The Sleuth of St. James's Square

by Melville Davisson Post

  VII. The Fortune Teller

  Sir Henry Marquis continued to read; he made no comment; his voice clearand even.

  It was a big sunny room. The long windows looked out on a formal garden,great beech trees and the bow of the river. Within it was a sort oflibrary. There were bookcases built into the wall, to the height of aman's head, and at intervals between them, rising from the floor to thecornice of the shelves, were rows of mahogany drawers with glass knobs.There was also a flat writing table.

  It was the room of a traveler, a man of letters, a dreamer. On thetable were an inkpot of carved jade, a paperknife of ivory with goldbutterflies set in; three bronze storks, with their backs together, heldan exquisite Japanese crystal.

  The room was in disorder--the drawers pulled out and the contentsransacked.

  My father stood leaning against the casement of the window, looking out.The lawyer, Mr. Lewis, sat in a chair beside the table, his eyes on theviolated room.

  "Pendleton," he said, "I don't like this English man Gosford."

  The words seemed to arouse my father out of the depths of somereflection, and he turned to the lawyer, Mr. Lewis.

  "Gosford!" he echoed.

  "He is behind this business, Pendleton," the lawyer, Mr. Lewis, went on."Mark my word! He comes here when Marshall is dying; he forces his wayto the man's bed; he puts the servants out; he locks the door. Now,what business had this Englishman with Marshall on his deathbed? Whatbusiness of a secrecy so close that Marshall's son is barred out by alocked door?"

  He paused and twisted the seal ring on his finger.

  "When you and I came to visit the sick man, Gosford was always here, asthough he kept a watch upon us, and when we left, he went always to thisroom to write his letters, as he said.

  "And more than this, Pendleton; Marshall is hardly in his grave beforeGosford writes me to inquire by what legal process the dead man's papersmay be examined for a will. And it is Gosford who sends a negro riding,as if the devil were on the crupper, to summon me in the name of theCommonwealth of Virginia,--to appear and examine into the circumstancesof this burglary.

  "I mistrust the man. He used to hang about Marshall in his life, uponsome enterprise of secrecy; and now he takes possession and leadershipin his affairs, and sets the man's son aside. In what right, Pendleton,does this adventurous Englishman feel himself secure?"

  My father did not reply to Lewis's discourse. His comment was in anotherquarter.

  "Here is young Marshall and Gaeki," he said.

  The lawyer rose and came over to the window.

  Two persons were advancing from the direction of the stables--a tall,delicate boy, and a strange old man. The old man walked with a quick,jerky, stride. It was the old country doctor Gaeki. And, unlike anyother man of his profession, he would work as long and as carefully onthe body of a horse as he would on the body of a man, snapping out hisquaint oaths, and in a stress of effort, as though he struggled withsome invisible creature for its prey. The negroes used to say that thedevil was afraid of Gaeki, and he might have been, if to disable a manor his horse were the devil's will. But I think, rather, the negroesimagined the devil to fear what they feared themselves.

  "Now, what could bring Gaeki here?" said Lewes.

  "It was the horse that Gosford overheated in his race to you," repliedmy father. "I saw him stop in the road where the negro boy was leadingthe horse about, and then call young Marshall."

  "It was no fault of young Marshall, Pendleton," said the lawyer. "But,also, he is no match for Gosford. He is a dilettante. He paints littlepictures after the fashion he learned in Paris, and he has no force orvigor in him. His father was a dreamer, a wanderer, one who loved theworld and its frivolities, and the son takes that temperament, softenedby his mother. He ought to have a guardian."

  "He has one," replied my father.

  "A guardian!" repeated Lewis. "What court has appointed a guardian foryoung Marshall?"

  "A court," replied my father, "that does not sit under the authority ofVirginia. The helpless, Lewis, in their youth and inexperience, are notwholly given over to the spoiler."

  The boy they talked about was very young--under twenty, one would say.He was blue-eyed and fair-haired, with thin, delicate features, whichshowed good blood long inbred to the loss of vigor. He had the fine,open, generous face of one who takes the world as in a fairy story. Butnow there was care and anxiety in it, and a furtive shadow, as thoughthe lad's dream of life had got some rude awakening.

  At this moment the door behind my father and Lewis was thrown violentlyopen, and a man entered. He was a person with the manner of a barrister,precise and dapper; he had a long, pink face, pale eyes, and aclose-cropped beard that brought out the hard lines of his mouth. Hebustled to the table, put down a sort of portfolio that held an inkpot,a writing-pad and pens, and drew up a chair like one about to take theminutes of a meeting. And all the while he apologized for his delay.He had important letters to get off in the post, and to make sure, hadcarried them to the tavern himself.

  "And now, sirs, let us get about this business," he finished, like onewho calls his assistants to a labor:

  My father turned about and looked at the man.

  "Is your name Gosford?" he said in his cold, level voice.

  "It is, sir," replied the Englishman, "--Anthony Gosford."

  "Well, Mr. Anthony Gosford," replied my father, "kindly close the doorthat you have opened."

  Lewis plucked out his snuffbox and trumpeted in his many-coloredhandkerchief to hide his laughter.

  The Englishman, thrown off his patronizing manner, hesitated, closed thedoor as he was bidden--and could not regain his fine air.

  "Now, Mr. Gosford," my father went on, "why was this room violated as wesee it?"

  "It was searched for Peyton Marshall's will, sir," replied the man.

  "How did you know that Marshall had a will?" said my father.

  "I saw him write it," returned the Englishman, "here in this very room,on the eighteenth day of October, 1854."

  "That was two years ago," said my father. "Was the will here atMarshall's death?"

  "It was. He told me on his deathbed."

  "And it is gone now?"

  "It is," replied the Englishman.

  "And now, Mr. Gosford," said my father, "how do you know this will isgone unless you also know precisely where it was?"

  "I do know precisely where it was, sir," returned the man. "It wasin the row of drawers on the right of the window where you stand--thesecond drawer from the top. Mr. Marshall put it there when he wrote it,and he told me on his deathbed that it remained there. You can see, sir,that the drawer has been rifled."

  My father looked casually at the row of mahogany drawers rising alongthe end of the bookcase. The second one and the one above were open; theothers below were closed.

  "Mr. Gosford," he said, "you would have some interest in this will, toknow about it so precisely."

  "And so I have," replied the man, "it left me a sum of money."

  "A large sum?"

  "A very large sum, sir."

  "Mr. Anthony Gosford," said my father, "for what purpose did PeytonMarshall bequeath you a large sum of money? You are no kin; nor was hein your debt."

  The Englishman sat down and put his fingers together with a judicialair.

  "Sir," he began, "I am not advised that the purpose of a bequest isrelevant, when the bequest is direct and unencumbered by the testatorwith any indicatory words of trust or uses. This will bequeathes me asum of money. I am not required by any provision of the law to show thereasons moving the testator. Doubtless, Mr. Peyton Marshall had reasonswhich he deemed excellent for this course, but they are, sir, entombedin the grave with him."

  My father looked steadily at the man, but he did not seem to considerhis explanation, nor to go any further on that line.

  "Is there another who would know about this will?" he said.

  "This effeminate son would know," replied Gosford, a sneer in theepithet, "but
no other. Marshall wrote the testament in his own hand,without witnesses, as he had the legal right to do under the laws ofVirginia. The lawyer," he added, "Mr. Lewis, will confirm me in thelegality of that."

  "It is the law," said Lewis. "One may draw up a holograph will if helikes, in his own hand, and it is valid without a witness in this State,although the law does not so run in every commonwealth."

  "And now, sir," continued the Englishman, turning to my father, "we willinquire into the theft of this testament."

  But my father did not appear to notice Mr. Gosford. He seemed perplexedand in some concern.

  "Lewis," he said, "what is your definition of a crime?"

  "It is a violation of the law," replied the lawyer.

  "I do not accept your definition," said my father. "It is, rather, Ithink, a violation of justice--a violation of something behind the lawthat makes an act a crime. I think," he went on, "that God must take abroader view than Mr. Blackstone and Lord Coke. I have seen a murderin the law that was, in fact, only a kind of awful accident, and I haveseen your catalogue of crimes gone about by feeble men with no intentexcept an adjustment of their rights. Their crimes, Lewis, were merelyerrors of their impractical judgment."

  Then he seemed to remember that the Englishman was present.

  "And now, Mr. Gosford," he said, "will you kindly ask young Marshall tocome in here?"

  The man would have refused, with some rejoinder, but my father waslooking at him, and he could not find the courage to resist my father'swill. He got up and went out, and presently returned followed by the ladand Gaeki. The old country doctor sat down by the door, his leathercase of bottles by the chair, his cloak still fastened under his chin.Gosford went back to the table and sat down with his writing materialsto keep notes. The boy stood.

  My father looked a long time at the lad. His face was grave, but when hespoke, his voice was gentle.

  "My boy," he said, "I have had a good deal of experience in theexamination of the devil's work." He paused and indicated the violatedroom. "It is often excellently done. His disciples are extremely clever.One's ingenuity is often taxed to trace out the evil design in it, andto stamp it as a false piece set into the natural sequence of events."

  He paused again, and his big shoulders blotted out the window.

  "Every natural event," he continued, "is intimately connected withinnumerable events that precede and follow. It has so many serratedpoints of contact with other events that the human mind is not able tofit a false event so that no trace of the joinder will appear. The mostskilled workmen in the devil's shop are only able to give their falsepiece a blurred joinder."

  He stopped and turned to the row of mahogany drawers beside him.

  "Now, my boy," he said, "can you tell me why the one who ransacked thisroom, in opening and tumbling the contents of all the drawers, about,did not open the two at the bottom of the row where I stand?"

  "Because there was nothing in them of value, sir," replied the lad.

  "What is in them?" said my father.

  "Only old letters, sir, written to my father, when I was inParis--nothing else."

  "And who would know that?" said my father.

  The boy went suddenly white.

  "Precisely!" said my father. "You alone knew it, and when youundertook to give this library the appearance of a pillaged room, youunconsciously endowed your imaginary robber with the thing you knewyourself. Why search for loot in drawers that contained only oldletters? So your imaginary robber reasoned, knowing what you knew. But areal robber, having no such knowledge, would have ransacked them lest hemiss the things of value that he searched for."

  He paused, his eyes on the lad, his voice deep and gentle.

  "Where is the will?" he said.

  The white in the boy's face changed to scarlet. He looked a momentabout him in a sort of terror; then he lifted his head and put back hisshoulders. He crossed the room to a bookcase, took down a volume, openedit and brought out a sheet of folded foolscap. He stood up and faced myfather and the men about the room.

  "This man," he said, indicating Gosford, "has no right to take all myfather had. He persuaded my father and was trusted by him. But I did nottrust him. My father saw this plan in a light that I did not see it,but I did not oppose him. If he wished to use his fortune to help ourcountry in the thing which he thought he foresaw, I was willing for himto do it.

  "But," he cried, "somebody deceived me, and I will not believe that itwas my father. He told me all about this thing. I had not the healthto fight for our country, when the time came, he said, and as he hadno other son, our fortune must go to that purpose in our stead. But myfather was just. He said that a portion would be set aside for me, andthe remainder turned over to Mr. Gosford. But this will gives all to Mr.Gosford and leaves me nothing!"

  Then he came forward and put the paper in my father's hand. There wassilence except for the sharp voice of Mr. Gosford.

  "I think there will be a criminal proceeding here!"

  My father handed the paper to Lewis, who unfolded it and read it aloud.It directed the estate of Peyton Marshall to be sold, the sum of fiftythousand dollars paid to Anthony Gosford and the remainder to the son.

  "But there will be no remainder," cried young Marshall. "My father'sestate is worth precisely that sum. He valued it very carefully, item byitem, and that is exactly the amount it came to."

  "Nevertheless," said Lewis, "the will reads that way. It is in legalform, written in Marshall's hand, and signed with his signature, andsealed. Will you examine it, gentlemen? There can be no question of thewriting or the signature."

  My father took the paper and read it slowly, and old Gaeki nosed it overmy father's arm, his eyes searching the structure of each word, whileMr. Gosford sat back comfortably in his chair like one elevated to avictory.

  "It is in Marshall's hand and signature," said my father, and old Gaeki,nodded, wrinkling his face under his shaggy eyebrows. He went away stillwagging his grizzled head, wrote a memorandum on an envelope from hispocket, and sat down in, his chair.

  My father turned now to young Marshall.

  "My boy," he said, "why do you say that some one has deceived you?"

  "Because, sir," replied the lad, "my father was to leave me twentythousand dollars. That was his plan. Thirty thousand dollars should beset aside for Mr. Gosford, and the remainder turned over to me."

  "That would be thirty thousand dollars to Mr. Gosford, instead offifty," said my father.

  "Yes, sir," replied the boy; "that is the way my father said he wouldwrite his will. But it was not written that way. It is fifty thousanddollars to Mr. Gosford, and the remainder to me. If it were thirtythousand dollars to Mr. Gosford, as my father, said his will would be,that would have left me twenty thousand dollars from the estate; butgiving Mr. Gosford fifty thousand dollars leaves me nothing."

  "And so you adventured on a little larceny," sneered the Englishman.

  The boy stood very straight and white.

  "I do not understand this thing," he said, "but I do not believe that myfather would deceive me. He never did deceive me in his life. I may havebeen a disappointment to him, but my father was a gentle man." His voicewent up strong and clear. "And I refuse to believe that he would tell meone thing and do another!"

  One could not fail to be impressed, or to believe that the boy spoke thetruth.

  "We are sorry," said Lewis, "but the will is valid and we cannot gobehind it."

  My father walked about the room, his face in reflection. Gosford sat athis ease, transcribing a note on his portfolio. Old Gaeki had gone backto his chair and to his little case of bottles; he got them up on hisknees, as though he would be diverted by fingering the tools of hisprofession. Lewis was in plain distress, for he held the law and itsdisposition to be inviolable; the boy stood with a find defiance,ennobled by the trust in his father's honor. One could not take hisstratagem for a criminal act; he was only a child, for all his twentyyears of life. And yet Lewis saw the elements of crim
e, and he knew thatGosford was writing down the evidence.

  It was my father who broke the silence.

  "Gosford," he said, "what scheme were you and Marshall about?"

  "You may wonder, sir," replied the Englishman, continuing to write athis notes; "I shall not tell you."

  "But I will tell you," said the boy. "My father thought that the statesin this republic could not hold together very much longer. He believedthat the country would divide, and the South set up a separategovernment. He hoped this might come about without a war. He was inhorror of a war. He had traveled; he had seen nations and read theirhistory, and he knew what civil wars were. I have heard him say that mendid not realize what they were talking when they urged war."

  He paused and looked at Gosford.

  "My father was convinced that the South would finally set up anindependent government, but he hoped a war might not follow. He believedthat if this new government were immediately recognized by GreatBritain, the North would accept the inevitable and there would beno bloodshed. My father went to England with this scheme. He met Mr.Gosford somewhere--on the ship, I think. And Mr. Gosford succeeded inconvincing my father that if he had a sum of money he could win overcertain powerful persons in the English Government, and so pave the wayto an immediate recognition of the Southern Republic by Great Britain.He followed my father home and hung about him, and so finally gothis will. My father was careful; he wrote nothing; Mr. Gosford wrotenothing; there is no evidence of this plan; but my father told me, andit is true."

  My father stopped by the table and lifted his great shoulders.

  "And so," he said, "Peyton Marshall imagined a plan like that, and leftits execution to a Mr. Gosford!"

  The Englishman put down his pen and addressed my father.

  "I would advise you, sir, to require a little proof for yourconclusions. This is a very pretty story, but it is prefaced by anadmission of no evidence, and it comes as a special pleading for acriminal act. Now, sir, if I chose, if the bequest required it, I couldgive a further explanation, with more substance; of moneys borrowed bythe decedent in his travels and to be returned to me. But the will, sir,stands for itself, as Mr. Lewis will assure you."

  Young Marshall looked anxiously at the lawyer.

  "Is that the law, sir?"

  "It is the law of Virginia," said Lewis, "that a will by a competenttestator, drawn in form, requires no collateral explanation to supportit."

  My father seemed brought up in a cul-de-sac. His face was tense anddisturbed. He stood by the table; and now, as by accident, he put outhis hand and took up the Japanese crystal supported by the necks of thethree bronze storks. He appeared unconscious of the act, for he wasin deep reflection. Then, as though the weight in his hand drew hisattention, he glanced at the thing. Something about it struck him, forhis manner changed. He spread the will out on the table and began tomove the crystal over it, his face close to the glass. Presently hishand stopped, and he stood stooped over, staring into the Orientalcrystal, like those practicers of black art who predict events from whatthey pretend to see in these spheres of glass.

  Mr. Gosford, sitting at his ease, in victory, regarded my father with asupercilious, ironical smile.

  "Sir," he said, "are you, by chance, a fortuneteller?"

  "A misfortune-teller," replied my father, his face still held above thecrystal. "I see here a misfortune to Mr. Anthony Gosford. I predict,from what I see, that he will release this bequest of moneys to PeytonMarshall's son."

  "Your prediction, sir," said Gosford, in a harder note, "is not likelyto come true."

  "Why, yes," replied my father, "it is certain to come true. I see itvery clearly. Mr. Gosford will write out a release, under his hand andseal, and go quietly out of Virginia, and Peyton Marshall's son willtake his entire estate."

  "Sir," said the Englishman, now provoked into a temper, "do you enjoythis foolery?"

  "You are not interested in crystal-gazing, Mr. Gosford," replied myfather in a tranquil voice. "Well, I find it most diverting. Permit meto piece out your fortune, or rather your misfortune, Mr. Gosford!By chance you fell in with this dreamer Marshall, wormed into hisconfidence, pretended a relation to great men in England; followed andpersuaded him until, in his ill-health, you got this will. You saw itwritten two years ago. When Marshall fell ill, you hurried here, learnedfrom the dying man that the will remained and where it was. Youmade sure by pretending to write letters in this room, bringing yourportfolio with ink and pen and a pad of paper. Then, at Marshall'sdeath, you inquired of Lewis for legal measures to discover the deadman's will. And when you find the room ransacked, you run after thelaw."

  My father paused.

  "That is your past, Mr. Gosford. Now let me tell your future. I see youin joy at the recovered will. I see you pleased at your foresight ingetting a direct bequest, and at the care you urged on Marshall to leaveno evidence of his plan, lest the authorities discover it. For I see,Mr. Gosford, that it was your intention all along to keep this sum ofmoney for your own use and pleasure. But alas, Mr. Gosford, it was notto be! I see you writing this release; and Mr. Gosford"--my father'svoice went up full and strong,--"I see you writing it in terror--sweaton your face!"

  "The Devil take your nonsense!" cried the Englishman.

  My father stood up with a twisted, ironical smile.

  "If you doubt my skill, Mr. Gosford, as a fortune, or rather amisfortune-teller I will ask Mr. Lewis and Herman Gaeki to tell me whatthey see."

  The two men crossed the room and stooped over the paper, while my fatherheld the crystal. The manner and the bearing of the men changed. Theygrew on the instant tense and fired with interest.

  "I see it!" said the old doctor, with a queer foreign expletive.

  "And I," cried Lewis, "see something more than Pendleton's vision. I seethe penitentiary in the distance."

  The Englishman sprang up with an oath and leaned across the table. Thenhe saw the thing.

  My father's hand held the crystal above the figures of the bequestwritten in the body of the will. The focused lens of glass magnifiedto a great diameter, and under the vast enlargement a thing that wouldescape the eye stood out. The top curl of a figure 3 had been erased,and the bar of a 5 added. One could see the broken fibers of the paperon the outline of the curl, and the bar of the five lay across the topof the three and the top of the o behind it like a black lath tackedacross two uprights.

  The figure 3 had been changed to 5 so cunningly is to deceive the eye,but not to deceive the vast magnification of the crystal. The thingstood out big and crude like a carpenter's patch.

  Gosford's face became expressionless like wood, his body rigid; then hestood up and faced the three men across the table.

  "Quite so!" he said in his vacuous English voice. "Marshall wrote a 3by inadvertence and changed it. He borrowed my penknife to erase thefigure."

  My father and Lewis gaped like men who see a penned-in beast slip outthrough an unimagined passage. There was silence. Then suddenly, in thestrained stillness of the room, old Doctor Gaeki laughed.

  Gosford lifted his long pink face, with its cropped beard bringing outthe ugly mouth.

  "Why do you laugh, my good man?" he said.

  "I laugh," replied Gaeki, "because a figure 5 can have so many colors."

  And now my father and Lewis were no less astonished than Mr. Gosford.

  "Colors!" they said, for the changed figure in the will was black.

  "Why, yes," replied the old man, "it is very pretty."

  He reached across the table and drew over Mr. Gosford's memorandumbeside the will.

  "You are progressive, sir," he went on; "you write in iron-nutgall ink,just made, commercially, in this year of fifty-six by Mr. Stephens. Butwe write here as Marshall wrote in 'fifty-four, with logwood."

  He turned and fumbled in his little case of bottles.

  "I carry a bit of acid for my people's indigestions. It has other uses."He whipped out the stopper of his vial and dabbed Gosford's notes andMarsha
ll's signature.

  "See!" he cried. "Your writing is blue, Mr. Gosford, and Marshall'sred!"

  With an oath the trapped man struck at Gaeki's hand. The vial fell andcracked on the table. The hydrochloric acid spread out over Marshall'swill. And under the chemical reagent the figure in the bequest of fiftythousand dollars changed beautifully; the bar of the 5 turned blue, andthe remainder of it a deep purple-red like the body of the will.

  "Gaeki," cried my father, "you have trapped a rogue!"

  "And I have lost a measure of good acid," replied the old man. And hebegan to gather up the bits of his broken bottle from the table.