“‘My God, I thank thee!’ was the exclamation with which she broke from the trance of terror into which she had been thrown by his sudden attempt to pass her; and without a glance at his face, which to me looked like the face of a dead man, she tore the paper from his hand and stood looking about her with a wild and searching gaze, in the desperate hope that somehow the walls would open and offer her a safe place of concealment for the precious sheet of paper. Meanwhile I had crept near the prostrate man. He was breathing, but was perfectly unconscious.
“‘Don’t you mean to do something for him?’ I asked. ‘He may die.’
“She met my question with the dazed air of one suddenly awakened. ‘No, he’ll not die, but he’ll not come to for some minutes, and this must be hidden first. But where? where? I cannot trust it on my person or in any place a man like him would search. I must devise some means—ah!’
“With this final exclamation she had dashed into the other room. I did not see where she went—I did not want to—but I soon realized she was working somewhere in a desperate hurry. I could hear her breath coming in quick, short pants as I bent over her husband, waiting for him to rouse and hating my inaction even while I succumbed to it.
“Suddenly she was back in the parlor again, and to my surprise passed immediately to the little table in the corner where we had sat at supper. We had had for our simple refreshment that homeliest of all dishes, boiled milk thickened with flour. There was still some left in a bowl, and taking this away with her, she called back hoarsely:
“‘Pray that he does not come to till I have finished. It will be the best prayer you ever made.’
“She told me afterward that he was subject to these attacks and that she had long ceased to be alarmed by them. But to me the sight of this man lying there so helpless, was horrible and, though I hated him and pitied her, I scarcely knew what to wish. While battling with my desire to run and the feeling of loyalty which held me kneeling at that man’s side, I heard her speak again, this time in an even and slightly hard tone: ‘Now you may dash a glass of cold water in his face. I am prepared to meet him. Happily his memory fails him after these attacks. I may succeed in making him believe that the bond he saw was one of his fancies.’
“‘Had you not better throw the water yourself?’ I suggested, getting up and meeting her eye very quietly.
“She looked at me in wonder, then moved calmly to the table, took the glass and dashed a few drops of water into her husband’s face. Instantly he began to stir, seeing which I arose without haste, but without any unnecessary delay, and quietly took my leave. I could bear no more that night.
“Next morning I awoke in a fright. I had dreamed that he had come to my room in search of the bond. But it was only her knock at the door and her voice, asking if she might enter at this early hour. It was such a relief I gladly let her in, and she entered with her best air and flung herself on my little lounge with the hysterical cry:
“‘He has sent me up. I told him I ought not to intrude at such an inconvenient hour: that you would not have had your breakfast.’ (How carelessly she spoke! How hard she tried to keep the hungry note out of her voice!) ‘But he insisted upon my coming up. I know why. He searched me before I left the room, and now he wants to search the room itself.’
“‘Then he did remember?’ I began.
“‘Yes, he remembers now. I saw it in his eyes as soon as he awoke. But he will not find the bond. That is safe, and some day when I shall have escaped his vigilance long enough to get it back again I will use it so as to make him as well as myself comfortable. I am not a selfish woman.’
“I did not think she was, and I felt pity for her, and so after dressing and making her a cup of tea—I can myself do very well without one on a pinch—I sat down with her, and we chatted for an hour or so quite comfortably. Then she grew so restless and consulted the clock so often that I tried to soothe her by remarking that it was not an easy task he had set himself, at which she laughed in a mysterious way, but failed to grow less anxious till our suspense was cut short by the appearance of the janitor with a message from Mr. L’Hommedieu.
“‘Mr. L’Hommedieu’s compliments,’ said he, ‘and he hopes Mrs. L’Hommedieu will make herself comfortable and not think of coming down. He is doing everything that is necessary and will soon be through. You can rest quite easy, ma’am.’
“‘What does he mean?’ marveled the poor woman as the janitor disappeared. ‘Is he spending all this time ransacking the rooms? I wish I dared disobey him. I wish I dared go down.’
“But her courage was not equal to an open disregard of his wishes, and she had to subdue her impatience and wait for a summons that did not come till near two o’clock. Then Mr. L’Hommedieu himself appeared with her hat and mantle on his arm.
“‘My dear,’ said he as she rose, haggard with excitement, to meet him, ‘I have brought your wraps with me that you may go directly from here to our new home. Shall I assist you to put them on? You do not look as well as usual, and that is why I have undertaken this thing all myself—to save you, my dear; to save you each and every exertion.’
“I had flung out my arms to catch her, for I thought she was going to faint, but she did not, though I think it would have been better for her if she had.
“‘We are going to leave this house?’ she asked, speaking very slowly and with a studied lack of emotion that imposed upon nobody.
“‘I have said so,’ he smiled. ‘The dray has already taken away the half of our effects, and the rest will follow at Mrs. Latimer’s convenience.’
“‘Ah, I understand!’ she replied, with a gasp of relief significant of her fear that by some superhuman cunning he had found the bond she thought so safely concealed. ‘I was wondering how Mrs. Latimer came to allow us to leave.’ (I tell you they always talked as if I were not present.) ‘Our goods are left as a surety, it seems.’
“‘Half of our goods,’ he blandly corrected. ‘Would it interest you to know which half?’
“‘The cunning of this insinuation was matched by the imperturbable shrug with which she replied. ‘So a bed has been allowed us and some clothes I am satisfied,’ at which he bit his lips, vexed at her self-control and his own failure to break it.
“‘You have not asked where we are going,’ he observed as with apparent solicitude he threw her mantle over her shoulders.
“The air of lassitude with which she replied bespoke her feeling on that point. ‘I have little curiosity,’ she said. ‘You know I can be happy anywhere. And, turning toward me, she moved her lips in a way I interpreted to mean: ‘Go below with me. See me out.’
“‘Say what you have to say to Miss Winter-burn aloud,’ he dryly suggested.
“‘I have nothing to say to Miss Winterburn but thanks,’ was her cold reply, belied, however, by the trembling of her fingers as she essayed to fit on her gloves.
“‘And those I will receive below!’ I cried, with affected gaiety. ‘I am going down with you to the door.’ And resolutely ignoring his frown I tripped down before them. On the last stair I felt her steps lagging. Instantly I seemed to comprehend what was required of me, and, rushing forward, I entered the front parlor. He followed close behind me, for how could he know I was not in collusion with her to regain the bond? This gave her one minute by herself in the rear, and in that minute she secured the key which would give her future access to the spot where her treasure lay hidden.
“The rest of the story I must give you mainly from hearsay. You must understand by this time what Mr. L’Hommedieu’s scheme was in moving thus suddenly. He knew that it would be impossible for him, by the most minute and continuous watchfulness, to prevent his wife from recovering the bond while they continued to inhabit the rooms in which, notwithstanding his failure to find it, he had reason to believe it still lay concealed. But once in other quarters it would be comparatively easy for him to subject her to a surveillance which not only would prevent her from returning to this house without his knowledg
e, but would lead her to give away her secret by the very natural necessity she would be under of going to the exact spot where her treasure lay hid.
“It was a cunning plot and showed him to be as able as he was unscrupulous. How it worked I will now proceed to tell you. It must have been the next afternoon that the janitor came running up to me—I suppose he had learned by this time that I had more than ordinary interest in these people—to say that Mrs. L’Hommedieu had been in the house and had been so frightened by a man who had followed her that she had fainted dead away on the floor. Would I go down to her?
“I had rather have gone anywhere else, unless it was to prison, but duty cannot be shirked, and I followed the man down. But we were too late. Mrs. L’Hommedieu had recovered and gone away, and the person who had frightened her was also gone, and only the hall-boy remained to give any explanations.
“This was what he had to say:
“‘The man it was who went first. As soon as the lady fell he skipped out. I don’t think he meant no good here—’
“‘Did she drop here in the hall?’ I asked, unable to restrain my intense anxiety.
“‘Oh, no, ma’am! They was in the back room yonder, which she got in somehow. The man followed her in, sneaking and sneaking like an eel or a cop, and she fell right against—’
“‘Don’t tell me where!’ I cried. ‘I don’t want to know where!’ And I was about to return upstairs when I heard a quick, sharp voice behind me and realized that Mr. L’Hommedieu had come in and was having some dispute with the janitor.
“Common prudence led me to listen. He wanted, as was very natural, to enter the room where his wife had just been surprised, but the janitor, alarmed by the foregoing very irregular proceedings, was disposed to deny his right to do so.
“‘The furniture is held as a surety,’ said he, ‘and I have orders—’
“But Mr. L’Hommedieu had a spare dollar, and before many minutes had elapsed I heard him go into that room and close the door. Of the next ten minutes and the suspense I felt I need not speak. When he came out again, he looked as if the ground would not hold him.
“‘I have done some mischief, I fear,’ he airily said as he passed by the janitor. ‘But I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it and the rent, too, tomorrow. You may tell Mrs. Latimer so.’ And he was gone, leaving us all agape in the hallway.
“A minute later we all crept to that room and looked in. Now that he had got the money I for one was determined to know where she had hid it. There was no mistaking the spot. A single glance was enough to show us the paper ripped off from a portion of the wall, revealing a narrow gap behind the baseboard large enough to hold the bond. It was near—”
“Wait!” I put in as I remembered where the so called Mrs. Helmuth had pointed just before she died. “Wasn’t it at the left of the large folding doors and midway to the wall?”
“How came you to know?” she asked. “Did Mrs. Latimer tell you?” But as I did not answer she soon took up the thread of her narrative again, and, sighing softly, said:
“The next day came and went, but no Mr. L’Hommedieu appeared; another, and I began to grow seriously uneasy; a third, and a dreadful thing happened. Late in the afternoon Mrs. L’Hommedieu, dressed very oddly for her, came sliding in at the front door, and with an appealing smile at the hall-boy, who wished but dared not ask her for the key which made these visits possible, glided by to her old rooms, and, finding the door unlocked, went softly in. Her appearance is worth description, for it shows the pitiful efforts she made at disguise, in the hope, I suppose, of escaping the surveillance she was evidently conscious of being under. She was in the habit of wearing on cool days a black circular with a gray lining. This she had turned inside out so that the gray was uppermost, while over her neat black bonnet she had flung a long veil, also gray, which not only hid her face, but gave to her appearance an eccentric look as different as possible from her usual aspect. The hall-boy, who had never seen her save in showy black or bright colors, said she looked like a ghost in the daytime, but it was all done for a purpose, I am sure, and to escape the attention of the man who had before followed her. Alas, he might have followed her this time without addition to her suffering! Scarcely had she entered the room where her treasure had been left than she saw the torn paper and gaping baseboard, and, uttering a cry so piercing it found its way even to the stolid heart of the hall-boy, she tottered back into the hall, where she fell into the arms of her husband, who had followed her in from the street in a state of frenzy almost equal to her own.
“The janitor, who that minute appeared on the stairway, says that he never saw two such faces. They looked at each other and were speechless. He was the first to hang his head.
“‘It is gone, Henry,’ she whispered. ‘It is gone. You have taken it.’
“He did not answer.
“‘And it is lost! You have risked it, and it is lost!’
“He uttered a groan. ‘You should have given it to me that night. There was luck in the air then. Now the devil is in the cards and—’
“Her arms went up with a shriek. ‘My curse be upon you, Henry L’Hommedieu!’ And whether it was the look with which she said this that moved him, or whether there was some latent love in his heart for this once beautiful and long-suffering woman, he shrank at her words, and, stumbling like a man in the darkness, uttered a heart-rending groan and rushed from the house. We never saw him again.
“As for her, she fell this time under a paralytic attack which robbed her of her faculties. She was taken to a hospital, where I frequently visited her, but either from grief or the effect of her attack she did not know me, nor did she ever recognize any of us again. Mrs. Latimer, who is a just woman, sold her furniture and after paying herself out of the proceeds, gave the remainder to the hospital nurses in charge for Mrs. L’Hommedieu, so that when she left there she had something with which to start life anew. But where she went or how she managed to get along in her enfeebled condition I do not know. I never heard of her again.”
“Then you did not see the woman who died in those rooms?” I asked.
The effect of these words was magical and led to mutual explanations. She had not seen that woman, having encountered all the sorrow she wished to in that room. Nor was there any one else in the house who would be likely to recognize Mrs. L’Hommedieu; both the janitor and hall-boy being new and Mrs. Latimer one of those proprietors who are only seen on rent day. For the rest, Mrs. L’Hommedieu’s defective memory, which had led her to haunt the house and room where her money had once been hidden, accounted not only for her first visit, but the last, which had ended so fatally. The cunning she showed in turning her cloak and flinging a veil over her hat was the cunning of a partially clouded mind. It was a reminiscence of the morning when her terrible misfortune occurred. My habit of taking the key out of the lock of that unused door made the use of her own key possible, and her fear of being followed, caused her to lock the door behind her. My wife, who must have fallen into a doze on my leaving her, did not see her enter, but detected her just as she was trying to escape through the folding doors. My presence in the parlor probably added to her embarrassment, and she fled, turning her cloak as she did so.
How simple it seemed now that we knew the facts; but how obscure, and to all appearance, unexplainable, before the clew was given to the mystery!
MIDNIGHT IN BEAUCHAMP ROW
It was the last house in Beauchamp Row, and it stood several rods away from its nearest neighbor. It was a pretty house in the daytime, but owing to its deep, sloping roof and small bediamonded windows it had a lonesome look at night, notwithstanding the crimson hall-light which shone through the leaves of its vine-covered doorway.
Ned Chivers lived in it with his six months’ married bride, and as he was both a busy fellow and a gay one there were many evenings when pretty Letty Chivers sat alone until near midnight.
She was of an uncomplaining spirit, however, and said little, though there wer
e times when; both the day and evening seemed very long and married life not altogether the paradise she had expected.
On this evening—a memorable evening for her, the twenty-fourth of December, 1894—she had expected her husband to remain with her, for it was not only Christmas eve, but the night when, as manager of a large manufacturing concern, he brought up from New York the money with which to pay off the men on the next working day, and he never left her when there was any unusual amount of money in the house. But from the first glimpse she had of him coming up the road she knew she was to be disappointed in this hope, and, indignant, alarmed almost, at the prospect of a lonesome evening under these circumstances, she ran hastily down to the gate to meet him, crying:
“Oh, Ned, you look so troubled I know you have only come home for a hurried supper. But you cannot leave me tonight. Tennie” (their only maid) “has gone for a holiday, and I never can stay in this house alone with all that.” She pointed to the small bag he carried, which, as she knew, was filled to bursting with bank notes.
He certainly looked troubled. It is hard to resist the entreaty in a young bride’s uplifted face. But this time he could not help himself, and he said:
“I am dreadful sorry, but I must ride over to Fairbanks tonight. Mr. Pierson has given me an imperative order to conclude a matter of business there, and it is very important that it should be done. I should lose my position if I neglected the matter, and no one but Hasbrouck and Suffern knows that we keep the money in the house. I have always given out that I intrusted it to Hale’s safe over night.”
“But I cannot stand it,” she persisted. “You have never left me on these nights. That is why I let Tennie go. I will spend the evening at The Larches, or, better still, call in Mr. and Mrs. Talcott to keep me company.”
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack Page 188
