The Doctor, his Wife, and the Clock
Page 5
II.
When I related to my superiors the details of the foregoing interview,two of them coincided with the wife in thinking that Dr. Zabriskie wasin an irresponsible condition of mind which made any statement of hisquestionable. But the third seemed disposed to argue the matter, and,casting me an inquiring look, seemed to ask what my opinion was on thesubject. Answering him as if he had spoken, I gave my conclusion asfollows: That whether insane or not, Dr. Zabriskie had fired the shotwhich terminated Mr. Hasbrouck's life.
It was the Inspector's own idea, but it was not shared in by the others,one of whom had known the Doctor for years. Accordingly they compromisedby postponing all opinion till they had themselves interrogated theDoctor, and I was detailed to bring him before them the next afternoon.
He came without reluctance, his wife accompanying him. In the short timewhich elapsed between their leaving Lafayette Place and enteringHeadquarters, I embraced the opportunity of observing them, and I foundthe study equally exciting and interesting. His face was calm buthopeless, and his eye, which should have shown a wild glimmer if therewas truth in his wife's hypothesis, was dark and unfathomable, butneither frenzied nor uncertain. He spake but once and listened tonothing, though now and then his wife moved as if to attract hisattention, and once even stole her hand toward his, in the tender hopethat he would feel its approach and accept her sympathy. But he was deafas well as blind; and sat wrapped up in thoughts which she, I know,would have given worlds to penetrate.
Her countenance was not without its mystery also. She showed in everylineament passionate concern and misery, and a deep tenderness fromwhich the element of fear was not absent. But she, as well as he,betrayed that some misunderstanding, deeper than any I had previouslysuspected, drew its intangible veil between them and made the nearproximity in which they sat, at once a heart-piercing delight and anunspeakable pain. What was this misunderstanding? and what was thecharacter of the fear that modified her every look of love in hisdirection? Her perfect indifference to my presence proved that it wasnot connected with the position in which he had put himself towards thepolice by his voluntary confession of crime, nor could I thus interpretthe expression of frantic question which now and then contracted herfeatures, as she raised her eyes towards his sightless orbs, and stroveto read, in his firm-set lips, the meaning of those assertions she couldonly ascribe to a loss of reason.
The stopping of the carriage seemed to awaken both from thoughts thatseparated rather than united them. He turned his face in her direction,and she, stretching forth her hand, prepared to lead him from thecarriage, without any of that display of timidity which had beenpreviously evident in her manner.
As his guide she seemed to fear nothing; as his lover, everything.
"There is another and a deeper tragedy underlying the outward andobvious one," was my inward conclusion, as I followed them into thepresence of the gentlemen awaiting them.
* * * * *
Dr. Zabriskie's appearance was a shock to those who knew him; so was hismanner, which was calm, straightforward, and quietly determined.
"I shot Mr. Hasbrouck," was his steady affirmation, given without anyshow of frenzy or desperation. "If you ask me why I did it, I cannotanswer; if you ask me how, I am ready to state all that I knowconcerning the matter."
"But, Dr. Zabriskie," interposed his friend, "the why is the mostimportant thing for us to consider just now. If you really desire toconvince us that you committed the dreadful crime of killing a totallyinoffensive man, you should give us some reason for an act so opposed toall your instincts and general conduct."
But the Doctor continued unmoved:
"I had no reason for murdering Mr. Hasbrouck. A hundred questions canelicit no other reply; you had better keep to the how."
A deep-drawn breath from the wife answered the looks of the threegentlemen to whom this suggestion was offered. "You see," that breathseemed to protest, "that he is not in his right mind."
I began to waver in my own opinion, and yet the intuition which hasserved me in cases as seemingly impenetrable as this, bade me beware offollowing the general judgment.
"Ask him to inform you how he got into the house," I whispered toInspector D----, who sat nearest me.
Immediately the Inspector put the question I had suggested:
"By what means did you enter Mr. Hasbrouck's house at so late an hour asthis murder occurred?"
The blind doctor's head fell forward on his breast, and he hesitated forthe first and only time.
"You will not believe me," said he; "but the door was ajar when I cameto it. Such things make crime easy; it is the only excuse I have tooffer for this dreadful deed."
The front door of a respectable citizen's house ajar at half-past elevenat night. It was a statement that fixed in all minds the conviction ofthe speaker's irresponsibility. Mrs. Zabriskie's brow cleared, and herbeauty became for a moment dazzling as she held out her hands inirrepressible relief towards those who were interrogating her husband. Ialone kept my impassibility. A possible explanation of this crime hadflashed like lightning across my mind; an explanation from which Iinwardly recoiled, even while I was forced to consider it.
"Dr. Zabriskie," remarked the Inspector who was most friendly to him,"such old servants as those kept by Mr. Hasbrouck do not leave the frontdoor ajar at twelve o'clock at night."
"Yet ajar it was," repeated the blind doctor, with quiet emphasis; "andfinding it so, I went in. When I came out again, I closed it. Do youwish me to swear to what I say? If so, I am ready."
What could we reply? To see this splendid-looking man, hallowed by anaffliction so great that in itself it called forth the compassion of themost indifferent, accusing himself of a cold-blooded crime, in tonesthat sounded dispassionate because of the will that forced theirutterance, was too painful in itself for us to indulge in anyunnecessary words. Compassion took the place of curiosity, and each andall of us turned involuntary looks of pity upon the young wife pressingso eagerly to his side.
"For a blind man," ventured one, "the assault was both deft and certain.Are you accustomed to Mr. Hasbrouck's house, that you found your waywith so little difficulty to his bedroom?"
"I am accustomed----" he began.
But here his wife broke in with irrepressible passion:
"He is not accustomed to that house. He has never been beyond thefirst-floor. Why, why do you question him? Do you not see----"
His hand was on her lips.
"Hush!" he commanded. "You know my skill in moving about a house; how Isometimes deceive those who do not know me into believing that I cansee, by the readiness with which I avoid obstacles and find my way evenin strange and untried scenes. Do not try to make them think I am not inmy right mind, or you will drive me into the very condition youdeprecate."
His face, rigid, cold, and set, looked like that of a mask. Hers, drawnwith horror and filled with question that was fast taking the form ofdoubt, bespoke an awful tragedy from which more that one of us recoiled.
"Can you shoot a man dead without seeing him?" asked the Superintendent,with painful effort.
"Give me a pistol and I will show you," was the quick reply.
A low cry came from the wife. In a drawer near to every one of us therelay a pistol, but no one moved to take it out. There was a look in theDoctor's eye which made us fear to trust him with a pistol just then.
"We will accept your assurance that you possess a skill beyond that ofmost men," returned the Superintendent. And beckoning me forward, hewhispered: "This is a case for the doctors and not for the police.Remove him quietly, and notify Dr. Southyard of what I say."
But Dr. Zabriskie, who seemed to have an almost supernatural acutenessof hearing, gave a violent start at this and spoke up for the first timewith real passion in his voice:
"No, no, I pray you. I can bear anything but that. Remember, gentlemen,that I am blind; that I cannot see who is about me; that my life wouldbe a torture if I felt myself surrounded
by spies watching to catch someevidence of madness in me. Rather conviction at once, death, dishonor,and obloquy. These I have incurred. These I have brought upon myself bycrime, but not this worse fate--oh! not this worse fate."
His passion was so intense and yet so confined within the bounds ofdecorum, that we felt strangely impressed by it. Only the wife stoodtransfixed, with the dread growing in her heart, till her white, waxenvisage seemed even more terrible to contemplate than hispassion-distorted one.
"It is not strange that my wife thinks me demented," the Doctorcontinued, as if afraid of the silence that answered him. "But it isyour business to discriminate, and you should know a sane man when yousee him."
Inspector D---- no longer hesitated.
"Very well," said he, "give us the least proof that your