“She’s coming,” said he, striving to hide his extreme emotion. “I heard her voice in the hall beyond.”
Hazen sprang to the door which Ransom had carefully closed, and was about to fall on his knees before the keyhole when he suddenly stiffened himself and, turning towards the lawyer, cried with a new strain of loftiness in his tone:
“You. You shall do the looking, only promise to be very minute in your description of her behavior. It’s a great trust I repose in you. See that you honor it.”
The revulsion of feeling caused in the lawyer by this show of confidence was not perceptible. But it softened his step as well as his manner as he crossed to do the other’s bidding.
The remaining two stood at his side breathless, waiting for his first word.
It came in a whisper:
“She’s approaching her room. She looks tired. Her eyes are stealing this way—no, they are resting on her own door. She sees the sign. She stands staring at it, but not like a person who has ever seen it before. It’s the stare of an uneducated woman who runs upon something she does not understand. Now she touches it with one finger and glances up and down the hall with a doubtful shake of the head. Now she is running to another door, now to another. She is looking to see if this scrawl is to be found anywhere else; she even casts her eye this way—I feel like leaving my post. If I do, you may know that she’s coming—No, she’s back at her own door and—gentlemen, her bringing up or rather coming up asserts itself. She has put her palm to her mouth and is vigorously rubbing off the marks.”
The next instant Mr. Harper rose. “She’s gone into her room,” said he. “Listen and you will hear her key click in the lock.”
Ransom sank into a seat; Hazen had walked to the window. Presently he turned.
“I am convinced,” said he. “I will not trouble you gentlemen further. Mr. Ransom, I condole with you upon your loss. My sister was a woman of uncommon gifts.”
Mr. Ransom bowed. He had no words for this man at a moment of such extreme excitement. He did not even note the latent sting hidden in the other’s seeming tribute to Georgian. But the lawyer did and Hazen perceived that he did, for pausing in his act of crossing the room, he leaned for a moment on the table with his eyes down, then quickly raising them remarked to that gentleman:
“I am going to leave by the midnight train for New York. Tomorrow I shall be on the ocean. Will it be transgressing all rules of propriety for me to ask the purport of my sister’s will? It is a serious matter to me, sir. If she has left me anything—”
“She has not,” emphasized the lawyer.
A shadow darkened the disappointed man’s brow. His wound swelled and his eyes gleamed ironically as he turned them upon Ransom.
Instantly that gentleman spoke.
“I have received but a moiety,” said he. “You need not envy me the amount.”
“Who has it then?” briskly demanded the startled man. “Who? who? She?”
Mr. Harper never knew why he did it. He was reserved as a man and, usually, more than reserved as a lawyer, but as Hazen lifted his hands from the table and turned to leave, he quietly remarked:
“The chief legatee—the one she chose to leave the bulk of her very large fortune to—is a man we none of us know. His name is Josiah Auchincloss.”
The change which the utterance of this name caused in Hazen’s expression threw them both into confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me that in the beginning?” he cried. “I needn’t have wasted all this time and effort.”
His eyes shone, his poor lips smiled, his whole air was jubilant. Both Mr. Harper and his client surveyed him in amazement. The lines so fast disappearing from his brow were beginning to reappear on theirs.
“Mr. Harper,” this hard-to-be-understood man now declared, “you may safely administer the estate of my sister. She is surely dead.”
CHAPTER XXIII
A STARTLING DECISION
Before Mr. Ransom and the lawyer had recovered from their astonishment, Hazen had slipped from the room. As Mr. Harper started to follow, he saw the other’s head disappearing down the staircase leading to the office. He called to him, but Hazen declined to turn.
“No time,” he shouted back. “I shall have to make use of somebody’s automobile now, to get to the Ferry in time.”
The lawyer did not persist, not at that moment; he went back to his client and they had a few hurried words; then Mr. Harper went below and took up his stand on the portico. He was determined that Hazen should not leave the place without some further explanation.
It was light where he stood and he very soon felt that this would not do, so he slipped back into the shade of a pillar, and seeing, from the bustle, that Hazen was likely to obtain the use of the one automobile stored in the stable, he waited with reasonable patience for his reappearance in the road before him.
Meanwhile he had confidence in Ransom, who he felt sure was watching them both from the window overhead. If he should fail in getting in the word he wanted, Ransom was pledged to shout it out without regard to appearances. But this was not likely to occur. He knew his own persistency to equal Hazen’s. Nothing should stop the momentary interview he had promised himself.
Ah! A well-known whirr and clatter is heard. The automobile was leaving the stable. Hazen was already in it and the man who had come up from New York was with him. This was bad; they would flash by—No; he would not be balked thus. Stepping out into the road, he stopped full in the glare of the office lights and held up his hand. They could not but see him and they did. The chauffeur reversed the lever and the machine stopped to the accompaniment of low muttered oaths from Hazen, which were rather disagreeable than otherwise to Harper’s ear.
“One word,” said he, approaching to the side where Hazen sat. “I thought you ought to know before leaving that we can take no proceedings in the matter we were speaking of till we have undisputed proof that your sister is dead. That we may not get for a long time, possibly never. If you are interested in having this Auchincloss receive his inheritance, you had better prepare both yourself and him for a long wait. The river seems slow to give up its dead.”
The quiver of impatience which had shaken Hazen at the first word had settled into a strange rigidity.
“One moment,” he said in a command to the chauffeur at his side. Then in a low, strangely sounding whisper to Harper: “They think the body’s in the Devil’s Cauldron. Nothing can get it out if it is. Would some proof of its presence there be sufficient to settle the fact of her death?”
“That would depend. If the proof was unmistakable, it might pass in the Surrogate’s Court. What is the matter, Hazen?”
“Nothing.” The tone was hollow; the whole man sat like an image of death. “I—I’m thinking—weighing—” he uttered in scattered murmurs. Then suddenly, “You’re not deceiving me, Harper. Some proof will be necessary, and that very soon, for this man Auchincloss to realize the money?”
“Yes,” the monosyllable was as dry as it was short. Harper’s patience with this unnatural brother was about at an end.
“And who will venture to obtain this proof for us? No one. Not even Ransom would venture down into that watery hole. They say it is almost certain death,” babbled Hazen.
Harper kept silence. Strange forces were at work. The head of another gruesome tragedy loomed vaguely through the shadows of this already sufficiently tragic mystery.
“Go on!” suddenly shouted Hazen, leaning forward to the chauffeur. But the next instant his hand was on the man’s sleeve. “No, I have changed my mind. Here, Staples,” he called out as a man came running down the steps, “take my bag and ask the landlady to prepare me a room. I’ll not try for the train tonight.” Then as the man at his side leaped to the ground, he turned to Harper and remarked quietly, but in no common tone:
“The steamer must sail without me. I’ll stay in this place a while and prove the death of Georgian Ransom myself.”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE DEVIL’S CAULDRON
The solemnity of Hazen’s whole manner impressed Mr. Harper strongly. As soon as the opportunity offered he cornered the young man in the office where he had taken refuge, and giving him to understand that further explanations must pass between them before either slept, he drew him apart and put the straight question to him:
“Who is Josiah Auchincloss?”
The answer was abrupt, almost menacing in its emphasis and tone.
“A trunk-maker in St. Louis. A man she was indebted to.”
“How indebted to—a trunk-maker?”
“That I cannot, do not desire to state. It is enough that she felt she owed him the bulk of her fortune. Though this eliminates me from benefits of a wealth I had some rights to share, I make no complaint. She knew her business best, and I am disposed to accept her judgment in the matter without criticism.”
“You are?” The tone was sharp, the sarcasm biting. “I can understand that. For Auchincloss, in this will, read Hazen; but how about her husband? How about her friends and the general community? Do you not think they will ask why a beautiful and socially well-placed young woman like your sister should leave so large a portion of her wealth to an obscure man in another town, of whom her friends and even her business agent have never heard? It would have been better if she had left you her thousands directly.”
The smile which was Hazen’s only retort was very bitter.
“You drew up her will,” said he. “You must have reasoned with her on this very point as you are now trying to reason with me?”
The lawyer waved this aside.
“I didn’t know at that time the social status of the legatee; nor did I know her brother then as well as I do now.”
“You do not know me now.”
“I know that you are very pale; that the determination you have just made has cost you more than you perhaps are willing to state. That there is mystery in your past, mystery in your present, and, possibly, mystery threatening your future, and all in connection with your great desire for this money.”
Hazen made a forcible gesture, but whether of denial or depreciation, it was not easy to decide.
“Would it not then be better for all parties,” pursued the lawyer, “for you to give me some idea of the great obligation under which your sister lay to this man, that I may have an answer ready when people ask me why she passed you so conspicuously by, in order to enrich this stranger?”
“The story is not mine. Had she wished you to know it, she would have confided it to you herself. I must decline—”
Mr. Harper interrupted the other impressively. “Do you realize what a shadow may be thrown upon your sister’s memory by this reticence on your part? Her death was suggestive enough without the complications you mention. In justice to your relationship you should speak. If, as I think, the money is really meant for you, say so. The subterfuge may be difficult of explanation, but it will not hurt her memory as much as this extraordinary silence on your part.”
“I am sorry,” began Hazen. But Harper cut him short.
“You expect the money—you yourself,” said he. “Nothing else would force you into an attempt so perilous. You would risk death. Risk something less final; risk your place in my esteem, your standing among men, and confess the full truth about this matter. If it involves crime—why, I’m a lawyer and can see you through better than you can win through by your own misdirected efforts. The truth, my lad, the truth, nothing else will serve you.”
The look he received he will never forget.
“You are a man of limited experience, Mr. Harper,” were the words which accompanied it. “You would not understand the truth, Georgian or me. Ransom might, but I shall not even risk Ransom’s discretion. Now this is all I am going to say about this matter. Georgian’s last will and testament, followed though it was by suicide, was a perfectly regular one. The only impediment to its being so recognized and acted upon is the doubt as to her actual decease. If the body of my poor young sister has become lodged in the Devil’s Cauldron, I am going there to seek it. As the project calls for courage and, above all, a good condition of body and mind, I shall be obliged to you if you will allow me the benefit of the sleep I most certainly need. Tomorrow I may have something more to say to you, and I may not. Perhaps I shall want to make my will, who knows?” And with a smile full of sarcastic meaning, he pushed Mr. Harper’s arm aside and made for the staircase, up which he presently vanished without another attempt on the lawyer’s part to hold him back.
A few minutes later the lawyer was getting what information he could about the so-called Devil’s Cauldron.
It seems that this was a very deep hole in which, on account of the rocky formation surrounding it, the water swept in an eddy which had the force of a whirlpool. No one had ever sounded its depths and nothing had ever been seen again which had once been sucked into its deathly hollow. That Georgian’s body had found its everlasting grave there, many had believed from the first, and if the conviction had not yet been publicly expressed it was out of consideration for Mr. Ransom, to whose hopes it could but ring a final knell.
“Where is the hole? How far from the waterfall?” queried Mr. Harper.
“A good mile,” muttered one man. “Quite around the bend of the stream. It’s a horrid place, sir. We’ve always been mortal careful about rowing down that side of the river. Children are never allowed to. Only a man’s strength could get him free again if he once struck the eddy.”
“Would anything floating down from the falls be apt to strike this eddy?”
“Very apt. It would be a miracle if it didn’t. That is why we all turned out so willingly the first day. We knew that if Mrs. Ransom’s body was to be found at all, it would be found then; another day it would be beyond our reach.”
“You say that no one has ever sounded the depths of that hole. Has any one ever tried to?”
“More than once. Scientific men and others.”
“Did they ever emerge—any of them?”
“Yes, one, a powerful sort of chap with Indian blood in him. But he didn’t advise any one to try it; said the knowledge wasn’t worth the strain to heart and muscle.”
“What was the knowledge? We can imagine the strain.”
“Oh, he said as how the walls of the vortex—didn’t he call it a vortex—was all stone, and he spoke of a ledge—I didn’t hear what else.”
“To go down there a man would have to take his life in his hand, I see. Well, I don’t think I will try,” dryly observed the lawyer as he left the room.
He could no longer hide his excitement at the thought that Hazen meditated this undertaking.
“How he must want money!” thought he. That a man should face such a horror for another man’s profit did not seem likely enough to engage his consideration for a moment.
Lawyer Harper knew the world—or thought he did.
Next day the whole town was thrown into a hubbub. Word had gone out through every medium possible to so small a place, that Alfred Hazen, Georgian’s long-lost brother, was going to dare Death Eddy in a final attempt to recover his sister’s body.
THE CHIEF LEGATEE [Part 4]
PART IV: THE MAN OF MYSTERY
CHAPTER XXV
DEATH EDDY
It was a gray day, chill and ominous. As the three most interested in the event came together on the road facing the point from which Hazen had decided to make his desperate plunge, the dreariness of the scene was reflected in the troubled eye of the lawyer and that of the still more profoundly affected Ransom. Only Hazen gazed unmoved. Perhaps because the spot was no new one to him, perhaps because an unsympathetic sky, a stretch of rock, the swirl of churning waters without any of the lightness and color which glancing sunlight gives, meant for him but one thing—the thing upon which he had fixed his mind, his soul.
The rocky formation into which the stream ran at this point as into a pocket, revealed itself in the bald outlines of the point which, curving half-way upon
itself, held in its cold embrace the unseen vortex. One tree, and one only, disturbed the sky line. Stark and twisted into an unusual shape from the steady blowing of the prevalent east winds, it imprinted itself at once upon the eye and unconsciously upon the imagination. To some it was the keeper of that hell-gate; the contorted sentinel of bygone woes and long-buried horrors, if not the gnomish genius of others yet to come. Today it was the sign-post to a strange deed—the courting of an uncanny death that one of the many secrets hidden in that hole of miseries might be unlocked.
Under this tree a small group of strong and determined men was already collected; not as spectators but helpers in the adventurous attempt about to be undertaken by their old friend and playmate. The spectators had been barred from the point and stood lined up in the road overlooking the eddy. They were numerous and very eager. Hazen’s brows drew together in his first exhibition of feeling, as he saw women and even children in the crowd, and caught the expression of morbid anticipation with which they all turned as he stepped with his two associates over the rope which had been stretched across the base of the out-curving head line.
“Cormorants!” escaped his lips. “They look for a feast of death, but they will be disappointed.” He was almost bitter. “I shall survive this plunge. I have no wish for my death to be the holiday for a hundred gloating eyes, I am not handsome enough. When I die, it will be quietly, with some hand near, kind enough to cover my poor face with a napkin.”
Harper and Ransom both remembered this remark a little while later.
“Mr. Hazen?” It was Harper who spoke. They had passed a little thicket of brush and were drawing near the group under the tree. “Have you duly considered what you are about to do? I have talked with several men of judgment and experience about this attempt, and they all say it can have but one termination.”
“I know. That is because they know little or nothing of the life I have led since I left this town. There is not a man amongst them so slight and seemingly frail of figure as myself, but none of them, not one, has been so often up to the very gates of death and escaped, as I have. My schooling has been long and severe, perhaps in preparation for this day. I have been through fire; I have been through water. The swirling of my own native stream does not appall me. I rather welcome it; it is but another experience.”
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack Page 157
