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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 alacrity, 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 immediately 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 sailing to the ould country the same day when on her recommendation I came to this very front door—”
“Well, well; no matter about that. You have been in Mr. Leavenworth’s family a year?”
“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 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, exclaimed boldly: “She? Oh, only the ladies’ maid, sir.”
“But I don’t see any one here answering to that description. 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 sidelong look at the red-cheeked girl at his side. “You asked me who were in the house at the time the murder was discovered, and I told you.”
“Oh,” 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?”
“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 anything about it.”
“Was she dismissed?”
“Not as I knows on; her clothes is here.”
“Oh, 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 present looked as if a door had suddenly opened 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 anything unusual in her appearance?”
“She had a toothache, sir.”
“Oh, 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 anything; 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 as how 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 oh, sir–”
“There, there,” interrupted the coroner, “I am not accusing Hannah of anything. I only asked you what she did after she reached your room. She went downstairs, 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 became acquainted with the fact of Mr. Leavenworth’s death.”
But her replies to this question, while over-garrulous, contained but little information; and seeing this, the coroner 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 anything 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 upstairs 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 question which might have been addressed to her. But fright will sometimes cower the stoutest heart, and Molly, standing before the coroner at this juncture, presented anything 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 myself 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 extraction, who had come from the country to act as lady’s-maid 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 anything 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 if she was a lady!” exclaimed Molly.
This habit being a singular one for a girl in her station, 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 it grew so bad after they had gone upstairs, the night before, that she got out of bed, and dressing herself—Molly was closely questioned here, but insisted upon the fact that Hannah had fully dressed herself, 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.
“Oh, she is the one who always gives out medicines and such like to the servants.”
Urged to proceed, she went on to state that she had already told 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 coroner. “Was it in a candlestick?”
“No, sir; loose like.”
“Why did she take a candle? Does not Mr. Leavenworth burn gas in his halls?”
“Yes, sir; but we put the gas out as we go 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 candle?”
“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 paraffine 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 quietly returned.
Sensation. A clue, then, at last! Something had been found which seemed to connect this mysterious murder with the outside world. Instantly the backdoor assumed 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 backdoor, which we now remembered was only a few steps from the iron gate opening into the side street. But Thomas, being recalled, repeated his assertion that not only the back-door, but all the lower windows of the house, had been found by him securely locked and bolted at six o’clock that morning. Inevitable conclusion—some one had locked and bolted them after the girl. Who? Alas, that had now become the very serious and momentous question.
V. 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.”
Macbeth.
IN the midst of the universal gloom thus awakened there came a sharp ring at the bell. Instantly all eyes turned toward the parlor door, just as it slowly opened, and the officer who had been sent off so mysteriously by the coroner an hour before entered, in company with a young man, whose sleek appearance, intelligent 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 – Broadway.
“Yes, sir,” returned the coroner. “We have here a bullet, which we must ask you to examine, You are fully acquainted with all matters connected with your business?”
The young man, merely elevating an expressive eyebrow, 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 exclaim. “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 Bonn’s, inquired if that was the make before mentioned. Without hesitation 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.
“In the top drawer of a shaving table standing near 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 Bonn’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 added 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 coroner, “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, 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 telltale, sirs. A bullet passing out always leaves smut behind. The man who fired this, remembering 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!” This exclamation came from a countryman who had stepped in from the street, and now stood agape in the doorway.
It was a rude but not altogether unwelcome interruption. A smile passed round the room, and both men and women breathed more easily. 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 another. To reach the former from the latter, one would be obliged to cross Mr. Leavenworth’s bedroom in a diagonal direction, pass through the passageway 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 bedroom into the hall?”
“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 woman, forced her back into her seat, reproving and calming her at the same time, with a dexterity 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?”
“I cannot say; I can only acquaint you with the manner in which I myself became aware of its existence.”
“Very well, do so.”
“We were once talking about firearms. I have some taste that way, and have always been anxious to possess a pocket-pistol. Saying something of the kind to him one day, he rose from his seat and, fetching me this, showed it to me.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Some few months since.”
“He has owned this pistol, then, for some time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that the only occasion upon which you have ever seen it?”
“No, sir,”—the secretary blushed—“I have seen it once since.”
“When?”
“About three weeks ago.”
“Under what circumstances?”
The secretary dropped his head, a certain drawn look making itself suddenly visible on his countenance.
“Will you not excuse me, gentlemen?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
“It is impossible,” returned the coroner.
His face grew even more pallid and deprecatory. “I am obliged to introduce the name of a lady,” he hesitatingly declared.
“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 commonplace. “Of Miss Eleanore Leavenworth!” he cried.
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,” continued Mr. Harwell. 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 carelessly left there in the morning, I heard a noise in the adjoining room. Knowing that Mr. Leavenworth was out, and supposing the ladies to be out also, I took the liberty of ascertaining who the intruder was; when what was my astonishment to come upon Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, standing at the side of her uncle’s bed, with his pistol in her hand. Confused at my indiscretion, I attempted to escape without being observed; but in vain, for just as I was crossing the threshold, she turned and, calling me by name, requested me to 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. Leavenworth.” 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,” he faintly continued, catching his breath in a vain effort to appear calm, “how to load, aim, and fire it.”
A flash of awakened feeling shot across the faces of all present. Even the coroner showed sudden signs of emotion, and sat staring at the bowed form and pale countenance of the man before him, with a peculiar look of surprised compassion, which could not fail of producing its effect, not only upon the young man himself, but upon all who saw him.
“Mr. Harwell,” he at length inquired, “have you anything 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.”
Fulfil my duty! The simple words recalled me to myself. What had I been thinking of; was I mad? With nothing more terrible in mind than a tender picture of the lovely cousins bowed in anguish over the remains of one who had been as dear as a father to them, 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 petty 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 experienced 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 excitement, and these words of Mr. Gryce ringing in my ears: “Third floor, rear room, first door at the head of the stairs. You will find the young ladies expecting you.”
