“My Dear Miss LeClair,
I can imagine your surprise as you read this letter. I am bound to be the last person on earth from whom you expected to receive correspondence. Suffice it to say that this note is a sort of insurance policy which I have taken out against my longevity.
A man may trust the enmity of his foes to outlast his friends’ affection. Under the best of circumstances, you and I have maintained a barely civil relationship. I assume that your dislike of me has deepened into a stronger emotion now that you have exposed certain events in my past which, I feel obligated to point out, were none of your business in the first place. Not content to wreck my home and business, you have also utterly destroyed my reputation—that which I valued above all else and which is now beyond redemption. I am convinced that the malice you bear toward me will cause you to pursue me relentlessly until even my life has been ignominiously forfeited to the hangman’s noose. I depend upon the tenacity of your ill-will to accomplish that at last.
For all your pretensions to be viewed as a great intellect, you have made one grave mistake in your reasoning. You have given me too much credit for courage in the follow-through over the course of the past three months.
I expect you to utter a cry of disbelief when I tell you that I am innocent of the crime of murder. But I shall yet make you believe me. ‘They say the tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony!’ Before I am finished, you shall believe me. I will follow through this one time.
Farewell,
Martin Allworthy
“Good Lord!” Evangeline dropped the letter into her lap. Her face had grown ashen.
Freddie snatched up the note, feverishly scanning it for some clue to its deeper meaning. “I can’t make heads or tails of this!” he finally cried in irritation. “What’s he talking about? What’s that gibberish about the ‘tongues of dying men’?”
Evangeline gave her friend a stricken look. Almost mechanically, she replied. “It’s Shakespeare. From Richard the Second.” She completed the quotation: “‘O, but they say the tongues of dying men, Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.’”
“It still makes no sense to me! And how can he have the gall to say he never killed anyone? Does he really think he can save his reputation now?”
“I once made the mistake of not believing a man who uttered those very words under similar circumstances. I refuse to make the same mistake twice.”
“What are you saying?” Freddie asked in disbelief.
“That I must take him at his word. I don’t know how it’s possible but I must at least be willing to entertain the idea that he didn’t murder anyone. Until now.” Her expression grew tense. “Jack, how long ago did that boy bring the note to the door?”
The major domo calculated backward. “About fifteen minutes ago, I’d say.”
“And the man who gave him the note?” Her voice took on an urgent tone. “Did he say how long it was between the time he received it and the time he delivered it?”
Jack shrugged. “I think he said the man had just given him the note and walked away. That was right before the boy came knocking on the door.”
Evangeline stood up with a determined look in her eye. “Then we don’t have a moment to lose! Jack, hail us a cab. We don’t have enough time to wait for you to get the carriage ready.”
Turning to Freddie, she commanded, “Get your coat. We may still be able to stop him.”
“Stop him?” The young man had lost her train of thought. “Stop him from doing what?”
Evangeline flew toward the door. “Don’t you understand? He means to kill himself tonight!”
Chapter 30—The Tide In Men’s Affairs
“Where to, Miss Engie?” Jack asked before closing the cab door.
“To Hyperion, and tell him to hurry!”
Jack shouted her instructions to the driver and the cab took off with a jolt.
“Hyperion?” Freddie asked in surprise. “You really think Martin will go there.”
“I’m not sure, but something Serafina said keeps sticking with me.”
“Oh, here we go again. More spectral evidence!”
Evangeline tapped her foot impatiently. “Do you have a better straw to grasp at?”
“Well, not at the moment, no.” The young man cleared his throat self-consciously. “But what could she possibly have told you that would make you think he’d go there?”
Evangeline furrowed her brow with the effort of recalling the exact details. “I remember her telling me about a dream she had. She saw us standing in the middle of an island. The water around the island ran in a circle. Something like a moat around a castle.”
“I suppose there might be a connection,” Freddie grudgingly admitted. “The Hyperion factory is on the banks of the river.”
“No, it isn’t that. It’s the way the water ran round and round in a circle. I distinctly remember her words. She said, ‘Where it started, it also ended.’”
“The water?”
“Perhaps the water, but she might also have been referring to this dismal chain of events without realizing, quite literally, how apt her choice of words happened to be.”
Freddie reasoned aloud. “Yes, I see. Nora drowned in the river right beside the factory. It’s plausible that her death set this chain of events, as you call it, in motion.”
“Precisely, and if that was the episode that began Martin’s descent, then he will choose to finish things where they began.”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Freddie turned to face Evangeline as the carriage bounced along. “But why do you think he would kill himself at all? He could run away, start a new life. Take a new name.”
Evangeline smiled bitterly. “I thought so too at first. Serafina insisted I was wrong, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that starting over was the one thing Martin would never do. His family name mattered more than anything else to him. To lose that name would be the same as losing his life.”
She stopped and pondered for a moment before continuing. “Besides, if his letter is to be believed, then he hopes to prove to me that he is innocent of murder. ‘The tongues of dying men’ as he put it. He is actually trying to redeem his reputation by killing himself.”
The cab rattled along at a breakneck pace. The two occupants of the carriage could feel the vehicle slope upward on an incline and then begin to descend.
Evangeline glanced out the window. “We’re crossing the North Avenue bridge. It’s so dark. I can barely see anything. I hope all this clatter doesn’t alarm him, if he’s out there at all.” She shifted to the opposite side of the carriage and tapped on the roof to get the driver’s attention. “Stop here!” she commanded. He reined in the horse abruptly and the two passengers alighted. They were still a block away from the factory.
“Perhaps, if he’s out there, we can approach without attracting his notice.” Evangeline’s tone became urgent. “Hurry, Freddie! He only had a twenty-minute headstart on us, and he may have been travelling on foot.” Without waiting for her companion, who was still engaged in paying the driver, Evangeline hastily crossed the street and ducked into the shadows looming across the front entrance of the factory. She inched her way along the wall of the building until she reached the corner that fronted the river.
Freddie ran to catch up with her. “Do you see anybody out there?” he asked breathlessly.
“Shhhhhh! Keep your voice down.”
“Engie, maybe we’d better go and find Mr. Sparrow.” Freddie peered anxiously through the gloom. All he could see were ripples dancing off the river, reflecting the moon and the gas street lamps along the bridge.
“No, Freddie. If we go off looking for him, we might startle Martin. Give him a chance to run or to...” She trailed off, gathering her thoughts. “Our best vantage point is along the building down this way. Do you remember how to get to the
place where the guard rail was cracked? The place where Nora drowned.”
Freddie thought a moment. “Yes, I suppose I could find it again. It’s pretty hard to see anything, but I remember it was directly in line with the loading dock. You see.” He pointed about fifty feet down the wall of the building. “Down there.” Putting a finger to his lips, he motioned for Evangeline to follow him.
They had gone no more than ten feet when a dark shape sprang off the loading dock and began running toward the river. Freddie could barely register what was happening but he could feel Evangeline’s fingers digging into his arm.
“Martin, no!” she shouted. “Don’t—”
Before she could finish the sentence, the dark shape had pressed a revolver to its temple and fired.
Freddie and Evangeline broke into a run and came upon the body of Martin Allworthy, slumped halfway over the guard rail suspended above the river. His hands now hung uselessly over the other side of the railing: the gun had fallen from his hand onto the embankment. This time the railing did not give way but held him suspended above the river like a grotesque marionette whose strings had just been cut.
“What was that noise? Who’s out here?” A voice echoed from the other corner of the building.
Freddie instantly recognized the tone. “Mr. Sparrow, we’re over here, by the river. Come quickly and bring a lantern! Mr. Allworthy has shot himself.”
“Oh, my Lord!” The watchman hobbled as quickly as he could to the place were his employer’s body hung suspended.
As he shone the lantern full in Allworthy’s face, the trio could clearly see the gunshot wound to the temple surrounded by a charred circle of powder. A small trickle of blood had begun to ooze from the bullet hole. Freddie touched Allworthy’s neck, trying to find a pulse.
He looked at the other two and shook his head. “It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do. He’s dead.”
“Oh my Lord!” Sparrow repeated. He was too shocked by the sight to move.
Evangeline took the night watchman’s arm. “Mr. Sparrow, you’ll have to call the police.”
The watchman mumbled to himself, repeating the words a few times until they began to make sense. “Mr. Allworthy’s dead... Mr. Allworthy’s shot himself. I have to call... to call...”
“The police!” Evangeline insisted. “You’ll have to call them now, Mr. Sparrow.”
“Yes... yes... I’ll...”
“Sparrow, are you out here? What was that noise? It sounded like a gunshot.” Another voice came around the corner of the building. A shadow loomed up and came into the lantern glow.
“Oh, Mr. Tinker, it’s—”
Evangeline cut in. “Mr. Allworthy’s shot himself.”
“What?” the newcomer cried in disbelief.
“Well, you can see for yourself.” Freddie stepped out of the way and let the man inspect the grisly scene.
“Mr. Tinker is the... uh... the... uh... general manager.” Sparrow managed to stammer an introduction. “Mr. Tinker, this is Mr. Simpson and Miss LeClair. They were... uh... friends of Mr... Mr. Allworthy.”
A man as round as a barrel stepped forward to inspect the remains. “Oh this is terrible! Terrible!” He found himself unable to look away from the spectacle. “Sparrow, call the police at once!”
The authoritative tone of voice seemed to snap the night watchman out of his paralysis. “Right away, sir.” He came to attention and scurried back to the factory.
Tinker stood shaking his head and staring at the remains of Allworthy. “Shouldn’t we... uh...” He made a move toward the corpse.
Freddie intervened. “It would be better if we left everything just as it is until the police get here.”
“But it seems so... so... unseemly to leave him hanging there that way.”
Evangeline concurred with Freddie. “I really think it’s best. The police will need to collect evidence, and our interference will only make matters worse.”
Tinker took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow despite the chilly night air. Apparently, he couldn’t believe the scene before him. “You’re sure he shot himself?”
“Quite sure,” Evangeline replied. “The gun fell out of his hand. You can see it just on the other side of the railing.”
Tinker craned his neck over the other side. Since Sparrow had taken the lantern with him, the only clue to the existence of the gun was the shiny reflection of metal against the moonlight. The manager sighed. “I suppose he took it all to heart and blamed himself. He shouldn’t have blamed himself though. If anybody’s to blame, it’s me.”
The two detectives found their attention riveted to the portly man.
“What was that again?” Freddie asked cautiously.
The manager glanced from one to the other, evidently not sure how much information he ought to reveal.
“You were friends of Mr. Allworthy’s?”
“We knew him far better than most people did.” Evangeline’s reply was smooth as glass. Freddie looked at her askance. “Please tell us what you mean.”
“Well, it’s just that I think he blamed himself for what happened to Nora Johnson awhile back. Why else would he choose this particular spot to do away with himself?” He looked at the couple standing before him in mute appeal.
Freddie and Evangeline looked at each other and then back at Tinker. “Maybe you can tell us,” Freddie prompted.
Tinker looked troubled. “Mr. Allworthy was a very particular man, and he took his responsibilities very seriously. Everything that touched the factory became a personal reflection on him, you see. Everything good and...” The manager paused. “Everything bad.”
“But it seems a bit extreme to commit suicide because somebody drowned at his factory,” Evangeline objected.
“Yes, yes, I suppose so, and if anybody should have taken her death personally, it’s me. He couldn’t have known.”
“Known what?” Evangeline asked in amazement.
Freddie was trying mightily to forestall an urge to take out his notebook and attempt to write in the dark. He sensed something significant was about to emerge.
“Well, it’s just that the railing was faulty.”
“What!” The couple cried in unison.
Surprised by the vehemence of their response, Tinker backed away a few paces. In a mild tone, he repeated, “The railing was old, and the wood was cracked in places. It needed to be repaired.”
“And Mr. Allworthy didn’t know that?”
“No, he had asked me to make an inspection of the exterior of the factory just a week before Nora died. But, you see, I had a family emergency. I had just completed my inspection and written some notes that needed to be typed up when I had to board a train and get to Memphis. I was gone for two weeks and didn’t hear about the accident until I returned.” The manager rubbed his forehead distractedly. “But the worst part about it was the report.”
“Yes?” Evangeline prompted.
“You see Nora was a good typist, and she prepared all the reports for the company. I had just dropped my notes on her desk and had to leave to catch my train.”
“Did she know what was in the report?” Freddie’s hand was itching to scribble in his notebook.
Tinker shook his head sadly. “No, I’m sure she didn’t. It was just another piece of paper to her. When I got back from my trip, I discovered she’d already drowned in the river and no one had stepped in to do her job. I went to her desk and shuffled through the stack of papers.” He sighed. “I found my notes at the bottom of the pile. If only she’d read it, then maybe...”
“Did you tell Mr. Allworthy about the defective railing afterward?”
Tinker sighed even more ponderously. “I tried more than once, but could never work up the courage to tell him that Nora was dead because of negligence.”
“So he never knew about the faulty railing at all?” Evangeline asked.
Tinker shook his head. “I’m sure of it. He never knew.”
Freddie looked at his friend
. She was staring off into space, tapping her chin thoughtfully. He could tell the wheels had begun to turn again but her considered response to this new fact was only a simple “Hmmm.”
The little group stood in silence a few moments longer. Their stillness interrupted only by the choppy river current lapping against the retaining wall. Freddie was about to make a suggestion that they should all return to the factory when he heard a familiar voice emerge from around the corner of the factory.
“Hello, is there anybody still out here?”
“Hello again, Sergeant O’Rourke,” Freddie called out. “It’s Simpson with the Gazette. Welcome back.”
The sergeant drew nearer, lantern in hand, to study the remains. He groaned in disgust before turning to Freddie. “This call makes four. Just between you and me, if there’s a fifth I’ll be putting in for a transfer!”
Chapter 31—In The Wake Of Disaster
It was a fair morning in July, two days after Martin Allworthy’s suicide. The birds sang and the flowers bloomed as Freddie and Evangeline walked into the funeral parlor where Euphemia Allworthy’s body was being waked.
“Why didn’t they just hold the funeral in Shore Cliff,” Freddie grumbled. “It would have been more convenient.”
“For whom?” Evangeline asked, under her breath. “All Euphemia’s friends and family are in Chicago. Not to mention that her burial plot was already purchased in Gracehill Cemetery.”
“And what about Martin?”
Evangeline kept her voice to a whisper. “It was the general view that the less attention given to that matter, the better. He’s being buried later privately.”
The couple walked into the room where Euphemia’s casket lay. At least fifty people had preceded them to pay their respects and were waiting for the funeral procession to the cemetery to form. Evangeline searched for a familiar face and saw Euphemia’s cousin in the front row. She advanced to offer her condolences.
“Very sorry to see you again under such sad circumstances, Bessie.”
Cousin Bessie looked up mournfully and pressed Evangeline’s hand. “Thank you for coming, and for everything you did to try and make sense of this terrible tragedy.”
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 29
