledge that to-day," she began,
but paused and looked with almost agonized entreaty in
my face. “Mr. Raymond, cannot you leave things as they
are? Won't you? I don't ask for assistance, nor do I want
it; I would rather—".
But I would not listen. “Guilt has no right to profit
by the generosity of the guiltless. The hand that struck
this blow shall not be accountable for the loss of a noble
woman's honor and happiness as well. I shall do what I
can, Miss Leavenworth.”
As I walked down the Avenue that night, feeling like
an adventurous traveller that in a moment of desperation
has set his foot upon a plank stretching in narrow per-
spective over a chasm of immeasurable depth, this problem
evolved itself from the shadows before me.
How, with no other clue than the persuasion that Elea-
nore Leavenworth was engaged in shielding another at the
expense of her own good name, I was to combat the pre-
judices of Mr. Gryce, find out the real assassin of Mr.
Leavenworth, and free an innocent woman from the sus-
picion that had, not without some show of reason, fallen
upon her?


HENRY CLAVERING.
141
I4I
BOOK II.
HENRY CLAVERING.
XIV.
MR. GRYCE AT HOME.
Nay, but hear me.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
That the guilty person for whom Eleanore Leaven-
worth stood ready to sacrifice herself, was one for whom
she had formerly cherished affection, I could no longer
doubt ; nothing less than love or the strong sense cf duty
growing out of that passion whether living or dead, seeming
to offer incentive enough for her action. Obnoxious as it
was to all my prejudices, one name alone, that of the com-
mon-place secretary with his sudden heats and changeful
manners, his odd ways and studied self-possession, would
recur to my mind whenever I asked myself who this person
could be.
Not that without some such light as had fallen upon
the affair through Eleanore's own behavior, I should have
selected this man as one in any way open to suspicion ;
the peculiarity of his manner at the inquest not being
marked enough to counteract the improbability of one in


142
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
his relations to the deceased, finding sufficient motive for a
crime so manifestly without favorable results to himself.
But if love had entered as a factor into the affair, what
might not be expected. James Harwell, simple amanuen-
sis to a retired tea-merchant, was one man; James Harwell
swayed by passion for a woman beautiful as Eleanore
Leavenworth, was another; and in placing him upon the
list of those parties open to suspicion, I felt that I was
only doing what was warranted by a proper consideration
of probabilities.
But between casual suspicion and actual proof, what a
gulf! To believe James Harwell capable of guilt, and to
find evidence enough to accuse him of it, were two very
different things. I felt myself instinctively shrink from
the task before I had fully made up my mind to attempt
it, some relenting thought of his unhappy position, if inno-
cent, forcing itself upon me, and making my very distrust
of him seem personally ungenerous if not absolutely un-
just. If I had liked the man better, I should not have
been so ready to look upon him with doubt.
But Eleanore must be saved at all hazards. Once de-
livered up to the blight of suspicion, who could tell what
the result might be ; the arrest of her person perhaps, a
thing which, once accomplished, would cast a shadow over
her young life that it would take more than time to
utterly dispel. The accusation of an impecunious secre-
tary would be less horrible than this. I determined lo
make an early call upon Mr. Gryce.


HENRY CLAVERING.
143
m
Meanwhile the contrasted pictures of Eleanore standing
with her hand upon the breast of the dead, her face up-
raised and reflecting the glory of the heaven she invoked,
and Mary feeing a short half hour later indignantly from
her presence, haunted me and kept me awake long after
midnight. It was like a double vision of light and dark-
ness that, while contrasting, neither assimilated nor har-
monized. I could not fee from it. Do what I would,
the two pictures followed me, filling my soul with alternate
hope and distrust, till I knew not whether to place my
hand with Eleanore on the breast of the dead and swear
implicit faith in her truth and purity, or to turn my face
like Mary, and fly from what I could neither comprehend
nor reconcile.
Expectant of difficulty I started next morning upon my
search for Mr. Gryce, with strong determination not to
allow myself to become flurried by disappointment nor
discouraged by premature failure. My business was to
save Eleanore Leavenworth, and to do that, it was reces-
sary for me to preserve not only my equanimity, but my
self-possession. The worst fear I anticipated, was that
matters would reach a crisis before I could acquire the
right, or obtain the opportunity to interfere. However, the
fact of Mr. Leavenworth's funeral being announced for
that day, gave me some comfort in that direction ; my
knowledge of Mr. Gryce being sufficient, as I thought, to
warrant me in believing that he would wait till after that
ceremony before proceeding to extreme measures.
CE
me measures.


144
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
nert
as
I do not know as I had any very definite ideas of what
a detective's home should be, but when I stood before the
neat three-story brick house to which I had been directed,
I could not but acknowledge there was something in the
aspect of its half-open shutters over closely drawn curtains
of spotless purity, highly suggestive of the character of its
inmate.
A pale looking youth with vivid locks of red hair hang-
ing straight down over either ear, answered my rather
nervous ring. To my inquiry as to whether Mr. Gryce was
in, he gave a kind of snort which might have meant no, but
which I took to mean yes.
“My name is Raymond, and I wish to see him.”
He gave me one glance that took in every detail of my
person and apparel, and pointed to a door at the head of
the stairs. Not waiting for further directions, I hastened
up, knocked at the door he had designated and went in.
The broad back of Mr. Gryce, stooping above a desk that
might have come over in the Mayflower, it was so old-
fashioned, confronted me.
“Well !” he exclaimed; “this is an honor.” And
rising, he opened with a squeak and shut with a bang the
door of an enormous stove that occupied the centre of the
room. “Rather chilly day, eh?”
“Yes,” I returned, eyeing him closely to see if he was
in a communicative mood. “But I have had but little
time to consider the state of the weather. My anxiety in
regard to this murder-”
roo


HENRY CLAVERING.
145
CS
“ To be sure,” he interrupted, fixing his eyes upon the
poker, though not with any hostile intention I am sure.
“A puzzling piece of business enough. But perhaps it is
otherwise to you. I see you have something to communi-
cate."
“ Yes," said I, “I have, though I doubt if it is of the
nature you expect. Mr. Gryce,” pursued I, drawing up a
little closer to his side, “since I saw you last, my con-
victions upon a certain point have been strengthened into
an absolute belief. The subject of your suspicions is an
innocent woman."
If I had expected him to betray any surprise at this, I
was destined to be disappointed. “That is a very pleas-
ing belief,” he murmured. “I honor you for entertaining
it, Mr. Raymond.”
I suppressed a movement of anger. “So thoroughly
is it mine," said I, determined to arouse him in some way,
" that I have come here to-day to ask you in the name of
justice and of common humanity, to suspend action in that
direction, till we can look around and see if there is not a
truer scent to go upon.”
But there was no more show of curiosity than before.
“Indeed !” exclaimed he, “that is a singular request to
come from a man like you."
I was not to be discomposed. “Mr. Gryce," I went
on. "a woman's name once tarnished remains so forever.
Eleanore Leavenworth is of too noble a make to be
thoughtlessly dealt with in a crisis so momentous as this.
IO


146
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
If you will give me your attention, I promise you shall not
regret it.”
He smiled and allowed his eyes to roam from the
poker to the arm of my chair. “Very well,” remarked he,
“I hear you; say on.”
I drew my notes from my pocket-book and laid them
on the table.
“What, memoranda !” he exclaimed. “Unsafe, very ;
never put your plans on paper."
Taking no heed to the interruption, I went on.
“Mr. Gryce, I have had opportunities which you have
lacked for studying this woman. I have seen her in a
position which no guilty person could occupy, and I am
assured beyond all doubt, that not only her hands, but her
heart, is pure from this crime. She may have some knowl-
edge of its secrets ; that I do not presume to deny. The
key seen in her possession would refute me if I did. But
what if she has? You can never desire to see so lovely a
being brought to shame for withholding information which
she evidently considers it her duty to keep back, when by
a little patient finesse we may succeed in our purposes
without it.”
“But,” interposed the detective, “ say this is so, how
are we to arrive at the knowledge we want, without follow-
ing out the only clue which has yet been given us ?”.
“ You will never reach it by following out any clue
given you by Eleanore Leavenworth."
His eyebrows lifted expressively, but he said nothing.


HENRY CLAVERING.
147
“Miss Eleanore Leavenworth has been used by someone
acquainted with her firmness, generosity, and perhaps love.
Let us discover who possesses sufficient power over her to
control her to this extent, and we find the man we seek.”
“Humph !" came from Mr. Gryce's compressed lips,
and no more.
Determined that he should speak, I waited.
“You have then some one in your mind;” remarked he
at last almost flippantly.
“I mention no names," I returned. “All I want is
further time.”
“You are then intending to make a personal business
of this matter?”
“ I am."
He gave a long, low whistle. “May I ask," he in-
quired at length, “whether you expect to work entirely
upon your own hook, or whether if a suitable coadjutor
were provided, you would disdain his assistance and slight
his advice."
“I desire nothing more than to have you for my col.
league.”
The smile upon his face deepened ironically. “ You
must feel very sure of yourself,” said he.
“I am very sure of Miss Leavenworth,” I retorted.
The reply seemed to please him. “Let us hear what
you propose doing?”.
I did not immediately answer. The truth was I had
formed no plans.
Ore


148
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ It seems to me,” he continued, “that you have under-
taken a rather difficult task for an amateur. Better leave
it to me, Mr. Raymond, better leave it to me.”
“I am sure," I returned, “ that nothing would please
me better"
“Not,” he interrupted, “but that a word from you now
and then would be welcome. I am not an egotist. I am
open to suggestions: as for instance now, if you could
conveniently inform me of all you have yourself seen and
heard in regard to this matter, I should be most happy to
listen.”
Relieved to find him so amenable, I asked myself what
I really had to tell ; not much that he would consider
vital. However, it would not do to hesitate now.
“Mr. Gryce," said I, “I have but few facts to give be-
yond those already known to you. Indeed it is not
so much facts I possess as convictions. That Eleanore
Leavenworth not only never committed this crime, but
was in utter ignorance of it until its completion, I am
assured. That the real perpetrator is likewise known
to her, I am equally certain, and that for some reason
she considers it a sacred duty to shield the assassin
even at the risk of her own safety, follows as a matter of
course from the facts. Now with such data, it cannot be
a very difficult task for you or me to work out satisfactorily
to our own minds at least, who this person can be. A
little more knowledge of the family—".
“You know nothing of its secret history then?”
assu
wn


HENRY CLAVERING.
149
“Nothing."
“Do not even know whether those girls are engaged
to be married, or possess lovers ?”
“I do not,” returned I, rather wincing at this direct
putting into words of my own inner thought.
He remained a moment silent. “Mr. Raymond," cried
he at last, "have you any idea of the disadvantages under
which a detective labors ? For instance now, you imagine
that I can insinuate myself into all sorts of society per-
haps, but you are mistaken. Strange as it may appear, I
have never by any possibility of means succeeded with one
class of persons at all. I cannot pass myself off for a
gentleman. Tailors and barbers are no good ; I am always
found out.”
He looked so dejected that I could scarcely forbear
smiling, notwithstanding my secret care and anxiety.
"I have even employed a French valet, who under-
stood dancing and whiskers, but it was all of no avail.
The first gentleman I approached stared at me, real
gentleman I mean, none of your American dandies, and I
had no stare to return; I had forgotten that emergency in
my confabs with Pierre Camille Marie Make-face.”
Amused, but a little discomposed by this sudden turn
in the conversation, I looked at Mr Gryce inquiringly.
“Now you, I dare say, have no trouble” he exclaimed,
“was born one, perhaps. Can even ask a lady to dance
without blushing, eh?”
“ Well,” I commenced-


150
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Just so," he replied, “now I can't. I can enter
a house, bow to the mistress of it, let her be as elegant
as she will, so long as I have a writ of arrest in my
hand or some such professional matter upon my mind,
but when it comes to visiting in kid gloves, raising a
glass of champagne in response to a toast—and such
like, I am absolutely good for nothing." And he plunged
his two hands into his hair, and looked dolefully at the
head of the cane I carried in my hand. “But it is much
the same with the whole of us. When we are in want of a
gentleman to work for us, we have to go outside of our
profession."
I thought I began to see what he was driving at, but
held my peace, vaguely conscious that I was likely to prove
a necessity to him after all.
“Mr. Raymond,” he now said almost abruptly,“ do
you know a gentleman by the name of Clavering at present
residing at the Hoffman house?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“He is very polished in his manners : would you mind
making his acquaintance?"
I followed Mr. Gryce's example and stared at the
chimney-piece. “I cannot answer, till I understand mat-
ters a little better," I returned at length.
“There is not much to understand,” he replied. “Mr.
Henry Clavering, a gentleman and a man of the world,
resides at the Hoffman House. He is a stranger in town,
without being strange; drives, walks, smokes, but never


HENRY CLAVERING.
151
visits; looks at the ladies but was never seen to bow to one.
In short, a person whom it is desirable to know, but whom
being a proud man with something of the old world pre-
judice against Yankee freedom and forwardness, I could
no more get near to, than I could the Emperor of
Austria."
“And you wish-".
“He would make a very agreeable companion for a
rising young lawyer of good family and undoubted respect-
ability. I have no doubt that if you yourself undertook
to cultivate him, you would find him well worth the
trouble."
“But-"
“ Might even desire to take him into familiar relations ;
-by degrees you know-confide in him, and—”.
“Mr. Gryce," I interrupted hastily, “I can never
consent to plot for any man's friendship for the sake of
betraying him to the police.”
“It is essential to your plans to make the acquaintance
of Mr. Clavering,” he replied dryly.
“Oh,”I returned, a light breaking in upon me," he
has some connection with this case then?”
Mr. Gryce smoothed his coat-sleeve thoughtfully. “I
don't know as it will be necessary for you to betray him.
You wouldn't object to being introduced to him ?"
"No."
“ Nor if you found him pleasant, to converse with
him ?”
ce


152
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“No."
“Not even if in the course of conversation, you should
come across something that might serve as a clue in your
efforts to save Eleanore Leavenworth?”.
The no I uttered this time was less assured; the part of
a spy was the very last one I desired to play in the coming
drama.
“ Well then,” he went on, ignoring the doubtful tone in
which my assent had been given, “I advise you to imme
diately take up your quarters at the Hoffman House."
“I doubt if that would do,” I said. “If I am not mis-
taken, I have already seen this gentleman and spoken to
him.”
" Where?”
“ Describe him first.”
“Well, he is tall, finely formed, of very upright carriage,
with a handsome dark face, brown hair streaked with gray,
a piercing eye, and a smooth address. A very imposing
personage, I assure you."
“I have reason to think I have seen him," I re-
turned ; and in a few words told him when and where.
“ Humph!” said he at the conclusion, “he is evidently
as much interested in you, as we in him, how's that? I
think I see,” he cried again after a moment's thought.
“Pity you spoke to him ; may have created an unfavorable
impression, and every thing depends upon your meeting
without any distrust."
He rose and paced the floor.


HENRY CLAVERING.
153
“ Well, we must work slow, that is all. Give him a
chance to see you in other and better lights. Drop into
the Hoffman House reading room. Talk with the best
men you meet while there, but not too much or too indis-
criminately. Mr. Clavering is fastidious, and will not feel
honored by the attentions of one who is hail fellow well
met with everybody. Show yourself for what you are, and
leave all advances to him ; he'll make them.”
“ Supposing we are under a mistake, and the man I
met on the corner of Thirty-seventh Street, was not Mr.
Clavering ?”
“I should be greatly. surprised, that's all.”
Not knowing what further objection to make, I re-
mained silent.
“And this head of mine would have to put on its
thinking-cap,” he pursued jovially.
“Mr. Gryce,” said I, anxious to show that all this
talk about an unknown party had not served to put my
own plans from my mind, “there is one person of whom
we have not spoken.”
“No ?” he exclaimed softly, wheeling around until
his broad back confronted me. “And who may that be?”
“Why who but Mr—," I could get no further. What
right had I to mention any man's name in this connection,
unless I possessed sufficient evidence against him to make
such mention justifiable. “I beg your pardon,” said I,
“but I think I will hold to my first impulse and speak no
names."


154
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
LS.
“Harwell ?” he ejaculated easily.
The quick blush rising to my face, involuntarily as-
sented.
“I see no reason why we shouldn't speak of him," he
went on; "that is if there is any thing to be gained by it."
“ His testimony at the inquest was honest you think ?"
“It has not been disproved.”
“He is a peculiar man."
“And so am I," the detective returned.
I felt myself slightly non-plussed, and conscious of ap.
pearing at a disadvantage, lifted my hat from the table
and prepared to take my leave, but suddenly thinking of
Hannah, turned and asked if there was any news of her.
He seemed to debate with himself, hesitating so long
that I began to doubt if this man intended to confide in
me after all, when suddenly he brought his two hands
down before him and exclaimed vehemently,
“The evil one himself is in this business. If the earth
had opened and swallowed up this girl, she couldn't have
more effectually disappeared."
I experienced a sinking of the heart. Eleanore had
said, “ Hannah can do nothing for me." Could it be that the
girl was indeed gone, and forever ?
“I have innumerable agents at work, to say nothing of
the general public, and yet not so much as a whisper has
come to me in regard to her whereabouts or situation. I
am only afraid we shall find her floating in the river some
fine morning, without a confession in her pocket.”
e mor


HENRY CLAVERING.
155
CO
“Every thing hangs upon that girl's testimony,” I re-
marked.
He gave a short grunt. “What does Miss Leavenworth
say about it?"
“ That the girl cannot help her.”
I thought he looked a trifle surprised at this, but he
covered it with a nod and an exclamation. “She must be
found for all that,” said he ; "and shall, if I have to send
out Q.
“Q?”
*An agent of mine who is a living interrogation point;
so we call him Q, which is short for query.” Then as I
turned again to go ; “When the contents of the will are
made known, come to me."
The will I I had forgotten the will.


156
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XV.
WAYS OPENING.
It is not and it cannot come to good.
HAMLET.
I ATTENDED the funeral of Mr. Leavenworth, but did not
see the ladies either before or after the ceremony. I how-
ever had a few moments' conversation with Mr Harwell,
which, without eliciting any thing new, provided me with
food for abundant conjecture. For he had asked, almost
at first greeting, if I had seen the Telegram of the night be-
fore, and when I responded in the affirmative, turned such
a look of mingled distress and appeal upon me, that I was
tempted to ask how such a frightful insinuation against a
young lady of reputation and breeding, could ever have got
into the papers. It was his reply that struck me.
“That the guilty party might by driven by remorse to
own himself the true culprit, I suppose."
A curious remark to come from a person who had no
knowledge or suspicion of the criminal and his character;
and I would have pushed the conversation further, but
the secretary, who was a man of few words, drew off at this,
and could be induced to say no more. Evidently it was
my business to cultivate Mr. Clavering or any one else, who
nve


HENRY CLAVERING.
157
could throw any light upon the secret history of these
girls.
That evening I received notice that Mr Veeley had ar-
rived home but was in no condition to consult with me
upon so painful a subject as the murder of Mr Leaven-
worth. Also a line from Eleanore giving me her address
but requesting me at the same time not to call unless I had
something of importance to communicate, as she was too
ill to receive visitors. The little note affected me. Ill,
alone and in a strange home, 'twas pitiful !
The next day, pursuant to the wishes of Mr. Gryce, I
stepped into the Hoffman House and took a seat in the
reading room. I had been there but a few moments when
a gentleman entered whom I immediately recognized as
the same I had spoken to on the corner of Thirty-seventh
street and Sixth Avenue. He must have remembered me
also, for he seemed to be slightly embarrassed at seeing me,
but recovering himself took up a paper and soon became
to all appearance lost in its contents, though I could feel
his handsome black eye upon me studying my features,
figure, apparel and movements with a degree of interest
that astonished as much as it disconcerted me. I felt that
it would be injudicious on my part to return his scrutiny,
anxious as I was to meet his eye and learn what emotion
had so fired his curiosity in regard to a perfect stranger; so
I rose and crossing to an old friend of mine who sat at a
table opposite, commenced a desultory conversation, in
the course of which I took occasion to ask if he knew who


158
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the handsome stranger was. Dick Furbish was a society
man and knew everybody.
“His name is Clavering, and he comes from London.
I don't know any thing more about him, though he is
everywhere you go, if you except private houses. He has
not been received into society yet ; waiting for letters of
introduction, perhaps."
“A gentleman ?"
“ Undoubtedly.”
“One you speak to ?”
“O, yes; I talk to him, but it's little he says to me."
I could not help smiling at the grimace with which
Dick accompanied this remark. “Which same goes to
prove," he went on, “ that he is the real thing."
Laughing this time outright, I left him, and in a few
minutes sauntered from the room.
As I mingled again with the crowd on Broadway, I
found myself wondering immensely over this slight experi-
ence. That this unknown gentleman from London, who
went everywhere except into private houses, could be in
any way connected with the affair I had so at heart,
seemed not only improbable but absurd, and for the first
time I felt tempted to doubt the sagacity of Mr. Gryce in
recommending him to my attention.
The next day I repeated the experiment, but with no
greater success than before. Mr. Clavering came into
the room, but seeing me, did not remain. I began to
realize it was no easy matter to make his acquaintance.


HENRY CLAVERING.
159
To atone for my disappointment I called on Mary Leav-
enworth in the evening. She received me with almost a
sister-like familiarity.
“Ah,” cried she, after introducing me to an elderly
lady at her side, --some connection of the family, I believe,
who had come to remain with her for awhile,-"you are
here to tell me Hannah is found; is it not so ?”
I shook my head, sorry to disappoint her. “ No," said
I, "not yet.”
“But Mr. Gryce was here to-day, and he told me that he
hoped she would be heard from within twenty-four hours."
“Mr. Gryce here!”.
“Yes ; came to report to me how matters were pro-
gressing,-not that they seemed to have advanced very
far," she continued mournfully.
“You could hardly have expected that yet," returned I.
'You must not be so easily discouraged."
“But I cannot help it; every day, every hour that
passes in this uncertainty, is like a mountain weight
here ;” and she laid one trembling hand upon her bosom.
“I would have the whole world at work if it were possible.
I would leave no stone unturned ; 1—".
“What would you do?” I murmured.
“O, I don't know," cried she, her whole manner sud-
denly changing ; “nothing perhaps.” Then before I
could reply to this—“Have you seen Eleanore to-day?”
I answered in the negative.
She did not seem satisfied, but waited till her friend


160
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
left the room before saying more. Then with an earnest
look inquired if I knew whether Eleanore was well.
“I fear she is not,” I returned.
“ It is a great trial to me,” she murmured, “ Eleanore
being away. Not,” resumed she, noting, perhaps, my in-
credulous look, “that I would have you think I wish to
disclaim my share in bringing about the present unhappy
state of things. I am willing to acknowledge that I was
the first to propose a separation. But it is none the
easier to bear on that account.”
“ It is not as hard for you as for her," said I.
“Not as hard ? Why? because she is left compara-
tively poor while I am rich-is that what you would say ?
Ah,” she went on without waiting for my answer," would
that I could persuade Eleanore to share my riches with
me. Willingly would I bestow upon her the half I have
received ; but I fear she could never be induced to accept
it."
“Under the circumstances it would be wiser that she
should not.”
"Just what I thought," Mary returned ; “yet it would
ease me of a great weight if she would. This fortune
suddenly thrown into my lap, sits like an incubus upon
me, Mr. Raymond. When the will was read to-day which
makes me the possessor of so much wealth, I could not
but feel that a heavy, blinding pall had settled upon me,
spotted with blood and woven of horrors. Ah, how differ-
ent from the feelings with which I have been accustomed


HENRY CLAVERING.
161
to anticipate this day. For, Mr. Raymond,” she went on
with a hurried gasp, “dreadful as it seems now, I have
been reared to look forward to this hour with pride, if not
with actual longing Money has been made so much of
in my small world. Not that I wish in this evil time of
retribution to lay blame upon any one, least of all upon
my uncle, but from the day twelve years ago when for the
first time he took us in his arms, and looking down upon
our childish faces, exclaimed, 'The light-haired one pleases
me best; she shall be my heiress,'— I have been petted,
cajoled, and spoiled ; called little princess, and Uncle's
darling, till it is only strange that I retain in this prejudiced
breast, any of the impulses of generous womanhood ; yes,
though I was aware from the first, that whim alone had
raised this distinction between myself and cousin ; a dis-
tinction which superior beauty, worth or accomplishments
could never have drawn, Eleanore being more than my
equal in all these things." Pausing, she choked back the
sudden sob that rose in her throat, with an effort at self-
control that was at once touching and admirable. Then
while her eyes stole to my face, murmured in a low, ap-
pealing voice,-“If I have faults, you see there is some
slight excuse for them ; arrogance, vanity and selfishness
being considered in the gay young heiress as no more than
so many assertions of a laudable dignity. Ah, ah,” she
exclaimed bitterly, “money alone has been the ruin of us
all!” Then with a falling of her voice,—“And now it has
come to me with its heritage of evil, and I-I would give
II


162
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
it all for—But this is weakness. I have no right to afflict
you with my griefs. Pray forget all I have said, Mr.
Raymond, or regard my complaints as the utterances of
an unhappy girl loaded down with sorrows and oppressed
by the weight of many perplexities and terrors.”
“But I do not wish to forget,” replied I. “You have
spoken some good words, manifested much noble emotion.
Your possessions cannot but prove a blessing to you if you
enter upon them with such feelings as these.”
But with a quick gesture she replied, “ Impossible !
they cannot prove a blessing.” Then as if startled at her
own words, bit her lip and hastily added,—“Very great
wealth is never a blessing.
“And now," said she with a total change of manner,
“I wish to address you on a subject which may strike you
as ill-timed, but which, nevertheless, it is essential for me
to mention, if the purpose I have at heart, is ever to be
accomplished. My uncle, as you know, was engaged at
the time of his death, in writing a book on Chinese cus-
toms and prejudices. It was a work which he was anxious
to see published, and naturally I desire to carry out his
wishes : but in order to do so, I find it necessary not only
to interest myself in the matter now,-Mr. Harwell's ser-
vices being required and it being my wish to dismiss that
gentleman as soon as possible—but to find some one com-
petent to supervise its completion. Now I have heard,
-I have been told, that you were the one of all others
to do this, and though it is difficult if not improper for me


HENRY CLAVERING.
163
an
to ask so great a favor of one who but a week ago was a
perfect stranger to me, it would afford me the keenest
pleasure if you would consent to look over this manuscript
and tell me what is necessary to be done."
The timidity with which these words were uttered,
proved her to be in earnest, and I could not but wonder
at the strange coincidence of this request with my secret
wishes; it having been a question with me for some time
how I was to gain free access to this house without in any
way compromising either its inmates or myself. I did not
know then, what I afterwards learned, that Mr. Gryce had
been the one to recommend me to her favor in this re-
spect. But whatever satisfaction I may have experienced,
I felt myself in duty bound to plead my incompetence for
a task so entirely out of the line of my profession, and to
suggest the employment of some one better acquainted
with such matters than myself. But she would not listen
to me.
“Mr. Harwell has notes and memoranda in plenty,” she
exclaimed, “and can give you all the information neces-
sary. You will have no difficulty, indeed, you will not."
“ But cannot Mr. Harwell himself do all that is re-
quisite? He seems to be a clever and diligent young
man.”
But she shook her head. “He thinks he can," she
murmured, “but I know Uncle never trusted him with the
composition of so much as a single sentence ; and I wish
to do just as he would have done in this case."


164
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“But perhaps he will not be pleased,-Mr. Harwell,
I mean—with the intrusion of a stranger into his work.”
She opened her eyes with astonishment. “That
makes no difference,” she said ; " Mr. Harwell is in my
pay and has nothing to say about it. But he will not
object. I have already consulted him and he expresses
himself as satisfied with the arrangement."
“ Very well,” said I, “then I will promise to consider
the subject. I can at any rate look over the manuscript
and give you my opinion in regard to its condition.”
“O, thank you,” said she, with the prettiest gesture of
satisfaction. “How kind you are, and what can I ever do
to repay you? But would you like to see Mr. Harwell
himself?” and she moved towards the door, but suddenly
paused, whispering, with a short shudder of remembrance,
“He is in the library; do you mind ? "
Crushing down the sick qualm that arose at the men-
tion of that spot, I replied in the negative.
“The papers are all there, and he can work better in
his old place, he says, than anywhere else; but if you wish,
I can call him down.”
But I would not listen to it, and myself led the way to
the foot of the stairs.
“I have sometimes thought I would lock up that
room,” she went on, hurriedly, “but something restrains
me. I can no more do so than I can leave this house ; a
power beyond myself forces me to confront all its horrors.
And yet," she went on, “I suffer continually from terror.


HENRY CLAVERING,
165
Sometimes in the darkness of the night-But,” she sud-
denly cried, “I will not distress you. I have already
said too much ; come," and with a sudden lift of the head
she mounted the stairs.
Mr. Harwell was seated, when we entered that fatal
room, in the one chair of all others that I expected to see
unoccupied, and as I beheld his meager figure bending
where such a little while before his eyes had encountered
the outstretched form of his murdered employer, I could
not but marvel over the unimaginativeness of the man,
who, in the face of such memories, could not only appro-
priate that very spot for his own use, but pursue his avo-
cations there with so much calmness and evident precis-
ion. But in another moment I discovered that the dispo-
sition of the light in the room made that one seat the only
desirable one for his purpose, and instantly my wonder
changed to admiration at this quiet surrender of personal
feeling to the requirements of necessity.
He looked up mechanically, as we came in, but did not
rise, his countenance wearing the absorbed expression
which bespeaks the preoccupied mind.
“He is utterly oblivious,” Mary whispered; “ that is a
way of his. I doubt if he knows who or what it is that
has disturbed him.” And advancing into the room, she
passed across his line of vision as if to call attention to
herself, and said, “I have brought Mr. Raymond up stairs
to see you, Mr. Harwell. He has been so kind as to ac-
cede to my wishes in regard to the completion of the manu-
script now before you."
rre
rso


166
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Slowly Mr. Harwell rose, wiped his pen and put it
away, manifesting, however, a reluctance in doing so, that
proved this interference to be in reality any thing but
agreeable to him. Observing this, I did not wait for him
to speak, but took up the pile of manuscript which I saw
arranged in one mass on the table, saying,
“This seems to be very clearly written; if you will
excuse me, I will glance over it and see something of its
general character.”
He bowed, uttered a word or so of acquiescence, then,
as Mary left the room, awkwardly reseated himself and
took up his pen.
Instantly the manuscript and all connected with it van-
ished from my thoughts, and Eleanore, her situation and
the mystery surrounding this family, returned upon me with
renewed force. Looking the Secretary steadily in the
face, I remarked,
“I am very glad of this opportunity of seeing you a
moment alone, Mr. Harwell, if only for the purpose of say-
ing—"
“ Any thing in regard to the murder ?”
“ Yes~" I began.
“ Then,” replied he respectfully but firmly, "you must
pardon me. It is a disagreeable subject which I cannot
bear to think of, much less discuss.”
Disconcerted and what was more, convinced of the
impossibility of obtaining any information from this man,
I abandoned the attempt, and taking up the manuscript


HENRY CLAVERING.
167
once more, endeavored to master in some small degree the
nature of its contents. Succeeding beyond my hopes, I
opened a short conversation with him in regard to it, and
finally, coming to the conclusion I could accomplish what
Miss Leavenworth desired, left him and descended again
to the reception room.
When, an hour or so later, I withdrew from the house,
it was with the feeling that one obstacle had been removed
from my path at all events. If I failed, it would not be
from lack of opportunity of studying the inmates of this
dwelling.


168
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XVI.
THE WILL OF A MILLIONAIRE.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to Heaven.
All's Well THAT ENDS WELL.
The next morning's Tribune contained a synopsis of
Mr. Leavenworth's will. Its provisions were a surprise to
me ; for while the bulk of his immense estate was, ac-
cording to the general understanding given to his niece,
Mary, it appeared by a codicil attached to his will some
five years before, that Eleanore was not entirely forgotten,
a handsome bequest, though not a large one, having been
left her. After listening to the various comments of my
associates on the subject, I proceeded to the house of Mr.
Gryce in obedience to his request to call upon him as soon
as possible after the publication of the will.
“ Good-morning," he remarked as I entered, but
whether addressing me or the frowning top of the desk
before which he was sitting it would be difficult to say.
“Won't you sit?" nodding with a curious back movement
of his head towards a chair in his rear.
I drew up the chair to his side. “I am curious to
know," I remarked, “what you have to say about this will
and its probable effect upon the matters we have in hand.”


HENRY CLAVERING.
169
sessº I
“ What is your own idea in regard to it?".
“Well, I think upon the whole it will make but little
difference in public opinion. Those who thought Eleanore
guilty before, will feel that they possess now, greater
cause than ever to doubt her innocence; while those
who have hitherto hesitated to suspect her, will not con-
sider that the comparatively small amount bequeathed
her, would constitute an adequate motive for so great a
crime.”
“ You have heard men talk; what seems to be the gen-
eral opinion among those you converse with ?”
“ That the motive of the tragedy will be found in the
partiality shown in so singular a will, though how, they
do not profess to know."
Mr. Gryce suddenly became interested in one of the
small drawers before him.
“ And all this has not set you thinking ? ” said he.
“ Thinking,” returned I. “I don't know what you
mean. I am sure I have done nothing but think for the
last three days. 12"
“Of course of course," cried he. “I didn't mean
to say any thing disagreeable. And so you have seen Mr.
Clavering?”
“ Just seen him, no more.”
“ And are you going to assist Mr. Harwell in finishing
Mr. Leavenworth's book ?”.
“ How did you learn that ? ”
He only smiled.
mea


170
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ Yes," said I ;“Miss Leavenworth has requested me
to do her that little favor.”
" She is a queenly creature !” exclaimed he in a burst
of enthusiam. Then with an instant return to his business-
like tone—" You are going to have opportunities, Mr.
Raymond. Now, there are two things I want you to find
out; first, what is the connection between these ladies and
Mr. Clavering—"
“ There is a connection, then ?"
"Undoubtedly. And secondly, what is the cause of
the unfriendly feeling which evidently exists between the
cousins."
I drew back and pondered the position offered me. A
spy in a fair woman's house! How could I reconcile it
with my natural instincts as a gentleman ?
“ Cannot you find some one more suitable, to learn
these secrets for you ! ” I asked at length. “ The part of
a spy is any thing but agreeable to my feelings, I assure
you.
Mr. Gryce's brows fell.
“I will assist Mr. Harwell in his efforts to arrange Mr.
Leavenworth's manuscript for the press," I said ; " I will
give Mr. Clavering an opportunity to form my acquaint-
ance, and I will listen if Miss Leavenworth chooses to
make me her confidant in any way. But any hearkening
at doors, surprises, unworthy feints or ungentlemanly sub-
terfuges, I herewith disclaim as outside of my province:
my task being to find out what I can in an open way, and


HENRY CLAVERING.
171
yours to search into the nooks and corners of this most
wretched business.”
“In other words, you are to play the hound, and I the
mole ; just so, I know what belongs to a gentleman,”
“ And now,” said I, “what news of Hannah."
He shook both hands high in the air. “ None," cried
he.
ven
Ona
MI
re
I cannot say I was greatly surprised that evening, when
upon descending from an hour's labor with Mr. Harwell,
I encountered Miss Leavenworth standing at the foot of
the stairs. There had been something in her bearing the
night before, which prepared me for another interview this
evening, though her manner of commencing it was a sur-
prise. “Mr. Raymond,” said she, looking down with an
appearance of embarrassment, “ I want to ask you a
question. I believe that you are a good man and will
answer it conscientiously—as a brother would,” she mur-
mured, lifting her eyes for a moment to my face.“ I know
it will sound strange, but remember that I have no ad.
viser but you, and I must ask some one. Mr. Raymond,
do you think a person could do something that was very
wrong and yet grow to be thoroughly good afterwards ?”
“ Certainly," I replied, “ if he were truly sorry for his
fault.”
“ But say it was more than a fault ; say it was an
actual harm ; would not the memory of that one evil
hour cast a shadow over the life which the soul could
never escape from?”
Ini


172
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ That depends," said I, "upon the nature of the harm
and its effect upon others. If one had irreparably injured
a fellow-being, it would be hard, I should think, to live a
happy life afterwards; though the fact of not living a
happy life ought to be no reason why one should not live
a good one."
“But to live a good life would it be necessary to reveal
the evil you had done? Cannot one go on and do right
without confessing to the world that he had once commit-
ted a great wrong?”
“Yes, unless by its confession he can in some way
make reparation.”
My answer seemed to trouble her. Drawing back, she
stood for one moment in a thoughtful attitude before me,
her beauty shining with almost a statuesque splendor in
the glow of the porcelain-shaded lamp at her side. Nor,
though she presently roused herself, leading the way into
the drawing-room with 2. gesture that was allurement it-
self, did she recur to this topic again, but rather seemed
to strive in the conversation that followed, to make me
forget what had already passed between us. That she
did not succeed, was owing to my intense and unfailing
interest in her cousin.
As I descended the stoop I saw Thomas, the butler,
leaning over the area gate. Immediately I was seized with
an impulse to interrogate him in regard to a matter which
had more or less interested me ever since the inquest, and
that was, who was the Mr. Robbins who had called upon
e


HENRY CLAVERING.
173
Eleanore the night of the murder ? But Thomas was de-
cidedly uncommunicative. He remembered such a person
called, but could not describe his looks any further than
to say that he was not a small man,
I did not press the matter.


174
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XVII.
THE BEGINNING OF GREAT SURPRISES.
Vous regardez une étoile pour deux motifs, parce qu'elle est lumineuse et parce
qu'elle est impénétrable. Vous avez auprès de vous un plus doux rayonnement et un
plus grand mystère, la femme.
LES MISERABLBS.
And now followed days in which I seemed to make
little or no progress. Mr. Clavering, disturbed perhaps
by my presence, forsook his usual haunts, thus depriving
me of all opportunity of making his acquaintance in any
natural manner, while the evenings spent at Miss Leaven-
worth's were productive of little else than constant sus-
pense and uneasiness.
The manuscript required less revision than I supposed,
Mr. Leavenworth being one of the men who believe in fin-
ishing as you go, but in the course of making such few
changes as were necessary, I had ample opportunity of
studying the character of Mr. Harwell. I found him to be
neither more nor less than an excellent amanuensis. Stiff,
unbending, and sombre, but true to his duty and reliable
in its performance, I learned to respect him, and even to
like him ; and this, too, though I saw the liking was not
reciprocated, whatever the respect may have been. He
never spoke of Eleanore Leavenworth or, indeed, mentioned
the family or its trouble in any way, till I began to feel
that all this reticence had a cause deeper than the nature
ere
eces


HENRY CLAVERING.
175
of the man, and that if he did speak, it would be to some
purpose. This suspicion of course, kept me restlessly
eager in his presence. I could not forbear giving him sly
glances now and then, to see how he acted when he be-
lieved himself unobserved, but he was ever the same ; a
passive, diligent, unexcitable worker.
This continual beating against a stone wall, for thus I
felt it to be, became at last almost unendurable. Clavering
shy, and the Secretary unapproachable-how was I to gain
any thing? The short interviews I had with Mary, did not
help matters. Haughty, constrained, feverish, pettish,
grateful, appealing, every thing at once and never twice
the same, I learned to dread, even while I coveted an in-
terview. She appeared to be passing through some crisis
which occasioned her the keenest suffering. I have seen
her when she thought herself alone, throw up her hands
with the gesture which we use to ward off a coming evil,
or shut out some hideous vision. I have likewise beheld
her standing with her proud head abased, her nervous
hands drooping, her whole form sinking and inert, as if
the pressure of a weight she could neither upbear nor cast
aside, had robbed her even of the show of resistance. But
that was only once. Ordinarily she was at least stately in
her trouble. Even when the softest appeal came into her
eyes, she stood erect, and retained her expression of con-
scious power. Even the night she met me in the hall with
feverish cheeks, and lips trembling with eagerness, only to
turn and fly again without giving utterance to what she
1


176
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
had to say, she comported herself with a fiery dignity that
was well nigh imposing.
That all this meant something, I was sure, and so I kept
my patience alive with the hope that some day she would
make a revelation. Those quivering lips would not always
remain closed; the secret involving Eleanore's honor and
happiness would be divulged by this restless being, if by
no one else. Nor was the memory of that extraordinary,
if not cruel accusation I had heard her make, enough to
destroy this hope—for hope it had grown to be—so that I
found myself insensibly shortening my time with Mr. Har-
well in the library, and extending my tête-à-tête visits with
Mary in the reception-room, till the imperturbable Sec-
retary was forced to complain that he was often left for
hours without work.
But as I say, days passed and a second Monday evening
came round without seeing me any further advanced upon
the problem I had set myself to solve, than I was two weeks
before. The subject of the murder had not even been
broached; nor was Hannah spoken of, though I observed
the papers were not allowed to languish an instant upon
the stoop; mistress and servants betraying equal interest
in their contents. All this was strange to me. It was as
if you saw a group of human beings eating, drinking and
sleeping upon the sides of a volcano hot with a late eruption
and trembling with the birth of a new one. I longed to
break this silence as we shiver glass, by shouting the name
of Eleanore through those gilded rooms and satin-draped


HENRY CLAVERING.
177
veny
vestibules. I felt an insane impulse to tear up the very
floors, and rend the walls, as if they could tell me, if they
would, what I so yearned to know. But this Monday
evening I was in a calmer mood. The day before, I had
passed her house, and caught the glimpse of a face at a
window, that was sweet and sad enough to nerve me for
more than one week of disappointment. I determined to
expect nothing from my visits to Mary Leavenworth's
house, and entered it upon the eve in question with an
equanimity such as I had not experienced since the first
day I passed under its unhappy portals.
But when upon nearing the reception-room I saw Mary
pacing the floor with the air of one who is restlessly
awaiting something or somebody, I took a sudden resolu-
tion, and advancing towards her, said, “Do I see you
alone, Miss Leavenworth?”
She paused in her hurried action, blushed and bowed,
but contrary to her usual custom did not bid me enter.
“Will it be too great an intrusion on my part, if I ven-
ture to come in ?" I asked.
Her glance flashed uneasily to the clock, and she seemed
about to excuse herself, but suddenly yielded, and drawing
up a chair before the fire, motioned me towards it. Though
she endeavored to appear calm, I vaguely felt that I
had chanced upon her in one of her most agitated moods,
and that I had only to broach the subject I had in mind,
to behold that haughty aspect disappear before me like
melting snow. I also felt that I had but few moments in
I 2


178
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
which to do it. I accordingly plunged immediately into
the subject.
“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, “in obtruding upon you
to-night, I have a purpose other than that of giving myself
a pleasure. I have come to make an appeal.”
Instantly I saw that in some way I had started wrong.
“An appeal to make to me?" she asked, breathing coldness
from every feature of her face.
“Yes,” I went on with passionate recklessness.
“ Balked in every other endeavor to learn the truth, I have
come to you whom I believe to be noble at the core, for
that help which seems likely to fail us in every other direc-
tion; for the word which, if it does not absolutely save your
cousin, will at least put us upon the track of what will.”
“I do not understand what you mean," returned she,
slightly shrinking.
“Miss Leavenworth,” pursued I, “it is needless for me
to tell you in what position your cousin stands. You who re-
member both the form and drift of the questions put to her
at the inquest, comprehend it all without any explanation
from me. But what you may not know is this, that unless
she is speedily relieved from the suspicion which justly or
not has attached itself to her name, the consequences which
such suspicion entails, must fall upon her, and "
“Good God ! ”she cried, "you do not mean that she will
be"
“Subject to arrest ? Yes."
It was a blow. Shame. horror and anguish, were in


HENRY CLAVERING.
179
every line of her white face. “And all because of that
key!” she murmured.
“Key? How did you know any thing about a key?"
“Why,” said she, fushing painfully, “I cannot say:
didn't you tell me?"
“No," returned I.
“ The papers, then ?".
“The papers have never mentioned it."
She grew more and more agitated. “I thought everyone
knew. No I did not, either," exclaimed she, in a sudden
burst of shame and penitence. “I knew it was a secret,
but-O Mr. Raymond it was Eleanore herself who told
me."
“ Eleanore ?"
“Yes, that last evening she was here ; we were together
in the drawing-room.”
“What did she tell ?"
“That the key to the library had been seen in her pos-
session.”
I could scarcely conceal my. incredulity. Eleanore,
conscious of the suspicion with which her cousin regarded
her, inform that cousin of a fact which seemed to give
weight to her suspicion ! I could not believe this.
“But you knew it?” Mary went on. “I have revealed
nothing that I should have kept secret ?".
“No," said I ;“and, Miss Leavenworth, it is this thing
which makes your cousin's position absolutely dangerous.
It is a fact that, left unexplained, must ever link her name


182
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
nothing of Eleanore's personal feelings. The mystery
must be solved by some one besides me.”
I changed my tactics.
“When Eleanore confessed to you that the missing key
had been seen in her possession, did she likewise inform
you where she obtained it, and for what reason she was
hiding it?"
“No."
“Merely told you the fact without any explanation ?”
“ Yes."
“Was not that a strange piece of gratuitous information
for her to give one who, but a few hours before, had accused
her to the face of committing a deadly crime?"
“What do you mean," she asked, her voice suddenly
sinking.
“ You will not deny, that you were once not only ready
to believe her guilty, but that you actually charged her
with having perpetrated this crime.”
“ Explain yourself," she cried.
“Miss Leavenworth, do you not remember what was
said in that room up stairs, when you were alone with your
cousin on the morning of the inquest, just before Mr. Gryce
and myself entered your presence ?"
Her eyes did not fall, but they filled with sudden terror,
“You heard?” she whispered.
“I could not help it. I was just outside the door,
and—”
“What did you hear?”


HENRY CLAVERING,
183
183
I told her.
“ And Mr. Gryce?”
“He was at my side."
It seemed as if her eyes would devour my face. “Yet
nothing was said when you came in ?"
"No."
“ You, however, have never forgotten it?”.
“How could we, Miss Leavenworth !”
Her head fell forward in her hands, she seemed lost for
one wild moment in a gulf of darkness. “And that is why
you come here to-night,” she suddenly exclaimed, desper-
ately rousing herself and flashing full of indignation upon
me. “With that sentence written upon your heart, you in-
vade my presence, torture me with questions—".
“Pardon me," I broke in,“ are my questions such as
you, with reasonable regard for the honor of one you are
accustomed to associate with, should hesitate to answer ?
Do I derogate from my manhood in asking you how and
why you came to make an accusation of so grave a nature,
at a time when all the circumstances of the case were fresh-
ly before you, only to insist full as strongly upon your
cousin's innocence when you found there was even more
cause for your imputation than you had supposed."
She did not seem to hear me. “O my cruel fate!”
she murmured. “O my cruel fate!”
“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, rising and taking my stand
before her, “ although there is a temporary estrangement
between you and your cousin, you cannot wish to seem


184
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
her enemy. Speak, then ; let me at least know the name
of him for whom she thus immolates herself. A hint
from you"
But rising, with a strange look, to her feet, she inter-
rupted me with the stern remark, "If you do not know, I
cannot inform you ; do not ask me, Mr. Raymond.” And
she glanced at the clock for the second time.
I took another turn.
“Miss Leavenworth, you once asked me if a person
who had committed a wrong ought necessarily to confess
it; and I replied no, unless, by the confession, reparation
could be made. Do you remember?”
Her lips moved, but no words issued from them.
“I begin to think,” I solemnly proceeded, following the
lead of her emotion," that confession is the only way out of
this difficulty: that only by the words you can utter, Elea-
nore can be saved from the doom that awaits her. Will
you not then show yourself a true woman, by responding
to my earnest entreaties?”.
I seemed to have touched the right chord, for she trem-
bled, and a look of wistfulness filled her eyes. “O if I
could !” she murmured.
“And why can you not? You will never be happy till
you do. Eleanore persists in silence, but that is no reason
why you should emulate her example. You orly make
her position more doubtful by it.”
“I know it, but I cannot help myself. Fate has got too
strong a hold upon me; I cannot break away.”


HENRY CLAVERING.
185
“That is not true. Any one can escape from bonds
imaginary as yours.”
“No, no,” cried she ; “you do not understand.”
“Iunderstand this, that the path of rectitude is a straight
one, and that he who steps into devious by-ways is going
astray.”
A flicker of light, pathetic beyond description, flashed
for a moment across her face; her throat rose as with one
wild sob; her lips opened, she seemed yielding, when-A
sharp ring at the front door bell !
“O,” cried she, sharply turning," tell him I cannot see
him ; tell him—”
“Miss Leavenworth,” said I, taking her by both hands,
“never mind the door, never mind any thing but this; I
have asked you a question which involves the mystery of
this whole affair; answer me, then, for your soul's sake;
tell me what the unhappy circumstances were which could
induce you"
But she tore her hands from mine. “The door!” cried
she ; "it will open, and"
Stepping into the hall I met Thomas coming up the
basement stairs. “Go back," said I, “I will call you when
you are wanted.”
With a bow he disappeared.
“You expect me to answer," exclaimed she, when I
re-entered," now in a moment? I cannot."
“But"
“Impossible ! ” fastening her gaze upon the front door.
mine


186
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Miss Leavenworth !"
She shuddered.
“I fear the time will never come, if you do not speak
now."
“Impossible,” she reiterated.
Another twang at the bell.
“You hear !” said she.
I went into the hall and called Thomas. “You may open
the door now," said I, and moved to return to her side.
But she pointed commandingly up stairs. “Leave me!"
cried she, looking at Thomas as if to bid him wait.
“I will see you again before I go,” said I, and has-
tened up stairs.
Thomas opened the door. “Is Miss Leavenworth
in ?" I heard a rich, tremulous voice inquire.
“Yes sir,” came in the butler's most respectful and
measured accents, and leaning over the banisters I beheld,
to my amazement, the form of Mr. Clavering enter the
front hall and move towards the reception-room.


HENRY CLAVERING.
187
XVIII.
ON THE STAIRS.
You cannot say I did it.
МАСвитн.
EXCITED, tremulous, filled with wonder at this unlooked-
for event, I paused for a moment to collect my scattered
senses, when the sound of a low, monotonous voice break-
ing upon my ear from the direction of the library, I went
towards it and found that it was Mr. Harwell reading aloud
from his late employer's manuscript. It would be difficult
for me to describe the effect which this simple discovery
made upon me at this time. There, in that room of late
death, withdrawn from the turmoil of the world, a hermit
in his skeleton-lined cell, this man employed himself in
reading and re-reading with passive interest, the words
of the dead, while above and below, human beings agon-
ized in doubt and shame. Listening, I heard these words.
“By these means their native rulers will not only lose
their jealous terror of our institutions, but acquire an ac-
tual curiosity in regard to them.”
Opening the door I went in.
“Ah! you are late, sir ;” murmured he, rising and
bringing forward a chair.


188
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ Yes,” replied I, with my thoughts on those two
below.
"I am afraid you are not well,” he went on.
I roused myself.
“I am not ill,” I returned, and pulling the papers
towards me, began looking them over. But the words
danced before my eyes, and I was obliged to give up all
attempt at work for that night.
“I fear that I shall not be able to assist you this even-
ing, Mr. Harwell. The fact is, I find it difficult to give
proper attention to this business, while the man who by
a dastardly assassination has made it necessary, goes un-
punished.”
The Secretary in his turn pushed the papers aside, as
if moved by a sudden distaste of them, but gave me no
answer.
“ You told me when you first came to me with news of
this fearful tragedy, that it was a mystery; but it is one
which must be solved, Mr. Harwell ; it is wearing out the
lives of too many that we love and respect.”
The Secretary gave me a look. “Miss Eleanore?” he
murmured.
“And Miss Mary,” I went on, “myself, you, and many
others.”
“You have manifested much interest in the matter
from the beginning," he said, methodically dipping his pen
into the ink.
I stared at him in amazement.


190
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
heard him go up stairs, felt the jar when his room door
closed, and satisfied I was indeed to be left alone again,
sat down to enjoy my solitude. But solitude in that room
was unbearable. By the time Mr. Harwell again de-
scended, I felt that I could remain no longer, and stepping
out into the hall, told him that if he had no objection I
would accompany him for a short stroll.
He bowed a stiff assent and hastened before me down
the stairs. By the time I had closed the library door, he
was half way to the foot, and I was just remarking to
myself upon the unpliability of his figure and the awkward-
ness of his carriage as seen from my present stand-point,
when suddenly I saw him stop, clutch the banister at his
side, and hang there with a startled, deathly expression
upon his half-turned countenance, that fixed me for an
instant where I was in breathless astonishment and then
caused me to rush down to his side, catch him by the arm
and cry,
“What is it? what is the matter?”
But thrusting out one powerful hand he pushed me
upwards. “Go back,” he whispered, in a voice shaking
with intensest emotion, “go back.” And catching me by
the arm, he literally pulled me up the stairs. Arrived at
the top, he loosened his grasp and leaning, quivering from
head to foot, over the banisters, glared below.
“Who is that?” he cried. “Who is that man? What
is his name?”
Startled in my turn, I bent beside him and saw Henry


HENRY CLAVERING.
191
Clavering come out of the reception-room and cross the
hall.
“That is Mr. Clavering," I whispered, with all the self-
possession I could muster, “ do you know him?"
Mr. Harwell fell back against the opposite wall. “Clav-
ering, Clavering,” he murmured with quaking lips; then
suddenly bounding forward, clutched the railing before
him, and fixing me with his eyes from which all the stoic
calmness had gone down forever in flame and frenzy, gur-
gled into my ear,-“You want to know who the assassin
of Mr. Leavenworth is, do you? look there, then, that is
the man, Clavering!” And with a leap, he bounded from
my side, and swaying like a drunken man, disappeared
from my gaze in the hall above.
My first impulse was to follow him. Rushing up stairs,
I knocked at the door of his room, but no response came to
my summons. I then called his name in the hall, but with
out avail; he was determined not to show himself. Re-
solved that he should not thus escape me, I returned to the
library and wrote him a short note, in which I asked for
an explanation of his tremendous accusation, saying that I
would be in my rooms the next evening at six, when I should
expect to see him. This done I descended to rejoin Mary.
But the evening was destined to be full of disappoint-
ments. She had retired to her room while I was in the
library, and I had lost the interview from which I expected
so much. “The woman is slippery as an eel,” I inwardly
commented, pacing the hall in my chagrin. “Wrapped


192
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
M.”
in mystery, she expects me to feel for her the respect due
to an open and frank nature."
I was about to leave the house, when I saw Thomas
descending the stairs with a letter in his hand.
“ Miss Leavenworth's compliments, sir,” said he, hand-
ing me the note; “and she is too fatigued to remain
below this evening."
I moved aside to read it, feeling a little conscience-
stricken as I traced the hurried, trembling handwriting
through the following words.
“You ask more than I can give. Matters must be received as they
are without explanation from me. It is the grief of my life to deny
you, but I have no choice. God forgive us all and keep us from
despair.
And below,
“As we cannot meet now without embarrassment, it would be
better for us to bear our burdens in silence and apart. Mr. Harwell
will visit you. Farewell!”
As I was crossing Thirty-second Street, I heard a quick
footstep behind me, and turning, saw Thomas at my side.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, “but I have something a little
particular to say to you. When you asked me the other
night, what sort of a person the gentleman was who called
on Miss Eleanore the evening of the murder, I didn't answer
you as I should. The fact is, the detectives had been
talking to me about that very thing and I felt shy; but, sir,
I know you are a friend of the family, and I want to tell
you now that that same gentleman, whoever he was,-Mr.
Robbins he called himself then,-was at the house again


HENRY CLAVERING.
193
to-night, sir, and the name he gave me this time to carry to
Miss Leavenworth, was Clavering. Yes, sir,” he went
on, seeing me start; "and as I told Molly, he acts queer
for a stranger. When he came the other night, he hesi-
tated a long time before asking for Miss Eleanore, and
when I wanted his name, took out a card and wrote the
one I told you of, sir, with a look on his face a little pe-
culiar for a caller ; besides—"
“Well."
“Mr. Raymond,” the butler went on, in a low, excited
voice, edging up very closely to me in the darkness, “there
is something I have never told any living being but
Molly, sir, which may be of use to those as wishes to find
out who committed this murder.”
“ A fact or a suspicion ?" I inquired.
“A fact, sir ; which I beg your pardon for troubling you
with at this time, but Molly will give me no rest unless I
speak of it to you or Mr. Gryce, her feelings being so
worked up on Hannah's account, whom we all know is
innocent, though folks do dare to say as how she must
be guilty just because she is not to be found the minute
they want her.”
“ But this fact?” I urged.
“Well, the fact is this. You see I would tell Mr.
Gryce,” he resumed, unconscious of my anxiety,“ but I have
my fears of detectives, sir, they catch you up so quick at
times, and seem to think you know so much more than
you really do."
13


194
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
TOO
“ But this fact," I again broke in.
“O yes, sir, the fact is, that that night, the one of the
murder you know, I saw Mr. Clavering, Robbins, or what-
ever his name is, enter the house, but neither I nor any
one else saw him go out of it, nor do I know that he did.”
“What do you mean?”.
“Well, sir, what I mean is this. When I came down
from Miss Eleanore and told Mr. Robbins, as he called
himself at that time, that my mistress was ill and unable
to see him (the word she gave me, sir, to deliver) Mr. Rob-
bins, instead of bowing and leaving the house as most
gentlemen would have done, stepped into the reception-
room and sat down. He may have felt sick, he looked
pale enough ; at any rate he asked me for a glass of water.
Not knowing any reason then for suspicionating any one's
actions, I immediately went down to the kitchen for it,
leaving him there in the reception-room alone. But before
I could get it, I heard the front door close. "What's that?'
said Molly, who was helping me, sir. “I don't know,'
said I, “unless it's the gentleman has got tired of waiting
and gone.' 'If he's gone, he wont want the water,' she
said. So down I set the pitcher and up stairs I come, and
sure enough he was gone, or so I thought then. But who
knows, sir, if he was not in that room or the drawing-room
which was dark that night, all the time I was a shutting up
of the house?”
I made no reply to this, I was more startled than I
cared to reveal.


HENRY CLAVERING.
195
“You see, sir, I wouldn't speak of such a thing about
any person that comes to see the young ladies, but we all
know some one who was in the house that night, murdered
my master, and as it was not Hannah-".
“ You say that Miss Eleanore refused to see him," I
interrupted in the hope that the simple suggestion would
be enough to elicitate further details of his interview with
Eleanore:
“Yes, sir. When she first looked at the card she
showed a little hesitation, but in a moment she grew very
flushed in the face and bade me say what I told you. I
should never have thought of it again if I had not seen him
come blazoning and bold into the house this evening, with
a new name on his tongue. Indeed, and I do not like to
think any evil of him now, but Molly would have it I
should speak to you, sir, and ease my mind,-and that is
all, sir."
When I arrived home that night, I entered into my
memorandum book a new list of suspicious circumstances,
but this time with the letter “C” at the top instead of “ E."
ma


196
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XIX.
IN MY OFFICE.
Something between an hindrance and a help.
WORDSWORTH.
THE next day as, with nerves unstrung and an ex-
hausted brain, I entered my office, I was greeted by the
announcement :
“A gentleman, sir, in your private room—been wait-
ing some time, very impatient.*
Weary, and in no mood to hold consultation with clients
new or old, I advanced with any thing but an eager step
towards my room, when upon opening the door I saw-
Mr. Clavering.
Too much astounded for the moment to speak, I bowed
to him silently, whereupon he approached me with the air
and dignity of a highly bred gentleman, and presented his
card, on which I saw written, in free and handsome char-
acters, his whole name, Henry Ritchie Clavering. After
this introduction of himself, he apologized for making so
unceremonious a call, saying in excuse, that he was a
stranger in town; that his business was one of great ur-
gency; that he had casually heard honorable mention of
me as a lawyer and a gentleman, and so had ventured to
seek this interview on behalf of a friend who was so un-
fortunately situated as to require the opinion and advice


HENRY CLAVERING,
197
of a lawyer upon a question that not only involved an ex-
traordinary state of facts, but was of a nature peculiarly
embarrassing to him, owing to his ignorance of American
laws, and the legal bearing of these facts upon the same.
Having thus secured my attention and awakened my
curiosity, he asked me if I would permit him to relate his
story. Recovering in a measure from my astonishment,
and subduing the extreme repulsion, almost horror, I felt
for the man, I signified my assent, at which he drew from
his pocket a memorandum book from which he read in
substance as follows:
“An Englishman travelling in this country meets, at a
fashionable watering-place, an American girl, with whom
he falls deeply in love, and whom after a few days he
desires to marry. Knowing his position to be good, his
fortune ample, and his intentions highly honorable, he
offers her his hand and is accepted. But a decided oppo-
sition arising in the family to the match, he is compelled
to disguise his sentiments, though the engagement re-
mained unbroken. While matters were in this uncertain
condition, he received advices from England demanding
his instant return, and alarmed at the prospect of a pro-
tracted absence from the object of his affections, he writes
to the lady, informing her of the circumstance and propos-
ing a secret marriage. She consents with stipulations,
the first of which is, that he should leave her instantly
upon the conclusion of the ceremony, and the second, that
he should intrust the public declaration of the marriage to


198
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
her. It was not precisely what he wished, but any thing
which served to make her his own, was acceptable at such
a crisis. He readily enters into the plans proposed.
Meeting the lady at a parsonage some twenty miles from
the watering-place at which she was staying, he stands
up with her before a Methodist preacher, and the cere-
mony of marriage is performed. There were two wit-
nesses, a hired man of the minister, called in for the
purpose, and a lady friend who came with the bride ; but
there was no license, and the bride had not completed
her twenty-first year. Now was that marriage legal? If
the lady, wedded in good faith upon that day by my friend,
chooses to deny that she is his lawful wife, can he hold
her to a compact entered into in so informal a manner?
In short, Mr. Raymond, is my friend the lawful husband
of that girl or not?”
While listening to this story, I found myself yielding
to feelings greatly in contrast to those with which I greeted
the relator but a moment before. I became so interested
in his "friend's ” case, as to quite forget for the time
being that I had ever seen or heard of Henry Clavering;
and after learning that the marriage ceremony took place
in the State of New York, I replied to him, as near as I
can remember, in the following words :
“In this state, and I believe it to be American law,
marriage is a civil contract, requiring neither license, priest,
ceremony nor certificate--and in some cases witnesses
are not even necessary to give it validity. Of old the
cere
or
Ome
ases
CS


HENRY CLAVERING.
199
WE
re
OV
modes of getting a wife were the same as those of acquir-
ing any other species of property, and they are not ma-
terially changed at the present time. It is enough that
the man and woman say to each other, ‘From this time we
are married,' or 'You are now my wife,' or, my husband,'
as the case may be. The mutual consent is all that is
necessary. In fact you may contract marriage as you con-
tract to lend a sum of money, or to buy the merest trifle.”
“ Then your opinion is—"
“That upon your statement, your friend is the lawful
husband of the lady in question, presuming, of course, that
no legal disabilities of either party existed to prevent such
a union. As to the young lady's age, I will merely say
that any fourteen-year-old girl can be a party to a mar-
riage contract.”
Mr. Clavering bowed, his countenance assuming a look
of great satisfaction. “I am very glad to hear this,” said
he; “my friend's happiness is entirely involved in the
establishment of his marriage.”
He appeared so relieved, my curiosity was yet further
aroused. I therefore said, “I have given you my opinion
as to the legality of this marriage, but it may be quite
another thing to prove it, should the same be contested.”
He started, cast me an inquiring look, and murmured :
“True.”
“ Allow me to ask you a few questions. Was the lady
married under her own name?"
“She was.”


200
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“The gentleman ?"
“Yes, sir."
“Did the lady receive a certificate ?"
“ She did.”
“Properly signed by the minister and witnesses ?”
He bowed his head in assent.
“ Did she keep this ? "
“I cannot say; but I presume she did.”
“ The witnesses were—"
“A hired man of the Minister"
“Who can be found?”
“Who cannot be found.”
“Dead or disappeared ?"
“The minister is dead, the man has disappeared.”
“ The minister dead!”
“Three months since."
“And the marriage took place when ?*
“ Last July.”
“ The other witness, the lady friend, where is she?"
“ She can be found, but her action is not to be de-
pended upon."
“Has the gentleman himself no proofs of this mar-
riage ?”
Mr. Clavering shook his head. “He cannot even prove
he was in the town where it took place on that particular
day.”
“The marriage certificate was however filed with the
clerk of the town?” said I.


HENRY CLAVERING.
201
“ It was not, sir."
“ How was that ? ”.
“I cannot say ; I only know that my friend has made
inquiry, and that no such paper is to be found."
I leaned slowly back and looked at him. “I do not
wonder that your friend is concerned in regard to his posi-
tion, if what you hint is true and the lady seems disposed
to deny that any such ceremony ever took place. Still, if
he wishes to go to law, the Court may decide in his favor,
though I doubt it. His sworn word is all he would have
to go upon, and if she contradicts his testimony under
oath, why the sympathy of a jury is, as a rule, with the
woman."
Mr. Clavering rose, looked at me with some earnestness,
and finally asked in a tone which, though somewhat
changed, lacked nothing of its former suavity, if I would
be kind enough to give him in writing that portion of my
opinion which directly bore upon the legality of the mar-
riage ; that such a paper would go far towards satisfying
his friend that his case had been properly presented, as he
was aware that no respectable lawyer would put his name
to a legal opinion without first having carefully arrived at
his conclusions by a thorough examination of the law
bearing upon the facts submitted.
This request seeming so reasonable, I unhesitatingly
complied with it, and handed him the opinion. He took
it, and after reading it carefully over, deliberately copied
it into his memorandum book. This done, he turned
Thi me


202
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
towards me, a strong though hitherto subdued emotion
showing itself in his countenance.
“Now, sir,” said he, rising upon me to the full height
of his majestic figure, “I have but one more request to
make; and that is, that you will receive back this opinion
into your own possession, and in the day you think to lead
a beautiful woman to the altar, pause and ask yourself,
"Am I sure that the hand I clasp with such impassioned
fervor is free? Have I any certainty for knowing that it
has not already been given away like that of the lady whom,
in this opinion of mine, I have declared to be a wedded
wife according to the laws of my country?'”
“Mr. Clavering !”
But he, with an urbane bow, laid his hand upon the
knob of the door. “I thank you for your courtesy, Mr.
Raymond, and I bid you good day. I hope you will have
no need of consulting that paper before I see you again.”
And with another bow, he passed out.
It was the most vital shock I had yet experienced, and
for a moment I stood paralyzed. Me! me! why should he
mix me up with the affair unless—But I would not con-
template that possibility. Eleanore married, and to this
man? No, no; any thing but that ; and yet I found my-
self continually turning the supposition over in my mind
until, to escape the torment of my own conjectures, I seized
my hat and rushed into the street in the hope of finding
him again and extorting from him an explanation of his
mysterious conduct. But by the time I reached the side-


HENRY CLAVERING.
203
walk, he was nowhere to be seen. A thousand busy men
with their various cares and purposes had pushed them-
selves between us, and I was obliged to return to my office
with my doubts unsolved.
I think I never experienced a longer day; but it passed,
and at five o'clock I had the satisfaction of inquiring for
Mr. Clavering at the Hoffman House. Judge of my sur-
prise when I learned that his visit to my office was his last
action before taking passage upon the steamer leaving that
day for Liverpool ; that he was now on the high seas and
all chance of another interview with him was at an end.
I could scarcely believe the fact at first, but after a talk
with the cabman who had driven him to my office and
thence to the steamer, I became convinced. My first feel-
ing was one of shame. I had been brought face to face
with an accused man, had received an intimation from him
that he was not expecting to see me again for some time,
and had weakly gone on attending to my own affairs and
allowed him to escape, like the simple tyro that I was ;
my next the necessity of notifying Mr. Gryce of this man's
departure. But it was now six o'clock, the hour set apart
for my interview with Mr. Harwell. I could not afford to
miss that, so merely stopping to despatch a line to Mr.
Gryce, in which I promised to visit him that evening, I
turned my steps towards home. I found Mr. Harwell
there before me.
as no


204
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XX.
“ TRUEMAN! TRUEMAN ! TRUEMAN !”
Often do the spirits
Of great events, stride on before the events,
And in to-day, already walks to-morrow.
COLERIDGE.
INSTANTLY a great dread seized me. What revelations
might not this man be going to make ! But I subdued the
feeling and greeting him with what cordiality I could, set-
tled myself to listen to his explanations.
But Trueman Harwell had no explanations to give, it
seemed ; on the contrary, he had come to apologize for the
very violent words he had used the evening before ; words
which, whatever their effect may have been upon me, he
now felt bound to declare had been used without sufficient
basis in fact, to make their utterance of the least impor-
tance.
“But,” cried I, "you must have thought you had
grounds for so tremendous an accusation, or your act was
that of a mad man."
His brow wrinkled heavily and his eyes assumed a
very gloomy expression. “It does not follow,” returned
he. “ Under the pressure of surprise, I have known men
utter convictions no better founded than mine, without
running the risk of being called mad.”


HENRY CLAVERING.
205
“Surprise ? Mr. Clavering's face or form must, then,
have been known to you. The mere fact of seeing a
strange gentleman in the hall, would have been insufficient
to cause you astonishment, Mr. Harwell.”
He uneasily fingered the back of the chair before which
he stood, but made no reply.
“Sit down," I again urged, this time with a touch of
command in my voice. " This is a serious matter and
I intend to deal with it as it deserves. You have said be-
fore, that if you knew any thing which might serve to ex-
onerate Eleanore Leavenworth from the suspicion under
which she stands, you would be ready to impart it.”
“I said,” he interrupted coldly, “ that if I had known
of any thing which might serve to release her from her
unhappy position, I should have spoken.”
“Do not quibble," I returned. “You do know some-
thing, Mr. Harwell, and I ask you in the name of justice
to tell me what it is.”
"You are mistaken,” he returned, doggedly, " I know
nothing. I have reasons, perhaps, for thinking certain
things, but my conscience will not allow me in cold blood
to give utterance to suspicions which may not only dam-
age the reputation of an honest man, but place me in the
unpleasant position of an accuser without substantial foun-
dation for my accusations."
“You are there already," I retorted with equal cold-
ness. “Nothing can make me forget that in my presence
you have denounced Henry Clavering as the murderer of


HENRY CLAVERING.
207
an icy reserve that seemed to promise but little to my
now thoroughly awakened curiosity.
“I beg your pardon,” I hastened to say, “but the fact
of my never having experienced such sensations, does not
hinder me from comprehending the emotions of others
more affected by spiritual influences than myself.”
He drew himself slowly forward. “Then you will not
ridicule me if I say, that upon the eve of Mr. Leavenworth's
murder I experienced in a dream all that afterwards oc-
curred; saw him murdered, saw " and he clasped his
hands before him in an attitude inexpressibly convincing,
while his voice sank to a horrified whisper,“ saw the face
of his murderer ! ”
I started, looked at him in amazement, a thrill as at
the touch of a ghost running through me.
“And was that—" I began.
“My reason for denouncing the man I beheld before
me, in the hall of Miss Leavenworth's house last night ?
It was.” And taking out his handkerchief he wiped his
forehead on which the perspiration was standing in large
en
drops.
“You would then intimate that the face you saw in
your dream and the face you saw in the hall last night,
were the same ?"
He gravely nodded his head.
I drew my chair nearer to his. “Tell me your dream,"
said I.
“Well,” replied he, in a low, awe-struck tone, “it was


208
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the night before Mr. Leavenworth's murder. I had gone
to bed feeling especially contented with myself and the
world at large, for though my life is any thing but a happy
one," and he heaved a short sigh, “some pleasant words
had been said to me that day, and I was revelling in the
happiness they had conferred, when suddenly a chill struck
my heart, and the darkness which a moment before had
appeared to me as the abode of peace, thrilled to the
sound of a supernatural cry and I heard my name, 'True-
man, Trueman, Trueman,' repeated three times in a voice
I did not recognize, and starting from my pillow beheld at
my bedside a woman. Her face was strange to me,” he
went on solemnly, “but I can give you each and every
detail of it, as bending above me, she stared into my
eyes with a growing terror that seemed to implore help,
though her lips were quiet and only the memory of that
cry echoed in my ears."
“ Describe the face," I interposed.
“It was a round, fair, lady's face. Very lovely in
contour but devoid of coloring ; not beautiful, but winning
from its childlike look of trust. The hair, banded upon
the low, broad forehead, was brown; the eyes, which were
very far apart, grey; the mouth, which was its most charm-
ing feature, delicate of make and very expressive. There
was a dimple in the chin, but none in the cheeks. It was
a face to be remembered.”
“Go on," said I.
“ Meeting the gaze of those imploring eyes, I started


HENRY CLAVERING.
209
up. Instantly the face and all vanished, and I became
conscious, as we do sometimes in dreams, of a certain
movement in the hall below, and the next instant, the glid-
ing figure of a man of imposing size entered the library.
I remember experiencing a certain thrill at this, half ter-
ror, half curiosity, though I seemed to know as if by intuition
what he was going to do. Strange to say, I now seemed
to change my personality and to be no longer a third party
watching these proceedings, but Mr. Leavenworth himself,
sitting at his library table and feeling his doom crawling
upon him without capacity for speech or power of move-
ment to avert it. Though my back was towards the man,
I could feel his stealthy form traverse the passage, enter the
room beyond, pass to that stand where the pistol was, try
the drawer, find it locked, turn the key, procure the pistol,
weigh it in an accustomed hand and advance again. I
could feel each footstep he took as though his feet were in
truth upon my heart, and I remember staring at the table
before me as if I expected every moment to see it run
with my own blood. I can see now how the letters I had
been writing danced upon the paper before me, appearing
to my eyes to take the phantom shapes of persons and
things long ago forgotten as I had thought; crowding my
last moments with regrets and dead shames, wild longings
and unspeakable agonies, through all of which that face,
the face of my former dream, mingled, pale, sweet, and
searching, while closer and closer behind me crept that
noiseless foot till I could feel the glaring of the assassin's
14


210
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
eyes across the narrow threshold separating me from death,
and hear the click of his teeth as he set his lips for the final
act. Ah,” and the Secretary's livid face shows the touch of
awful horror, “what words can describe such an experience
as that! In one moment all the agonies of hell in the
heart and brain, the next a blank through which I seemed
to see afar and as if suddenly removed from all this, a
crouching figure looking at its work with starting eyes and
pallid back-drawn lips, and seeing, recognize no face that
I had ever known, but one so handsome, so remarkable,
so unique in its formation and character, that it would be
as easy for me to mistake the countenance of my father,
as the look and figure of the man revealed to me in my
dream.”
“And this face," said I, in a voice I failed to recognize
as my own
“ Was that of him whom we saw leave Mary Leaven-
worth's presence last night and go down the hall to the
front door.”
as


HENRY CLAVERING.
211
XXI.
A PREJUDICE.
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain
Begot of nothing but vain phantasy.
ROMEO AND JULIET.
For one moment I sat a prey to superstitious horror,
then my natural incredulity asserting itself, I looked up
and remarked,
“You say that all this took place the night previous to
that of the actual occurrence?”
He bowed his head. “For a warning,” murmured he.
“But you did not seem to take it as such ?”.
“No; I am subject to horrible dreams; I thought but
little of it in a superstitious way till I looked next day
upon Mr. Leavenworth's dead body."
“I do not wonder you behaved strangely at the inquest;
I should have thought you would.”
“Ah sir," returned he with a slow, sad smile,“ no one
knows what I suffered in my endeavors not to tell more
than I actually knew, irrespective of my dream, of this
murder and the manner of its accomplishment."
“You believe then," said I, “that your dream fore-
shadowed the manner of the murder as well as the fact?”
“I do."
“It is a pity it did not go a little further then, and tell


212
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
us how the assassin escaped from, if not how he entered, a
house secured as the Leavenworth's was.”
His face flushed. “ That would have been convenient,"
he said ; “ also if I had been informed where Hannah was,
and why a stranger and a gentleman should have stooped
to the committal of such a crime."
Seeing that he was nettled, I dropped my bantering vein.
“Why do you say a stranger ?" I asked ; "are you so well
acquainted with all who visit that house as to be able to
say who are and who are not, strangers to the family ?”
“I am well acquainted with the faces of their friends,
Mr. Raymond, and Henry Clavering is not amongst the
number, but—"
“Were you ever with Mr. Leavenworth," I interrupted,
“ when he has been away from home, in the country for in-
stance or upon his travels ? "
“No,” the Secretary returned constrainedly
“Yet I suppose he was in the habit of absenting him
self from home?”
“ Certainly.”
“Can you tell me where he was last July, he and the
ladies ?”
“Yes, sir ; they went to R- , if you mean that ; spent
some time there. The famous watering-place you know.
Ah," he cried seeing a change in my face,“ do you think
he could have met them there?”
I looked at him for a moment, then rising in my turn
stood level with him and exclaimed,


HENRY CLAVERING.
213
“ You are keeping something back, Mr. Harwell ; you
have more knowledge of this man than you have hitherto
given me to understand. What is it?".
He seemed astonished at my penetration, but replied, “I
know no more of the man than I have already informed
you, but”—and a burning flush crossed his face, " if you
are determined to pursue this matter”-and he paused
with an inquiring look.
“I am resolved to find out all I can about Henry Clav-
ering," I returned.
He lifted his head with a quick gesture. “Then,” said
he, “I can tell you this much. Henry Clavering wrote a
letter to Mr. Leavenworth a few days before the murder,
that I have some reason to believe produced a marked
effect upon the household.” And folding his arms, the
Secretary stood quietly waiting for my next question.
“ How do you know ?" asked I.
“ I opened it by mistake. I was in the habit of reading
Mr. Leavenworth's business letters, and this being from
one unaccustomed to write to him, lacked the mark which
usually distinguished those of a private nature.”
" And you saw the name of Clavering?'
“I did ; Henry Ritchie Clavering.”
“Did you read the letter ?” I was trembling now.
The Secretary did not reply.
“Mr. Harwell,” I reiterated, “ this is no time for false
delicacy. Did you read that letter?”
“I did ; but hastily and with an agitated conscience. I
have but little memory of its contents.”
LI


214
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“You can, however, recall its general drift?”
“ It was some complaint in regard to the treatment re.
ceived by him at the hand of one of Mr. Leavenworth's
nieces. I remember nothing more.”
“ Which niece?"
6. There were no names mentioned.”
“But you inferred—”
“No, sir ; that is just what I did not do. I forced myself
to forget the whole thing."
“And yet you say that it produced an effect upon the
family?”
“I can see now that it did. None of them have ever
appeared quite the same towards each other as before.”
“Mr. Harwell,” I now said ; “when you were ques-
tioned as to the receipt of any letter by Mr. Leavenworth,
which might seem in any manner to be connected with this
tragedy, you denied having seen any such ; how was that?”
“Mr. Raymond,” he returned, “you are a gentleman ;
have a chivalrous regard for the ladies ; do you think that
you could have brought yourself (even if in your secret
heart you considered some such result possible, which I am
not ready to say I did) to mention at such a time as that,
the receipt of a letter complaining of the treatment re-
ceived from one of Mr. Leavenworth's nieces, as a sus-
picious circumstance worthy to be taken into account by
a coroner's jury?"
I shook my head. I could not but acknowledge the
impossibility.


HENRY CLAVERING.
215
“What reason had I for thinking that letter was one
of importance? I knew no Henry Ritchie Clavering."
“And yet you seemed to think it was," I murmured.
“I remember you hesitated before replying.”
“It is true, but not as I should hesitate now, if the
question were put to me again."
Silence followed these words, during which I took two
or three turns up and down the room.
“This is all very fanciful,” I said, laughing in the
vain endeavor to throw off the superstitious horror that
unaccountably to myself still hung about me.
He bent his head in assent. “I know it,” said he. “I
am practical myself in broad day light, and recognize the
flimsiness of an accusation based upon a poor, hard-work-
ing Secretary's dream, as plainly as you do. That is the
reason I desired to keep from speaking at all. Dreams
are not things with which to confront a man in a court of
justice; but, Mr. Raymond," and his long thin hand fell upon
my arm with a nervous intensity which gave me almost
the sensation of an electrical shock, "if the murderer of
Mr. Leavenworth is ever brought to confess his deed,
mark my words he will prove to be the man of my
dream.”
I drew a long breath. For a moment his belief was
mine ; and a mingled sensation of relief and exquisite
pain swept over me as I thought of the possibility of Elea-
nore being exonerated from crime only to be plunged into
resh humiliation and deeper abysses of suffering.


216
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“He stalks the streets in freedom now," the Secretary
went on as if to himself, “even dares to enter the house he
has so woefully desecrated; but justice is justice and
sooner or later, something will transpire which will prove to
you that a premonition so wonderful as that I received,
had its significance; that the voice calling Trueman, True-
man, was something more than the empty utterances of an
excited brain ; that it was Justice itself, calling attention to
the guilty.”
I looked at him in wonder : did he know that the offi-
cers of justice were already upon the track of this same
Clavering ? I judged not from his look, but felt an inclina-
tion to make an effort and see.
“You speak with strange conviction,” I said ;“ but in
all probability you are doomed to be disappointed. So far
as we know, Mr. Clavering is a respectable man."
He lifted his hat from the table. “I do not propose
to denounce him ; I do not even propose to speak his
name again. I am not a fool, Mr. Raymond. I have spoken
thus plainly to you only in explanation of last night's most
unfortunate betrayal ; and while I trust that you will regard
what I have told you, as confidential, I also hope that you
will give me credit for behaving on the whole, as well as
could be expected under the circumstances.” And he
held out his hand.
“ Certainly," I replied as I took it. Then with a sudden
impulse to test the accuracy of this story of his, inquired
if he had any means of verifying his statement of having


HENRY CIAVERING.
217
had this dream at the time spoken of, that is before the
murder and not afterwards.
“No, sir ; I know myself that I had it the night previ-
ous to that of Mr. Leavenworth's death ; but I cannot prove
the fact.”
“Did not speak of it next morning to any one ?”
“O no, sir ; I was scarcely in a position to do so."
“Yet it must have had a great effect upon you, unfit-
ting you for work—"
“Nothing unfits me for work,” he murmured bitterly.
“I believe that is so,” I returned, remembering his
diligence for the last few days. “But you must at least
have shown some traces of having passed an uncomfort-
able night, if no more. Have you, then, no recollection of
anyone speaking to you in regard to your appearance
the next morning ?”
“Mr. Leavenworth may have done so, no one else
would have been likely to have noticed,” he returned half
sadly.
“Mr. Harwell," I now said, “I shall not be at the
house to night ; nor do I know when I shall return there.
Personal considerations keep me from Miss Leavenworth's
presence for a time, and I look to you to carry on the work
we have undertaken, without my assistance unless you can
bring it here—"
“I can do that.”
“I shall expect you, then, to-morrow evening."
“ Very well, sir ;” and he was going, when a sudden
rance


218
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
me
thought seemed to strike him. “Sir," he said, “as we do
not wish to return to this subject again, and as I have a
natural curiosity in regard to the man whose countenance
and figure are so well known to me while yet he retains
his title of utter stranger, would you object to telling
me what you know •of him ? You believe him to be a
respectable man; are you acquainted with him, Mr. Ray-
mond ?"
“I know his name and where he resides."
" And where is that?”
“ In London, he is an Englishman.”
“Ah !” he murmured with a strange intonation.
“Why do you say that?”
He bit his lip, looked down, then up, finally fixed his
eyes on mine and returned with marked emphasis : “I
used an exclamation sir, because I was startled.”
“ Startled ? "
“Yes; you say he is an Englishman. Mr. Leaven-
worth had the most bitter antagonism to the English. It
was one of his marked peculiarities. He would never be
introduced to one if he could help it."
It was my turn to look thoughtful.
“ You know,” the Secretary continued, " that Mr. Leav-
enworth was a man who carried his prejudices to the ex-
treme. He had a hatred for the English race that almost
amounted to mania. If he had known that letter he
received was from an Englishman, I doubt, if he would have
read it. He used to say that he would sooner see a
en
tre
am


HENRY CLAVERING.
219
daughter of his dead before him than married to an
Englishman.”
I turned hastily aside to hide the effect which this an-
nouncement made upon me.
“ You think I am exaggerating,” he said: “ask Mr.
Veeley."
"No," I replied, “I have no reason for thinking so."
“He had doubtless some cause for hating the English,
with which we are unacquainted,” pursued the Secretary.
“He spent some time in Liverpool when young, and had of
course many opportunities for studying their manners and
character.” And the Secretary made another movement
as if to leave.
But it was my turn to detain him now. “Mr. Harwell,
excuse me,” I said, “but you have been on familiar terms
with Mr. Leavenworth, for so long-Do you think that in
the case of one of his nieces, say, desiring to marry a
gentleman of that nationality, that his prejudice was
sufficient to cause him to absolutely forbid the match ?"
“I do."
I moved back. I had learned what I wished, and saw
no further reason for prolonging the interview.


220
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXII.
PATCH-WORK.
Come, give us a taste of your quality.
HAMLET.
STARTING with the assumption that Mr. Clavering in
his conversation of the morning, had been giving me with
more or less accuracy, a detailed account of his own
experience and position regarding Eleanore Leavenworth,
I asked myself what particular facts it would be necessary
for me to establish in order to prove the truth of this
assumption, and found them to be:
I. That Mr. Clavering had not only been in this
country at the time designated, viz. : last July, but that he
had been located for some little time at a watering-place
in New York State.
II. That this watering-place should correspond to that
in which Miss Eleanore Leavenworth was to be found at
the same time.
III. That they had been seen while there to hold more
or less communication together.
IV. That they had both been absent from town at
some one time, long enough to have gone through the
ceremony of marriage at a point twenty miles or so away.
V. That a Methodist clergyman, who has since died,
lived at that time within a radius of twenty miles of said
watering-place.


HENRY CLAVERING.
221
I next asked myself how I was to establish these facts.
Mr. Clavering's life was as yet too little known to me to offer
me any assistance ; so leaving it for the present, I took up
the thread of Eleanore's history when upon tracing it back
to the time given me, I found that she was known to have
been in R- , a fashionable watering-place in this State.
But if she was there, and my theory was correct, he must
have been there also. To ascertain whether this was so,
therefore, became my first business. I resolved to go
to R— on the morrow.
But before proceeding in an undertaking of such im-
portance, I considered it expedient to make such inquiries
and collect such facts as it should be possible for me to
do in the few hours that lay before me. I went first to
the house of Mr. Gryce.
I found him lying upon a hard sofa in the bare sitting-
room I have before mentioned, suffering from a severe
attack of rheumatism; with his hands done up in band-
ages and his feet encased in multiplied folds of a dingy red
shawl that looked as if it had been through the wars.
Greeting me with a short nod that was both a welcome
and an apology, he devoted a few words to an explanation
of his unwonted position, and then without further prelim-
inaries rushed into the subject that was uppermost in both
our minds, by inquiring in a slightly sarcastic way, if I
was very much surprised to find my bird flown when I re-
turned to the Hoffman House that afternoon.
“I was astonished to find that you allowed him to fly at
TOO
ars.


222
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
this time," replied I. “From the manner in which you
requested me to make his acquaintance I supposed that
you had reasons for considering him an important charac-
ter in the tragedy which has just been enacted."
“And what makes you think I hadn't? O, the fact
that I let him go off so easily? That's no proof. One
does not put on the brakes till one is going down hill.
But let that pass for the present; Mr. Clavering, then, did
not explain himself before going?”
“That is a question,” I returned after due thought,
“ which I find it exceedingly difficult to answer. Con-
strained by circumstances, I cannot at present speak with
the directness which is your due, but what I can say, I
will. Know then, that in my opinion, Mr. Clavering did
explain himself in an interview with me this morning.
But it was done in so blind a way, that it will be necessary
for me to make a few investigations before I shall feel
sufficiently sure of my ground to take you into my confi-
dence. He has given me a possible clue"
“Wait,” said Mr. Gryce; “does he know this? Was
it done intentionally and with sinister motive, or un-
consciously and in plain good faith ? "
“In good faith, I should say."
Mr. Gryce remained for a moment silent. “It is very
unfortunate that you cannot explain yourself a little more
definitely," he said at last. “I am almost afraid to trust you
to make investigations, as you call them, on your own hook.
You are not used to the business and will lose time, to


HENRY CLAVERING.
223
say nothing of running upon false scents and using up your
strength on unprofitable details.”
“ You should have thought of that when you admitted
me into partnership."
"And you absolutely insist upon working this mine
alone ?”
“Mr. Gryce,” said I, “ the matter stands just here.
Mr. Clavering, for all I know, is a gentleman of untar-
nished reputation. I am not even aware for what purpose
you set me upon his trail. I only know that in thus follow-
ing it, I have come upon certain facts that seem worthy of
inquiry."
"Well, well,” said he, "you know best. But the days
are slipping by. Something must be done and soon. The
public are becoming clamorous.”
“I know it, and for that reason I have come to you
for such assistance as you can give me at this stage of the
proceedings. You are in possession of certain facts re-
lating to this man which it concerns me to know, or your
conduct in reference to him has been purposeless. Now
frankly, will you make me master of those facts : in short,
tell me all you know of Mr. Clavering without requiring
an immediate return of confidence on my part ?”
“ That is asking a great deal of a professional detec.
tive."
“I know it, and under any other circumstances should
hesitate long before preferring such a request ; but as
things are, I don't see how I am to proceed in the matter,


224
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
without some such concession on your part. At all
events—”.
“Wait a moment! Is not Mr. Clavering the lover of
one of the young ladies?”
Anxious as I was to preserve the secret of my interest
in that gentleman, I could not prevent the blush from
rising to my face, at the suddenness of this question.
“I thought as much,” he went on. “Being neither a
relative nor acknowledged friend, I took it for granted that
he must occupy some such position as that in the family."
“I do not see why you should draw such an infer-
ence," said I, anxious to determine how much he knew
about him. “Mr. Clavering is a stranger in town; has
not even been in this country long ; has indeed had no
time to establish himself upon any such footing as you in-
timate.”
“ This is not the only time Mr. Clavering has been in
New York. He was here a year ago to my certain knowl-
edge."
“ You know that?”
“ Yes."
“How much more do you know? Can it be possible
that I am groping blindly about for facts which are al-
ready in your possession ? I pray you listen to my en-
treaties, Mr. Gryce, and acquaint me at once with what I
want to know. You will not regret it. I have no selfish
motive in this matter. If I succeed, the glory shall be
yours ; if I fail, the shame of the defeat shall be mine."


HENRY CLAVERING.
225
“ That is fair,” he muttered. “And how about the
reward?"
“My reward will be to free an innocent woman from
the imputation of crime which hangs over her.”
This assurance seemed to satisfy him. His voice and
appearance changed ; for a moment he looked quite confi-
dential. “Well, well,” said he, “and what is it you want
to know?”
“I would first learn how your suspicions came to
light on him at all. What reason had you for thinking a
gentleman of his bearing and position, was in any way
connected with this affair ? ”.
“ That is a question you ought not to be obliged to
put,” he returned.
“How so?”
“Simply because the opportunity of answering it was
in your hands, before ever it came into mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't you remember the letter mailed in your pres-
ence by Miss Mary Leavenworth during your drive from
her home to that of her friend in Thirty-seventh street ?”
“On the afternoon of the inquest ? "
“ Yes."
“ Certainly, but,"
“ You never thought to look at its superscription be-
fore it was dropped into the box."
“I had neither opportunity nor right to do so."
“Was it not written in your presence ?”
15


226
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“It was."
“And you never regarded the affair as worth your
attention?"
“Whatever I may have regarded it, I did not see
how if Miss Leavenworth chose to drop a letter into a box
with her own hands I could in any way prevent her.”
“ That is because you are a gentleman: Well, it has its
disadvantages,” he muttered broodingly.
“But you,” said I ; “how came you to know of it?
Ah, I see,” remembering that the carriage in which we
were riding at the time had been procured for us by him.
“The man on the box was in your pay and informed as
you call it."
Mr. Gryce winked at his muffled toes mysteriously.
“That is not to the point,” he said. “Enough that I
heard that a letter which might reasonably prove to be of
some interest to me, was dropped at such an hour into the
box on the corner of a certain street. That coinciding in
the opinion of my informant, I telegraphed to the station
connected with that box, to take note of the address of a
suspicious looking letter about to pass through their
hands on the way to the General Post Office, and fol-
lowing up the telegram in person, found that a curious
epistle addressed in lead pencil and sealed with a stamp,
had just arrived, the address of which I was allowed to
see—"
“And which was?”
“Henry R. Clavering, Hoffman House, New York."
.


HENRY CLAVERING.
227
I drew a deep breath. “And so that is how your at-
tention first came to be directed to this man?"
“Yes."
“Strange. But go on—what next ?”
“Why, next I followed up the clue, of course, by going
to the Hoffman House and instituting inquiries. I learned
that Mr. Clavering was a regular guest of the hotel. That
he had come there direct from the Liverpool steamer
about three months since, and registering his name as Henry
R. Clavering, Esq., London, had engaged a first-class room
which he had kept ever since. That although nothing
definite was known concerning him, he had been seen with
various highly respectable people, both of his own nation and
ours, by all of whom he was treated with respect. And
lastly, that while not liberal, he had given many evidences
of being a man of means. So much done, I entered the
office and waited for him to come in, in the hopes of
having an opportunity to observe his manner when the
clerk handed him that strange looking letter from Mary
Leavenworth.”
“And did you succeed ? "
“No; an awkward gawk of a fellow stepped between us
just at the critical moment and I missed seeing what I
wanted to. But I heard enough that evening from the clerk
and servants, of the agitation which had been observed in
him ever since he received it, to convince me I was upon
a trail worth following. I accordingly put on my men, and
for two days Mr. Clavering was subjected to the most rigid


228
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
sed
watch a man ever walked under. But nothing was gained
by it; his interest in the murder, if interest at all, was a
secret one, and though he walked the streets, studied the
papers, and haunted the vicinity of the house in Fifth
Avenue, he not only refrained from actually approaching
it, but made no attempt to communicate with any of the
family. Meanwhile you crossed my path, and with your
determination incited me to renewed effort. Convinced
from Mr. Clavering's bearing and the gossip I had by this
time gathered in regard to him, that no one short of a
gentleman and a friend, could succeed in getting at the
clue of his connection with this family, I handed him over
to you and”
“Found me rather an unmanageable colleague.”
Mr. Gryce smiled very much as he might have done
if a sour plum been put in his mouth, but made no reply ;
and a momentary pause ensued.
“ Did you think to inquire,” I asked at last, " if any
one knew where Mr. Clavering had spent the evening of
the murder ?"
“ Yes; but with no good result. That he was out
during the evening, they all agreed upon ; also that he was
in his bed in the morning when the servant came in to make
his fire ; but further than this no one seemed to know.”
“So that in fact you gleaned nothing that would in any
way connect this man with the murder, except his marked
and agitated interest in it, and the fact that a niece of the
murdered man had written a letter to him?"


HENRY CLAVERING.
229
“ That is all."
“Another question ; did you hear in what manner and
at what time he procured a newspaper that evening ?".
“No; I only learned that he was observed by more
than one, to hasten out of the dining-room with the Post
in his hand and go immediately to his room without touch-
ing his dinner.”
“Humph! that does not look—”.
“If Mr. Clavering had had a guilty knowledge of the
crime, he would 'either never had ordered dinner before
opening the paper, or having ordered it, he would have
eaten it."
“Then you do not believe from what you have learned,
that Mr. Clavering is the guilty party ? "
Mr. Gryce shifted uneasily, glanced at the papers pro-
truding from my coat pocket and exclaimed, “I am ready
to be convinced from what you have learned, that he is.”
That sentence recalled me to the business in hand.
Without appearing to notice the look he had given me, I
recurred to my questions.
“How came you to know that Mr. Clavering was in
this city last summer? Did you learn that, too, at the
Hoffman House?”.
“No; I ascertained that in quite another way. In
short, I have had a communication from London in regard
to the matter.
“From London?"
“Yes ; I've a friend there in my own line of business,
recu


230
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
ar
who sometimes assists me with a bit of information, when
requested."
“But how? You have not had time to write to London,
and receive an answer since the murder.".
“It is not necessary to write. It is enough for me to
telegraph him the name of a person, for him to understand
that I want to know every thing he can gather in a reason-
able length of time about that person.”
“And you sent the name of Mr. Clavering to him?"
“Yes, in cipher.”
“And have received a reply?"
“ This morning."
I looked towards his desk.
“ It is not there,” he said, “ if you will be kind enough
to feel in my breast pocket you will find a letter_.".
It was in my hand before he had finished his sentence.
“Excuse my eagerness," I said. “This kind of business
is new to me, you know.”
He smiled indulgently at a very old and faded picture
that hung on the wall before him. “Eagerness is not a
fault, only the betrayal of it. But read out what you have
there. Let us hear what my friend Brown has to tell us
of Mr. Henry Ritchie Clavering, of Portland Place, Lon-
don.”
I took the paper to the light and read as follows :-
Henry Ritchie Clavering, Gentleman, aged 43. Born in Hert-
fordshire, England. His father was Chas. Clavering. for short time in
the army. Mother was Helen Ritchie, of Dumfriesshire, Scotland ; she
is still living. Home with H.R.C., in Portland Place, London. H.R.C


HENRY CLAVERING.
231
is a bachelor, 6 ft. high, squarely built, weight about 12 stone. Dark
complexion, regular features. Eyes dark brown; nose straight. Called
a handsome man; walks erect and rapidly. In society is considered a
good fellow; rather a favorite, especially with ladies. Is liberal, not
extravagant; reported to be worth about £ 5000 per year, and appear-
ances give color to this statement Property consists of a small estate
in Hertfordshire, and some funds, amount not known. Since writing
this much, a correspondent sends the following in regard to his history.
In '46 went from Uncle's house to Eton. From Eton went to Oxford,
graduating in '56. Scholarship good. In 1855 his uncle died and his
father succeeded to the estates. Father died in '57 by a fall from his
horse or a similar accident. Within a very short time H. R. C. took
his mother to London, to the residence named, where they have lived
to the present time.
Travelled considerably in 1860; part of the time was with —
of Munich ; also in party of Vandervorts from New York; went as
far east as Cairo. Went to America in 1875 alone, but at end of
three months returned on account of mother's illness. Nothing is
known of his movements while in America.
From servants, learn that he was always a favorite from a boy.
More recently has become somewhat taciturn. Toward last of his
stay, watched the post carefully, especially foreign ones. Posted scarce-
ly any thing but newspapers. Has written to Munich. Have seen
from waste-paper basket, torn envelope directed to Amy Belden, no
address. American correspondents mostly in Boston ; two in New
York. Names not known but supposed to be bankers. Brought
home considerable luggage and fitted up part of house as for a lady.
This was closed soon afterwards. Left for America two months since.
Has been, I understand, travelling in the south. Has telegraphed
twice to Portland Place. His friends hear from him but rarely. Let-
ters rec'd recently, posted in New York. One by last steamer posted
in F- , N. Y.
Business here conducted by — . In the country, — of — has
charge of the property.
“ BROWN."
The document fell from my hands.
F- , N. Y. was a small town near R-


232
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“ Your friend is a trump," I declared. “He tells me
just what I wanted most to know.” And taking out my
book I made a memoranda of the facts which had most
forcibly struck me during my perusal of the communica-
tion before me.
“With the aid of what he tells me," I cried, “I shall
ferret out the mystery of Henry Clavering in a week; see
if I do not."
“And how soon,” inquired Mr. Gryce, “ may I expect
to be allowed to take a hand in the game ?”.
“As soon as I am reasonably assured that I am upon
the right tack.”
“ And what will it take to assure you of that?”.
“ Not much ; a certain point settled and—”.
“Hold on; who knows but what I can do that for
you ?" And looking towards the desk which stood in the
corner, Mr. Gryce asked me if I would open the top draw
er and bring him the bits of partly burned paper which I
would find there.
Hastily complying, I brought three or four strips of
ragged paper and laid them on the table at his side.
“ Another result of Fobbs' researches under the coal on
the first day of the inquest,” shortly exclaimed Mr. Gryce.
“You thought the key was all he found. Well it wasn't.
A second turning over of the coal brought these to light,
and very interesting are they too."
I immediately bent over the torn and discolored scraps
with great anxiety. They were four in number, and ap-


HENRY CLAVERING,
233
peared at first glance to be the mere remnants of a sheet
of common writing-paper, torn lengthwise into strips and
twisted up into lighters ; but upon closer inspection, they
showed traces of writing upon one side, and what was
more important still, the presence of one or more drops of
spattered blood. This latter discovery was horrible to me,
and so overcame me for the moment that I put the scraps
down, and turning towards Mr. Gryce inquired,
“ What do you make of them?”
“That is just what I was about to inquire of you.”
Swallowing my disgust I took them up again. “They
appear to be the remnants of some old letter," said I.
“ They have that appearance," Mr. Gryce returned a
little grimly.
“A letter which from the drop of blood observable on
the written side, must have been lying face up on Mr.
Leavenworth's table at the time of the murder-"
“Just so.”
" And from the uniformity in width of each of these
pieces as well as their tendency to curl up when left alone,
been first torn into even strips, and then severally rolled
up, before being tossed into the grate where they were
afterwards found.”
“That is all good,” said Mr. Gryce ; "go on.”
“The writing, in as far as it is discernible, is that of a
cultivated gentleman ; it is not that of Mr. Leavenworth,
for I have studied his chirography too much lately not to
know it at a glance; but it may be-Hold !” I suddenly


234
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
ce
exclaimed, “have you any mucilage handy, I think that if
I could paste these strips down upon a piece of paper, so
that they would remain flat, I should be able to tell you
what I think of them much more easily."
“There is mucilage on the desk,” replied Mr. Gryce.
Procuring it, I proceeded to consult the scraps once
more for evidence to guide me in their arrangement.
These were more marked than I expected ; the longer
and best preserved strip with its “Mr. Hor” at the top
showing itself at first blush to be the left hand margin
of the letter, while the machine-cut edge of the next in
length, presented tokens full as conclusive of its being
the right hand margin of the same. Selecting these, then,
I pasted them down on a piece of paper at just the dis-
tance they would occupy, if the sheet from which they
were torn, was of the ordinary commercial note size. Im-
mediately it became apparent, first, that it would take two
other strips of the same width to fill up the space left
between them; and secondly, that the writing did not ter-
minate at the foot of the sheet but was carried on to
another page.
Taking up the third strip, I looked at its edge; it was
machine-cut at the top and showed by the arrangement of
its words that it was the margin strip of a second leaf.
Pasting that down then by itself, I scrutinized the fourth,
and finding it also machine-cut at the top but not on the
side, endeavored to fit it to the piece already pasted
down, but the words would not match. Moving it along


HENRY CLAVERING.
235
then to the position which it would hold if it were the
third strip, I fastened it down; the whole presenting when
completed, the appearance as seen on the opposite page.
“Well !” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, “that's business."
Then as I held it up before his eyes, “ But don't show it
to me. Study it yourself, and tell me what you think of it."
“Well,” said I, “this much is certain, that it is a letter
directed to Mr. Leavenworth from some House, and dated
-- let's see ; that is an h, isn't it?" And I pointed to the
one letter just discernible on the line under the word
House.
“I should think so, but don't ask me."
“ It must be an h. The year is 1875, and this is not
the termination of either January or February. Dated
then, March ist, 1876, and signed"
Mr. Gryce rolled his eyes in anticipatory ecstasy towards
the ceiling
“By Henry Clavering,” I announced without hesitation.
Mr. Gryce's eyes returned to his swathed finger-ends.
“Humph! how do you know that?”.
“Wait a moment and I will show you ;” and taking
out of my pocket the card which Mr. Clavering had handed
me as an introduction at our late interview, I laid it un-
derneath the last line of writing on the second page. One
glance was sufficient. Henry Ritchie Clavering on the
card; H- chie—in the same handwriting on the letter.
“ Clavering it is," said he, "without a doubt.” But I
saw he was not surprised.


236
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“And now," continued I," for its general tenor and
meaning.” And commencing at the beginning, I read
aloud the words as they came, with pauses at the breaks
something as follows. “Mr. Hor — Dear - a niece whom
yo — one too who see — the love and trus — any other
man ca — autiful, so char- s she in face fo- conver-
sation. ery rose has its— rose is no exception-
ely as she is, char— tender as she is,
s
p able
of tramplin one who trusted — heart —
him to he owes a — honor —
ance.
If t believe — her to cruel - face,-
what is — ble sery- yours
H— tchie
“It reads like a complaint against one of Mr. Leaven-
worth's nieces,” I said, and started at my own words.
“What is it?” cried Mr. Gryce; "what is the mat-
ter ?”
“Why,” said I, “the fact is I have heard this very
letter spoken of. It is a complaint against one of Mr.
Leavenworth's nieces, and was written by Mr. Clavering."
And I told him of Mr. Harwell's communication in regard
to the matter.
“Ah ! then Mr. Harwell has been talking, has he? I
thought he was sworn off from gossip.”
“Mr. Harwell and I have seen each other almost daily
for the last two weeks,” replied I ; "it would be strange if
he had nothing to tell me."


HENRY CLAVERING.
237
“And he says that he has read a letter written to Mr.
Leavenworth by Mr. Clavering ?”.
“ Yes; but whose particular words he has now forgot.
ten.”
“These few here may assist him in recalling the rest."
“I would rather not admit him to a knowledge of the
existence of this piece of evidence. I don't believe in
letting any one into our confidence whom it is possible to
keep out.”
“I see you don't,” dryly responded Mr. Gryce.
Not appearing to notice the Aling conveyed by these
words, I took up the letter once more, and began pointing
out such half formed words in it as I thought we might
venture to complete, as the Hor , yo —, see —utiful - ,
char— , for — , tramplin — pable — serv -
This done I next proposed the introduction of such
others as seemed necessary to the sense, as Leavenworth
after Horatio ; Sir after Dear; have with a possible you
before a niece; thorn after its in the phrase rose has its ; on
after trampling; whom after to ; debt after a ; you after If ;
me ask after believe; beautiful after cruel.
Between the columns of words thus furnished, I inter-
posed a phrase or two, here and there, the whole reading
when done as follows:


238
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
- House.
March ist, 1876.
Mr. Horatio Leavenworth
Dear Sir :
(You) have a niece whom you
one
too who seems worthy the love and trust
of any other man ca so beautiful,
so charming
is she in face form and
conversation.
But every rose has its thorn and
(this) rose is no exception
lovely as she
is, charming (as she is,) tender as she is, she is
capable of trampling on
one who trusted
her
heart a
him to whom she owes a debt of honor a
ance
If you don't believe me ask her to her cruel
beautiful face what is (her) humble servant yours:
Henry Ritchie Clavering.
“I think that will do," said Mr. Gryce,“ we have got the
general tenor of it, and that is all we want at this time.”
“The whole tone of it is any thing but complimentary
to the lady it inveighs against,” I returned. “He must
have had, or imagined he had, some desperate grievance, to
provoke him to the use of such plain language in regard
to one he can still characterize as tender, charming, beau-
tiful.”
2u.


HENRY CLAVERING.
239
“ Grievances are apt to lie back of mysterious crimes.”
“I think I know what this one was," I said; “but,”
seeing him look up, “must decline to communicate my
suspicion to you for the present. My theory stands un-
shaken and in some degree confirmed, and that is all I
can say."
“Then this letter does not supply the link you
wanted ?"
“No; it is a valuable bit of evidence, but it is not the
link I am in search of just now.”
“Yet it must be an important clue, or Eleanore Leav-
enworth would not have been to such pains, first to take
it in the way she did from her Uncle's table, and second-
ly…”
“Wait,” I said ; "what makes you think this is the
paper she took or was believed to have taken from Mr.
Leavenworth's table on that fatal morning ?”
“Why, the fact that it was found together with the
key, which we know she dropped into the grate, and that
there are drops of blood on it.”
I shook my head ; she had told me the paper which
she had taken at that time, was destroyed, though to be
sure she might have so considered it.
“Why do you shake your head ?” asked Mr. Gryce.
“Because I am not satisfied with your reason for
believing this to be the paper taken by her from Mr.
Leavenworth's table.”
“And why?”


240
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Well," said I, "first, because Fobbs does not speak
of seeing any paper in her hand, when she bent over the
fire, leaving us to conclude that these pieces were in the
scuttle of coal she threw upon it, which surely, you must
acknowledge to be a strange place for her to have put a
paper she took such pains to gain possession of, and
secondly, for the reason that these scraps were twisted as
if they had been used for curl papers or something of
that kind ; a fact hard to explain by your hypothesis.”
The detective's eye stole in the direction of my necktie,
which was as near as he ever came to a face, with an ex-
pression of great interest.“ You are a bright one,” said
he, “a very bright one ; I quite admire you, Mr. Ray-
mond.”
A little surprised, and not altogether pleased with this
unexpected compliment, I regarded him doubtfully for a
moment and then asked,
“What is your opinion upon the matter?"
“O, you know I have no opinion. I gave up every
thing of that kind when I put the affair into your hands."
“ Still ”
“That the letter of which these scraps are the remnant,
was on Mr. Leavenworth's table at the time of the murder
is believed. That upon the body being removed, a paper
was taken from the table by Miss Eleanore Leavenworth,
is also believed. That when she found her action had
been noticed and attention called to this paper and the key,
she resorted to subterfuge in order to escape the vigilance


HENRY CLAVERING.
241
of the watch that had been set over her, and partially
succeeding in her endeavor, flung the key into the fire
from which these same scraps were afterwards recovered,
is also known. The conclusion I leave to your judgment."
“Very well then,” said I rising, "we will let conclu-
sions go for the present. My mind must be settled in
regard to the truth or falsity of a certain theory of mine,
in order that my judgment may be worth much on this or
any matter connected with the affair.”
And only waiting to get the address of his subordinate,
Q, in case I should need assistance in my investigations, I
left Mr. Gryce and proceeded immediately to the house of
Mr. Veeley.


242
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXIII.
THE STORY OF A CHARMING WOMAN.
Fe, fi, fo, fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman.
OLD SONG.
I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
“ You have never heard then, any account of the cir.
cumstances which led to his marriage ? "
It was my partner who spoke. I had been asking him
to explain to me Mr. Leavenworth's well-known antipathy
to the English race.
"No."
“If you had," returned he rousing up in his bed-he
was not yet entirely recovered from his illness—“you
would not need to ask me for this explanation. But it is
not strange you are ignorant of the matter. I doubt if
there are half a dozen persons in existence who could tell
you where Horatio Leavenworth found the lovely woman
who afterwards became his wife, much less give you any
details of the circumstances which led to the marriage.”
“I am very fortunate then, in being in the confidence
of one who can. What were those circumstances, Mr.
Veeley ? "
“It will aid you but little to hear; but since you de-
sire it, you shall. Horatio Leavenworth when a young


HENRY CLAVERING.
243
man was very ambitious; so much so, that at one time
he aspired to marry a wealthy lady of Providence. But
chancing to go to England, he there met a young woman
whose grace and charm had such an effect upon him,
that he relinquished all thought of the Providence lady,
though it was some time before he could face the prospect
of marrying the one who had so greatly interested him;
as she was not only in the humblest circumstances, but
was encumbered with a child concerning whose parentage
the neighbors professed ignorance and she had nothing to
say. But as is very apt to be the case in an affair like
this, love and admiration soon got the better of worldly
wisdom. Taking his future in his hands, he offered him-
self as her husband, when she immediately proved herself
worthy of his regard, by entering at once into those ex-
planations he was too much of a gentleman to demand.
The story she told was very pitiful. It seems that she
was an American by þirth, her father having been a well-
known merchant of Chicago. While he lived, her home
was one of luxury, but just as she was emerging into
womanhood, he died. It was at his funeral she met the
man destined to be her ruin. How he came there she
never knew, he was not a friend of her father's. It is
enough he was there and saw her, and that in three
weeks—don't shudder, she was such a child-they were
married. In twenty-four hours she knew what that word
meant for her; it meant blows. Everett, I am telling no
fanciful story. In twenty-four hours after that girl was


HENRY CLAVERING.
245
month or so after his proposal, did she consent to give
him her hand and what remained of her unhappy life. He
brought her to New York, surrounded her with luxury and
every tender care, but the arrow had gone too deep ; two
years from the day her child breathed its last, she too died.
It was the blow of his life to Horatio Leavenworth; he was
never the same man again. Though Mary and Eleanore
shortly after entered his home, he never recovered his old
light-heartedness. Money became his idol, and the ambi-
tion to make and leave a great fortune behind him, modi-
fied all his views of life. But one proof remained that he
never forgot the wife of his youth, and that was, he could
not bear to have the word “Englishman" uttered in his
hearing."
Mr. Veeley paused, and I rose to go. “Do you re-
member how Mrs. Leavenworth looked ?" I asked.
“Could you describe her to me?”
He seemed a little astonished at my request, but im-
mediately said," She was was a very pale woman ; not
strictly beautiful, but of a contour and expression of great
charm. Her hair was brown, her eyes grey-"
“ And very wide apart?”.
He nodded, looking still more astonished. “ How
came you to know ? have you seen her picture ?”
I did not answer that question.
On my way down stairs, I bethought me of a letter
which I had in my pocket for Mr. Veeley's son Fred, and


246
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
knowing of no surer way of getting it to him that
night than by leaving it on the library table, I stepped to
the door of that room which in this house was at the rear
of the parlors, and receiving no reply to my knock, opened
it and looked in.
The room was unlighted, but a cheerful fire was burn-
ing in the grate, and by its glow I espied a lady crouching
on the hearth, whom at first glance I took for Mrs. Veeley.
But upon advancing and addressing her by that name, I
saw my mistake ; for the person before me not only re.
frained from replying, but rising at the sound of my voice,
revealed a form so noble in its height and conspicuous in
its grace, that all possibility of its being that of the dainty
little wife of my partner fled.
“I see that I have made a mistake," said I. “I beg your
pardon ;” and would have left the room, but something in
the general attitude of the lady before me, restrained me,
and believing it to be Mary Leavenworth, I inquired,
“Can it be this is Miss Leavenworth ?”
The noble figure appeared to droop, the gently lifted
head to fall, and for a moment I doubted if I had been
correct in my supposition. Then form and head slowly
erected themselves, a soft voice spoke and I heard a low
“yes,” and hurriedly advancing, confronted—not Mary
with her glancing, feverish gaze and scarlet, trembling
lips—but Eleanore, the woman whose faintest look had
moved me from the first, the woman whose husband I
believed myself to be even then pursuing to his doom.


HENRY CLAVERING.
247
The surprise was too great; I could neither sustain nor
conceal it. Stumbling slowly back, I murmured something
about having believed it to be her cousin ; and then, con-
scious only of the one wish to Ay a presence I dared not
encounter in my present mood, turned, when her rich,
heart-full voice rose once more and I heard ;
“You will not leave me without a word, Mr. Raymond,
now that chance has thrown us together ?” Then as I
came slowly forward, “Were you so very much astonished
to find me here?”
“I do not know—I did not expect_” was my incoher-
ent reply. "I had heard that you were ill; that you went
nowhere ; that you had no wish to see your friends."
“I have been ill,” she said, " but I am better now, and
have come to spend the night with Mrs. Veeley because I
could not endure the stare of the four walls of my room
any longer."
This was said without any effort at plaintiveness, but
rather as if she thought it necessary to excuse herself for
being where she was.
“I am glad that you have done so," said I. “You
ought to be here all the while. That dreary, lonesome
boarding house is no place for you, Miss Leavenworth.
It distresses us all to feel that you are exiling yourself at
this time.”
“I do not wish anybody to be distressed," she re.
turned. “It is best for me to be where I am. It is not
exile, nor am I all alone. A little girl is there, a child, one


248
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
whose innocent eyes see nothing but innocence in mine.
She will keep me from too great a despair. Do not let
my friends be anxious ; I can bear it.” Then in a lower
tone,—“There is but one thing that utterly disturbs me,
and that is my ignorance of what is going on at home.
Sorrow I can bear, but suspense is killing me. Will you
not tell me, then, something of Mary and home? I cannot
ask Mrs. Veeley ; she is kind, but has no real knowledge
of Mary or me, nor does she know any thing of our es.
trangement. She thinks me obstinate, and blames me for
leaving my cousin in her trouble. But you know that I
could not do otherwise. You know"-Her voice wavered
off into a tremble and she did not conclude.
"I cannot tell you much," I hastened to reply, “but
whatever knowledge is at my command, is certainly yours.
Is there any thing in particular you would like to ask ?”
“I would like to know how Mary is, whether she is
well and—and composed."
“Your cousin is not ill," I returned, “but I fear that I
can hardly say she is composed. She is in great anguish,
Miss Leavenworth. She is not only overwhelmed at the
loss which has befallen her, but overcome with anxiety for
you. You must not think of her as being otherwise than
troubled.”
“ You see her often, then?” said she.
“I am, assisting Mr. Harwell in preparing your uncle's
book for the press and necessarily am there much of the
time,” replied I.


HENRY CLAVERING.
249
"My uncle's book!” The words came in a tone of low
horror.
“Yes, Miss Leavenworth. It has been thought best
to bring it before the world, and "
“And Mary has set you at the task ?"
“ Yes."
It seemed as if she could not escape from the horror
which had overtaken her. “How could she ? O how
could she ?"
“She considers herself as doing what her uncle would
approve. He was very anxious, as you know, to have the
book out by July; she is but fulfilling his wishes—"
"Do not speak of it,” cried she falling a step back, “I
cannot bear it." Then as if she feared she had hurt my
feelings by her abruptness, lowered her voice and said, “I
do not, however, know of anyone I should be better pleased
to have charged with the task, than yourself. With you it
will be a work of respect and reverence; but a stranger-
O I could not have endured a stranger touching it.”
She was fast falling into her old horror, but rousing
herself, murmured,—“I wanted to ask you something ; ah,
I know—" and she moved a little so as to face me. “I
wish to inquire if every thing is as before in the house ;
the servants the same and—and other things ? "
“There is a Mrs. Darrell there ; I do not know of any
other change.”
“Mary does not talk of going away ?”
“I think not."


HENRY CLAVERING.
251
“How many times has this person of whose name you
do not appear to be certain, been to see Mary?”
“ Once."
6 When was it?"
“ Last night.”
“ Did he stay long ?”
“About twenty minutes, I should say."
“ And do you think he will come again ?"
“ No."
“Why?”
“He has left the country.”
A short silence followed this. I felt her eyes search-
ing my face, but doubt whether if I had known that she
held a loaded pistol in her hand, I could have looked up
at that moment.
“Mr Raymond,” she said at length in a changed tone,
“ the last time I saw you, you told me that you were
going to make some endeavor to restore me to my former
position before the world. I did not wish you to do so
then, nor do I wish you to do so now. Can you not
make me comparatively happy, then, by assuring me that
you have abandoned or will abandon a project so hope-
less ? "
“It is impossible,” said I ; "I cannot abandon it.
Much as I grieve to be a source of sorrow to you, it is best
you should know that I can never give up the hope of
righting you, while I live.”
She put out one quick hand in a sort of hopeless de-


252
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
precation inexpressibly touching to behold in the fast
waning firelight. But I was relentless.
“I should never be able to lie quietly in my grave if
through any weakness I should miss the blessed privilege
of setting the wrong right, and saving a noble woman from
unmerited disgrace.” And then seeing that she was not
likely to reply to this, drew a step nearer and said, “ Is
there not some little kindness I can show you, Miss
Leavenworth, which you can mention before we part ?
some message you would like taken, or some action per-
formed which only a friend could do ?”.
She stopped to think. “No," she said ; “I have only
one request to make, and that you refuse to grant.”
“For the most unselfish of reasons,” I urged.
She slowly shook her head. “You think so," mur-
mured she; then before I could reply, “I could desire
one little favor shown me however."
“What is that?"
“ That if any thing should transpire ; if Hannah
should be found, or---or my presence required in any way,
you will not keep me in ignorance. That you will let me
know the worst when it comes, without fail."
“I will."
“And now good-night; Mrs. Veeley is coming back
and you would scarcely wish to be found here by her."
“No," said I.
And yet I did not go, but stood watching the firelight
flicker on her black dress till the thought of Clavering


HENRY CLAVERING.
253
and the duty I had for the morrow, came like cold steel to
my heart, and I turned away towards the door. But at
the threshold I paused again and looked back. Othe
flickering, dying fire flame! O the crowding, clustering
shadows! O that drooping figure in their midst, with its
clasped hands and its hidden face! I see it all again ; I
see it as in a dream ; then darkness falls, and in the glare
of gas-lighted streets, I am hastening along, solitary and
sad to my lonely home.


254
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXIV.
A REPORT FOLLOWED BY SMOKE.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises ; and oft it hits,
Where Hope is coldest, and Despair most sits.
All's WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
WHEN I told Mr. Gryce that I only waited for the de.
termination of one fact, to feel justified in throwing the
case unreservedly into his hands, I alluded to the proving
or disproving of the supposition that Henry Clavering had
been a guest at the same watering-place with Eleanore
Leavenworth the summer before.
When, therefore, I found myself the next morning with
the Visitor book of the Hotel Union at R- in my hands,
it was only by the strongest effort of will that I could re-
strain my impatience. The suspense, however, was short.
Almost immediately I encountered his name written not half
a page below those of Mr. Leavenworth and his nieces,
and whatever may have been my emotion at finding my
suspicions thus confirmed, I recognized the fact that I
was in the possession of a clue which would yet lead to the
solving of the fearful problem which had been imposed
upon me.
Hastening to the telegraph-office I sent a message for


HENRY CLAVERING.
255
the man promised me by Mr. Gryce, and receiving for an-
swer that he could not be with me before three o'clock,
started for the house of Mr. Monell, a client of ours, living
in R- . I found him at home, and during our interview of
two hours, suffered the ordeal of appearing at ease and
interested in what he had to say, while my heart was
heavy with its first disappointment and my brain on fire
with the excitement of the work then on my hands.
I arrived at the depot just as the train came in. There
was but one passenger for R- , a brisk young man, whose
whole appearance was so different from what I expected
Q's to be that I at once made up my mind he could not be
the man I was looking for, and was therefore turning away
disappointed, when he approached and handed me a card
on which was inscribed the single character “?.” Even
then I could not bring myself to believe that the slyest and
most successful agent in Mr. Gryce's employ, was before
me, till catching his eye, I saw such a keen, enjoyable
twinkle sparkle for a moment from its depths, that all
doubt fled, and returning his bow with a show of satisfac-
tion, I remarked,
“You are very punctual ; I like that.”
He gave another short, quick nod. “Glad, sir, to please
you. Punctuality is too cheap a virtue not to be practiced
by a man on the look-out for a rise. But what orders
sir ? Down train due in ten minutes; no time to spare.”
“ Down train ? What have we to do with that?”


256
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“I thought you might wish to take it, sir. Mr. Brown—"
winking expressively at the name, “always checks his
carpet bag for home when he sees me coming. But that
is your affair, I am not particular."
“I wish to do what is wisest.”
“ Go home, then, as speedily as possible." And he
gave a third sharp nod exceedingly business-like and de-
termined.
“If I leave you, it is with the understanding that you
come first to me with your information. That you are in
my employ and in that of no one else for the time being,
and that mum is the word till I give you liberty to speak.”
“ Yes, sir. When I work for Brown & Co., I work for
them; and when I work for Smith & Co., I work for them.'
“ Very well then," said I giving him a memorandum I
had made before leaving Mr. Monell's, “here are your in
structions."
He looked it over with a certain degree of care, then
stepped into the waiting-room and threw it into the stove,
saying in a low tone,—“So much in case I should meet
with some accident; have an apoplectic fit or any thing of
that sort."
“But,"
“O don't worry; I sha'n't forget. I've a memory, sir.
No need of anybody using pen and paper with me.” And
laughing in the short, quick way one would expect from a
person of his appearance and conversation, he added-
“You will probably hear from me in a day or so," and


HENRY CLAVERING.
257
bowing, took his brisk, free way down the street just as the
train came rushing up to the depot where I was.
My instructions to Q were as follows.
1. To find out on what day and in whose company, the
Misses Leavenworth arrived at R- the year before.
What their movements were while there, and with whom
they most consorted. Also the date of their departure and
such facts as could be gathered in regard to their habits, etc.
2. Ditto in respect to a Mr. Henry Clavering, fellow
guest and probable friend of said ladies.
3. Name of individual fulfilling the following require-
ments. Clergyman, Methodist, deceased since last De-
cember or thereabouts, who in July of Seventy-five was
located in some town not over twenty miles from R-
4. Also name and present whereabouts of a man at
that time in service of the above.
To say that I passed the interval of time necessary to
a proper inquiry into these matters in any reasonable
frame of mind, would be to give myself credit for an
equanimity of temper which I unfortunately do not pos.
sess. Never have days seemed so long as the two which
interposed between my return from R— and the receipt
of the following letter :
Sir:
1. Individuals mentioned, arrived in R- July 3,
1875. Party consisted of four ; themselves, uncle, and
the girl named Hannah. Uncle remained three days and
17


258
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
then left for a short tour through Massachusetts. Gone
two weeks, during which ladies were seen more or less
with the gentleman named between us, but not to an extent
sufficient to excite gossip or occasion remark, when said
gentleman left R-- abruptly, two days after uncle's re-
turn. Date July 19. As to habits of ladies, more or less
social. They were always to be seen at picnics, rides, etc.,
and in the ballroom. M— liked best. E- con-
sidered grave, and towards the last of her stay, moody. It
is remembered now, that her manner was always pecu-
liar, and that she was more or less shunned by her cousin.
A servant-girl now in the hotel says, however, she was the
sweetest lady ever breathed. No particular reason for
this opinion. Uncle, ladies and servant left R— for
New York, August 7, 1875.
2. H. C. arrived at the hotel in R— July 6, 1875, in
company with Mr. and Mrs. Vandervort, friends of the
above. Left July 19, two weeks from day of arrival. Lit-
tle to be learned in regard to him. Remembered as the
handsome gentleman who was in the party with the L.
girls, and that is all.
3. F- , a small town, some sixteen or seventeen
miles from R , had for its Methodist minister in July
of last year, a man who has since died, Samuel Stebbins
by name. Date of decease Jan. 7, of this year.
4. Name of man in employ of S. S. at that time, is
Timothy Cook. He has been absent, but returned to
- two days ago. Can be seen if required.
an
was


HENRY CLAVERING.
259
“Ah ha!” I cried aloud at this point in my sudden
surprise and satisfaction ; "now we have something to work
with !” And sitting down I penned the following reply.
“T. C. wanted by all means. Also any evidence going
to prove that H. C. and E. L. were married at the house
of Mr. S. on any day of July or August last.”
Next morning came the following telegram.
“T. C. on the road. Remembers a marriage. Will
be with you by 2 p. m.”
At three o'clock of that same day, I stood before Mr.
Gryce. “I am here to make my report,” said I.
The flicker of a smile passed over his face, and he
gazed for the first time at his bound up finger-ends with a
softening aspect that must have done them good. “ I'm
ready," said he.
“Mr. Gryce," I began, “ do you remember the conclu-
sion we came to at our first interview in this house?”
“I remember the one you came to."
“Well, well,” returned I a little peevishly, “ the one I
came to, then. It was this : that if we could find to whom
Eleanore Leavenworth felt she owed her best duty and love,
we should discover who it was that murdered her uncle.”
“And do you imagine you have ascertained this ?"
“I do."
His eyes stole a little nearer my face. “Well l " ex-
claimed he," that is good ; go on."


260
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“When I undertook this business of clearing Eleanore
Leavenworth from suspicion," resumed I, “it was with
the premonition that this person would prove to be her
lover, but I had no idea he would prove to be her hus-
band.”
Mr. Gryce's gaze flashed like lightning to the ceiling.
“What?" said he with a frown.
“The lover of Eleanore Leavenworth is likewise her
husband,' I repeated. “Mr. Clavering holds no lesser
connection to her than that.”
“ How have you found that out ?" demanded Mr.
Gryce in a harsh tone that argued disappointment or dis-
pleasure.
“That, it is not necessary for me to state. The ques-
tion is not how I became acquainted with a certain thing,
but is what I assert in regard to it, true. I believe that
it is, and if you will cast your eye over this summary of
events gleaned by me from the lives of these two in-
dividuals, I think you will agree with me.” And I held
up before his eyes the following:
“During the two weeks commencing July 6, of the year
1875, and ending July 19, of the same year, Henry R.
Clavering of London, and Eleanore Leavenworth of New
York, were guests in the same hotel. Fact proved by Vis-
itor book of the Hotel Union at R- New York.
They were not only guests in the same hotel, but are
known to have held more or less communication with each


HENRY CLAVERING.
201
other. Fact proved by such servants now employed in R-
as were in the hotel at that time.
July 19. Mr. Clavering left R- abruptly, a circum-
stance that would not be considered remarkable if Mr.
Leavenworth, whose violent antipathy to Englishmen as
husbands is publicly known, had not just returned from a
journey.
July 30. Mr. Clavering was seen in the parlor of Mr.
Stebbins, the Methodist minister at F- , a town about
sixteen miles from R , where he was married to a lady of
great beauty. Proved by Timothy Cook, a man in the employ
of Mr. Stebbins, who was called in from the garden to wit-
ness the ceremony and sign a paper supposed to be a certificate.
July 31. Mr. Clavering takes steamer for Liverpool.
Prored by newspapers of that date.
September. Eleanore Leavenworth in her uncle's house
in New York, conducting herself as usual, but pale of face
and preoccupied in manner. Proved by servants then in
her service. Mr. Clavering in London ; watches the
United States mails with eagerness, but receives no letters.
Fits up room elegantly as for a lady. Proved by Secret
Communication from London.
November. Miss Leavenworth still in uncle's house.
No publication of her marriage ever made. Mr. Clavering
in London ; shows signs of uneasiness; the room prepared
for lady closed. Proved as above.
January 17, 1876. Mr. Clavering having returned to
America, engages room at Hoffman House, New York.


HENRY CLAVERING.
263
“Of course."
“Which latter supposition you now propose to jus.
tify!”
“ Which latter supposition we must now endeavor to
prove justifiable.”
A peculiar gleam shot over Mr. Gryce's somewhat ab-
stracted face. “Then you have no new evidence against
Mr. Clavering?"
“I should think the fact just given, of his standing in
the relation of unacknowledged husband to the suspected
party was something."
“No positive evidence as to his being the assassin of
Mr. Leavenworth, I mean?”.
I was obliged to tell him no, none which he would
call of a positive nature. “But I can show the existence
of motive, and I can likewise show that it was not only
possible, but probable that he was in the house at the
time of the murder."
Ah, you can!” cried Mr. Gryce, rousing a little from
his abstraction.
“The motive was the usual one of self-interest. Mr.
Leavenworth stood in the way of Eleanore's acknowledge
ing him as a husband, and he must therefore be put out of
the way.”
“Weak!"
“Motives for murders are sometimes weak.”
“The motive for this was not. There is not only too
much calculation observable in the whole thing, but the
n


264
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
manner of it was too cold, for the arm to have been nerved
by any thing short of the most deliberate intention, founded
upon the deadliest necessity of passion or avarice.”
“ Avarice ?"
“ One should never deliberate upon the causes which
lead to the destruction of a rich man, without taking into
account that most common passion of the human race."
“ But”
“Let us hear what you have to say of Mr. Clavering's
presence in the house at the time of the murder.”
“Well,” said I, “if the motive was weak, I fear that
you will find this more so." And I related what Thomas
the butler, had told me in regard to Mr. Clavering's call
upon Miss Leavenworth that night, and the lack of proof
which existed as to his having left the house when sup-
posed to do so.
“That is worth remembering,” said Mr. Gryce at the
conclusion. “Valueless as direct evidence that he was
implicated in this crime, it would be very important as cir.
cumstantial.” Then in a graver tone than any which he
had yet used in his conversations with me, he went on to
say, “Mr. Raymond, are you aware that in all this you
have been strengthening the case against Eleanore Leaven-
worth instead of weakening it?"
I could only ejaculate in my sudden wonder and horror.
“You have shown her to be secret, sly, and unprinci-
pled, capable of wronging those to whom she was most
bound, her uncle and her husband."


HENRY CLAVERING.
265
“ You put it very strongly,” said I, conscious of a
shocking discrepancy between this description of Elea-
nore's character, and all that I had preconceived in regard
to it.
“No more so than your own conclusions from this
story warrant me in doing.” Then as I sat silent, mur-
mured low, and as if to himself, “ If the case was dark
against her before, it is doubly so with this supposition es-
tablished of her being the woman secretly married to Mr.
Clavering.”
“ And yet,” cried I, unable to give up without a struggle
the hope I had been cherishing for so long, "you do not,
cannot believe the noble-looking Eleanore guilty of this
horrible crime ?"
“No,” said he, slowly ; "you might as well know right
here what I think about that. I believe Eleanore Leaven-
worth to be an innocent woman.”
“You do? Then what,” cried I, swaying between joy
at this admission and doubt as to the meaning of his
former expressions, "remains to be done ?”
Mr. Gryce quietly responded : “Why, nothing but to
prove that your supposition is not true.”


266
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXV.
ТімотнY COOK.
Look here upon this picture and on this.
HAMLET.
I STARED at him in amazement.
“I doubt if it will be so very difficult,” said he. Then
in a sudden burst, “Where is the man Cook ?"
“He is below,” returned I ; “ he and Q. I brought
them with me.”
“That was wise ; let us see the boys ; have them up."
Stepping to the door I called them.
“I expected of course you would want to question
them,” said I coming back.
In another moment the spruce Q and the shock-headed
Cook entered the room.
“Ah," said Mr. Gryce, looking towards the latter if
not directly at him ; "this is the deceased Mr. Stebbins'
hired man, is it? Well, you look as though you could tell
the truth.”
"I usually calculate to do that thing, sir ; at all events
I was never called a liar that I can remember."
“Of course not, of course not,” returned the detective,
very affably for him. Then without any further introduc-
tion,—“What was the first name of the lady you saw mar.
ried in your master's house last summer ?”


HENRY CLAVERING.
267
“ Bless me if I know! I don't think I heard, sir."
“But you recollect how she looked ?”
“As well as if she was my own mother. No disrespect
to the lady, sir, if you know her,” he made haste to add,
glancing hurriedly at me. “What I mean is, that she was
so handsome, I could never forget the look of her sweet
face if I lived a hundred years."
“Can you describe her?"
“I don't know, sirs; she was tall and grand looking,
had the brightest eyes and the whitest hand and smiled in
a way to make even a common man like me wish he had
never seen her.”
“Would you know her in a crowd ?"
“I would know her anywhere.”
“Very well, now tell us all you can about that mar-
riage.”
“Well, sirs, it was something like this. I had been in
Mr. Stebbins' employ I should say about a year, when one
morning as I was hoeing in the garden that runs along by
the road, I saw a gentleman step down from the platform
of the depot, look up and down the road for a minute, and
then walk rapidly to our gate and come in. I noticed him
particularly, because he was so fine looking ; unlike any-
body in F— , and, indeed, unlike anybody I had ever seen,
for that matter ; but I shouldn't have thought much about
it if there hadn't come along not five minutes after, a
buggy with two ladies in it, which stopped at our gate, too.
I saw they wanted to get out, so I went and held their


268
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
horse for them and they got down and went into the
house."
“Did you see their faces ?”
“No, sir; not then. They had veils on.”
“ Very well, go on."
“I hadn't been to work long, before I heard some one
calling my name, and looking up, saw Mr. Stebbins stand-
ing in the door, beckoning. I went to him, and he said,
'I want you, Tim ; wash your hands and come into the
parlor. I had never been asked to do that before, and it
struck me all of a heap, but I did what he asked, and was
so taken aback at the looks of the lady I saw standing
up on the floor with the handsome gentleman, that I stum-
bled over a stool and made a great racket, and didn't
know much where I was or what was going on, till I heard
Mr. Stebbins say man and wife, and then it came over me
in a hot kind of way that it was a marriage I was seeing."
Timothy Cook stopped to wipe his forehead as if over-
come with the very recollection, and Mr. Gryce took the
opportunity to remark,
“You say there were two ladies ; now where was the
other one at this time."
“ She was there, sir, but I didn't mind much about her,
I was so taken up with the handsome one and the way she
had of smiling, when any one looked at her. I never saw
the beat.”
I felt a quick thrill go through me, but why or for
what I could not at that moment have determined.


HENRY CLAVERING.
269
“Can you remember the color of her hair or eyes ? "
“No, sir; I had a feeling as if she wasn't dark, and
that is all I know.”
“ But you remember her face?”
6 Yes, sir."
Mr. Gryce here whispered me to procure the two
pictures which I would find in a certain drawer in his
desk, and set them up in different parts of the room un-
beknown to the man.
“You have before said,” pursued Mr. Gryce, " that you
have no remembrance of her name. Now, how was that?
Weren't you called upon to sign the certificate ?”
“Yes, sir ; but I am most ashamed to say it, I was in
a sort of maze and didn't hear much, and only remember
that it was a Mr. Clavering she was married to, and that
some one called some one else Elner, or something like
that. I wish I hadn't been so stupid, sir, if it would have
done you any good.”
“Tell us about the signing of the certificate," said Mr.
Gryce.
“Well, sir, there isn't much to tell. Mr. Stebbins
asked me to put my name down in a certain place on a
piece of paper he pushed towards me, and I put it down
there, that is all.”
“Was there no other name there when you wrote
yours ? "
“No, sir. Afterwards Mr. Stebbins turned towards
the other lady who now came forward, and asked her if she


270
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
wouldn't please sign it, and she said 'yes,' and came very
quickly and did so.”
“And didn't you see her face then?”
“No, sir; her back was to me when she threw by her
veil, and I only saw Mr. Stebbins staring at her as she
stooped, with a kind of wonder on his face, which made
me think that she might have been something worth look-
ing at too, but I didn't see her myself.”
“Well, what happened then ?"
“I don't know, sir. I went stumbling out of the room
and didn't see any thing more."
“Where were you when the ladies went away?"
“In the garden, sir ; I had gone back to my work.”
“You saw them, then ; was the gentleman with them?”
“No, sir ; that was the queer part of it all. They went
back as they came, and so did he; and in a few minutes
Mr. Stebbins came out where I was and told me I was to
say nothing about what I had seen, for it was a secret."
“Were you the only one in the house who knew any
thing about it? Weren't there any women around ? "
“No, sir ; Miss Stebbins had gone to the sewing
circle.”
I had by this time some faint impression of what Mr.
Gryce's suspicions were, and in arranging the pictures had
placed one, that of Eleanore,-and an exquisite portrait it
was too,--on the mantel-piece, and the other, which was an
uncommonly fine photograph of Mary, in plain view on tủe
desk. But Mr. Cook's back was as yet towards that part
LS


HENRY CLAVERING.
271
of the room, and taking advantage of the moment, I re-
turned and asked him if that was all he had to tell us
about this matter.
“Yes, sir."
“Then,” said Mr. Gryce with a glance at Q, " isn't there
something here you can give Mr. Cook in payment for his
story? Look around will you ?”
Q nodded and moved towards a cupboard in the wall
which was at the side of the mantel-piece, Mr. Cook fol-
lowing him with his eyes as was natural, when with a sud-
den start he crossed the room and pausing before the
mantel-piece, looked at the picture of Eleanore which I
had put there, gave a low grunt of satisfaction or pleasure,
looked at it again and walked away. I felt my heart leap
up into my throat, and moved by what impulse of dread or
hope I cannot say, turned my back, when suddenly *I
heard him give vent to a startled exclamation, followed by
the words ;-“Why here she is, this is her, sirs," and turn-
ing around, saw him hurrying towards us with Mary's pic-
ture in his hands.
I do not know as I was greatly surprised. I was pow-
erfully excited as well as conscious of a certain whirl of
thought and an unsettling of old conclusions that was very
confusing, but surprised ? no. It seemed as if the manner
of Mr. Gryce had too well prepared me.
“This the lady who was married to Mr. Clavering, my
good man? I guess you are mistaken,” cried Mr. Gryce in
a very incredulous tone.


HENRY CLAVERING.
273
I longed to have the man dismissed, that I might inquire
the reason of the great complacency which I now saw
overspreading Mr. Gryce's frame, to his very finger ends.
“Mr. Cook needn't be concerned,” remarked Mr.
Gryce. “ If he will take a glass of warm drink, to fortify
him for his walk, I think he may go to the lodgings Mr.
Morris has provided for him, without fear. Give the gent
a glass, and let him mix for himself."
But it was full ten minutes before we were delivered
of the man, and his vain regrets. Mary's image had
seemed to call up every latent feeling in his heart, and I
could but wonder over a loveliness that was capable of
swaying even such as he. But at last he yielded to the
seductions of the now wily Q, and departed.
Left alone with Mr. Gryce, I must have allowed some
of the confused emotions which filled my breast to become
apparent on my countenance, for after a few minutes of
ominous silence, he exclaimed very grimly, and yet with a
latent touch of that complacency I had before noticed,
“This discovery rather upsets you, doesn't it? Well it
don't me," shutting his mouth like a trap. “I expected
it.”
“You must have formed very different conclusions
from what I have done,” I returned," or you would see
that this discovery alters the complexion of the whole
affair.”
" It does not alter the truth.”
“What is the truth ?”
18


274
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Mr. Gryce's very legs grew thoughtful ; his voice
sank to its deepest tone. “Do you very much want to
know?"
“Want to know the truth? what else are we after ?"
“Then,” said he, “to my notion, the complexion of
things has altered, but very much for the better. As long
as Eleanore was believed to be the wife, her action in this
matter was accounted for, but the tragedy itself, was not.
Why should Eleanore or Eleanore's husband wish the
death of a man whose bounty was believed by them to
cease with his life? But with Mary, the heiress, proved the
wife !-I tell you, Mr. Raymond, it all hangs together now.
You must never, in reckoning up an affair of murder like
this, forget who it is that most profits by the deceased
man's death.”
“But Eleanore's silence ? her concealment of certain
proofs and evidences in her own breast-how will you
account for that? I can imagine a woman devoting her-
self to the shielding of a husband from the consequences
of crime, but a cousin's husband, never."
Mr. Gryce, put his feet very close together, and softly
grunted. “Then you still think Mr. Clavering the assas.
sin of Mr. Leavenworth ?”
I could only stare at him in my sudden doubt and
dread. “Still think ?" I repeated.
“Mr. Clavering the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth ?"
“Why, what else is there to think? you don't-you
can't suspect Eleanore of having deliberately undertaken


HENRY CLAVERING.
275
to help her cousin out of a difficulty, by taking the life of
their mutual benefactor?”
“No;” said Mr. Gryce ;“no, I do not think Eleanore
Leavenworth had any hand in the business."
“Then who—" I began and stopped, lost in the dread
ful vista that was opening before me.
“Who? Why who but the one whose past deceit and
present necessity, demanded his death as a relief? who,
but the beautiful, gorgeous, money-loving, man-deceiving
goddess"
I leaped to my feet in my sudden horror and repug-
nance. “Do not mention the name," cried I ; "you are
wrong, but do not speak the name.”
“Excuse me,” said he,“ but it will have to be spoken
many times, and we may as well begin,-Mary Leaven-
worth, or if you like it better, Mrs. Henry Clavering. Are
you so much surprised? It has been my thought from the
beginning."


276
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXVI.
MR. GRYCE EXPLAINS HIMSELF.
Sits the wind in that corner ?
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
nou
I do not propose to enter into a description of the min.
gled feelings that overwhelmed me at this announcement. As
a drowning man is said to live over in one terrible instant the
events of a lifetime, so each word that had been uttered
in my hearing by Mary, from her first introduction to me
in her own room on the morning of the inquest, to our
final conversation on the night of Mr. Clavering's call,
swept in one wild phantasmagoria through my brain,
leaving me aghast at the signification which her whole con-
duct seemed to acquire from the lurid light which now
fell upon it.
“I see that I have pulled down an avalanche of doubts
about your ears,” exclaimed my companion from the
height of his calm superiority. “You never thought of
this possibility, then, yourself ? "
“Do not ask me what I have thought. I only know
one thing, and that is, that I will never believe your sus-
picions true. That, however much Mary may have been
benefited by her uncle's death, she never had a hand in
it; actual hand I mean," added I with an attempt to be
honest.


278
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“No, but,"
“ You believed it to have been spoken by Mary to
Eleanore ?"
“Of course, didn't you ? "
O the smile that crossed Mr. Gryce's face! “Scarcely.
I left that baby play for you. I thought one was enough
to follow on that tack."
The light, the light that was breaking upon me!
“And do you mean to say,” cried I, “ that it was Eleanore
who was speaking at that time? that I have been laboring
all these weeks under a terrible mistake, and that you
could have righted me with a word and did not ?"
“Well,” said he, “ as to that, I had a purpose in letting
you follow your own lead for awhile. In the first place, I
was not myself sure which spoke ; though I had but little
doubt about the matter. The voices are, as you must
have noticed, very much alike, while the attitudes in which
we found them upon entering, were such as to be ex-
plainable equally by the supposition that Mary was in
the act of launching a denunciation, or in that of repelling
one. So that while I did not hesitate myself as to what
was the true explanation of the scene before me, I was
pleased to find that you accepted a contrary one ; as in
this way both theories would have the chance of being
tested ; as was right in a case of so much mystery. You
accordingly took up the affair with one idea for your
starting-point and I with another. You saw every fact as
it developed through the medium of Mary's belief in Elea.


HENRY CLAVERING.
279
nore's guilt and I through the contrary. And what has
been the result? With you, doubt, contradiction, constant
unsettlement and unwarranted resorts to strange sources
for reconcilement between appearances and your own con-
victions, with me, growing assurance and a belief which
each and every development so far, has but served to
strengthen and make more probable.”
Again that wild panorama of events, looks and words
swept before me. Mary's reiterated assertions of her
cousin's innocence, Ereanore's attitude of lofty silence in
regard to certain matters which might be considered by
her as pointing towards the murderer.
“Your theory must be the correct one,” said I at last;
“it was undoubtedly Eleanore who spoke. She believes in
Mary's guilt and I have been blind indeed, not to have
seen it from the first."
-“ If Eleanore Leavenworth believes in her cousin's
criminality, she must have some good reason for doing so.”
I was obliged to admit that too.
“ She did not conceal in her bosom that tell-tale key,
-found who knows where—and destroy, or seek to
destroy it and the letter which introduced her cousin to
the public as the cruel unprincipled destroyer of a trusting
man's peace, for nothing."
“No, no."
“And yet you, a stranger, a young man who have
never seen Mary Leavenworth in any other light than that
in which her coquettish nature sought to display itself,
WS


280
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
presume to say she is innocent, in the face of the attitude
maintained by Eleanore Leavenworth from the first."
“But,” said I in my great unwillingness to accept his
conclusions, “ Eleanore Leavenworth is but mortal. She
may have been mistaken in her inferences. She has
never stated what her suspicion was founded upon, nor
can we know what basis she has for maintaining the atti-
tude you speak of. Clavering is as likely to be the assas-
sin as Mary for all we know and possibly for all she
knows."
“You seem to be almost superstitious in your belief in
Clavering's guilt.”
I recoiled. Was I ? Could it be that Mr. Harwell's
fanciful conviction in regard to this man, had in any way
influenced me to the detriment of my better judgment?
“And you may be right," Mr. Gryce went on ;“I do
not pretend to be set in my notions. Future investigation
may succeed in fixing something upon him, though I hardly
think it likely. His behavior as the secret husband of
a woman possessing motives for the commission of a
crime, has been too consistent throughout.”
“ All except his leaving her.”
“No exception at all, for he hasn't left her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that instead of leaving the country, Mr.
Clavering has only made pretence of doing so. That
in place of dragging himself off to Europe at her command,
he has only changed his lodgings, and can now be found,


HENRY CLAVERING.
281
not only in a house opposite to hers, but in the window of
that house, where he sits day after day watching who goes
in and out of her front door."
I remembered his parting injunction to me in that mem-
orable interview we had in my office, and saw myself com-
pelled to put a new construction upon it.
“But I was assured at the Hoffman House that he
had sailed for Europe, and myself saw the man who pro-
fesses to have driven him to the steamer.”
"Just so."
“ And Mr. Clavering returned to the city after that?”
“ In another carriage and to another house."
“And you tell me that man is all right?" said I.
“ No," returned he, “I only say there isn't the shadow
of evidence against him as the person who shot Mr.
Leavenworth.”
Rising, I paced the floor, and for a few minutes silence
fell between us. But the clock striking, recalled me to the
necessity of the hour, and turning I asked Mr. Gryce what
he proposed to do now.
“There is but one thing I can do,” returned he.
“And that is ? "
“To go upon such lights as I have, and cause the arrest
of Miss Leavenworth.”
I had by this time schooled myself to endurance and
was able to hear this without uttering an exclamation. But
I could not let it pass without making one effort to combat
his determination.


282
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“But,” said I, “ I do not see what evidence you have
positive enough in its character, to warrant you in such
action. You have yourself intimated that the existence of
motive is not enough, even though taken with the fact of
the suspected party being in the house at the time of the
murder, and what more have you to urge against Miss
Leavenworth ?"
"Pardon me,” he interrupted. “I said, 'Miss Leaven-
worth’; I should have said . Eleanore Leavenworth.""
“Eleanore ? What, when you and all unite in thinking
that she alone of all these parties to the crime is utterly
guiltless of wrong?"
“And yet who is the only one upon whom any thing
has as yet been fixed.”
I could but acknowledge that.
“Mr. Raymond,” he remarked very gravely, “ the public
is becoming clamorous; something must be done to satisfy
it, if only for the moment. Eleanore has laid herself open to
the suspicion of the police and must take the consequences
of her action. I am sorry ; she is a noble creature, I ad-
mire her ; but justice is justice, and though I think her in-
nocent, I shall be forced to put her under arrest unless—"
“But I cannot be reconciled to it,” cried I. “ It is
doing an irretrievable injury to one whose only fault is
an undue and mistaken devotion to an unworthy cousin. If
Mary is the-"
“ Unless something occurs between now and to-morrow
morning," Mr. Gryce went on as if I had not spoken.


HENRY CLAVERING.
283
“ To-morrow morning ?”
“Yes."
I tried to realize it, tried to face the fact that all my
efforts had been for nothing, and failed.
“ Will you not grant me one more day," I asked in my
desperation.
“What to do?”
Alas, I did not know. “To confront Mr. Clavering,
and force from him the truth."
“ To make a mess of the whole affair,” cried he. “No
sir; the die is cast. Eleanore Leavenworth knows the one
point which fixes this crime upon her cousin, and she must
tell us that point or suffer the consequences of her re-
fusal.”
I made one more effort.
“But why to-morrow?' Having exhausted so much
time already in our inquiries, why not take a little more ;
especially as we are constantly growing warmer upon the
trail ? A little more moleing—".
“A little more folderol,” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, losing
his temper. “No, sir; the hour for moleing has passed ;
something decisive has got to be done now; though to be
sure if I could find the one missing link I want”
“ Missing link? What is that?".
“The immediate motive of the tragedy; a bit of proof
that Mr. Leavenworth threatened his niece with his dis-
pleasure or Mr. Clavering with his revenge, would lift me
right up on to the spot I want to be; no arresting of
a


284
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Eleanore then. No, my lady, I would walk right into
your own gilded parlors, and when you asked me if
I had found the murderer yet, say 'yes,' and show you
a bit of paper that would surprise you, I'm thinking.
But missing links are not so easily found. This has
been moled for, and moled for, as you are pleased to call
our system of investigation, and totally without result.
Nothing but the confession of some one of these several
parties to the crime will give us what we want. I will tell you
what I will do,” he suddenly cried : “Miss Leavenworth has
desired me to report to her ; she is very anxious for the de-
tection of the murderer you know, and offers an immense
reward. Well, I will gratify this desire of hers. The sus-
picions I have, together with my reasons for them, will
make an interesting disclosure. I should not greatly
wonder if they produced an equally interesting confession.”
I could only jump to my feet in my horror.
“At all events I propose to try it. Eleanore is worth
that much risk any way.”
"It will do no good,” said I. “If Mary is guilty, she
will never confess it. If not,"
“She will tell us who is."
“No," said I, “not if it is Clavering, her husband."
“Yes," returned he, “even if it is Clavering, her hus-
band. She has not the devotion of Eleanore."
That I could but acknowledge. She would hide no keys
for the sake of shielding another; no, if Mary were accused,
she would speak. The future opening before us looked som-


HENRY CLAVERING.
285
bre enough. And yet when in a short time from that, I found
myself alone in the busy street, the thought that Eleanore was
free, rose above all others, filling and moving me till my
walk home in the rain that day has become a marked
memory of my life. It was only with nightfall that I began
to realize the truly critical position in which Mary stood if
Mr. Gryce's theory was correct. But once seized with this
thought, nothing could drive it from my mind. Shrink as
I would, it was ever before me, haunting me with the direst
forebodings. Nor though I retired early could I succeed
in getting either sleep or rest. All night I tossed on my
pillow, saying over to myself with dreary iteration, “Some-
thing must happen, something will happen to prevent Mr.
Gryce doing this dreadful thing.” Then I would start up
and ask what there was that could happen, and my mind
would run over the various contingencies which might oc-
cur, as—Mr. Clavering might confess; Hannah might
come back ; Mary herself wake up to her position and
speak the word I had seen trembling on her lips for so
long. But further thought showed me how unlikely any
of these things were to happen, and it was with a brain
utterly exhausted that I fell asleep in the early dawn, to
dream I saw Mary standing above Mr. Gryce with a pistol
in her hand. I was awakened from this pleasing
vision by a heavy knock at the door. Hastily rising, I
asked who was there. The answer came in the shape of
an envelope thrust under the door. Raising it, I found it
to be a note. It was from Mr. Gryce, and ran thus;
CO


286
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Come at once ; Hannah Chester is found.”
“ Hannah found ?"
“So we have reason to think.”
“When? where? by whom?"
“Sit down and I will tell you."
Drawing up a chair in a flurry of hope and fear, I sat
down by Mr. Gryce's side.
“She is not in the cupboard ;” that personage ex-
claimed, observing without doubt how my eyes went travel-
ling about the room in my anxiety and impatience. “We
are not absolutely sure that she's anywhere. But word
has come to us that a girl's face believed to be Hannah's,
has been seen at the upper window of a certain house in-
don't start-R--, where a year ago she was in the habit of
visiting while at the hotel with the Misses Leavenworth.
Now as it has already been determined that she left New
York the night of the murder, by the — — Rail-
road, though for what point we have been unable to as-
certain, we consider the matter worth inquiring into."
“But,”
“If she is there," went on Mr. Ģryce, “she is secreted ;
kept very close. No one except the informant has ever
seen her, nor is there any suspicion among the neigh-
bors of her being in town.”
“Hannah secreted at a certain house in R- ? Whose
house?”
Mr. Gryce dowered me with one of his grimmest smiles.
as-


HENRY CLAVERING.
287
“ The name of the lady she's with, is given in the com-
munication as Belden ; Mrs. Amy Belden.”
“Amy Belden ! the name found written on a torn en-
velope by Mr. Clavering's servant girl in London?”
“ Yes.”
I made no attempt to conceal my satisfaction. “Then
we are upon the verge of some discovery ; Providence has
interfered and Eleanore will be saved. But when did you
get this word ?"
“Last night, or rather this morning ; Q brought it.”
“ It was a message then to Q?”
“Yes, the result of his moleings while in R- , I
suppose.”
“ Who was it signed by ?”.
“A respectable tinsmith who lives next door to Mrs. B.”
“And is this the first you knew of an Amy Belden
living in R- ".
“ Yes."
“ Widow or wife ?”
“Don't know ; don't know any thing about her but her
name?”
“But you have already sent Q to make inquiries ?”
“No; the affair is a little too serious for him to man-
age, that is, I hesitate trusting him alone. A contingency
might arise when brains would be useful, and though
has enough of the prying sort, he is not equal to great oc-
casions, and might fail just for the lack of a keen mind to
direct him."


HENRY CLAVERING.
289
will doubtless go in disguise, you are not to recognize him,
much less interfere with him and his plans, till he gives
you leave to do so, by some preconcerted signal. You are
to work in your way and he in his, till circumstances seem
to require mutual support and countenance. I cannot
even say whether you will see him or not; he may find it
necessary to keep out of the way; but you may be sure of
one thing, that he will know where you are, and that the
display of—, well, let us say a red silk handkerchief-have
you such a thing?"
“I will get one.”
“Will be regarded by him as a sign that you desire his
presence or assistance, whether it be shown about your
person or at the window of your room."
“And these are all the instructions you can give me?"
I said as he paused.
“Yes, I don't know of any thing else. You must de-
pend largely upon your own discretion, and the exigencies
of the moment. I cannot tell you now what to do. Your
own wit will be the best guide. Only if possible let me
either hear from you or see you by to-morrow at this time."
And he handed me a cipher in case I should wish to
telegraph.


290
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
BOOK IΙI.
HANNAH.
XXVII.
AMY BELDEN.
A merrier man
Within the limits of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
Love's LABOUR's Lost.
It was a bleak day in April that I stepped for the seco
ond time in my life, from the cars at R- and took my
way down the broad, well-populated street leading to the
hotel and its surrounding villas. Not that I had any in-
tention this time of making even a casual stop at that at-
tractive refuge for New York pleasure-seekers. My inten-
tion was rather to seek out our client, Mr. Monell, and from
him learn the best manner of approaching Mrs. Belden.
To his hospitable mansion, then, on the road to F- I
hastened, and was so fortunate as to meet him driving into
town behind his famous trotter Alfred ; an encounter, if I
may so call it, which struck me as peculiarly fortunate,
giving me, as it did, ample opportunity for a tête-à-tête
conversation with him, without imposing upon me the delay
which a visit at his house must have necessarily occasioned.


HANNAH.
291
“Well, and how goes the day?" was the exclamation
of my friend as, the first greetings passed, we drove rapid-
ly into town.
“ Your part in it goes pretty smoothly,” returned I; and
thinking I could never hope to win his attention to my
affairs till I had satisfied him in regard to his own, I told
him what I knew concerning his case then pending ; a sub-
ject so prolific of question and answer, that we had driven
twice around the town before he remembered that he had
a letter to post. As it was an important one admitting of
no delay, we hasted at once to the post-office, where he
went in, leaving me outside to watch the rather meager
stream of goers and comers who at that time of day make
the post-office of a country town their place of rendezvous.
Among these for some reason I especially noted one mid-
dle-aged woman, why I cannot say; her appearance was
any thing but remarkable. And yet when she came out
with two letters in her hand, one in a large and one in a
small envelope, and meeting my eye hastily drew them
under her shawl, I found myself wondering what was in
her letters and who she could be, that the casual glance of
a stranger should unconsciously move her to an action so
suspicious. But Mr. Monell's reappearance at the same
moment, diverted my attention, and in the interest of the
conversation that followed, I soon forgot both the woman
and her letters. For determined that he should have no
opportunity to revert to that endless topic, a law case, I
exclaimed with the first crack of the whip, — “There, I


292
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
knew there was something I wanted to ask you. It is this.
Are you acquainted with any one is this town by the name
of Belden?”
“ There is a widow Belden in town; I don't know of
any other."
“ Is her first name Amy?"
“ Yes, Mrs. Amy Belden."
“That is the one,” said I. “Who is she, what is she,
and what is the extent of your acquaintance with her ?”
“Well," said he, “I cannot conceive why you should
be interested in such an antiquated piece of commonplace
goodness as she is, but seeing you ask, I have no objec-
tion to telling you that she is the very respectable relict
of a deceased cabinetmaker of this town; that she lives
in a little house down the street there, and that if you
have any forlorn old tramp to be lodged over night,
or any destitute family of little ones to be looked after,
she is the one to go to. As to knowing her, I know her
as I do a dozen other members of our church there up
over the hill. When I see her I speak to her, and that
is all.”
“A respectable widow, you say. Any family ? "
“No ; lives alone, has a little income, I believe ; must
have, to put the money on the plate she always does; but
spends her time in plain sewing and such deeds of charity,
as one with small means but willing heart, can find the op-
portunity of doing in a town like this. But why in the
name of wonders do you ask ?”


HANNAH.
293
0
"Business,” said I, “business. Mrs. Belden-don't
mention it by the way—has got mixed up in a case of mine,
and I felt it due to my curiosity if not to my purse, to find
out something about her. And I am not satisfied yet.
The fact is I would give something, Monell, for the oppor.
tunity of studying this woman's character. Now couldn't
you manage to get me introduced into her house in some
way that would make it possible and proper for me to
converse with her at my leisure ? Business would thank
you if you could.”
“Well, I don't know ; I suppose it could be done. She
used to take lodgers in the summer when the hotel was
full, and might be induced to give a bed to a friend of
mine who is very anxious to be near the post-office on ac-
count of a business telegram he is expecting and which
when it comes will demand his immediate attention.” And
Mr. Monell gave me a sly wink of his eye, little imagin-
ing how near the mark he had really struck.
“You need not say that. Tell her that I have a
peculiar dislike to sleeping in a public house, and that you
knew of no one who could better accommodate me for the
short time I desire to be in town, than herself.”
“And what will be said of my hospitality in allowing
you under those circumstances, to remain in any other
house than my own ?”
“I don't know,” returned I; “very hard things no
doubt, but I guess your hospitality can stand it.”
“Well, if you persist, we will see what can be done."


294
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
And driving up to a neat white cottage of homely but suffi-
ciently attractive appearance, he stopped.
“This is her house,” said he, jumping to the ground,
"let's go in and see what we can do."
Glancing up at the windows which were all closed save
the two on the veranda overlooking the street, I thought
to myself, “ If she has anybody in hiding here, whose pres-
ence in the house she desires to keep secret, it is folly to
hope she will take me in, however well recommended I
may come.” But yielding to the example of my friend, I
alighted in my turn and followed him up the short, grass-
bordered walk to the front door.
"As she has no servant, she will come to the door
herself, so be ready," said he as he knocked.
I had barely time to observe that the curtains to the
window at my left suddenly dropped, when a hasty step
made itself heard within, and a quick hand threw open the
door, and I saw before me the woman whom I had observed
at the post-office, and whose action with the letters had
struck me as being so peculiar. I recognized her at first
glance, though she was differently dressed and had evident-
ly passed through some worry or excitement that had al-
tered the expression of her countenance and made her
manner what it was not at that time, strained and a trifle
uncertain. But I saw no reason for thinking that she re-
membered me. On the contrary, the look she directed to-
wards me had nothing but inquiry in it, and when Mr.
Monell pushed me forward with the remark, “A friend


HANNAH.
295
of mine ; in fact my lawyer from New York,” she dropped
a hurried old-fashioned courtesy whose only expression was
a manifest desire to appear sensible of the honor conferred
upon her, through the mist of a certain trouble that con-
fused every thing about her.
“We have come to ask a favor, Mrs. Belden ; but may
we not come in?" said my client in a round, hearty voice
well calculated to recall a person's thoughts into their
proper channel. “I have heard many times of your cosy
home and would like an opportunity to see it.” And with
a blind disregard to the look of surprised resistance that
rose involuntarily into her eyes, he stepped gallantly into
the little room whose cheery red carpet and bright picture-
hung walls, showed invitingly through the half open door
at our left.
Finding her premises thus invaded by a sort of French
coup d'état, Mrs. Belden made the best of the situation,
and pressing me to enter also, devoted herself to hospi-
tality. As for Mr. Monell, he quite blossomed out in his
endeavors to make himself agreeable ; so much so, that I
shortly found myself laughing at his sallies, though my
heart was full of anxiety lest after all, our efforts should
fail of the success they certainly merited. Meanwhile
Mrs. Belden softened more and more, joining in the con-
versation with an ease hardly to be expected from one in
her humble circumstances. Indeed I soon saw that she
was no common woman. There was a refinement in her
speech and manner, that combined with her motherly pres-
was
Mon Won
1.
a


296
THE LEAVENWORTH. CASE.
ence and gentle air, was very pleasing. The last woman
in the world I should ever have suspected of any under-
handed proceeding, if I had not marked the peculiar look
of hesitation that crossed her face, when Mr. Monell
broached the subject of my entertainment there.
“I don't know, sir; I would be glad, but," and she turned
a very scrutinizing look upon me," the fact is, I have not
taken lodgers of late, and I have got out of the way of the
whole thing, and am afraid I cannot make him comfort-
able. In short, you will have to excuse me.”
“But we can't,” returned Mr. Monell. “What, entice
a fellow into a room like this—" and he cast a hearty ad
miring glance round the apartment which for all its sim-
plicity, both its warm coloring and general air of cosiness
amply merited, “and then turn a cold shoulder upon him
when he humbly entreats the honor of staying one poor,
little, pitiful night in the enjoyment of its attractions ? No,
no, Mrs. Belden, I know you too well for that. Lazarus
himself couldn't come to your door and be turned away,
much less a good-hearted, clever-headed young gentleman
like my friend here."
“You are very good,” she began, an almost weak love
of praise showing itself for a moment in her eyes, “but I
have no room prepared ; I have been house-cleaning and
every thing is topsy-turvy. Mrs. Wright, now, over the
way"
“My young friend is going to stop here,” Mr. Monell
broke in with frank positiveness. “If I cannot have him at


HANNAH
297
my own house, and for certain reasons it seems that I can-
not, I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing he is
in the charge of the best housekeeper in R- "
“Yes,” I put in but without too great a show of in-
terest, “I should be sorry, once introduced here, to be
obliged to go elsewhere."
The troubled eye wavered away from us to the door.
"I was never called inhospitable,” she commenced,
“but everything in such disorder—What time would
you like to come ?” she suddenly asked.
“I was in hopes I might remain now," replied I; “I
have some letters to write and would ask nothing better
than for leave to sit here and write them.”
At the word letters I saw her hand go to her pocket
in a movement which must have been involuntary, for her
countenance did not change and she made the quick
reply,
“Well, you may. If you can put up with what I can
give you, why it shall not be said that I refused you what
Mr. Monell is pleased to call a favor.” And complete in
her reception as she had been in her resistance, she gave
us a pleasant smile, and ignoring my thanks, bustled out
with Mr. Monell to the buggy where she received my bag
and what was doubtless more to her taste, the compliments
he was now more than ever ready to bestow upon her.
" I will see that some room is got ready for you in a
very short space of time," she said upon re-entering.
“Meanwhile make yourself at home here, and if you wish
OW TIC
Nas
ver
e


298
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
to write, why I think you will find every thing for the pur-
pose in these drawers." And wheeling up a table to the
easy-chair in which I sat, she pointed to the small com-
partments beneath, with an air of such manifest desire
that I should make use of any thing and every thing she
had, that I found myself wondering over my position with
a sort of startled embarrassment that was not remote from
shame.
“Thank you,” said I ; "I have materials of my own,"
and hastened to open my bag and bring out the writing
case, which I always carried with me.
“Then I will leave you,” said she ; and with a quick
bend and a short hurried look out of the window, she has-
tily quitted the room.
I could hear her steps cross the hall, go up two or three
stairs, pause, go up the rest of the flight, pause again and
then pass on. I was left on the first floor alone.


HANNAH.
299
299
XXVIII.
A WEIRD EXPERIENCE.
Flat burglary as ever was committed.
Much ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
THE first thing I did, was to inspect the room in which
I was.
It was a pleasant apartment, as I have said before,
square, sunny and well furnished, impressing one as he
entered, with a general air of welcome and home likeness.
On the foor was a crimson carpet, on the walls several
pictures, at the windows, cheerful curtains of white, taste-
fully ornamented with ferns and autumn leaves, in one
corner an old melodeon, and in the centre of the room a
table draped with a bright cloth, on which were various
little knick-knacks which without being rich or expensive,
were both pretty and, to a certain extent, ornamental,
But it was not these things, which I had seen repeated in
so many other country homes, that especially attracted my
attention, or drew me forward in the slow march which I
undertook around the room. It was the something under-
neath all these, the evidences which I found, or sought to
find, not only in the general aspect of the whole, but in
each trivial object itself, of the character, disposition, and
history of the woman with whom I now had to deal. It
was for this reason, I studied the daguerreotypes on the


300
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
mantel-piece, the books on the shelf and the music on the
rack; for this and the still further purpose of noting, if
any indications were to be found of there being in the
house any such person as Hannah.
First then for the little library, which I was pleased to
see, occupied one corner of the room. Composed of a
few well-chosen books, poetical, historical, and narrative,
it was of itself sufficient to account for the evidences of
latent culture observable in Mrs. Belden's conversation.
Taking out a well-worn copy of Byron, I opened it.
There were many passages marked, and replacing the book
with a mental comment upon her evident impressibility to
the softer emotions, I turned towards the melodeon that
fronted me from the opposite wall. It was closed, but on
its neatly covered top, lay one or two hymn-books, a basket
of russet apples, and a piece of half-completed knitting-
work.
I took up the latter, but was forced to lay it down again
without coming to the remotest idea of what it was intend-
ed to be. Proceeding on, I next stopped before a window
opening upon the small yard that ran about the house, and
separated it from the one adjoining. Looking out, I
thought of the many glances of curiosity, dismay, anger,
joy, sorrow, disappointment, that had pierced their way
from that spot to the street beyond, since the building was
tenanted, and that especial window set apart for the rock-
ing-chair and work-table, when suddenly I espied, written
on the glass with a diamond point, a row of letters, which


HANNAH
301
as nearly as I could make out, were meant for some word
or words, but which utterly failed in sense or apparent
connection. Passing it by as the work of some school-girl,
I glanced down at the work-basket standing on a table at
my side. It was full of various kinds of work, among
which I spied a pair of stockings, which were much too
small, as well as in too great a state of disrepair, to belong
to Mrs. Belden, or so I thought ; and drawing them care-
fully out, I examined them to see, if I could find any name
marked on them. Do not start when I say that I saw the
letter H plainly printed upon them. Thrusting them back,
I drew a deep breath of relief, gazing, as I did so, out of the
window, when those letters again attracted my attention.
Inirevale Gram
What could they mean? Idly I began to read them
backward, when— But try for yourself, reader, and judge
what my surprise must have been at the result! Elate at
the discovery thus made, I sat down to write my letters. I
had barely finished them, when Mrs. Belden came in with
the announcement that supper was ready. “As for your
room,” said she, “I have prepared my own for your use,
thinking it would be more convenient for you to be on the
first floor.” And throwing open a door at my side, she
displayed a small, but comfortable room, in which I could
dimly see a bed, an immense bureau and a shadowy look-
ing-glass in a dark old-fashioned frame.


302
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“I live in very primitive fashion,” resumed she, leading
the way into the dining-room ;“ but I mean to be comfort-
able, and make others so."
"I should say that you amply succeeded,” I rejoined,
with an appreciative glance at her well-spread board.
She smiled, and I felt that I had paved the way to her
good graces, in a way that would yet redound to my ad-
vantage.
Shall I ever forget that supper ! its dainties, its pleasant
freedom, its mysterious, pervading atmosphere of unreality,
and the constant sense which every bountiful dish she
pressed upon me, brought of the shame of eating this
woman's food, with such feelings of suspicion in my heart !
Shall I ever forget the emotion I experienced, when I first
perceived she had something on her mind, which she longed,
yet hesitated to give utterance to! Or how she started when
a cat jumped down from the sloping roof of the kitchen
on to the grass-plot at the back of the house, or how my
heart throbbed, when I heard or thought I heard, a board
creak over head! We were in a little room, long and nar-
row, which seemed, curiously enough, to run cross-wise of
the house, opening on one side into the parlor, whose
gloomy, half-lighted interior did not add much to the
cheerfulness of the hour, and on the other, into the small
bed-room, which had been allotted to my use.
“You live in this house alone, without fear?” I asked,
as Mrs. Belden, contrary to my desire, put another bit of
cold chicken on my plate. “ Have you no marauders


HANNAH.
303
in this town, no tramps, of whom a solitary woman like
you might reasonably be afraid ?”.
“No one will hurt me," said she, “ and no one ever
came here for food or shelter, but got it.”
“I should think, then, that living, as you do upon a
railroad, you would be constantly overrun with worthless
beings, whose only trade is to take all they can get, with-
out giving a return."
“I cannot turn them away,” she said ;“ it is the only
luxury I have, to feed the poor."
“But the idle, restless ones, who neither will work, nor
let others work—”.
“ Are still the poor."
Mentally remarking, here is the woman to shield an
unfortunate, who has somehow become entangled in the
meshes of a great crime, I drew back from the table. As I
did so, the thought crossed me, that in case there was any
such person in the house as Hannah, she would take the
opportunity of going up stairs with something for her to
eat; and I cast a calculating glance at the plates of bread
and cold chicken before me, in the hope of being able to
tell, if any thing should be hereafter subtracted from them.
"I will smoke my cigar on the veranda,” said I;" after
which I hope you will be at leisure to sit down with me
for a short chat.”
“ Thank you,” returned she, almost eagerly, the desire
of making some avowal, showing itself plainer that ever in
her manner. “But do not go out on the veranda, unless
OSS


304
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
you wish. I have no morbid dread of smoke, if I am a
housekeeper."
“I prefer the veranda," said I ;“ a whiff of fresh air
is just what I want."
The truth was, I was becoming anxious about Q. I
felt that the least token of his presence in town, would be
very encouraging. But it seemed that I was not to be
afforded even that small satisfaction. In vain I tramped
the veranda from end to end ; I neither saw nor heard the
short, quick laugh, I half expected to fall upon my ears
from some unknown quarter. If Q was anywhere near,
he was lying very low.
Once again seated with Mrs. Belden (who I know came
down stairs with an empty plate, for going into the kitchen
for a drink, I caught her in the act of setting it down on the
table) I made up my mind to wait a reasonable length of
time for what she had to say, and then, if she did not speak,
make an endeavor on my own part to get at her secret.
But the avowal was nearer than I expected, and differ-
ent, and brought its own train of consequences with it.
“ You are a lawyer, I believe,” she began, taking down
her knitting work, with a forced display of industry.
“ Yes,” I said, "that is my profession."
She remained for a moment silent, creating great havoc
in her work I am sure, from the glance of surprise and
vexation she afterwards threw it. Then in a hesitating
voice, remarked,
“ Perhaps you may be willing, then, to give me some


HANNAH.
305
advice. The truth is, I am in a very curious predicament;
one from which I don't know how to escape, and yet
which demands immediate action. I should like to tell
you about it, may I?”.
“You may; I shall be only too happy to give you any
advice in my power.”
She drew in her breath with a sort of vague relief,
though her forehead did not lose its frown.
“ It can all be said in a few words. I have in my pos-
session a packet of papers which were entrusted to me by
two ladies, with the understanding that I should neither
return nor destroy them, without the full cognizance and
expressed desire of both parties, given in person or writ-
ing. That they were to remain in my hands till then, and
that nothing or nobody should extort them from me.”
“That is easy understood,” said I, for she stopped.
“ But, now comes word from one of the ladies, the one,
too, most interested in the matter, that for certain reasons,
the immediate destruction of those papers is necessary to
her peace and safety."
“And do you want to know what your duty is in that
case ?"
“Yes," replied she tremulously.
I rose, I could not help it, a flood of conjectures rush-
ing in tumult over me.
“It is to hold on to the papers like grim death, till
released from your guardianship, by the means to which
you have pledged yourself.”
neces
20


HANNAH.
307
“But”
“A contract is a contract,” said I, “and cannot be
tampered with. Having accepted the trust and given your
word, you are obliged to fulfil to the letter, all its condi-
tions. It would be a breach of trust, for you to return or
destroy the papers without the mutual consent necessary."
An expression of great gloom settled slowly over her
features. “I suppose you are right,” said she and became
silent.
Watching her, I thought to myself, “If I were Mr. Gryce
or even , I would never leave this seat till I had probed
this matter to the bottom, learned who the parties are,
and where those precious papers are hidden, that seem
to be of so much importance.” But being neither, I could
only keep her talking upon the subject until she should let
fall some word that might serve as a guide to my further en-
lightenment; I therefore turned with the intention of asking
her some question, when my attention was attracted by the
figure of a woman coming out of the back door of the
neighboring house, who for general dilapidation, and un-
couthness of bearing was a perfect type of the style of
tramp of whom we had been talking at the supper table.
Gnawing a crust which she threw away as she reached the
street, she trudged down the path, her scanty dress, piteous
in its rags and soil, flapping in the keen spring wind, and
revealing ragged shoes red with the mud of the highway.
“ There is a customer," said I, “that may interest
you."


308
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
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 to-
night,” 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 re-entering, that she had consented not-
withstanding 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 up stairs and for some
time I was left alone to ponder over what I had heard, and


HANNAH.
309
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 to her, when I heard her stealthily
descend the stairs and go out of the front door. Distrust-
ful of her intentions I took up 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 be-
fore long I found myself passing the hotel with its appur-
tenances, 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 hasted 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,


HANNAH.
313
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 mid-
dle 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 behind 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 inflamınable 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 for-
got Mrs. Belden. But a short agitated gasp from her soon
recalled her presence to niind, and drawing nearer, I heard


314
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
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 lost now for good, and Mary will be satisfied without
any one being to blame.”
I did not linger to hear more ; if that was the conclu-
sion 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 in-
considerate 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,” con-
tinued 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."


HANNAH.
315
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.


316
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXIX.
THE MISSING WITNESS.
I filed 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. Morn-
ing 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, left the room, closing the door behind him.
Rising in considerable agitation, I took it to the win-
dow 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.”


HANNAH.
317
Sketched below this was the following plan of the upper
floor.
ds.
Hannah, then, was in the small back room over the
dining-room, and I had not been deceived when I im-
agined 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 mur-
der, I lay down once more and endeavored to catch an-
other 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 down stairs.
But, the short surprised exclamation which she uttered


318
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
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 prepara-
tions 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 ap-
pear 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 inter-
view. 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!
O, Mrs. Belden, papa's got a fit, do come.'
Rising as was natural, I hastened towards the kitchen,
meeting Mrs. Belden's anxious 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


HANNAH.
319
up a shawl from off the chair, threw it over her head and
followed the urchin, who was in a state of great excite-
ment, 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, of 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 bed-room, evidently the one
occupied by Mrs. Belden the night before. Barely stop-
ping 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 ïong after the rest of the house was finished.


320
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
was
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 key-hole. 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 re-
membered that in the plan Q had given me, I had seen
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 me but force, I spoke for the
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 stilling, 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 mo-
ment the palor and fixity of the pretty Irish face staring


HANNAH.
321
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 prepa-
ration, I should have been seriously dismayed. As it was,
I could not prevent a feeling of sickly apprehension from
seizing me, as I turned towards the silent figure stretched
so near, and observed with what marble-like repose it lay
beneath the patchwork quilt drawn across it, asking my-
self if sleep could be indeed so like death in its appear-
ance. 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 recog-
nized even in this first casual glance, the same dish which
we had had for breakfast-all and every thing 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 im-
possible not to shrink from contact with a creature so dire
in her unconsciousness. But contact seemed to be neces-
sary; any cry which I could raise at that moment would be
ineffectual enough to pierce those dull ears. Nerving my-
self therefore, I stooped and lifted the hand which lay with
its tell-tale scar mockingly uppermost, intending to speak,
21


322
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
call, do something, any thing 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.


324
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Osum
open lids, attracted me, and I bent above her as a friend
might do, asking myself if she were quite dead and whether
or not immediate medical assistance would be of any avail.
But the more closely I looked, the more certain I became
that she had been dead for some hours, and the dismay
occasioned by this thought, taken with the regrets which
I must ever feel, that I had not adopted the bold course
the evening before, and by forcing my way to the hiding-
place of this poor creature, interrupted, if not prevented
the consummation of her fate, startled me into a realiza-
tion of my present situation, and leaving her side, I went
into the next room, threw up the window, and fastened to
the blind, the red handkerchief, which I had taken the
precaution to bring with me.
Instantly a young man whom I was fain to believe Q,
though he bore not the least resemblance either in dress
or facial expression to any renderings of that youth which
I had yet seen, emerged from the tinsmith's house, and
approached that in which I was.
Observing him cast a hurried glance in my direction,
I crossed the floor and stood awaiting him at the head of
the stairs.
“Well ?” he whispered upon entering the house and
meeting my glance from below, “ have you seen her?”
“ Yes,” I returned bitterly, “I have seen her."
He hurriedly mounted to my side. “And she has
confessed ?”
“No; I have had no talk with her.” Then as I per.
S


HANNAH.
325
ceived him growing alarmed at my voice and manner, drew
him into Mrs. Belden's room and hastily inquired, “What
did you mean this morning when you informed me that
you had seen this girl ? that she was in a certain room
where I might find her ?”
“What I said.”
“ You have then been to her room?"
“No; I have only been on the outside of it. Seeing a
light, I crawled up on to the ledge of the slanting roof last
night while both you and Mrs. Belden were out, and look-
ing through a window, saw her moving round the room.”
He must have observed my countenance change, for he
stopped. “What is to pay ?” he cried.
I could restrain myself no longer. “Come," I said,
“and see for yourself !” And leading him to the little
room I had just left, I pointed to the silent form lying
within. “You told me I should find Hannah here ; but
you did not tell me I should find her thus."
“ Great heaven!” he cried with a start, “not dead ?"
“Yes,” I said, “ dead.”
It seemed as if he could not realize it. “But it is im-
possible!” he returned. “She is in a heavy sleep, has
taken a narcotic—".
" It is not sleep," I said, " or if it is she will never
wake. Look!” And taking the hand once more in mine,
I let it fall in its stone weight upon the bed.
The sight seemed to convince him. Calming down, he
stood gazing at her with a very strange expression upon


326
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
his face. Suddenly he moved and began quietly turning
over the clothes that were lying on the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “What are you
looking for?”
“I am looking for the bit of paper from which I saw
her take what I supposed to be a dose of medicine last
night. O, here it is,” he cried, lifting a morsel of paper
that, lying on the floor under the edge of the bed, had
hitherto escaped his notice.
“Let me see !" I anxiously exclaimed.
He handed me the paper on the inner surface of which
I could dimly discern the traces of an impalpable white
powder.
“ This is important,” I declared, carefully folding the
paper together. “If there is enough of this powder re-
maining to show that the contents of this paper were poison-
ous, the manner and means of the girl's death are ac-
counted for, and a case of deliberate suicide made evident.”
“I am not so sure of that," he retorted. “If I am
any judge of countenances, and I rather flatter myself that
I am, this girl had no more idea she was taking poison
than I had. She looked not only bright but gay; and
when she tipped up the paper, a smile of almost silly tri-
umph crossed her face. If Mrs. Belden gave her that
dose to take, telling her it was medicine,"
“That is something which yet remains to be learned,
also whether the dose as you call it, was poison or not. It
may be she died of heart disease."


HANNAH.
327
He simply shrugged his shoulders and pointed first at
the plate of breakfast left on the chair, and secondly at
the broken-down door.
“Yes,” I said answering his look, “ Mrs. Belden has
been in here this morning and Mrs. Belden locked the
door when she went out, but that proves nothing beyond
her belief in the girl's hearty condition.”
“A belief which that white face on its tumbled pillow
did not seem to shake?”
“Perhaps in her haste she may not hare looked at the
girl, but have set the dishes down without more than a
casual glance in her direction ?”
“I don't want to suspect any thing wrong, but it is
such a coincidence ! ”
This was touching me on a sore point, and I stepped
back. “Well,” said I, “there is no use in our standing
here busying ourselves with conjectures. There is too
much to be done. Come !" and I moved hurriedly to-
wards the door.
“What are you going to do ?” asked he. “Have you
forgotten this is but an episode in the one great mystery
we are sent here to unravel ? If this girl did come to
her death by some foul play, it is our business to find it
out."
“That must be left for the coroner to do. It has now
passed out of our hands.”
“I know ; but we can at least take full note of the
room and every thing in it before throwing the affair into


HANNAH.
329
“I do not know," I said. “I could almost hope it to
be so."
“Not a scrap, not a morsel left to show what it was ;
how unfortunate !”.
“Mrs. Belden must solve this riddle," I cried.
“Mrs. Belden must solve the whole riddle," he re-
plied, “ the secret of the Leavenworth murder hangs upon
it.” Then with a lingering look towards the mass of
burned paper, “Who knows but what that was a con-
fession!”
The conjecture seemed only too probable.
“Whatever it was," I said, “it is now ashes, and we
have got to accept the fact and make the best of it.”
“Yes,” said he with a deep sigh ; "that's so, but Mr.
Gryce will never forgive me for it, never. He will say I
ought to have known that it was a suspicious circumstance,
this taking of a dose of medicine at the very moment de-
tection stood at her back.”
“ But she did not know that; she did not see you."
“ We don't know what she saw nor what Mrs. Belden
saw. Women are a mystery, and though I flatter myself
that ordinarily I am a match for the keenest bit of female
flesh that ever walked, I must say that in this case I feel
myself thoroughly and shamefully worsted.”
“Well, well,” I said, “the end has not come yet ; who
knows what a talk with Mrs. Belden will evoke. And by
the way, she will be coming back soon and I must be
ready to meet her. Every thing depends upon finding out,


330
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
if I can, whether she is aware of this tragedy or not. It is
just possible she knows nothing of it.”
And hurrying him from the room, I pulled the door to
behind me, and led the way down stairs.
“Now," said I, " there is one thing which must be im-
mediately attended to, and that is, a telegram must be sent
to Mr. Gryce acquainting him with this unlooked-for occur-
rence."
“ All right, sir;" and Q started for the door.
“Wait one moment,” said I. “I may not have another
opportunity to mention it. Mrs. Belden received two let-
ters from the postmaster yesterday; one in a large and one
in a small envelope ; if you could find out where they
were post marked—”.
Q put his hand in his pocket. “I think I will not have
to go far to find out where one of them came from. Good
George, I have lost it !” And before I knew it, he had re-
turned up stairs.
That moment I heard the gate click.


HANNAH.
331
XXXI.
Thereby hangs a tale.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
“It was all a hoax; nobody was ill ; I have been im-
posed upon, meanly imposed upon.” And Mrs. Belden
flushed and panting, entered the room where I was, and
proceeded to take off her bonnet. But whilst doing so
paused and suddenly exclaimed, “What is the matter?
How you look at me ? Has any thing happened ?”
“Something very serious has occurred," I replied ; "you
have been gone but a little while, but in that time a dis-
covery has been made" I purposely paused here that
the suspense might elicit from her some betrayal; but
though she turned pale, she manifested less emotion than
I expected, and I went on-“which is likely to produce
very important consequences."
To my surprise she burst violently into tears. “I knew
it, I knew it !" she murmured. “I always said it would be
impossible to keep it secret if I let anybody into the house ;
she is so restless. But I forget,” she suddenly said with
a frightened look ;“ you haven't told me what the discovery
was. Perhaps it isn't what I thought ; perhaps—".
I did not hesitate to interrupt her. “Mrs. Belden," I


332
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
SUC
said, “I shall not try to mitigate the blow. A woman who
in the face of the most urgent call from law and justice,
can receive into her house and harbor there, a witness of
such importance as Hannah, cannot stand in need of any
great preparation for hearing, that her efforts have been too
successful, that she has accomplished her design of sup-
pressing valuable testimony, that law and justice are out-
raged, and that the innocent woman whom this girl's evi-
dence might have saved, stands forever compromised in the
eyes of the world, if not in those of the officers of the law."
Her eyes, which had never left me during this address,
flashed wide with dismay.
“What do you mean ? ” she cried. “I have intended
no wrong, I have only tried to save people. I-I- But
who are you? What have you got to do with all this?
What is it to you what I do or don't do? You said you
were a lawyer. Can it be you are come from Mary Leav-
enworth to see how I am fulfilling her commands, and—”
“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “it is of small importance now
as to who I am or for what purpose I am here. But that my
words may have the more effect, I will say, that whereas I
have not deceived you either as to my name or position,
it is true that I am the friend of the Misses Leavenworth,
and that any thing which is likely to effect them, is of in-
terest to me. When, therefore, I say that Eleanore Leaven-
worth is irretrievably injured by this girl's death”
“Death? what do you mean? death?”
The burst was too natural, the tone too horror-stricken


HANNAH.
333
for me to doubt for another moment as to this woman's
ignorance of the true state of affairs.
“ Yes," I repeated, “the girl you have been hiding so
long and so well, is now beyond your control. Only her
dead body remains, Mrs. Belden.”
I shall never lose from my ears the shriek which she
uttered nor the wild, “I don't believe it! I don't believe
it!” with which she dashed from the room and rushed up
stairs.
Nor that after-scene when in the presence of the dead
she stood wringing her hands and protesting amid sobs of
the sincerest grief and terror, that she knew nothing of it ;
that she had left the girl in the best of spirits the night
before ; that it was true she had locked her in, but that
was what she always did when any one was in the house;
and that if she died of any sudden attack, it must have
been quietly, for she had heard no stir all night, though she
had listened more than once, being naturally anxious lest
the girl should make some disturbance that would arouse
me.
“But you were in here this morning ?” said I.
“ Yes; but I didn't notice. I was in a hurry and
thought she was asleep ; so I set the things down where
she could get them and came right away, locking the door
as usual.”
“It is strange," said I, “ that she should have died this
night of all others. Was she ill yesterday ? "
“No, sir ; she was even brighter than common, more


334
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
lively. I never thought of her being sick then or ever. If
I had”
“ You never thought of her being sick ? " a voice here
interrupted. “Why then did you take such pains to give
her a dose of medicine last night?” And Q entered from
the rooin beyond.
"I didn't,” said she evidently under the supposition that
it was I who had spoken. “Did I, Hannah, did I, poor
girl ?” stroking the hand that lay in hers with what ap-
peared to be genuine sorrow and regret.
“How came she by it then ? Where did she get it if
you didn't give it to her?”.
This time she seemed to be aware that some one besides
myself was talking to her, for hurriedly rising, she looked at
the man with a wondering stare, before replying.
“I don't know who you are, sir, but I can tell you this,
the girl had no medicine ; took no dose ; she wasn't sick
last night that I know of.”
“ Yet I saw her swallow a powder.”
“Saw her—the world is crazy or I am-saw her swal-
low a powder? How could you see her do that or any
thing else? Hasn't she been shut up in this room for
twenty-four hours ?”.
“Yes ; but with a window like that in the roof, it isn't
so very difficult to see into a room, madam."
“O,” she cried shrinking, “I have a spy in the house,
have I ? But I deserve it; I kept her imprisoned in four
close walls and never came to look at her once all night.


HANNAH.
335
I don't complain, but what was it you said that you saw
her take ? medicine ? poison?”
“I didn't say poison.”
“But you meant it. You think she has poisoned herself
and that I had a hand in it?"
“No," I hastened to remark," he does not think you
had a hand in it. He says he saw the girl herself swallow
something which he believes to have been the occasion of
her death, and only asks you now where she obtained it?"
“How can I tell ? I never gave her any thing ; didn't
know she had any thing."
Somehow I believed her, and so felt unwilling to pro-
long the present interview, especially as each moment de-
layed the action which I felt it incumbent upon us to take.
So motioning Q to depart upon his errand, I took Mrs.
Belden by the hand and endeavored to lead her from the
room. But she resisted, sitting down by the side of the
bed with the expression, “I will not leave her again ; do
not ask it ; here is my place and here will I stay," while Q,
obdurate for the first time, stood staring severely upon us
both, and would not move though I urged him again to
make haste, saying that the morning was slipping away,
and that the telegram to Mr. Gryce ought to be sent.
“Till that woman leaves the room, I don't ; and unless
you promise to take my place in watching her, I don't
quit the house."
Astonished, I left her side and crossed to him. “ You
carry your suspicions too far," I whispered, “and I think


336
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
you are too rude. We have seen nothing, I am sure, to
warrant us in any such action, besides, she can do no harm
here ; though as for watching her, I promise to do that
inuch if it will relieve your mind."
"I don't want her watched here ; take her below. I
cannot leave while she remains.”
“ Are you not assuming a trifle the master ?"
“I don't know, perhaps. If I am, it is because I have
something in my possession which excuses my conduct."
“What is that, the letter ? ”
“ Yes."
Agitated now in my turn, I held out my hand. “Let
me see," I said.
“Not while that woman remains in the room.”
Seeing him implacable, I returned to Mrs. Belden.
“I must entreat you to come with me,” said I. “This
is not a common death ; we shall be obliged to have the
coroner here and others. You had better leave the room
and go below."
“ I don't mind the coroner; he is a neighbor of
mine ; his coming won't prevent my watching over the poor
girl until he arrives.”
“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “ your position as the only one
conscious of the presence of this girl in your house, makes
it wiser for you not to invite suspicion by lingering any
longer than is necessary in the room where her dead body
lies.”
“ As if my neglect of her now, were the best surety of
my good intentions towards her in time past!”


HANNAH.
337
“ It will not be neglect for you to go below with me at
my earnest request. You can do no good here by staying,
will in fact be doing harm. So listen to me or I shall be
obliged to leave you in charge of this man and go myself
to inform the authorities."
This last argument seemed to affect her, for with one
look of shuddering abhorrence at Q, she rose saying—“You
have me in your power," and then without another word,
threw her handkerchief over the girl's face and left the
room. In two minutes more I had the letter of which Q
had spoken in my hands.
" It is the only one I could find, sir. It was in the
pocket of the dress Mrs. Belden had on, last night. The
other must be lying around somewhere, but I haven't had
time to find it. This will do though, I think. You will
not ask for the other.”
Scarcely noticing at the time with what deep significance
he spoke, I opened the letter. It was the smaller of the
two I had seen her draw under her shawl the day before
at the post-office, and read as follows :
“ DEAR, DEAR FRIEND.
“I am in awful trouble. You who love me must know
it. I cannot explain, I can only make one prayer. De-
stroy what you have, to-day, instantly, without question or
hesitation. The consent of anyone else has nothing to
do with it. You must obey. I am lost if you refuse.
Do then what I ask and saye
“ONE WHO LOVES YOU.”
22


338
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
It was addressed to Mrs. Belden ; there was no signa-
ture or date, only the post-mark New York; but I knew
the handwriting. It was Mary Leavenworth's.
“A damning letter!” came in the dry tones which
seemed to think fit to adopt on this occasion. “And a
damning bit of evidence against the one who wrote it,
and the woman who received it!”
“A terrible piece of evidence indeed !” said I, “if I
did not happen to know that this letter refers to the de-
struction of something radically different from what you
suspect. It alludes to some papers in Mrs. Belden's
charge ; nothing else.”
“Are you sure, sir ?”
“ Quite ; but we will talk of this hereafter. It is time
you sent your telegram and went for the coroner.”
“Very well, sir." And with that we parted, he to per-
form his role and I mine.
I found Mrs. Belden walking the floor below, bewail-
ing her situation and uttering wild sentences as to what
the neighbors would say of her, what the minister would
think, what Clara, whoever that was, would do, and how
she wished she had died before ever she had meddled with
the affair.
Succeeding in calming her after awhile, I induced her
to sit down and listen to what I had to say. “You will
only injure yourself by this display of feeling," I remarked,
“besides unfitting yourself for what you will presently be
called upon to go through." And laying myself out to


HANNAH.
339
comfort the unhappy woman, I first explained the neces-
sities of the case, and next inquired if she had no friend
upon whom she could call in this emergency:
To my great surprise she replied no; that while she
had kind neighbors and good friends, there was no one
upon whom she could call in a case like this, either for
assistance or sympathy, and that unless I would take pity
on her, she would have to meet it alone ; “ As I have met
every thing," she said, “ from Mr. Belden's death to the
loss of most of my little savings in a town fire last year.”
I was touched by this ; that she who in spite of her
weakness and inconsistencies of character, possessed at
least the one virtue of sympathy with her kind, should feel
any lack of friends. Unhesitatingly I offered to do what
I could for her, providing she would treat me with the
perfect frankness which the case demanded. To my great
relief she expressed not only her willingness but her strong
desire to tell all she knew. “I have had," said she,
“enough of secrecy for my whole life.” And indeed I do
believe she was so thoroughly frightened, that if a police-
officer had come into the house and asked her to reveal
secrets compromising the good name of her own son, she
would have done so without cavil or question. “I feel
as if I wanted to take my stand out on the common, and
in the face of the whole world, declare what I have done
for Mary Leavenworth. But first,” she whispered, “tell
me for God's sake how those girls are situated ? I have
not dared to ask or write. The papers say a good deal


340
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
about Eleanore, but nothing about Mary; and yet Mary
herself, writes only of her own peril, and of the danger she
would be in if certain facts were known. What is the truth?
I don't want to injure them only to take care of myself.”
“Mrs. Belden," I said, “ Eleanore Leavenworth has
got into her present difficulty by not telling all that was
required of her. Mary Leavenworth—But I cannot speak
of her till I know what you have to divulge. Her position
as well as that of her cousin, is too anomalous for either
you or me to discuss. What we want to learn from you,
is how you became connected with this affair, and what it
was that Hannah knew which caused her to leave New
York and take refuge here."
But Mrs. Belden clasping and unclasping her hands,
met my gaze with one full of the most apprehensive doubt.
“ You will never believe me," she cried, “but I don't
know what Hannah knew. I am in utter ignorance of
what she saw or heard on that fatal night; she never told
and I never asked. She merely said that Miss Leaven-
worth wished me to secrete her for a short time, and I, be-
cause I loved Mary Leavenworth and admired her beyond
any one I ever saw, weakly consented, and—”.
“Do you mean to say," I interrupted, “ that after you
knew of the murder, you at the mere expression of Miss
Leavenworth's wishes, continued to keep this girl con-
cealed, without asking her any questions or demanding
any explanations?”
“Yes, sir ; you will never believe me, but it is so. I


342
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Well,” said she, “it is this, that Mary was in an emer-
gency from which nothing but her uncle's death could
release her."
"Ah, how's that?"
But here we were interrupted by the sound of steps on
the porch, and looking out, I saw Q entering the house
alone. Leaving Mrs. Belden where she was, I stepped
into the hall.
“Well !” said I, “what is the matter? Haven't you
found the coroner ? Isn't he at home?”
“No, gone away ; off in a buggy to look after a man
that was found some ten miles from here, lying in a ditch
beside a yoke of oxen." Then as he saw my look of
relief, for I was glad of this temporary delay, said with an
expressive wink, “ It would take a fellow a long time to
go to him-if he wasn't in a hurry-hours I think.”
“Indeed !” I returned, amused at his manner. “Rough
road ?”
“Very ; no horse I could get, would travel it faster than
a walk."
“Well,” said I, “so much the better for us. Mrs.
Belden has a long story to tell, and—”.
“ Doesn't wish to be interrupted. I understand.”
I nodded and he turned towards the door.
“Have you telegraphed to Mr. Gryce?” I asked.
“ Yes, sir."
“Do you think he will come ?”
“ Yes, sir ; if he has to hobble on two sticks."
0
1


HANNAH.
343
" At what time do you look for him?"
“ You will look for him as early as three o'clock. I
shall be among the mountains, ruefully eyeing a broken-
down team or some such thing." And leisurely donning
his hat, he strolled away down the street, like one who has
the whole day on his hands and doesn't know what to do
with it.
Going back to Mrs. Belden, I explained that the coro-
ner was out of town, and would not be back for some time;
that we had, therefore, some hours before us which could
not be better employed than by her giving me some ac-
count of what she knew concerning the matter in hand.
She expressed herself as willing to do so, and immediately
composed herself to her task. As what she told involves
a long story, I will devote a chapter to it and chris-
ten it Mrs. Belden's narrative.


344
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXXII.
MRS. BELDEN'S NARRATIVE.
TRA.
Cursed, destructive Avarice
Thou everlasting foe to Love and Honor.
TRAP'S ABRAM.
- Mischief never thrives
Without the help of Woman.
THE SAME.
so
SI
It wili be a year next July, since I first saw Mary Leav-
enworth. I was living at that time a most monotonous
existence. Loving what was beautiful, hating what was
sordid, drawn by nature towards all that was romantic and
uncommon, but doomed by my straightened position and
the loneliness of my widowhood, to spend my days in the
weary round of plain sewing, I had begun to think that the
shadow of a humdrum old age was settling down upon me,
when one morning, in the full tide of my dissatisfaction,
Mary Leavenworth stepped across the threshold of my
door, and with one smile, changed the whole tenor of my
life.
This may seem exaggeration to you, especially when I
tell you that her errand was simply one of business, she
having heard I was handy with my needle ; but if you could
have seen her as she appeared that day, marked the look
with which she approached me, and the smile with which


HANNAH.
345
e
was
she left, you would pardon the folly of a romantic old
woman, who beheld a fairy queen, where others saw a
lovely young lady. The fact is, I was dazzled by her beau-
ty and her charms. And when a few days after, she came
again, and crouching down on the stool at my feet, asked
leave to sit with me awhile and rest, saying she was so
tired of the gossip and tụmult down at the Hotel, and
so longed at times to run away and hide with some one
who would let her act like the child she was, I experienced
for the moment, I believe, the truest happiness of my life.
Feeling so, it was impossible for me not to show it. Some-
thing of all that which I had kept repressed till now, awoke
in response to her persuasive glance, and before long I
found her looking up into my face with manifest pleasure,
listening eagerly while I told her, almost without my own
volition, the story of my past life, in the form of a tender
allegory.
The next day saw her in the same place; and the next;
always with the eager, laughing eyes, and the fluttering,
uneasy hands, that grasped every thing they touched, and
broke every thing they grasped.
But the fourth day she was not there, nor the fifth, nor
the sixth, and I was beginning to feel the old shadow set-
tling back upon me, when one night, just as the dusk of
twilight was merging into evening gloom, she came steal-
ing in at the front door, and creeping up to my side, put
her hands over my eyes with such a low, ringing laugh,
that I started.


346
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“You don't know what to make of me!” cried she,
throwing aside her cloak, and revealing herself in the full
splendor of evening attire. “I don't know what to make
of myself ; only,” she whispered, “I felt that I must run
away, and tell some one, that for the first time in my life, I
am fully alive ; that a certain pair of eyes have been look-
ing into mine, and that not Mary of Scots with all her beau-
ty and queenliness, ever felt herself more of the sovereign
or more the woman, than I do to-night."
And with a turn of her head, that must have rivalled
any gesture of that beautiful queen, she gathered up her
cloak around her, and laughingly cried,
“Have you had a visit from a flying sprite ? Has one
little ray of moonlight found its way into your prison for a
wee moment, with Mary's laugh and Mary's snowy silk and
flashing diamonds ? Say!” and she patted my cheek, and
smiled so bewilderingly, that even now with all the dull
horror of these after-events crowding upon me, I cannot
but feel something like tears spring to my eyes at the
thought of it.
“ And so the Prince has come for you?" I whispered,
alluding to a story I had told her the last time she had
visited me ; a story in which a girl, who had waited all her
life in rags and degradation for the lordly knight who was
to raise her from a hovel to a throne, died just as her
one lover, an honest peasant-lad whom she had discarded
in her pride, arrived at her door with the fortune in his
hand, he had spent all his days in amassing for her sake.


HANNAH.
347
But at that she flushed and drew back towards the door.
“I don't know, I am afraid not. II don't think any thing
about that. Princes are not so easily won,” she murmured.
“What, are you going?” I said, “and alone? Let me
accompany you."
But she only shook her fairy head, and replied, “No,
no; that would be spoiling the romance indeed. I have
come upon you like a sprite, and like a sprite will I go."
And flashing like the moonbeam she was, she glided out
into the night, and floated away down the street.
When she next came, I observed a feverish excitement
in her manner, that assured me even plainer than the coy
sweetness displayed in our last interview, that her heart
had been touched by her lover's attentions. Indeed she
hinted as much before she left, saying in a melancholy
tone, when I had ended my story in the usual happy way,
with kisses and marriage,-"I shall never marry!” finish-
ing the exclamation with a long-drawn sigh, that somehow
emboldened me to say, perhaps because I knew she had
no mother,
“And why? What reason can there be for such rosy
lips saying their possessor will never marry?”
She gave me one quick look, and then dropped her
eyes. I feared I had offended her, and was feeling very
humble, when she suddenly replied in an even but low
tone, “I said I should never marry, because the one man
who pleases me, is the last whom fate will allow me for a
husband.”


348
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE:
“Fate ?" repeated I, all the hidden romance of my
nature starting into sudden life.
6. Yes."
“What do you mean? tell me."
“ There is nothing to tell,” said she ; “ only I have been
so weak as to~" she would not say, fall in love, she was
a proud woman—"admire a man whom my uncle will never
allow me to marry."
And she rose as if to go, but I drew her back. “Whom
your uncle will not allow you to marry ? " I repeated," why,
because he is poor ?”
“No; uncle loves money, but not to such an extent
as that. Besides, Mr. Clavering is not poor. He is the
owner of a beautiful place in his own country"
"Own country," I interrupted. “Is he not an Ameri-
can?"
“No," she returned ; "he is an Englishman."
I did not see why she need say that in just the way she
did, but supposing she was aggravated by some secret
memory, went on to inquire,-“ Then what difficulty can
there be? Isn't he—” I was going to say steady, but re-
frained.
“He is an Englishman," cried she, in the same bitter
tone as before. “In saying that, I say it all. Uncle will
never let me marry an Englishman."
I looked at her in amazement. Such a puerile reason
as that, had never entered my mind.
“He has an absolute mania on the subject,” resumed


HANNAH.
349
reas
she. “I might as well ask him to allow me to drown my-
self, as to marry an Englishman."
A woman of truer judgment than myself would have
said, "Then if that is so, why not discard from your
breast, all thought of him? Why dance with him, and
talk to him, and let your admiration develope into love?”
But I was all romance then, and angry at a prejudice I
could neither understand nor appreciate, I said,
“ But that is mere tyranny! Why should he hate the
English so? And why, if he does, should you feel yourself
obliged to gratify him in a whim so unreasonable ?”
“Why? Shall I tell you, auntie ?” she said, flushing
and looking away.
“ Yes," I returned ;“ tell me every thing."
“Well then, if you want to know the worst of me, as
you already know the best, I hate to incur my uncle's dis-
pleasure, because–because--I have always been brought
up to regard myself as his heiress, and I know that if I
should marry contrary to his wishes, he would instantly
change his mind, and leave me penniless."
“But,” I cried, my romance a little dampened by this
admission, "you tell me Mr. Clavering has enough to live
upon, so you would not want ; and if you love".
Her violet eyes fairly flashed in her amazement.
“You don't understand," she said ; " Mr. Clavering is
not poor, but uncle is rich. I shall be a queen-” There
she paused, trembling and falling on my breast. “O`it
sounds mercenary, I know," she sobbed, “but it is the


350
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
fault of my bringing up. I have been taught to worship
money. I would be utterly lost without it. And yet—"
her whole face softening with the light of another emotion,
“I cannot say to Henry Clavering, ‘Go! I love my riches
better than you !' I cannot, O I cannot.”
“You love him then,” said I, determined to get at the
truth of the matter if possible.
She rose restlessly. “Isn't that a proof of love? If
you knew me you would say it was.” And turning, she
took her stand before a picture that hung on the wall of
my sitting-room.
“That looks like me," she said.
It was one of a good pair of photographs I possessed.
“ Yes," I remarked," that is why I prize it."
She did not seem to hear me ; she was absorbed in
gazing at the exquisite face before her. “That is a win-
ning face," I heard her say. “ Sweeter than mine. I
wonder if she would ever hesitate between love and money.
I do not believe she would,” her own countenance growing
gloomy and sad as she said so ; "she would think only of
the happiness she would confer ; she is not hard like me ;
Eleanore herself would love this girl."
I think she had forgotten my presence, for at the men-
tion of her cousin's name, she turned quickly round with
a half suspicious look, saying lightly,
“My dear old Mamma Hubbard looks horrified. She
did not know she had such a very unromantic little wretch
for a listener, when she was telling all those wonderful


HANNAH.
351
stories of Love slaying dragons, and living in caves, and
walking over burning ploughshares as if they were tufts of
spring grass, did she?”.
“No," I said, taking her by an irresistible impulse of
admiring affection into my arms, “but if I had, it would
have made no difference. I should still have talked about
love, and of all it can do to make this weary work-a-day
world sweet and delightful.”
“Would you? Then you do not think me such a
wretch?”
What could I say. I thought her the winsomest being
in the world, and frankly told her so. Instantly she bright-
ened into her very gayest self. Not that I thought then,
much less do I think now, that she particularly cared for
my good opinion ; but her nature demanded admiration
and unconsciously blossomed under it, as a flower under
the sunshine.
“ And you will still let me come and tell you how bad
I am, -that is, if I go on being bad, as I doubtless shall to
the end of the chapter ? You will not turn me off ?"
“I will never turn you off.”
“Not if I should do a dreadful thing ? Not if I should
run away with my lover some fine night, and leave uncle
to discover how ill his affectionate partiality had been
requited ? "
It was lightly said, and lightly meant, for she did not
even wait for my reply. But its seed sank deep into our
two hearts for all that. And for two days I spent my time


352
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
in planning how I should manage, if it should ever fall to
my lot to conduct to a successful issue, so enthralling a
piece of business as an elopement. You may imagine then,
how delighted I was, when one evening Hannah, this un-
happy girl who is now lying dead under my roof, and who
was occupying the position of lady's maid to Miss Mary
Leavenworth at that time, came to my door with a note
from her mistress, running thus.
“ Have the loveliest story of the season ready for me
to-morrow; and let the prince be as handsome as-as
some one you have heard of, and the princess as foolish as
your little yielding pet,
“MARY."
Which short note could only mean that she was en-
gaged. But morning-light did not bring my Mary, nor
noon-tide, nor evening. The next day came and went,
but beyond hearing that Mr. Leavenworth had returned –
he had been away travelling—I received neither word nor
token. Two more days dragged by, when just as twilight
set in she came. It had been a week since I had seen her,
but it might have been a year by the change I observed in
her countenance and expression. I could scarcely greet
her, with any show of pleasure, she was so unlike her
former self.
“You are disappointed, are you not,” said she, looking
at me. “You expected revelations, whispered hopes, and
all manner of sweet confidences, and you see instead, a cold,


HANNAH.
353
mar
bitter woman, who for the first time in your presence, feels
inclined to be reserved and uncommunicative."
“That is because you have had more to trouble, than
encourage you in your love,” I returned, though not without
a certain shrinking caused more by her manner than words.
She did not reply to this, but rose and paced the floor ;
coldly at first, but afterwards with a certain degree of ex-
citement that proved to be the prelude to a change in her
manner, for suddenly pausing she turned to me and said,
“Mr Clavering has left R— , Mrs Belden."
“Left !"
“ Yes, my uncle commanded me to dismiss him, and I
cbeyed.”
The work dropped from my hands, in my heartfelt dis-
appointment. “Ah ! then he knows of your engagement
to Mr. Clavering ?”
“Yes; he had not been in the house five minutes, be-
fore Eleanore told him."
“ Then she knew?”.
“ Yes ;” with a half sigh. “ She could hardly help it.
I was foolish enough to give her the cue in my first moment
of joy and weakness. I did not think of the consequences ;
but I might have known. She is so conscientious."
“I do not call it conscientiousness to tell another's
secrets ;” I returned.
“ That is because you are not Eleanore.”
Not having a reply for this, I said, “ And so your uncle
did not regard your engagement with favor ?"
23


354
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Favor ? Did I not tell you he would never allow me
to marry an Englishman. He said he would sooner see
me buried.”
“And you yielded ? Made no struggle ? let the hard,
cruel man have his way?”
She was walking off to look again at that picture which
had attracted her attention the time before, but at this
word gave me one little sidelong look, that was inexpres-
sibly suggestive.
“I obeyed him when he commanded, if that is what you
mean."
“And dismissed Mr. Clavering after having given him
your word of honor to be his wife ?”
“Why not, when I found I could not keep my word.”
“ Then you have decided not to marry him?"
She did not reply at once, but lifted her face mechani-
cally to the picture.
“My uncle would tell you that I had decided to be
governed wholly by his wishes,” she responded at last
with what I felt was self-scornful bitterness.
Greatly disappointed, I burst into tears, “O Mary!" I
cried, “O Mary!” and instantly blushed, startled that I
had called her by first name.
But she did not appear to notice.
“Have you any complaint to make ?" she asked. “Is
it not my manifest duty to be governed by my uncle's
wishes? Has he not brought me up from childhood ? lav-
ished every luxury upon me ? made me all I am, even to


HANNAH.
355
the love of riches which he has instilled into my soul with
every gift he has thrown into my lap, every word he has
dropped in my ear, since I was old enough to know what
riches meant? Is it for me now, to turn my back upon
fostering care so wise, beneficent and free, just because a
man whom I have known some two weeks chances to offer
me in exchange what he pleases to call his love ?"
“But,” I feebly essayed, convinced perhaps by the tone
of sarcasm in which this was uttered that she was not far
from my way of thinking after all, “ if in two weeks you
have learned to love this man more than every thing else,
even the riches which make your uncle's favor a thing of
such moment—"
“Well?” said she, “ what then?"
“Why then I would say, secure your happiness with
the man of your choice if you have to marry him in secret.
trusting to your influence over your uncle to win the for-
giveness he never can persistently deny."
You should have seen the arch expression which stole
across her face at that. “Would it not be better," she
asked creeping to my arms and laying her head on my
shoulder, “would it not be better for me to make sure of
that uncle's favor first, before undertaking the hazardous
experiment of running away with a too ardent lover?”
Struck by her manner, I lifted her face and looked at
it. It was one amused smile.
“O, my darling," said I,“ you have not, then, dismissed
Mr. Clavering?"
mal
CS
CVI C


358
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
SIYA
r
into a calm consideration of the subject, writing and de-
livering into my charge for copying, a few lines in which
she promised to accede to his request, if he would agree
to leave the public declaration of the marriage to her dis-
cretion and consent to bid her farewell at the door of the
church or wherever the ceremony of marriage should take
place, never to come into her presence again till such
declaration had been made. Of course this brought in a
couple of days the sure response. “Any thing so you
will be mine." And Amy Belden's wits and powers of
planning were all summoned into requisition for the second
time, to devise how this matter could be arranged without
subjecting the parties to the chance of detection. I found
the thing very difficult. In the first place it was essential
that the marriage should come off within three days, Mr.
Clavering having upon the receipt of her letter secured
his passage upon a steamer that sailed on the follow-
ing Saturday ; and next, both he and Miss Leavenworth
were too conspicuous in their personal appearance to make
it at all possible for them to be married without remark,
anywhere within gossiping distance of this place. And
yet it was desirable that the scene of the ceremony should
not be too far away, or the time occupied in effecting the
journey to and from the place, would necessitate an absence
from the Hotel on the part of Miss Leavenworth long
enough to arouse the suspicions of Eleanore; something
which Mary felt it wiser to avoid. Her uncle, I have for-
gotten to say, was not here—having gone off travelling


HANNAH.
359
again, shortly after the apparent dismissal of Mr. Clavering.
- then, was the only town I could think of, which
combined the two advantages of distance and accessibility.
Although upon the railroad, it was an insignificant place,
and had what was better yet, a very obscure man for its
clergyman, living, which was best of all, not ten rods from
the depot. If they could meet there ? Making inquiries, I
found that it could be done, and all alive to the romance
of the occasion, proceeded to plan the details.
And now I am coming to what might have caused the
overthrow of the whole scheme ; I allude to the detection
on the part of Eleanore of the correspondence between
Mary and Mr. Clavering. It happened thus. Hannah,
who in her goings back and forth, had grown very fond of
my society, had come in to sit with me for awhile one even-
ing. She had not been in the house, however, more than
ten minutes, before there came a knock at the front door,
and going to it I saw, as I supposed, Mary, from the long
cloak she wore, standing before me. Thinking she had
come with a letter for Mr. Clavering, I grasped her arm
and drew her into the hall, saying, “Have you got it? I
must post it to-night or he will not receive it in time.”
There I paused, for the panting creature I had by the
arm turning upon me, I saw that it was a stranger.
“You have made a mistake," she cried, “I am Elea.
nore Leavenworth, and I have come for my girl Hannah.
Is she here?"
I could only raise my hand in apprehension and point to


კი,
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the girl sitting in the corner of the room before her. Miss
Leavenworth immediately turned back.
“Hannah, I want you," said she and would have left
the house without another word but I caught her by the
arm.
"O, miss—," I began, but she gave me such a look,
I dropped her arm as if it had been hot steel.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she cried in a low,
thrilling voice. “Do not detain me.” And with a glance
to see if Hannah were following her, she went out.
For an hour I sat crouched on the stair just where she
had left me. Then I went to bed, but I did not sleep a
wink that night. You can imagine then my wonder, when
with the first glow of the early morning light, Mary, looking
more beautiful than ever, came running up the steps
and into the room where I was, with the letter for Mr.
Clavering trembling in her hand.
“Oh!" I cried in my joy and relief, “ didn't she under-
stand me, then?”
The gay look on Mary's face turned to one of reckless
scorn. “If you mean Eleanore, yes. She is duly initiated,
Mamma Hubbard. Knows that I love Mr. Clavering and
write to him. I couldn't keep it secret after the mistake
you made last evening, so I did the next best thing, told
her the truth.”
“Not that you were about to be married ?”.
“ Certainly not. I don't believe in unnecessary com-
munications."


HANNAH.
361
“And you did not find her as angry as you expected ?”
'I will not say that ; she was angry enough. And
yet—"continued Mary with a burst of self-scornful peni-
tence, “ I will not call Eleanore's loftly indignation, anger.
She was grieved, Mamma Hubbard, grieved.” And with
a laugh that I believe was rather the result of her own re-
lief than of any wish to reflect on her cousin, she threw
her head on one side and eyed me with a look which
seemed to say,—“Do I plague you so very much, you dear
old Mamma Hubbard ?”
She did plague me and I could not conceal it. “ And
will she not tell your uncle ?” I gasped.
The naïve expression on Mary's face quickly changed.
“No,” said she.
I felt a heavy hand hot with fever, lifted from my
heart. “And we can still go on?”
She held out the letter for reply.
The plan agreed upon between us for the carrying out
of our intentions was this. At the time appointed, Mary
was to excuse herself to her cousin upon the plea that she
had promised to take me to see a friend in the next town.
She was then to enter a buggy previously ordered, and
drive here where I was to join her. We were then to pro-
ceed immediately to the minister's house in F- , where
we had reason to believe we should find every thing pre-
pared for us. But in this plan, simple as it was, one thing
was forgotten, and that was the character of Eleanore's
love for her cousin. That she would suspect something


362
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
was wrong, we did not doubt, but that she would actually
follow her up and demand an explanation of her conduct,
was what neither she who knew her so well, nor I who
knew her so little, ever imagined possible. And yet that
was just what occurred. But let me explain. Mary, who
had followed out the programme to the point of leaving a
little note of excuse on Eleanore's dressing-table, had come
to my house and was just taking off her long cloak to show
me her dress, when there came a commanding knock at
the front door. Hastily pulling her cloak about her I ran
to open it, intending, you may be sure, to dismiss my visitor
with short ceremony when I heard a voice behind me say,
—“Good heavens, it is Eleanore !” and glancing back,
saw Mary looking through the window-blind upon the
porch without.
“What shall I do?” cried I shrinking back.
“Do ? why open the door and let her in ; I am not
afraid of Eleanore."
I immediately did so, and Eleanore Leavenworth, very
pale but with a resolute countenance, walked into the house
and into this room, confronting Mary in very nearly the
same spot where you are now sitting. “I have come,”
said she lifting a face whose expression of mingled sweet-
ness and power I could not but admire even in that moment
of apprehension, “to ask you without any excuse for my
request, if you will allow me to accompany you upon your
drive this morning ?”
Mary, who had drawn herself up to meet some word of


HANNAH.
365
“But in so doing you will be involved in a world of
deception—which you hate.”
“Any more so than now?"
“Mr. Clavering does not return with me, Eleanore."
“No, I supposed not."
“I leave him immediately after the ceremony."
Eleanore bowed her head.
“He goes to Europe.”
A pause.
“And I return home.”
“ There to wait for what, Mary? "
Mary's face crimsoned and she turned slowly away.
“What every other girl does under such circumstances
I suppose. The development of more reasonable feelings
in an obdurate parent's heart."
Eleanore sighed and a short silence ensued, broken by
Eleanore's suddenly falling upon her knees and clasping
her cousin's hand. “O, Mary," she sobbed, her haughti-
ness all disappearing in a gush of wild entreaty, “consider
what you are doing! think before it is too late, of the con-
sequences which must follow such an act as this. Marriage
founded upon deception, can never lead to happiness.
Love—but it is not that. Love would have led you either
to have dismissed Mr. Clavering at once or to have openly
accepted the fate which a union with him would bring.
Only passion stoops to subterfuge like this. And you,"
continued she, rising and turning toward me in a sort of
forlorn hope very touching to see, "you who have borne


366
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
and brought up children, will you see this young mother-
less girl, driven by caprice and acknowledging no moral
restraint, enter upon the dark and crooked path she is
planning for herself, without one word of warning and ap-
peal? Tell me, mother of children, dead and buried,
what excuse you will have for your own part in this day's
work, when she, with her face marred by the sorrows which
must follow this deception, comes to you—".
"The same excuse probably,” Mary's voice broke in
chill and strained, " which you will have when uncle in-
quires how you came to allow such a very wicked piece of
business to be accomplished in his absence; that she could
not help herself, that Mary would gang her ain gait, and
every one around, must accommodate themselves to it.”
It was like a draught of icy air suddenly let loose in
a room heated up to fever point. Eleanore stiffened im-
mediately and drawing back pale and composed, turned
upon her cousin with the remark,
“ Then nothing can move you ? "
The curling of Mary's lip was her only reply.
Raymond, I do not wish to weary you with my feel-
ings, but the first great distrust I ever felt of my wisdom
in pushing this matter so far, came with that curl of Mary's
lip. Plainer than Eleanore's words it showed me the tem-
per with which she was entering upon this undertaking,
and struck with momentary dismay, I advanced to speak
when Mary stopped me.
“There now, Mamma Hubbard, don't you go and ac-
we


HANNAH.
367
was
knowledge that you are frightened, for I won't hear it. I
have promised to marry Henry Clavering to-day and I am
going to keep my word—if I don't love him,” she added
with bitter emphasis. Then smiling upon me in a way
that caused me to forget every thing save the fact that
she was going to her bridal, she handed me her veil
to fasten. As I was doing it with very trembling fingers,
she said, looking straight at Eleanore,
“You have shown yourself more interested in my fate
than I have ever thought possible. Will you continue to
display that concern all the way to F- , or may I hope
that I shall be allowed to dream in peace upon the step
which, according to you, is about to hurl upon me such
dreadful consequences ? "
“If I go with you to FM,” Eleanore returned, “it is
as a witness, no more. My sisterly duty is done."
“Very well, then,” Mary said, dimpling with sudden
gayety, “I suppose I shall have to accept the situation.
Mamma Hubbard, I am so sorry to disappoint you, but
the buggy won't hold three. If you are good you shall be
the first to congratulate me,” she whispered," when I come
home to-night.” And almost before I knew it, the two had
taken their seats in the buggy that was waiting at the door.
“Good-by," cried Mary, waving her hand from the back,
“ wish me much joy—of my ride."
I tried to do so, but the words wouldn't come. I could
only wave my hand in response and rush sobbing into the
house.


368
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
Of that day and its long hours of alternate remorse
and anxiety, I cannot trust myself to speak. Let me come
at once to the time when seated alone in my lamp-lighted
room, I waited and watched for the token of their return
which Mary had promised me. It came in the shape of
Mary herself, who, wrapped in her long cloak and with her
beautiful face aglow with blushes, came stealing into the
house just as I was beginning to despair.
A strain of wild music from the hotel porch where they
were having a dance, entered with her, producing such a
weird effect upon my fancy that I was not at all surprised
when in flinging off her cloak, she displayed garments of
bridal white and a head crowned with snowy roses.
“O Mary!” cried I, bursting into tears, "you are
then,”
“Mrs. Henry Clavering, at your service. I'm a bride,
Auntie.”
“Without a bridal," I murmured, taking her passion-
ately into my embrace.
She was not insensible to my emotion. Nestling close
to me, she gave herself up for one wild moment to a genu-
ine burst of tears, saying between her sobs all manner of
tender things, telling me how she loved me, and how I was
the only one in all the world to whom she dare come on
this her wedding night, for comfort or congratulation, and
of how frightened she felt now it was all over, as if with
her name she had parted with something of inestimable
value.


HANNAH.
371
womanhood, haughty as she can be when the delicate
quick of her personality is touched too, rudely, I have
known her to sit by the hour in a low, chilly, ill-lighted and
ill-smelling garret, cradling a dirty child on her knee, and
feeding with her own hand an impatient old woman whom
no one else would consent to touch. Oh, oh, they talk
about repentance and a change of heart! If some one
or some thing would only change mine! But there is no
hope of that! no hope of my ever being any thing else
than what I am, a selfish, wilful, mercenary girl.”
Nor was this mood a mere transitory one. That same
night she made a discovery which increased her apprehen-
sion almost to terror. This was nothing less than the fact
that Eleanore had been keeping a diary of the last few
weeks. “O," she cried in relating this to me the next day,
“ what security shall I ever feel as long as this diary of hers
remains to confront me every time I go into her room.
And she will not consent to destroy it, though I have done
my best to show her that it is a betrayal of the trust I re-
posed in her. She says that it is all there is to show her
reasons for doing as she has, and that without it she would
lack means of defence, if uncle should ever accuse her of
treachery to him and his happiness. She promises to keep
it locked up, but what good will that do! A thousand ac-
cidents might happen, any of them sufficient to throw it
into uncle's hands. I shall never feel safe for a moment
while it exists."
I endeavored to calm her by saying that if Eleanore


372
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
was without malice, such fears were groundless. But she
would not be comforted, and seeing her so wrought up, I
suggested that she should ask Eleanore to deliver it into
my keeping till such time as she should feel the necessity
of using it. The idea struck Mary favorably. “O yes,”
cried she, “and I will put my certificate with it and so get
rid of all my care at once." And before the afternoon
was over, she had seen Eleanore and made her request.
It was acceded to with this proviso, that I was neither
to destroy nor give up all or any of the papers except upon
their united demand. A small tin box was accordingly
procured into which were put all the proofs of Mary's
marriage then existing, viz. : the certificate, Mr. Clavering's
letters and such leaves from Eleanore's Diary as referred
to this matter. It was then handed over to me with the
stipulation I have already mentioned, and I stowed it away
in a certain closet up stairs, where it has lain undisturbed
till last night.
ma
Here Mrs. Belden paused, and blushing painfully,
raised her eyes to mine with a look in which anxiety and
entreaty were curiously blended. .
“I don't know what you will say,” she began, “but led
away by my fears I took that box out of its hiding-place
last evening, and notwithstanding your advice, carried it
from the house and it is now ”.
“In my possession,” said I quietly.
I don't think I ever saw her look more astounded, not


374
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the eve of the day before she left, Mary came to my house
to bid me good-by. She had a present in her hand the
value of which I will not state, as I did not take it, though
she coaxed me with all her prettiest wiles. But she said
something that night that I have never been able to forget.
It was this. I had been speaking of my hope that before
two months had elapsed she would so win upon Mr. Leav-
enworth that she would be able to send for Mr. Clavering,
and that when that day came, I should wish to be advised
of it, when she suddenly interrupted me by saying,
“Uncle will never be won upon as you call it while he
lives. If I was convinced of it before, I am sure of it now.
Nothing but his death will ever make it possible for me to
send for Mr. Clavering.” Then seeing me look aghast at
the long period of separation which this seemed to betoken,
blushed a little and whispered, “ The prospect looks some-
what dubious, doesn't it? But if Mr. Clavering loves me,
he can wait.”
“ But,” said I, “your uncle is only little past the prime
of life and appears to be in robust health ; it will be years
of waiting, Mary.”
"I don't know,” murmured she. “I think not. Uncle
is not as strong as he looks and—” She did not say any
more, horrified perhaps at the turn the conversation was
taking. But there was an expression on her countenance
that set me thinking at the time and has kept me thinking
ever since.
Not that any actual dread of such an occurrence as has


HANNAH.
377
ev
con-
Amy," he wrote ;“ dowered or dowerless, it makes little dif-
ference to me. If you will not come of yourself, then I must
follow the example of the brave knights, my ancestors ;
storm the castle that holds you, and carry you off by force
of arms."
Neither can I say that I was much surprised, know-
ing Mary as I did, when in a few days from this, she for-
warded to me for copying, this reply ; “ If Mr. Robbins
ever expects to be happy with Amy Belden, let him recon-
sider the determination of which he speaks. Not only
would he by such an action, succeed in destroying the
happiness of her he professes to love, but run the greater
risk of effectually annulling the affection which makes the
tie between them endurable.”
To this there was neither date nor signature. It was
the cry of warning which a spirited, self-contained creature
gives when brought to bay. It made even me recoil,
though I had known from the first that her pretty wilful-
ness was but the tossing foam floating above the sound-
less depths of cold resolve and most deliberate purpose.
What its real effect was upon him and her fate I can
only conjecture. All I know is that in two weeks there-
after, Mr. Leavenworth was found murdered in his room,
and Hannah Chester coming direct to my door from the
scene of violence, begged me to take her in and secret
her from public inquiry, as I loved and desired to serve
Mary Leavenworth.


378
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXXIII.
UNEXPECTED TESTIMONY.
Pol. What do you read my lord ?
Ham. Words, words, words.
HAMLET.
MRS. BELDEN paused, lost in the sombre shadow which
these words were calculated to evoke, and a short silence
fell upon the room. It was broken by my asking for some
account of the occurrence she had just mentioned, it being
considered a mystery how Hannah could have found
entrance into her house without the knowledge of the
neighbors.
“Well,” said she," it was a chilly night and I had gone
to bed early-I was sleeping then in the room off this-
when, at about a quarter to one—the last train goes through
R- at 12.50—there came a low knock on the window-
pane at the head of my bed. Thinking that some of the
neighbors were sick, I hurriedly rose on my elbow and
asked who was there. The answer eame in low muffled
tones, ‘Hannah, Miss Leavenworth's girl! Please let me
in at the kitchen door.' Startled at hearing the well-known
voice, and fearing I knew not what, I caught up a lamp and
hurried round to the door. Is any one with you?' I
asked. “No,' she replied. “Then come in.' But no sooner


380
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
in the house, and there she has remained ever since, satis-
fied and contented as far as I could see till this very same
horrible day."
"And is that all ?” I asked. “Did you have no expla-
nation with her afterwards ? Did she never give you any
information in regard to the transactions which led to her
flight?”
"No, sir. She kept a most persistent silence. Neither
then nor when upon the next day, I confronted her with
the papers in my hand and the awful question upon my
lips as to whether her flight had been occasioned by the
murder which had taken place in Mr. Leavenworth's
household, did she do more than acknowledge she had
run away on its account. Some one or something had
sealed her lips, and as she said, 'Fire and torture should
never make her speak.'”.
Another short pause followed this ; then with my mind
still hovering about the one point of intensest interest to
me, I said,
“This story, then, this account which you have just
given me of Mary Leavenworth's secret marriage and the
great strait it put her into—a strait from which nothing
but her uncle's death could seem to relieve her—together
with this acknowledgment of Hannah's that she had left
home and taken refuge here on the insistence of Mary
Leavenworth, is the ground work you have for the sus-
picions you have mentioned ?"
“Yes, sir ; that and the proof of her interest in the


382
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Then you think—”.
“Mr. Clavering is the man? I do, and O, sir, when
you consider that he is her husband, is it not dreadful
enough ?"
"It is indeed,” said I, rising to conceal how much I
was affected by this conclusion of hers.
Something in my tone or appearance seemed to startle
her. “I hope and trust I have not been indiscreet," she
cried, eying me with something like an incipient distrust.
“With this dead girl lying in my house, I ought to be very
careful I know, but—".
“You have said nothing," I cried, edging towards the
door in my anxiety to escape if but for a moment from an
atmosphere that was stifling me. “No one can blame you
for any thing you have either said or done to-day. But,"
and here I paused and walked hurriedly back, “I wish to
ask one thing more. Have you any reason beyond that of
natural repugnance to believing a young and beautiful
woman guilty of a great crime, for saying what you have
of Henry Clavering, a gentleman who has hitherto been
mentioned by you with respect ?”
“No," she whispered, with a touch of her old agitation,
“none but that.”
I felt the reason insufficient, and turned away with
something of the same sense of suffocation with which I
heard that the key sought for, had been found in Eleanore
Leavenworth's possession. “You must excuse me,” I
said; “I want to be a moment by myself in order to pon-


384
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the closed lips and lids confronted my demanding gaze!
A stone could not have been more unresponsive.
With a feeling that was almost like anger, I stood there,
when, what was it I saw protruding from beneath her
shoulders where they crushed against the bed ? an en-
velope ? a letter ? yes.
Dizzy with the sudden surprise, overcome with the
wild hopes this discovery awakened, I stooped in great
agitation and drew the letter out. It was sealed but
not directed. Breaking it hastily open, I took a glance
at its contents. Good heavens! it was the work of the
girl herself !—its very appearance was enough to make
that evident! Feeling as if a miracle had happened, I
hastened with it into the other room and set myself to
decipher the awkward scrawl.
This is what I saw rudely printed in lead pencil on the
inside of a sheet of common writing paper :
I am a wicked girl. I have knone things all the time
which I had ought to have told but I didn't dare to he
said he would kill me if I did I mene the tall splendud
looking gentulman with the black mustash who I met com-
ing out of Mister Levenworth's room with a key in his
hand the night Mr. Levenworth was murdered: He was
su scared he gave me money and made me go away and
come here and keep every thing secret but I can't do so
no longer. I seem to see Miss Elenor all the time
crying and asking me if I want her sent to prisun. God


HANNAH.
385
knows I'd rathur die. And this is the truth and my last
words and I pray every body's forgivness and hope nobody
will blame me and that they wont bother Miss Elenor any
more but go and look after the handsome gentulman with
the black mushtash.
25


386
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
BOOK IV.
THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
XXXIV.
MR. GRYCE RESUMES CONTROL.
It out-herods Herod.
HAMLET.
A thing devised by the enemy.
Rich. III.
A HALF-HOUR had passed. The train upon which I had
every reason to expect Mr. Gryce, had arrived, and I stood
in the doorway awaiting with indescribable agitation, the
slow and labored approach of the motley group of men and
women which I had observed leave the depot at the de-
parture of the cars. Would he be among them? Was the
telegram of a nature peremptory enough to make his pres-
ence here, sick as he was, an absolute certainty? The
written confession of Hannah throbbing against my heart,
a heart all elation now, as but a short half-hour before, it
had been all doubt and struggle, seemed to rustle distrust,
and the prospect of a long afternoon spent in impatience,
was rising before me, when a portion of the advancing
crowd turned off into a side street, and I saw the form of
Mr. Gryce hobbling, not on two sticks, but very painfully
on one, coming slowly down the street.


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
387
His face, as he approached, was a study.
“Well, well, well,” exclaimed he, as we met at the
gate ; "this is a pretty how-dye-do, I must say. Hannah
dead, eh? and every thing turned topsy-turvy! Humph,
and what do you think of Mary Leavenworth now?”.
It would therefore seem natural, in the conversation
which followed his introduction into the house and in-
stalment in Mrs. Belden's parlor, I should begin my nar-
ration, by showing him Hannah's confession ; but it was
not so. Whether it was, I felt anxious to have him
go through the same alternations of hope and fear, it
had been my lot to experience since I came to R- ; or
whether in the depravity of human nature, there lingered
within me sufficient resentment for the persistent disregard
he had always paid to my suspicions of Henry Clavering,
to make it a matter of moment to me, to spring this knowl.
edge upon him, just at the instant his own convictions
seemed to have reached the point of absolute certainty,
I cannot say. Enough that it was not till I had given him
a full account of every other matter connected with my
stay in this house ; not till I saw his eye beaming, and his
lip quivering with the excitement incident upon the peru-
sal of the letter from Mary, found in Mrs. Belden's pocket;
not indeed until I became assured from such expressions
as “Tremendous! The deepest game of the season !
Nothing like it since the Lafarge affair !" that in another
moment he would be uttering some theory or belief that
once heard, would forever stand like a barrier between us,


388
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
did I allow myself to hand him the letter I had taken from
under the dead body of Hannah.
I shall never forget his expression, as he received it.
“Good heavens!” cried he, “what's this ?”
“A dying confession, replied I,“ of the girl Hannah.
I found it lying in her bed, when I went up a half-hour ago
to take a second look at her.”
Opening it, he glanced over it with an incredulous air,
that speedily, however, turned to one of the utmost aston-
ishment, as he hastily read it, and then stood turning it
over and over in his hand, examining it.
“A remarkable piece of evidence," exclaimed I, not
without a certain feeling of triumph ; " quite changes the
aspect of affairs ! ”
“ Think so ?" answered he sharply; then whilst I
stood staring at him in amazement, his manner was so dif-
ferent from what I expected, looked up and said, “You tell
me that you found this in her bed. Whereabouts in her
bed ? *
“Under the body of the girl herself," returned I. “I
saw one corner of it protruding from beneath her shoulders,
and drew it out.”
He came and stood before me. “Was it folded or
open, when you first looked at it?”
“ Folded ; fastened up in this envelope ;” showing it to
him.
He took it, looked at it for a moment, and went on with
his questions.


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
389
n
“This envelope has a very crumpled appearance, as
well as the letter itself. Were they so when you found
them?"
“Yes, not only so, but doubled up as you see."
“Doubled up? You are sure of that? Folded, sealed
and then doubled up as if her body had rolled across it
while alive ?"
“Yes."
“No trickery about it? No look as if the thing had
been insinuated there since her death?”
“Not at all, I should rather say that to every appear-
ance she held it in her hand when she lay down, but
turning over, dropped it and had lain upon it."
Mr. Gryce's eyes which had been very bright, ominous-
ly clouded; evidently he had been disappointed in my
answers. Laying the letter down, he stood musing, but
suddenly lifted it again, scrutinized the edges of the paper
on which it was written, and, darting me a quick look, van-
ished with it into the shade of the window-curtain. His
manner was so peculiar, I involuntarily rose to follow, but
he waved me back, saying,
" Amuse yourself with that box on the table, which you
had such an ado over ; see if every thing is there accord-
ing to Mrs. Belden's telling ; I want to be by myself for
a moment."
Subduing my astonishment, I proceeded to comply with
his request, but scarcely had I lifted the lid of the box be.
fore me, when he came hurrying back, fung the letter down


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
391
“But is it?"
“Why yes, I should say so.”
“Look at the lines.”
“What of them? O, I see, they run up close to the top
of the page ; evidently the scissors have been used here."
“ In short, it is a large sheet, trimmed down to the
size of commercial note?”.
“ Yes.”
“And is that all you see?"
“ All but the words.”
“ Don't you perceive what has been lost by means of
this trimming down?”.
“No, unless you mean the manufacturer's stamp in the
corner." Mr. Gryce's glance took meaning. “But I don't
see why the loss of that should be deemed a matter of any
importance.”
“Don't you ? not when you consider that by it we seem
to be deprived of all opportunity of tracing this sheet back
to the quire of paper from which it was taken ?"
“ No."
“Humph! then you are more of an amateur than I
thought you. Don't you see that as Hannah could have
had no motive for concealing where the paper came from
on which she wrote her dying words, this sheet must have
been prepared by some one else ?”
“No," said I, “I cannot say, I see all that."
“ Can't! Well then answer me this. Why should Han-
nah, a girl about to commit suicide, care whether any clue
answe


392
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
was furnished in her confession, to the actual desk, drawer,
or quire of paper from which the sheet was taken, on
which she wrote it?"
“She wouldn't.
“Yet especial pains have been taken to destroy that
clue."
“ But"
“ Then there is another thing. Read the confession
itself, Mr. Raymond, and tell me what you gather from it.”
“Why,” said I, after complying, “that the girl, worn
out with constant apprehension, has made up her mind to
do away with herself, and that Henry Clavering"
"Henry Clavering ?”
The interrogation was put with so much meaning, I
looked up. “ Yes," said I.
“Ah, I didn't know that Mr. Clavering's name was
mentioned there; excuse me."
“ His name is not mentioned, but a description is given
so strikingly in accordance "
Here Mr. Gryce interrupted me. “Does it not seem
to you a little surprising, that a girl like Hannah should
have stopped to describe a man she knew by name ?”
I started ; it was unnatural surely.
“You believe Mrs. Belden's story, don't you ?"
“Yes."
“Consider her accurate in her relation of what took
place here a year ago ?”
"I do."


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
393
“Must believe, then; that Hannah, the go-between,
was acquainted with Mr. Clavering, and with his name?”
“ Undoubtedly."
“ Then why didn't she use it? If her intention was as
she here professes, to save Eleanore Leavenworth from the
false imputation which had fallen upon her, she would
naturally take the most direct method of doing it. This
description of a man, whose identity she could have at
once put beyond a doubt by the mention of his name, is the
work, not of a poor ignorant girl, but of some person, who
in attempting to play the rôle of one, has signally failed.
But that is not all. Mrs. Belden, according to you, main-
tains that Hannah told her upon entering the house, that
Mary Leavenworth sent her here. But in this document,
she declares it to have been the work of Black Mustache.”
“I know, but could they not have both been parties to
the transaction?"
“Yes," said he, "yet it is always a suspicious circum-
stance, when there is any discrepancy between the written
and spoken declaration of a person. But why do we stand
here fooling, when a few words from this Mrs. Belden
you talk so much about, will probably settle the whole
matter !"
"A few words from Mrs. Belden,” I repeated, “I have
had thousands from her to-day, and find the matter no
nearer settled than in the beginning."
“ You have had,” said he, “but not I. Fetch her in,
Mr. Raymond.”


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
395
had his genial way imposed upon her. “Little better than
a prisoner here, I go and come, keep silence or speak, just
as I am bidden; and all because an unhappy creature,
whom I took in for the most unselfish of motives, has
chanced to die in my house ! "
"Just so !” exclaimed Mr. Gryce," it is very unjust.
But perhaps we can right matters. I have every reason to
believe we can. This sudden death ought to be easily
explainable. You say you had no poison in the house ?"
“No, sir."
“ And that the girl never went out ? ”
“Never, sir.”
“And that no one has ever been here to see her?”
“No one, sir."
“So that she could not have procured any such thing
if she had wished ?”
“No, sir.”
“ Unless," he added suavely, “she had it with her when
she came here?”
“That couldn't have been, sir. She brought no bag.
gage ; and as for her pocket I know every thing there was
in it, for I looked.”
“And what did you find there?"
“Some money in bills, more than you would have ex-
pected such a girl to have, some loose pennies, and a com-
mon handkerchief.”
“Well, then, it is proved the girl didn't die of poison,
there being none in the house."


398
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
learn to play on the piano. And I finally came to the
conclusion she had been promised money if she kept
the secret intrusted to her, and was so pleased with the
prospect that she forgot the dreadful past and all con-
nected with it. At all events that was the only explana-
tion I could find for her general industry and desire to
improve herself, or for the complacent smiles I detected
now and then stealing over her face when she didn't know
I was looking."
Not such a smile as crept over the countenance of Mr.
Gryce at that moment, I warrant.
“It was all this,” continued Mrs. Belden, “which made
her death such a shock to me. I couldn't believe that so
cheerful and healthy a creature could die like that, all in
one night without anybody knowing any thing about it.
But,"
“Wait one moment," Mr. Gryce here broke in. “ You
speak of her endeavors to improve herself. What do you
mean by that ? "
“Her desire to learn things she didn't know, as for
instance to write and read writing. She could only clum-
sily print when she came here."
I thought Mr. Gryce would take out a piece of my arm,
he griped it so.
“When she came here ! Do you mean to say that since
she has been with you she has learned to write ?"
“Yes, sir. I used to set her copies and—”.
“Where are these copies ? ” broke in Mr. Gryce, sub-


400
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
writing to be found. Not much like some scrawls we
have seen, eh?”
“No."
“Mrs. Belden says this girl has known how to write as
good as this for more than a week. Took great pride in
it, and was continually talking about how smart she was."
Leaning over he whispered in my ear, “ This thing you
have in your hand must have been scrawled some time
ago, if she did it.” Then aloud, “ But let us look at the
paper she used to write on.”
Dashing open the covers of the boxes on the table, he
took out the loose sheets lying inside, and scattered them
out before me. One glance showed they were all of an
utterly different quality from that used in the confession.
“This is all the paper in the house," said he.
“Are you sure of that?" I asked, looking at Mrs.
Belden who stood in a sort of maze before us. “Wasn't
there one stray sheet lying around somewhere, foolscap or
some thing like that, which she might have got hold of
and used without your knowing it?"
“No, sir ; I don't think so. I had only these kinds ;
besides, Hannah had a whole pile of paper like this in her
room, and wouldn't have been apt to go hunting round
after any stray sheets."
“But you don't know what a girl like that might do.
Look at this one," said I, showing her the blank side of
the confession. “Couldn't a sheet like this have come
from somewhere about the house? Examine it well; the
matter is important."


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
401
“I have," replied she ; "and I say no, I never had a
sheet of paper like that in my house.”
Mr. Gryce advanced and took the confession from my
hand. As he did so, he whispered, “What do you think
.now? Many chances that Hannah got up this precious
document?"
I shook my head, convinced at last, but in another
moment turned to him and whispered back, “But if Han-
nah didn't write it, who did ? And how came it to be
found where it was ?”
“That,” said he, “is just what is left for us to learn."
And beginning again, he put question after question con-
cerning the girl's life in the house, receiving answers which
only tended to show that she could not have brought the
confession with her, much less received it from a secret
messenger. Unless we doubted Mrs. Belden's word, the
mystery seemed impenetrable, and I was beginning to
despair of success, when Mr. Gryce with an askance look
at me, leaned towards Mrs. Belden and said :
“You received a letter from Miss Mary Leavenworth
yesterday, I hear.”
“ Yes, sir."
“ This letter ?” continued he, showing it to her.
“ Yes, sir."
“Now I want to ask you a question. Was the letter
as you see it, the only contents of the envelope in which
it came? Wasn't there one for Hannah enclosed with
it?"
26


402
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“No, sir," replied she, but with strange eagerness.
“There was nothing in my letter for her but she had a
letter herself yesterday. It came in the same mail with
mine."
“Hannah had a letter !” exclaimed we both, “and in
the mail ?”
“Yes ; but it was not directed to her. It was—"
casting me a look full of despair, “directed to me. It
was only by a certain mark in the corner of the envelope
that I knew"
“ Good heaven!” interrupted I, “where is this letter?
Why didn't you speak of it before ? What do you mean
by allowing us to flounder about here in the dark, when
a glimpse of this letter might have set us right at once ?”
“ I didn't think any thing about it till this minute. I
didn't know it was of importance. 1-".
But I couldn't restrain myself. “Mrs. Belden,” cried
I, “where is this letter? Have you got it?”
"No," said she, “I gave it to the girl yesterday; I
haven't seen it since."
“It must be up stairs, then. Let us take another look,"
and I hastened towards the door.
“You won't find it," said Mr. Gryce at my elbow. "I
have looked. There is nothing but a pile of burned paper
in the corner. By the way, what could that have been ? "
asked he of Mrs. Belden.
“I don't know, sir. She hadn't any thing to burn
unless it was the letter.”


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
403
“We will see about that,” murmured I, hurrying up
stairs and bringing down the washbowl with its contents.
“ If the letter was the one I saw in your hand at the post-
office, it was in a yellow envelope."
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Yellow envelopes burn differently from white paper.
I ought to be able to tell the tinder made by a yellow en-
velope when I see it. Ah, the letter has been destroyed;
here is a piece of the envelope," and I drew out of the
heap of charred scraps a small bit less burnt than the rest
and held it up.
“ Then there is no use looking here for what the letter
contained,” said Mr. Gryce putting the washbowl aside.
“We will have to ask you, Mrs. Belden."
“But I don't know. It was directed to me to be sure,
but Hannah told me when she first requested me to teach
her how to write, that she expected such a letter, so I didn't
open it when it came, but gave it to her just as it was."
“You, however, staid by to see her read it ?”
“No, sir; I was in too much of a furry. Mr. Ray-
mond had just come and I had no time to think of her.
My own letter, too, was troubling me.”
“But you surely asked her some questions about it be-
fore the day was out?”
“ Yes, sir, when I went up with her tea-things, but
she had nothing to say. Hannah could be as reticent as
any one I ever knew, when she pleased. She didn't even
admit it was from her mistress.”
re


404
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“Ah, then you thought it was from Miss Leaven-
worth ?”
“Why, yes, sir ; what else was I to think, seeing that
mark in the corner? Though to be sure it might have been
put there by Mr. Clavering,” she added thoughtfully.
“ You say she was cheerful yesterday ; was she so after
receiving this letter ?"
“Yes, sir ; as far as I could see. “I wasn't with her
long; the necessity I felt of doing something with the box
in my charge—but perhaps Mr. Raymond has told you?”
Mr. Gryce nodded.
“It was an exhaustive evening and quite put Hannah
out of my head, but,"
“Wait!” cried Mr. Gryce, and beckoning me into a
corner, he whispered, “Now comes in that experience of Q’s.
While you are gone from the house and before Mrs. Belden
sees Hannah again, he has a glimpse of the girl bending
over something in the corner of her room which may
very fairly be the washbowl we found there. After which,
he sees her swallow in the most lively way, a dose of some-
thing from a bit of paper. Was there any thing more?"
“No,” said I.
“Very well then," cried he, going back to Mrs. Belden.
“But-"
“But when I went up stairs to bed, I thought of the
girl and going to her door opened it. The light was
extinguished and she seemed asleep, so I closed it again
and came out."


406
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
LE
VORTH
“O, yes ; thick enough for two letters."
“Large enough and thick enough to contain this ? "
laying the confession folded and enveloped as it was, be-
fore her.”
“Yes, sir,” giving it a look of startled amazement,
“ large enough and thick enough to contain that."
Mr. Gryce's eyes, bright as diamonds, flashed around
the room and finally settled upon a fly traversing my coat-
sleeve.
“Do you need to ask now," whispered he in a low
voice, “where and from whom, this so-called confession
comes ? "
Mr. Gryce allowed himself one moment of silent tri-
umph, then rising, began folding the papers on the table
and putting them in his pocket.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, hurriedly ap-
proaching.
He took me by the arm and led me across the hall into
the sitting-room. “I am going back to New York. I am
going to pursue this matter. I am going to find out from
whom came the poison that killed this girl, and by whose
hand this vile forgery of a confession was written."
“But,” said I, rather thrown off my balance by all this,
“Q and the coroner will be here presently, won't you wait
to see them ?”
“No," said he ;" clews such as are given here, must be
followed while the trail is hót; I can't afford to wait."
pe


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
407
“If I am not mistaken they have already come,” said
J, as a tramping of feet without, announced that someone
stood at the door.
"That is so," cried he, hastening to let them in.
Judging from common experience, we had every reason
to fear that an immediate stop would be put to all proceed-
ings on our part, as soon as the coroner was introduced
upon the scene. But happily for us and the interest at
stake, Dr. Fink, of R- proved to be a very sensible
man. He had only to hear a true story of the affair, to
recognize at once its importance and the necessity of
the most cautious action in the matter. Further, by a sort
of sympathy with Mr. Gryce, all the more remarkable that
he had never seen him before, he expressed himself as
willing to enter into our plans, offering not only to allow
us the temporary use of such papers as we desired, but
even undertaking to conduct the necessary formalities of
calling a jury and instituting an inquest, in such a way as
to give us time for the investigations we purposed to make.
The delay was therefore short. Mr. Gryce was en-
abled to take the 6.30 train for New York, and I to follow
on the 10 P.M.,—the calling of a jury, ordering of an
autopsy and final adjournment of the inquiry till the follow-
ing Tuesday, having all taken place in the interim.


408
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,
XXXV.
FINE WORK.
No hinge nor loop
To hang a doubt on!
But yet the pity of it, Iago! O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago.
OTHBLLO.
MR. GRYCE had told me enough of his plans before
leaving R- , for me to understand that the clue he in-
tended to follow was that given by the paper on which the
confession was written. “Find in whose possession is the
package of paper from which this sheet was taken, and
you find the double murderer," he had said.
I was therefore not surprised when upon visiting his
house early the next morning, I beheld him seated before
a table on which lay a lady's writing desk and a pile of
paper, till he told me the desk was Eleanore's. “What,"
said I, “are you not yet satisfied of her innocence ?”
“O, yes; but one must be thorough. No conclusion
would be worth any thing if the investigation made was not
full and complete. Why,” he cried, casting his eyes com-
placently towards the fire-tongs, “I have even been rum-
maging through Mr. Clavering's effects, unknown to him
of course, though the confession bears the proof upon its
face that it could not have been written by him. It is not


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
409
enough to look for evidence where you expect to find it;
you must sometimes search for it where you don't.
Now," said he, drawing the desk before him, “I don't
anticipate finding any thing here, that I want; but it is
among the possibilities I may, and that is enough for a
detective."
“ Did you see Miss Leavenworth this morning ?” I
asked, as he proceeded to fulfil his intention by emptying
the contents of the desk upon the table.
“Yes; I was unable to procure what I desired without
it. And she behaved very handsome, gave me the desk with
her own hands and never raised an objection. To be sure
she thought I wished it for the purpose of satisfying my-
self that she did not keep concealed in it the paper about
which so much has been said. But it would have made
but little difference if she had known the truth! There's
nothing here she need dread having seen.”
“Was Miss Leavenworth well ? ” I inquired, unable to
control my anxiety. “And had she heard of Hannah's
sudden death ? "
“Yes, and was in great agitation concerning it. I
should say that her convictions in reference to her cousin
were strengthened by it. But let us see what we have
here,” pursued he, drawing the package of paper towards
him with a look of great expectation. “I found this pile,
just as it is, in the drawer of the library table in Miss
Leavenworth's house in Fifth Avenue. If I am not mis-
taken, it is the thing we want.”
en
nue


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
411
W
if you are still incredulous, let us see what can 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 of ruling that was markedly heavier than
the rest, and another which was so faint as to be almost
undistinguishable. “Defects like these often run through a
number of consecutive sheets,” said he. “If we could find
the identical half-quire from which this was taken, I might
show you proof that would dispel every doubt." and taking
up the one that lay on top, he rapidly counted the sheets.
There were but eight. “It might have been taken from
this one,” said he ; but upon looking closely at the ruling
he found that it was uniformly distinct. “Humph! that
won't do !" came from his lips.
The remainder of the paper, some dozen or so half-
quires, looked undisturbed. Mr. Gryce tapped his fingers
on the table and a frown crossed his face. “ Such a
pretty thing !” exclaimed he, “if it could only have been
done !” Suddenly he took up the next half quire.
Count the sheets," said he, thrusting it towards me, and
himself lifting another.
I did as I was bid. “Twelve.”
He counted his and laid them down. “Go on with
the rest," cried he.
I counted the sheets in the next; twelve. He counted
those in the one following and paused. “Eleven !”
“ Count again," I suggested.
n.
Don


412
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
He counted again and quietly put them aside. “I
made a mistake,” observed he.
But he was not to be discouraged. Taking another
half-quire he went through with the same operation ;-in
vain. With a sigh of impatience he flung it down on the
table and looked up. “Halloo !” cried he, “ what is the
matter?"
“There are but eleven sheets in this package," I said,
placing it in his hand.
The excitement he immediately evinced was conta-
gious. Oppressed as I was, I could not resist his eager-
ness. “O, beautiful !” he exclaimed. "O, beautiful !
see! the light line on the inside, the heavy one on the
outside and both in positions precisely corresponding to
those on this sheet of Hannah's. What do you think now?
Do you wish for any further proof?”
“ The veriest doubter could ask for no more," re-
turned I.
With something like a considerate regard for my emo-
tion, he turned away. “I am obliged to congratulate my-
self,” said he, “notwithstanding the gravity of the discov-
ery that has been made. It is so neat, so very neat,
and so conclusive. I declare I am astonished, myself,
at the perfection of the thing. But what a woman that
is !” cried he suddenly, in a tone of the greatest admira-
tion, “what an intellect she has ! what shrewdness! what
skill! I declare it is almost a pity to entrap a woman who
has done as well as this taken a sheet from the very bot-
nom
re-


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
413
tom of the pile, trimmed it 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 had had
this thing in charge.” And all animated and glowing with
his enthusiasm, he eyed the chandelier above him as if it
were the embodiment of his own sagacity.
Sunk in despair, I let him go on.
“ Could she have done any better ?” he now asked.
“Watched, circumscribed as she was, could she have done
any better? I hardly think so; the fact of 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 ; “ did you have an interview with Miss Mary
Leavenworth this morning?"
“No,” said he, “it was not my purpose to do so. I
doubt, indeed, if she knew I was in her house. A ser-
vant maid who has a grievance is a very valuable assistant
to a detective. With Molly at my side I didn't need to
pay my respects to the mistress.”
“Mr. Gryce," I said again after another moment of si-
lent self-congratulation on his part and of desperate self-
control on mine, “what do you propose to do now? You
have followed your clew to the end and are satisfied. Such
knowledge as this, is the precursor of action."
“ Humph !. well we will see,” he returned, going to his
private desk and bringing out the box of papers which we


414
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
had no opportunity of looking at while in R— “First
let us examine these documents and see if they do not
contain some hint which may be of service to us." And
taking out the 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 other contents of the box. I found them to be just
what Mrs. Belden had described them. A certificate of
marriage between Mary and Mr. Clavering, and a halfdozen
or more letters. While glancing over the former, a short
exclamation from Mr. Gryce startled me into looking up.
“What is it?" cried I.
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 one pas-
sage in it which if I am not mistaken, opens up the way to
an explanation of this murder, such as we have not had
yet. Begin at the beginning ; 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 order and 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, whom I cannot forbear mentioning, first, because he


416
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
“July 11. If Mr. Clavering is not absolutely in love
with Mary he is on the verge of it. He is now hardly
ever absent from her side, making no disguise of his
sentiments. He is a very noble-looking man, too much
so to be trifled with in this reckless fashion.
“July 13. Mary's beauty blossoms like the rose. She
was absolutely wonderful to-night in scarlet and silver. I
think she is the sweetest looking mortal I ever beheld, and
in this I am sure Mr. Clavering passionately agrees with
me: he never looked away from her to-night. But it is
one thing for a woman like Mary to be loved' and an-
other thing for her to return the passion lavished upon
her. And yet from certain right true womanly signs, I be-
gin to think that if Mr. Clavering were only an American,
Mary would not be indifferent to his fine appearance,
strong sense and devoted affection. But did she not de-
ceive us into believing she loved Charlie Somerville? In
her case, blush and smile go for little I fear. Would it not
be wiser under the circumstances to say, I hope ?
“ July 17. O my heart ! Mary came into my room this
evening and absolutely startled me by falling at my side
and burying her face in my lap. 'O Eleanore, Eleanore !'
she murmured, quivering with what seemed to 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 of reserved pride, raised her hand as if to
impose silence, and haughtily left the room. There is but
one interpretation to put upon this. Mr. Clavering has


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
417
expressed his sentiments, and she is filled with that reckless
delight which in its first flush makes one insensible to the
existence of barriers which have hitherto been deemed im
passible. When will Uncle come ?
"July 18. Little did I think when I wrote the above
that Uncle was already in the house. He arrived unex-
pectedly on the last train and came into my room just as I
was putting away my diary. Looking a little careworn,
he took me in his arms and then asked for Mary. I
dropped my head and could not help stammering as I
replied that she was in her own room. Instantly his love
took alarm, and leaving me, he hastened to her apartment
where I afterwards learned he found her sitting ab-
stractedly before her dressing-table with Mr. Clavering's
family ring on her finger. I do not know wnat followed.
An unhappy scene I fear, for Mary is ill this morning and
Uncle exceedingly melancholy and stern.
“Afternoon. We are an unhappy family Uncle not
only refuses to consider for a moment the question of
Mary's alliance with Mr. Clavering, but even goes so far
as to demand from her, his instant and unconditional dis-
missal on pain of his severest displeasure. The knowledge
of this very painful determination of his, came to me in the
most distressing way. Recognizing the state of affairs,
but secretly rebelling against the power of a prejudice that
could allow itself to separate two persons otherwise fitted
for each other, I sought Uncle's presence this morning
after breakfast, and attempted to plead their cause. But
27


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
421
“No," said he ; “ the Diary settles that matter effectu-
ally."
I tried to be man enough to think of that and nothing
else. To rejoice in her deliverance and let every other
consideration go ; but in this I did not succeed. “But
Mary, her cousin, almost her sister, is lost," I mut-
tered.
Mr. Gryce thrust his hands into his pockets and for the
first time showed some evidence of secret disturbance.
“ Yes,” he murmured, “I am afraid she is, I really am
afraid she is.” Then after a pause during which I felt
a certain thrill of vague hope ;—“Such an entrancing crea-
ture too! it is a pity, it positively is a pity! I declare now
the thing is worked up, I begin to feel almost sorry we
have succeeded so well. Strange but true. If there was
the least loophole out of it,” he murmured. “But there
isn't. The thing is clear as A, B, C.” Suddenly he rose
and began pacing the floor very thoughtfully, casting his
glances here, there, and everywhere, except at me, though
I believe now, as then, I was all he saw.
“Would it be a very great grief to you, Mr. Raymond,
if Miss Mary Leavenworth should be arrested on this
charge of murder ?” he asked, pausing before a sort of
tank in which two or three disconsolate looking fishes
were slowly swimming about.
“Yes,” said I, “it would ; a very great grief.”
“ Yet it has got to be done,” said he, though with a
strange lack of his usual decision. “ As an honest official
vas


422
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
trusted to bring the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth to the
notice of the proper authorities, I have got to do it.”
Again that strang thrill of hope at my heart induced
by his peculiar manner.
“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 a success like this may bring
me. No, lovely as she is, I have got to push it through."
But even as he said this, he became still more thoughtful,
gazing down into the murky depths of the wretched tank
before him, with such an intentness I half expected the
fascinated fishes to rise from the water and return his
gaze. What was it? What was in his mind ?
After a little while he turned, his indecision utterly
gone. “Mr. Raymond," said he, “ come here again at
three. I shall then have my report ready for the Superin-
tendent. I should like to show it to you first, so don't
fail me."
There was something so repressed in his expression, I
could not prevent myself from venturing one question.
“Is your mind made up ?” I asked.
“Yes," returned he, 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 PROBLEM SOLVED.
423
XXXVI.
GATHERED THREADS.
This is the short and the long of it.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
PROMPTLY at the hour named, I made my appearance
at Mr. Gryce's door. I found him awaiting me on the
threshold
"I have met you,” said he gravely, “ for the purpose of
requesting you not to speak during the coming interview
under any circumstances whatever. I am to do the talking,
you the listening. Neither are you to be surprised at any
thing I may do or say. I am in a facetious mood—” he did
not look so—"and may take it into my head to address
you by another name than your own. If I do, don't mind it.
Above all, don't talk, remember that.” And without wait-
ing to meet my look of doubtful astonishment, he led me
softly up stairs.
The room in which I had been accustomed to meet
him, was at the top of the first flight, but he took me
past that into what appeared to be the garret story, where
after many cautionary signs he ushered me into a room so
strange and weird in its appearance, that it produced
something of the same effect upon me that a prison cell


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
429
easa
veny
testifying against her, viz. : the handkerchief, letter and key,
passed after the murder through other hands, before reach-
ing hers; and secondly, that some one else had even a
stronger reason than she, for desiring Mr Leavenworth's
death at this time.
“ Smith, my boy, both of these hypotheses have been
established by me. By dint of moleing into old secrets
and following up of nice clews, I have finally come to the
conclusion that not Eleanore Leavenworth, dark as are the
appearances against her, but another woman, beautiful as
she and fully as interesting, is the true criminal. In short,
that her cousin, the exquisite Mary, is the murderer of Mr.
Leavenworth, and by inference of Hannah Chester also.”
He brought this out with such force and with such a
look of triumph and appearance of having led up to it,
that I was for the moment dumbfounded, and started as if
I had not known what he was going to say. The stir I
made seemed to awake an echo. Something like a sup-
pressed cry was in the air about me. All the room ap-
peared to breathe horror and dismay. Yet when in the
excitation of this fancy, I half turned round to look, I
found nothing but the blank eyes of those dull ventilators
staring upon me.
“You are taken aback!” Mr. Gryce went on. “I
don't wonder. Every one else is engaged in watching the
movements of Eleanore Leavenworth; I only know where
to put my hand upon the real culprit. You shake your
head!” (Another fiction.) “You don't believe me! Think


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
431
a penknife, and scattered on the floor beneath, ir: close
proximity to the chair, were two or three minute portions
of wood freshly chipped off from the leg of the table;
all of which looked as if some one of a nervous disposition
had been sitting there, whose hand in a moment of self-
forgetfulness had caught up the knife and unconsciously
whittled the table. A little thing, you say, but when the
question is, which of two ladies, one of a calm and self-
possessed nature, the other restless in her ways and ex-
citable in her disposition, was in a certain spot at a cer-
tain time, it is these little things that become almost
deadly in their significance. No one who has been with
these two women an hour, can hesitate as to whose deli-
cate hand made that cut in Mr. Leavenworth's library
table.
“But we are not done. I distinctly overheard Elea-
nore accuse her cousin of this deed. Now such a woman
as Eleanore Leavenworth has proved herself to be, never
would accuse a relative of crime, without the strongest
and most substantial reasons. First, she must have been
sure her cousin stood in a position of such emergency, that
nothing but the death of her uncle could release her from it;
secondly, that her cousin's character was of such a nature
she would not hesitate to relieve herself from such an
emergency by the most desperate of means; and lastly,
been in possession of some circumstantial evidence
against her cousin, seriously corroborative of her suspi-
cions. Smith, all this was true of Eleanore Leavenworth.


432
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
As to the character of her cousin, she has had ample
proof of her ambition, love of money, caprice and deceit, it
having been Mary Leavenworth and not Eleanore as was
first supposed, who had contracted the secret marriage al-
ready spoken of. Of the critical position in which she
stood, let the threat once made by Mr. Leavenworth to sub-
stitute her cousin's name for hers in his will in case she had
married this x, answer to all who knew the tenacity with
which Mary clung to her hopes of future fortune ; while for
the corroborative testimony of her guilt which Eleanore is
supposed to have had, remember that previous to the key
having been found in Eleanore's possession, she had spent
some time in her cousin's room ; and that it was at Mary's
fire-place the half-burned fragments of that letter were
found,-and you have the outline of a report that in an
hour's time from this, will lead to the arrest of Mary
Leavenworth as the assassin of her uncle and bene-
factor."
A silence ensued which like the darkness of Egypt
could be felt, then a great and terrible cry rang through
the room, and a man's form rushing from I knew not
where, shot by me and fell at Mr. Gryce's feet shrieking
out,
“It is a lie ! a lie! Mary Leavenworth is innocent as a
babe unborn. I am the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth,
I! I! I!”
It was Trueman Harwell.


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
433
XXXVII.
CULMINATION.
Saint seducing gold.
ROMEO AND JULIET.
When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
MACBETH.
I NEVER saw such a look of mortal triumph on the face
of a man as that which crossed the countenance of the
detective.
“Well,” said he, “this is unexpected but not wholly
unwelcome. I am truly glad to learn Miss Leavenworth
is innocent, but I must hear some few more particulars be-
fore I shall be satisfied. Get up, Mr. Harwell, and explain
yourself. If you are the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth,
how comes it that things look so black against everybody
but yourself?”
But in the hot, feverish eyes that sought him from the
writhing form at his feet, there was mad anxiety and pain,
but little explanation. Seeing him making unavailing
efforts to speak, I drew near.
“ Lean on me," said I lifting him to his feet.
His face relieved forever from its mask of repression,
turned towards me with the look of a despairing spirit.
“Save !" gasped he. “Save her-Mary—they are sending
a report-stop it !”
“ Yes,” broke in another voice. “If there is a man
28


434
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
here who believes in God and prizes woman's honor, let
him stop the issue of that report.” And Henry Clavering,
dignified as ever but in a state of extreme agitation,
stepped into our midst through an open door at our right.
But at the sight of his face, the man in our arms
quivered, shrieked, and gave one bound that would have
overturned Mr. Clavering, herculean of frame as he was,
had not Mr. Gryce interposed.
“Wait!” cried he; and holding back the secretary with
one hand-where was his rheumatism now! --he put the
other in his pocket and drew thence a document which he
held up before Mr. Clavering “It has not gone yet,"
said he ; "be easy. And you," he went on, turning
towards Trueman Harwell, “ be quiet or—".
His sentence was cut short by the man springing from
his grasp. “Let me go," shrieked he. “Let me have
my revenge on him who in face of all I have done for
Mary Leavenworth, dares to call her his wife! Let me"
But at this point he paused ; his frame, which had been
one tremble, stiffening into stone, and his clutching hands
outstretched for his rival's throat, falling heavily back.
“ Hark!” said he, glaring over Mr. Clavering's shoulder :
“it is she! I hear her! I feel her! she is on the stairs !
she is at the door! she" a low shuddering sigh of long-
ing and despair finished the sentence : the door opened,
and Mary Leavenworth stood before us.
It was a moment to make young hairs turn grey. To
see her face, so pale, so haggard, so wild in its fixed horror,
0


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
435
turned towards Henry Clavering to the utter ignoring of
the real actor in this most horrible scene ! Trueman Har-
well could not stand it.
“Ah, ah !” cried he, “ look at her! cold, cold; not
one glance for me though I have just drawn the halter
from her neck and fastened it about my own." And
breaking from the clasp of the man who in his jealous
rage would now have withheld him, he fell on his knees
before Mary, clutching her dress with frenzied hands.
“ You shall look at me," he cried ; "you shall listen to
me; I will not lose body and soul for nothing. Mary, they
said you were in peril ; I could not endure that thought,
so I uttered the truth-yes, though I knew what the conse-
quence would be,—and all I want now, is for you to say
you believe me when I declare, that I only meant to
secure to you the fortune you so much desired; that I
never dreamed it would come to this; that it was be-
cause I loved you and hoped to win your love in return
that 14"
But she did not seem to see him, did not seem to hear
him. Her eyes were fixed upon Henry Clavering with an
awful inquiry in their depths, and none but he could
move her.
“ You do not hear me !” shrieked the poor wretch.
“Ice that you are, you would not turn your head if I
should call to you from the depths of hell ! ”
But even that cry fell unheeded. Pushing her hands
down upon his shoulders as though she would sweep some


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
437
“ didn't you know it? When in that dreadful hour of
your rejection by your uncle, you cried aloud for some one
to help you, didn't you know—"
“Don't !” she shrieked, bursting from him with a look
of unspeakable horror. “Don't say that! O,” she gasped,
“ is the mad cry of a stricken woman for aid and sympathy
the call for a murderer ?” And turning like a doe struck
to the heart by the deadly arrow, she moaned, “Who that
ever looks at me now, will forget that a man—such a man!
a man so low I have ever disdained to let my shadow fall
beside his, lest we should seem to walk on a level-
thought, dared to think, that because I was in mortal per-
plexity I would accept the murder of my best friend as a
relief from it!” Her horror was unbounded. “O what a
chastisement for folly!" she murmured. “What a punish-
ment for the love of money which has always been my
curse !"
Henry Clavering could no longer restrain himself.
Leaping to her side, he bent above her. “Was it nothing
but folly, Mary? Are you guiltless of any deeper wrong?
Is there no link of complicity between you two? Have
you nothing on your soul but an inordinate desire to pre-
serve your place in your uncle's will, even at the risk of
breaking my heart and wronging your noble cousin ? Are
you innocent in this matter? Tell me!” Laying his hand
on her head he pressed it slowly back and gazed into her
eyes; then without a word took her to his breast and
looked calmly around him.


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
439
noma
Om
days when with such an earnest desire for my welfare (as
I believe notwithstanding this man's insinuations), you
sought to induce me to speak out and tell all I knew con-
cerning this dreadful deed, I did not do it because of one
thing : I was afraid. I knew the case looked dark against
me, Eleanore had told me so. Eleanore herself—and it
was the keenest pang I had to endure-believed me guilty.
She had her reasons. She knew first, from the directed
envelope she had found lying underneath my uncle's dead
body on the library table, that he had been engaged at
the moment of death in summoning his lawyer to make
that change in his will which would transfer my claims
to her; secondly, that I had been down to his room
the night before, though I denied it, for she had heard
my door open and my dress rustle as I passed out. But
that was not all, the key that every one felt to be a pos-
itive proof of guilt wherever found, had been picked up
by her from the floor of my room ; the letter written by
Mr. Clavering to my uncle was found in my fire; and the
handkerchief which she had seen me take from the basket
of clean clothes, was produced at the inquest stained with
pistol-grease. I could not account for these things. A
web seemed tangled about my feet. I could not stir with-
out encountering some new toil. I knew I was innocent,
but if I failed to satisfy of it one who loved me, how could
I hope to convince the general public if once called upon
to do so. Worse still, if pure-faced Eleanore, with every
apparent motive for desiring long life to our uncle, was


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
443
glared on his face. “And I have given my soul to hell
for a shadow !” moaned he, "for a shadow !”
“Well, that is the best day's work I ever did ! Your
congratulations Mr. Raymond, upon the success of the
most daring game ever played in a detective's office.”
I looked at the triumphant countenance of Mr. Gryce
in amazement. “What do you mean?” I cried : “did you
plan all this?"
“ Did I plan it?" he repeated. “ Could I stand here,
seeing how things have turned out, if I had not? Mr. Ray-
mond, let us be comfortable. You are a gentleman, but
we can well shaké hands over this. I have never known
such a satisfactory conclusion to a bad piece of busi-
ness in all my professional career.”
We did shake hands long and fervently, and then I
asked him to explain himself.
“Well,” said he ; “ there has always been one thing
that plagued me even in the very moment of my strongest
suspicion against this woman, and that was, the pistol-
cleaning business. I could not reconcile it with what I
knew of womankind. I could not make it seem the act of
a woman. Did you ever know a woman who cleaned a
pistol or who even knew the object or use of doing so?
No. They can fire them and do ; but after firing them
they do not clean them. Now it is a principle which every
detective recognizes the truth of, that if of a hundred lead-
ing circumstances connected with a crime, ninety-nine of


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
445
XXXVIII.
A FULL CONFESSION.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream;
The genius and the mortal instruments,
Are then in council ; and the state of a man,
Like to a little Kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.
Julius CÆSAR.
I am not a bad man; I am only an intense one. Am-
bition, love, jealousy, hatred, revenge-transitory emotions
with some, are terrific passions with me. To be sure they
are quiet and concealed ones, coiled serpents that make
no stir till aroused, but then, deadly in their spring and
relentless in their action. Those who have known me
best, have not known this. My own mother was ignorant
of it. Often and often have I heard her say, “ If True-
man only had more sensibility! If Trueman were not so
indifferent to every thing! In short, if Trueman had more
power in him!”
It was the same at school. No one understood me.
They thought me meek; called me Dough-face. For three
years they called me this, then I turned upon them.
Choosing out their ringleader, I felled him to the ground,
me


446
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
laid him on his back and stamped upon him. He was
handsome before my foot came down ; afterwards—Well
it is enough he never called me Dough-face again. In the
store I entered soon after, I met with even less appre-
ciation. Regular at my work and exact in my performance
of it, they thought me a good machine and nothing more.
What heart, soul, and feeling could a man have who never
sported, never smoked, and never laughed ? I could
reckon up figures correctly, but one scarcely needed heart
or soul for that. I could even write day by day and
month by month without showing a flaw in my copy, but
that only argued I was no more than they intimated, a
regular automaton. I let them think so, with the certainty
before me that they would one day change their minds as
others had done. The fact was, I loved nobody well
enough, not even myself, to care for any man's opinion.
Life was well-nigh a blank to me; a dead level plain that
had to be traversed whether I would or not. And such it
might have continued to this day if I had never met Mary
Leavenworth. But when, some nine months since, I left
my desk in the counting house for a seat in Mr. Leaven-
worth's library, a blazing torch fell into my soul whose
flame has never gone out and never will, till the doom be-
fore me is accomplished.
She was so beautiful! When on that first evening I
followed my new employer into the parlor, and saw this
woman standing up before me in her half alluring, half
appalling charm, I knew as by a lightning flash what iny
Ver


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
447
future would be if I remained in that house. She was in
one of her haughty moods and bestowed upon me little
more than a passing glance. But her indifference made
slight impression upon me then. It was enough that I
was allowed to stand in her presence and look unrebuked
upon her loveliness. To be sure it was like gazing into
the flower-wreathed crater of an awakening volcano. Fear
and fascination were in each moment I lingered there;
but fear and fascination made the moment what it was,
and I could not have withdrawn if I would.
And so it was always. Unspeakable pain as well as
pleasure was in the emotion with which I regarded her.
Yet for all that I did not cease to study her hour by hour
and day by day; her smiles, her movement, her way of
turning her head or lifting her eyelids. I had a purpose
in this; I wished to knit her beauty so firmly into the
warp and woof of my being that nothing should ever serve
to tear it away. For I saw then as plainly as now, that
coquette though she was, she would never stoop to me.
No; I might lie down at her feet and let her trample over
me, she would not even turn to see what it was she had
stepped upon. I might spend days, months, years, learning
the alphabet of her wishes, she would not thank me for my
pains or even raise the lashes from her cheek to look at
me as I passed. I was nothing to her, could not be any
thing unless—and this thought came slowly-I could in
some way become her master.
Meantime I wrote at Mr. Leavenworth's dictation and


448
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
pleased him. My methodical ways were just to his taste.
As for the other member of the family, Miss Eleanore
Leavenworth—she treated me just as one of her proud
but sympathetic nature might be expected to do. Not
familiarly, but kindly; not as a friend, but as a member of
the household whom she met every day at table, and who,
as she or any one else could see, was none too happy or
hopeful.
Six months went by; I had learned two things ; first,
that Mary Leavenworth loved her position as prospective
heiress to a large fortune above every other earthly con-
sideration; and secondly, that she was in the possession of
a secret which endangered that position. What this was, I
had for some time no means of knowing. But when later
I became convinced it was one of love, I grew hopeful,
strange as it may seem. For by this time I had learned
Mr. Leavenworth's disposition almost as perfectly as that
of his niece, and knew that in a matter of this kind he
would be uncompromising; and that in the clashing of these
two wills something might occur which would give me a
hold upon her. The only thing that troubled me was the
fact that I did not know the name of the man in whom
she was interested. But chance soon favored me here.
One day—a month ago now, I sat down to open Mr.
Leavenworth's mail as usual. One letter-shall I ever
forget it? ran thus :


452
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
a premonition? a forewarning of the way in which I was
to win this coveted creature for my own? Was the death
of her uncle the bridge that was to span the impassible
gulf between us? I began to think it might be ; to con-
sider the possibilities which could make this the only path
to my elysium ; even went so far as to picture her lovely
face bending gratefully towards me through the glare of a
sudden release from some emergency in which she stood.
One thing was sure ; if that was the way I must go, I had
at least been taught how to tread it; and all through the
dizzy, blurred day that followed, I saw as I sat at my work,
repeated visions of that stealthy, purposeful figure stealing
down the stairs and entering with uplifted pistol into the
unconscious presence of my employer. I even found iny-
self a dozen times that day turning my eyes upon the door
through which it was to come, wondering how long it would
be before my actual form would pause there. That the
moment was at hand I did not imagine. Even when I
left him that night after drinking with him the glass
of sherry mentioned at the inquest, I had no idea the
hour of action was so near. But when not three min-
utes after going up stairs, I caught the sound of a lady's
dress rustling through the hall, and listening, heard Mary
Leavenworth pass my door on her way to the library, I
realized that the fatal hour was come ; that something was
going to be said or done in that room which would make
this deed necessary. What? I determined to ascertain.
Casting about in my mind for the means of doing so, I
r
W


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
453
remembered that the ventilator running up through the
house, opened first into the passage-way connecting Mr.
Leavenworth's bedroom and library, and, secondly, into the
closet of the large spare room adjoining mine. Hastily un-
locking the door of the communication between the rooms,
I took my position in the closet. Instantly the sound of
voices reached my ears ; all was open below and stand-
ing there, I was as much an auditor of what went on
between Mary and her uncle as if I were in the library
itself. And what did I hear? Enough to assure me my
suspicions were correct; that it was a moment of vital in-
terest to her; that Mr. Leavenworth, in pursuance of a
threat evidently made some time since, was in the act of
taking steps to change his will, and that she had come to
make an appeal to be forgiven her fault and restored to
his favor. What that fault was, I did not learn. No men-
tion was made of Mr. Clavering as her husband. I only
heard her declare that her action had been the result of
impulse rather than love, that she regretted it and de-
sired nothing more than to be free from all obligations to
one she would fain forget, and be again to her uncle
what she was before she ever saw this man. I thought,
fool that I was, it was a mere engagement she was
alluding to, and took the insanest hope from these words
and when in a moment later I heard her uncle reply
in his sternest tone, that she had irreparably forfeited
her claims to his regard and favor, I did not need her
short and bitter cry of shame and disappointment, or that


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
455
Leavenworth had killed himself. But I was saved from
committing such a folly. The report had not been heard,
or if so, had evidently failed to create an alarm. No one
came, and I was left to contemplate my work undisturbed,
and decide upon the best course to be taken to avoid detec-
tion. A moment's study of the wound made in his head by
the bullet, convinced me of the impossibility of passing the
affair off as a suicide, or even the work of a burglar. To
any one versed in such matters it was manifestly a murder,
and a most deliberate one. My one hope, then, lay in
making it as mysterious as it was deliberate, by destroying
all clew to the motive and manner of the deed. Picking
up the pistol, I carried it into the other room with the in-
tention of cleaning it, but finding nothing there to do it
with, came back for the handkerchief which I remembered
having seen lying on the floor at Mr. Leavenworth's feet.
It was Miss Eleanore's, but I did not know it till I had
used it to clean the barrel ; then the sight of her initials
in one corner so shocked me, I forgot to clean the cylinder,
and only thought of how I could do away with this evidence
of her handkerchief having been employed for a purpose so
suspicious. Not daring to carry it from the room, I sought
for means to destroy it, but finding none, compromised
the matter by thrusting it deep down behind the cushion
of one of the chairs in the hope of being able to recover
it some time next day, when an opportunity would be given
to burn it. This done, I reloaded the pistol, locked it up
and prepared to leave the room. But here the horror


458
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
walked by her in fifteen minutes.—But she had no money!
I easily supplied that.–And she was afraid she couldn't
find her way! I entered into minutest directions. She
still hesitated, but at length consented to go, and with
some further understanding of the method I was to employ
in communicating with her, we went down stairs. There
we found a hat and shawl of the cook's which I put on her,
and in another moment we were in the carriage-yard.
“Remember, you are to say nothing of what has occurred,
no matter what happens ;" I whispered in parting injunc-
tion as she turned to leave me. “Remember you are
to come and marry me some day," she murmured in reply,
throwing her arms about my neck. The movement was
sudden and it was probably at this time she dropped the
candle she had held unconsciously clenched in her hand
till now. I promised her and she glided out of the gate.
Of the dreadful agitation that followed the disappear-
ance of this girl, I can give no better idea than by saying
I not only committed the additional error of locking up
the house on my re-entrance, but omitted to dispose of the
key then in my pocket, by flinging it into the street or
dropping it in the hall as I went up. The fact is, I was
so absorbed by the thought of the danger I stood in from
this girl, I forgot every thing else. Hannah's pale face,
Hannah's look of terror as she turned from my side and
flitted down the street, were continually before me. I could
not escape them; the form of the dead man lying below
was less vivid. It was as though I were tied in fancy to


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
459
this woman of the white face fluttering down the midnight
streets. That she would fail in something—come back or
be brought back—that I should find her standing white
and horror-stricken on the front steps when I went down
in the morning, was like a nightmare to me. I began to
think it must be so, that she never would or could win her
way unchallenged to that little cottage in a distant village ;
that I had but sent a trailing flag of danger out into the
world with this wretched girl ;-danger that would come
back to me with the first burst of morning light!
But even these thoughts faded after awhile before the
realization of the peril I was in as long as the key and
papers remained in my possession. How to get rid of
them! I dared not leave my room again, or open my
window. Some one might see me and remember it.
Indeed I was afraid to move about in my room. Mr.
Leavenworth might hear me. Yes, my morbid terror had
reached that point-I was fearful of one whose ears I my-
self had forever closed, imagined him in his bed beneath,
and wakeful to the least sound.
But the necessity of doing something with these evi-
dences of guilt finally overcame this morbid anxiety, and
drawing the two letters from my pocket-1 had not yet
undressed—I chose out the most dangerous of the two,
that written by Mr. Leavenworth himself, and chewing it till
it was mere pulp, threw it into a corner ; but the other had
biood on it, and nothing, not even the hope of safety, could
induce me to put it to my lips. I was forced to lie with


460
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
it clenched in my hand, and the flitting image of Hannah
before my eyes till the slow morning broke. I have heard it
said that a year in heaven seems like a day; I can easily
believe it ; I know that an hour in hell seems an eternity!
But with daylight came hope. Whether it was, the sun-
shine glancing on the wall made me think of Mary and all
I was ready to do for her sake, or whether it was the mere
return of my natural stoicism in the presence of actual
necessity, I cannot say. I only know that I arose calm
and master of myself. The problem of the letter and key
had solved itself also. Hide them? I would not try to !
Instead of that I would put them in plain sight, trusting to
that very fact for their being overlooked. Making the
letter up into lighters I carried them into the spare room
and placed them in a vase. Then, taking the key in my
hand, went down stairs, intending to insert it in the lock of
the library door as I went by. But Miss Eleanore descend-
ing almost immediately behind me, made this impossible.
I succeeded, however, in thrusting it without her knowledge,
among the filagree work of the gas fixture in the second
hall, and thus relieved, went down into the breakfast room
as self-possessed a man as ever crossed its threshold.
Mary was there, looking exceedingly pale and disheartened,
and as I met her eye, which for a wonder turned upon me
as I entered, I could almost have laughed, thinking of the
deliverance that had come to her, and of the time when I
should proclaim myself to be the man who had accom-
plished it.


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
463
Seeing all this, my fear of what the ladies would admit
when questioned, became very great. Let them in their
innocence acknowledge that upon my ascent, Mary had
gone to her uncle's room for the purpose of persuading
him not to carry into effect the action he contemplated, and
what consequences might not ensue! I was in a torment
of apprehension. But events of which I had at that time
no knowledge, had occurred to influence them. Eleanore,
with some show of reason, as it seems, not only suspected
her cousin of the crime, but had informed her of the fact,
and Mary, overcome with terror at finding there was more
or less circumstantial evidence supporting the suspicion,
decided to deny whatever told against herself, trusting to
Eleanore's generosity not to be contradicted. Nor was her
confidence misplaced. Though by the course she thus
took, Eleanore was forced to deepen the prejudice already
rife against herself, she not only forebore to contradict
her cousin, but when a true answer would have injured her,
actually refused to return any, a lie being something she
could not utter, even to save one especially endeared to
her.
This conduct of hers had one effect upon me. It
aroused my admiration and made me feel that here was a
woman worth helping if assistance could be given without
danger to myself. Yet I doubt if much would have come
of my sympathy, if I had not perceived by the stress laid
upon certain well-known matters, that actual danger
hovered about us all, while the letter and key remained in


464
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
the house. Even before the handkerchief was produced,
I had made up my mind to attempt their destruction, but
when that was brought out and shown, I became so
alarmed I immediately rose and making my way under
some pretense or other to the floors above, snatched the
key from the gas fixture, the lighters from the vase, and
hastening with them down the hall to Mary Leavenworth's
room, went in under the expectation of there finding a fire
in which to destroy them. But to my heavy disappoint-
ment there were only a few smoldering ashes in the grate,
and thwarted in my design, I stood hesitating what to do,
when I heard some one coming up stairs. Alive to the
consequences of being found in that room at that time, I
cast the lighters into the grate and started for the door,
But in the quick move I made, the key few from my hand
and slid under a chair. Aghast at the mischance, I paused,
but the sound of approaching steps increasing, I lost all
control over myself and fled from the room. And indeed
I had no time to lose, I had barely reached my own door
when Eleanore Leavenworth, followed by two servants,
appeared at the top of the staircase and proceeded towards
the room I had just left. The sight reassured me; she
would see the key and take some means of disposing of
it; and indeed I always supposed that she did, for no
further word of key or letter ever came to my ears.
This may explain why the questionable position in
which Eleanore soon found herself awakened in me nc
greater anxiety. I thought the suspicions of the police


468
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
problem seemed insolvable; but Trueman Harwell had not
played the part of a machine so long without result.
Before I had studied the question a day, light broke upon
it, and I saw that the only way to accomplish my plans
was to inveigle her into destroying herself.
No sooner had the thought matured than I hastened
to act upon it. Knowing the tremendous risk I ran, I
took every precaution. Locking myself up in my room, I
wrote her a letter in printed characters—she having dis-
tinctly told me she could not read writing-in which I
played upon her ignorance, foolish fondness and Irish
superstition, by telling her I dreamed of her every night
and wondered if she did of me, was afraid she didn't, so
enclosed her a little charm which if she would use accord-
ing to directions (which were that she should first destroy.
my letter by burning it, next take in her hand the packet
I was careful to enclose, swallow the powder accompanying
it, and go to bed) would give her the most beautiful
visions.—The powder was a deadly dose of poison and
the packet was as you know a forged confession falsely
criminating Henry Clavering. Enclosing all these in an
envelope in the corner of which I had marked a cross,
I directed it, according to agreement, to Mrs. Belden and
sent it.
Then followed the greatest period of suspense I had
yet endured. Though I had purposely refrained from
putting my name to the letter, I felt that the chances of
detection were very great. The least departure from the


470
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE.
XXXIX.
THE OUTCOME OF A GREAT CRIME.
Leave her to Heaven
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
To prick and sting her.
HAMLET
For sne is wise, if I can judge of her ;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
And true she is, as she has proved herself;
And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
"O ELEANORE!” cried I, making my way into her
presence with but little ceremony I fear, “are you pre-
pared for very good news? News that will brighten these
pale cheeks and give the light back to these eyes, and
make life hopeful and sweet to you once more? Tell me,”
said I, stooping over her where she sat, for she looked
ready to faint.
“I don't know," murmured she, “I fear that what you
will consider good news, will not seem so to me. No
news can be good but—".
“What?" asked I, taking her hands in mine with a
smile that ought to have reassured her, it was one of such
profound happiness. “Tell me; do not be afraid."
But she was. Her dreadful burden had lain upon her
so long it had become a part of her being. How could


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
471
ICC
she realize it was founded on a mistake ; that she had
no cause to fear the past, present or future !
But when the truth was made known to her ; when
with all the fervor and gentle tact of which I was capable,
I showed her that her suspicions had been groundless, and
that Trueman Harwell and not Mary, had been the per-
petrator of this deed, her first words were a prayer to be
taken to Mary—“Take me to her! O, take me to her!
I cannot breathe or think till I have begged pardon of her
on my knees. O, my unjust accusation! My unjust ac-
cusation !”
Seeing the state she was in, I deemed it the wisest
thing I could do. So procuring a carriage, I drove with
her to her cousin's home.
"Mary will spurn me; she will not even look at me,
and she will be right,” cried she as we rolled away up the
avenue. “An outrage like this can never be forgiveil.
But God knows I thought myself justified in my suspicions.
If you knew "
“I do know," I interposed, “Mary acknowledges that
the circumstantial evidence against her was so overwhelm.
ing, she was almost staggered herself, asking if she could
be guiltless with such proofs against her. But—"
“Wait, О wait, did Mary say that?"
“ Yes."
“ To-day?"
6 Yes."
“ Mary must be changed.”


THE PROBLEM SOLVED.
473
these two had dissolved like a cloud, and that for the
future, bright days of mutual confidence and sympathy
were in store.
Yet when a half hour or so later, I heard the door of
the reception-room into which I had retired, softly open,
and looking up, saw Mary standing on the threshold with
the light of true humility on her face, I own that I was sur-
prised at the extent of the softening which had taken place
in her haughty beauty. “Blessed is the shame that puri-
fies," I murmured, and advancing, held out my hand with a
respect and sympathy I never thought to feel for her again.
The action seemed to touch her. Blushing deeply, she
came and stood by my side. “I thank you,” said she ;
“I have much to be grateful for ; how much I never
realized till to-night; but I cannot speak of it now.
What I wish is for you to come in and help me persuade
Eleanore to accept this fortune from my hands. It is hers
you know, was willed to her, or would have been if—".
“Wait,” said I in the wild trepidation which this appeal
to me on such a subject somehow awakened. “Have you
weighed this matter well? Is it your determined purpose
to transfer your fortune into your cousin's hands ? "
Her look was enough without the low, “ Ah, how can
you ask me ?” that followed it.
Mr. Clavering was sitting by the side of Eleanore when
we entered the drawing-room. He immediately rose.
Mr. Raymond,” said he drawing me to one side ;
“hefore the courtesies of the hour pass between us, allow








THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
DATE DUE
AUG O 192
OCT° 22,1994
APR 1 8 2003