The latter presented a picture of malignant joy, horrible to contemplate. The lips of his large mouth were compressed and bloodless. He came on with the quiet certainty and deadly ease of a slimy thing sure of its prey.
As I noted him I felt that not only Mr. S——’s life but my own was not worth a moment’s purchase. But I uttered no cry and scarcely breathed. Miss Calhoun, on the contrary, gave vent to a long, shivering sigh. The man bowed as he heard it, but with looks directed solely to Mr. S——.
“I was told,” said he, “to deliver this box to you wherever and with whomsoever I should find you. In it you will find the name.”
Mr. S—— gazed in haughty astonishment, first at the box and then at the man.
“This is irregular,” said he. “Why was I not made acquainted with the fact that a name was up for consideration, and why have you removed the box from its place and broken the connection which was made with so much difficulty?”
As he said this he looked up through the glass of the conservatory to a high building I could see towering at the end of the garden. It was the building in which I had first seen that box, and I now understood how this connection had been made.
Mr. S——’s movement had been involuntary.
Dropping his eyes, he finished by saying, with an almost imperceptible bow, “You may speak before this lady; she is the holder of a key.”
“The connection was broken because suspicion was aroused; to your other question you will find an answer in the box. Shall I open it for you?”
Mr. S——, with a stern frown, shook his head, and produced a key from his pocket. “Do you understand all this?” he suddenly asked Miss Calhoun.
For reply, she pointed to the box.
“Open!” her beseeching looks seemed to say.
Mr. S—— turned the key and threw up the lid. “Look under the hand,” suggested the man.
Mr. S—— leaned over the box, which had been laid on a small table, discovered a paper somewhere in its depth, and drew it out. It was no whiter than his face when he did so.
“How many have subscribed to this?” he asked.
“You will observe that there are five rings on the hand,” responded the man.
Miss Calhoun started, opened her lips, but paused as she saw Mr. S—— unfold the paper.
“The name of the latest traitor,” murmured the man, with a look of ferocity the like of which I had never seen on any human face before.
It was not observed by either of the actors in the tragedy before me. Mr. S—— was gazing with a wild incredulity at the note he had unfolded; she was gazing at him. From the room beyond rose and swelled the sweet strains of the waltz.
Suddenly a low, crackling sound was heard.
It came from the paper which Mr. S—— had crumpled in his hand.
“So the society has decreed my death,” he said, meeting the man’s steel-cold eye for the first time. “Now I know how the men whose doom preceded mine have felt in a presence that leaves no hope to mortal man. But you shall not be my executioner. I will meet my fate at less noxious hands than yours.” And, leaning forward, he whispered a few seemingly significant words into the messenger’s ear. The man, grievously disappointed, hung his head, and with a sidelong look, the venom of which made us all shudder, he hesitated to go.
“Tonight?” he said.
“Tonight,” Mr. S—— repeated, and pointed towards the door by which he had entered. Then, as the man still hesitated, he took him by the arm and resolutely led him through the conservatory, crying in his ear, “Go. I am still the chief.”
The man bowed, and slipped slowly out into the night.
A burst of music, laughter, voices, joy, rose in the drawing-room. Mr. S—— and Irene Calhoun stood looking at each other.
“You must go home,” were the first words he uttered. Then, in a half-reproachful, half-pitiful tone, as if on the verge of tears, he added: “Was I so bad a chief that even you thought me a hindrance to the advancement of the society and the cause to which we are pledged?”
It was the one thing he could say capable of rousing her.
“Oh!” she cried, “it is all a mistake, all a cheat. Did you not get the letter I sent to my chief this morning, written in the usual style and directed in the usual way?”
“No,” he answered.
“Then there is worse treason than yours among the five. I wrote to say that my ring had been stolen; that I did not subscribe to the condemnation of the man under suspicion, and that, if it was made, it would be through fraud. That was before I knew that the suspected one and the man I addressed were one and the same. Now—”
“Well, now?”
“You have but to accuse the woman called Madame. The man you have just sent away would forgive you his disappointment if you gave him the supreme satisfaction of carrying doom to the still more formidable being who prophesies death to those for whom she has already prepared a violent end.”
“Irene!”
But her passion had found vent and she was not to be stilled. Telling him the whole story of the last twenty-four hours, she waited for the look of comfort she evidently expected. But it did not come. His first words showed why.
“Madame is inexorable,” said he; “but Madame is but one of five. There are three others—true men, sound men, thinking men. If they deem me unworthy—and I have shown signs of faltering of late—Madame’s animosity or your loving weakness must not stand in the way of their decree. It shall never be said I sanctioned the doom of other men and shrank from my own. I would be unworthy of your love if I did, and your love is everything to me now.” She had not expected this; she had not at all reckoned upon the stern quality in this man, forgetting that without it he could never have held his pitiless position.
“But it is not regular; it is not according to precedent. Five rings are required, and only four were fairly placed. As an honest man, you ought to hesitate at injustice, and injustice you will show if you allow them to triumph through their own deceit.”
But even this failed to move him.
“I see five rings,” said he, “and I see another thing. Never will I be permitted to live even if I am coward enough to take advantage of the loophole of escape you offer me. A man who is once seen to tremble loses the confidence of such men as call me chief. I would die suddenly, horribly and perhaps when less prepared for it than now. And you, my darling, my imperial one! you would not escape. Besides, you have forgotten the young man who, with such unselfishness, has lent himself to your schemes in my favor. What could save him if I disappointed the malignancy of Madame. No; I have destroyed others, and must submit to the penalty incurred by murder. Kiss me, Irene, and go. I command it as your chief.”
With a low moan she gave up the struggle. Lifting her forehead to his embrace, she bestowed upon him a look of indescribable despair, then tottered to the door leading into the garden. As it closed upon her departing figure, he uttered a deep sigh, in which he seemed to give up life and the world. Then he raised his head, and in an instant was in the midst of a throng of beautiful women and dashing men, with a smile on his lips and a jest on his tongue.
I made my escape unnoticed. The next morning I was in Philadelphia. There I read the following lines in the leading daily:
“Baltimore, Md.—An unexpected tragedy occurred here last evening. Mr. S——, the well-known financier and politician, died at his supper-table, while drinking the health of a hundred assembled guests. He is considered to be a great loss to the Southern cause. The city is filled with mourning.”
And further down, in an obscure corner, this short line:
“Baltimore, Md.—A beautiful young woman, known by the name of Irene Calhoun, was found dead in her bed this morning, from the effects of poison administered by herself. No cause is ascribed for the act.”
THE CHIEF LEGATEE [Part 1]
PART I: A WOMAN OF MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
A BRIDE OF FIVE HOURS
�
��What’s up?”
This from the manager of the Hotel —— to his chief clerk. “Something wrong in Room 81?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve just sent for a detective. You were not to be found and the gentleman is desperate. But very anxious to have it all kept quiet; very anxious. I think we can oblige him there, or, at least, we’ll try. Am I right, sir?”
“Of course, if—”
“Oh! it’s nothing criminal. The lady’s missing, that’s all; the lady whose name you see here.”
The register lay open between them; the clerk’s finger, running along the column, rested about half-way down.
The manager bent over the page.
“‘Roger J. Ransom and wife,’” he read out in decided astonishment. “Why, they are—”
“You’re right. Married today in Grace Church. A great wedding; the papers are full of it. Well, she’s the lady. They registered here a few minutes before five o’clock and in ten minutes the bride was missing. It’s a queer story Mr. Ransom tells. You’d better hear it. Ah, there’s our man! Perhaps you’ll go up with him.”
“You may bet your last dollar on that,” muttered the manager. And joining the new-comer, he made a significant gesture which was all that passed between them till they stepped out on the second floor.
“Wanted in Room 81?” the manager now asked.
“Yes, by a man named Ransom.”
“Just so. That’s the door. Knock—or, rather, I’ll knock, for I must hear his story as soon as you do. The reputation of the hotel—”
“Yes, yes, but the gentleman’s waiting. Ah! that’s better.”
The manager had just knocked.
An exclamation from within, a hurried step, and the door fell open. The figure which met their eyes was startling. Distress, anxiety, and an impatience almost verging on frenzy, distorted features naturally amiable if not handsome.
“My wife,” fell in a gasp from his writhing lips.
“We have come to help you find her,” Mr. Gerridge calmly assured him. Mr. Gerridge was the detective. “Relate the circumstances, sir. Tell us where you were when you first missed her.”
Mr. Ransom’s glance wandered past him to the door. It was partly open. The manager, whose name was Loomis, hastily closed it. Mr. Ransom showed relief and hurried into his story. It was to this effect:
“I was married today in Grace Church. At the altar my bride—you probably know her name, Miss Georgian Hazen—wore a natural look, and was in all respects, so far as any one could see, a happy woman, satisfied with her choice and pleased with the éclat and elegancies of the occasion. Half-way down the aisle this all changed. I remember the instant perfectly. Her hand was on my arm and I felt it suddenly stiffen. I was not alarmed, but I gave her a quick look and saw that something had happened. What, I could not at the moment determine. She didn’t answer when I spoke to her and seemed to be mainly concerned in getting out of the church before her emotions overcame her. This she succeeded in doing with my help; and, once in the vestibule, recovered herself so completely, and met all my inquiries with such a gay shrug of the shoulders, that I should have passed the matter over as a mere attack of nerves, if I had not afterwards detected in her face, through all the hurry and excitement of the ensuing reception, a strained expression not at all natural to her. This was still more evident after the congratulations of a certain guest, who, I am sure, whispered to her before he passed on; and when the time came for her to go upstairs she was so pale and unlike herself that I became seriously alarmed and asked if she felt well enough to start upon the journey we had meditated. Instantly her manner changed. She turned upon me with a look I have been trying ever since to explain to myself, and begged me not to take her out of town tonight but to some quiet hotel where we might rest for a few days before starting on our travels. She looked me squarely in the eye as she made this request and, seeing in her nothing more than a feverish anxiety lest I should make difficulties of some kind, I promised to do what she asked and bade her run away and get herself ready to go and say nothing to any one of our change of plan. She smiled and turned away towards her own room, but presently came hurrying back to ask if I would grant her one more favor. Would I be so good as not to speak to her or expect her to speak to me till we got to the hotel; she was feeling very nervous but was sure that a few minutes of complete rest would entirely restore her; something had occurred (she acknowledged this) which she wanted to think out; wouldn’t I grant her this one opportunity of doing so? It was a startling request, but she looked so lovely—pardon me, I must explain my easy acquiescence—that I gave her the assurance she wished and went about my own preparations, somewhat disconcerted but still not at all prepared for what happened afterward. I had absolutely no idea that she meant to leave me.”
Mr. Ransom paused, greatly affected; but upon the detective asking him how and when Mrs. Ransom had deserted him, he controlled himself sufficiently to say:
“Here; immediately after that silent and unnatural ride. She entered the office with me and was standing close at my side all the time I was writing our names in the register; but later, when I turned to ask her to enter the elevator with me, she was gone, and the boy who was standing by with our two bags said that she had slipped into the reception-room across the hall. But I didn’t find her there or in any of the adjoining rooms. Nor has anybody since succeeded in finding her. She has left the building—left me, and—”
“You want her back again?”
This from the detective, but very dryly.
“Yes. For she was not following her own inclinations in thus abandoning me so soon after the words which made us one were spoken. Some influence was brought to bear on her which she felt unable to resist. I have confidence enough in her to believe that. The rest is mystery—a mystery which I am forced to ask you to untangle. I have neither the necessary calmness nor experience myself.”
“But you surely have done something,” protested Gerridge. “Telephoned to her late home or—”
“Oh yes, I have done all that, but with no result. She has not returned to her old home. Her uncle has just been here and he is as much mystified by the whole occurrence as I am. He could tell me nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“Indeed! and the man, the one who whispered to her during the reception, couldn’t you learn anything about him?”
Mr. Ransom’s face took on an expression almost ferocious.
“No. He’s a stranger to Mr. Fulton; yet Mr. Fulton’s niece introduced him to me as a relative.”
“A relative? When was that?”
“At the reception. He was introduced as Mr. Hazen (my wife’s maiden name, you know), and when I saw how his presence disturbed her, I said to her, ‘A cousin of yours?’ and she answered with very evident embarrassment, ‘A relative’—which you must acknowledge didn’t locate him very definitely. Mr. Fulton doesn’t know of any such relative. And I don’t believe he is a relative. He didn’t sit with the rest of the family in the church.”
“Ah! you saw him in the church.”
“Yes. I noticed him for two reasons. First, because he occupied an end seat and so came directly under my eye in our passage down the aisle. Secondly, because his face of all those which confronted me when I looked for the cause of her sudden agitation, was the only one not turned towards her in curiosity or interest. His eyes were fixed and vacant; his only. That made him conspicuous and when I saw him again I knew him.”
“Describe the man.”
Mr. Ransom’s face lightened up with an expression of strong satisfaction.
“I am going to astonish you,” said he. “The fellow is so plain that children must cry at him. He has suffered some injury and his mouth and jaw have such a twist in them that the whole face is thrown out of shape. So you see,” continued the unhappy bridegroom, as his eyes flashed from the detective’s face to that of the manager’s, “that the influence he exerts over my wife is not that of love. No one could love him. The secret’s of another kind. What kind, w
hat, what, what? Find out and I’ll pay you any amount you ask. She is too dear and of too sensitive a temperament to be subject to a wretch of his appearance. I cannot bear the thought. It stifles, it chokes me; and yet for three hours I’ve had to endure it. Three hours! and with no prospect of release unless you—”
“Oh, I’ll do something,” was Gerridge’s bland reply. “But first I must have a few more facts. A man such as you describe should be easy to find; easier than the lady. Is he a tall man?”
“Unusually so.”
“Dark or light?”
“Dark.”
“Any beard?”
“None. That’s why the injury to his jaw shows so plainly.”
“I see. Is he what you would call a gentleman?”
“Yes, I must acknowledge that. He shows the manners of good society, if he did whisper words into my wife’s ear which were not meant for mine.”
“And Mr. Fulton knows nothing of him?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, we’ll drop him for the present. You have a photograph of your wife?”
“Her picture was in all the papers tonight.”
“I noticed. But can we go by it? Does it resemble her?”
“Only fairly. She is far prettier. My wife is something uncommon. No picture ever does her justice.”
“She looks like a dark beauty. Is her hair black or brown?”
“Black. So black it has purple shades in it.”
“And her eyes? Black too?”
“No, gray. A deep gray, which look black owing to her long lashes.”
“Very good. Now about her dress. Describe it as minutely as you can. It was a bride’s traveling costume, I suppose.”
“Yes. That is, I presume so. I know that it was all right and suitable to the occasion, but I don’t remember much about it. I was thinking too much of the woman in the gown to notice the gown itself.”
“Cannot you tell the color?”
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack Page 143
