Agatha Webb

by Anna Katharine Green

  Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

  AGATHA WEBB

  BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN (MRS. CHARLES ROHLFS)

  AUTHOR OF "THE LEAVENWORTH CASE," "THAT AFFAIR NEXT DOOR" "LOST MAN'SLANE," ETC.

  THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND

  PROFESSOR A. V. DICEY

  OF OXFORD, ENGLAND

  CONTENTS

  BOOK I

  THE PURPLE ORCHID

  I--A Cry on the Hill II--One Night's Work III--The Empty Drawer IV--The Full Drawer V--A Spot on the Lawn VI--"Breakfast is Served, Gentlemen!" VII--"Marry Me" VIII--"A Devil That Understands Men" IX--A Grand Woman X--Detective Knapp Arrives XI--The Man with a Beard XII--Wattles Comes XIII--Wattles Goes XIV--A Final Temptation XV--The Zabels Visited XVI--Local Talent at Work XVII--The Slippers, the Flower, and What Sweetwater Made of Them XVIII--Some Leading Questions XIX--Poor Philemon XX--A Surprise for Mr. Sutherland

  BOOK II

  THE MAN OF NO REPUTATION

  XXI--Sweetwater Reasons XXII--Sweetwater Acts XXIII--A Sinister Pair XXIV--In the Shadow of the Mast XXV--In Extremity XXVI--The Adventure of the Parcel XXVII--The Adventure of the Scrap of Paper and the Three WordsXXVIII--"Who Are You?" XXIX--Home Again

  BOOK III

  HAD BATSY LIVED!

  XXX--What Followed the Striking of the Clock XXXI--A Witness Lost XXXII--Why Agatha Webb will Never be Forgotten in SutherlandtownXXXIII--Father and Son XXXIV--"Not When They Are Young Girls" XXXV--Sweetwater Pays His Debt at Last to Mr. Sutherland

  BOOK I

  THE PURPLE ORCHID

  I

  A CRY ON THE HILL

  The dance was over. From the great house on the hill the guests had alldeparted and only the musicians remained. As they filed out through theample doorway, on their way home, the first faint streak of early dawnbecame visible in the east. One of them, a lank, plain-featured youngman of ungainly aspect but penetrating eye, called the attention of theothers to it.

  "Look!" said he; "there is the daylight! This has been a gay night forSutherlandtown."

  "Too gay," muttered another, starting aside as the slight figure of ayoung man coming from the house behind them rushed hastily by. "Why,who's that?"

  As they one and all had recognised the person thus alluded to, no oneanswered till he had dashed out of the gate and disappeared in the woodson the other side of the road. Then they all spoke at once.

  "It's Mr. Frederick!"

  "He seems in a desperate hurry."

  "He trod on my toes."

  "Did you hear the words he was muttering as he went by?"

  As only the last question was calculated to rouse any interest, it alonereceived attention.

  "No; what were they? I heard him say something, but I failed to catchthe words."

  "He wasn't talking to you, or to me either, for that matter; but I haveears that can hear an eye wink. He said: 'Thank God, this night ofhorror is over!' Think of that! After such a dance and such a spread, hecalls the night horrible and thanks God that it is over. I thought hewas the very man to enjoy this kind of thing."

  "So did I."

  "And so did I."

  The five musicians exchanged looks, then huddled in a group at the gate.

  "He has quarrelled with his sweetheart," suggested one.

  "I'm not surprised at that," declared another. "I never thought it wouldbe a match."

  "Shame if it were!" muttered the ungainly youth who had spoken first.

  As the subject of this comment was the son of the gentleman whose housethey were just leaving, they necessarily spoke low; but their tones wererife with curiosity, and it was evident that the topic deeply interestedthem. One of the five who had not previously spoken now put in a word:

  "I saw him when he first led out Miss Page to dance, and I saw him againwhen he stood up opposite her in the last quadrille, and I tell you,boys, there was a mighty deal of difference in the way he conductedhimself toward her in the beginning of the evening and the last. Youwouldn't have thought him the same man. Reckless young fellows like himare not to be caught by dimples only. They want cash."

  "Or family, at least; and she hasn't either. But what a pretty girl sheis! Many a fellow as rich as he and as well connected would be satisfiedwith her good looks alone."

  "Good looks!" High scorn was observable in this exclamation, which wasmade by the young man whom I have before characterised as ungainly. "Irefuse to acknowledge that she has any good looks. On the contrary, Iconsider her plain."

  "Oh! Oh!" burst in protest from more than one mouth. "And why does shehave every fellow in the room dangling after her, then?" asked theplayer on the flageolet.

  "She hasn't a regular feature."

  "What difference does that make when it isn't her features you notice,but herself?"

  "I don't like her."

  A laugh followed this.

  "That won't trouble her, Sweetwater. Sutherland does, if you don't, andthat's much more to the point. And he'll marry her yet; he can't helpit. Why, she'd witch the devil into leading her to the altar if she tooka notion to have him for her bridegroom."

  "There would be consistency in that," muttered the fellow justaddressed. "But Mr. Frederick--"

  "Hush! There's some one on the doorstep. Why, it's she!"

  They all glanced back. The graceful figure of a young girl dressed inwhite was to be seen leaning toward them from the open doorway. Behindher shone a blaze of light--the candles not having been yet extinguishedin the hall--and against this brilliant background her slight form, withall its bewitching outlines, stood out in plain relief.

  "Who was that?" she began in a high, almost strident voice, totally outof keeping with the sensuous curves of her strange, sweet face. But thequestion remained unanswered, for at that moment her attention, as wellas that of the men lingering at the gate, was attracted by the sound ofhurrying feet and confused cries coming up the hill.

  "Murder! Murder!" was the word panted out by more than one harsh voice;and in another instant a dozen men and boys came rushing into sight in astate of such excitement that the five musicians recoiled from the gate,and one of them went so far as to start back toward the house. As he didso he noticed a curious thing. The young woman whom they had allperceived standing in the door a moment before had vanished, yet she wasknown to possess the keenest curiosity of any one in town.

  "Murder! Murder!" A terrible and unprecedented cry in this old,God-fearing town. Then came in hoarse explanation from the jostlinggroup as they stopped at the gate: "Mrs. Webb has been killed! Stabbedwith a knife! Tell Mr. Sutherland!"

  Mrs. Webb!

  As the musicians heard this name, so honoured and so universallybeloved, they to a man uttered a cry. Mrs. Webb! Why, it was impossible.Shouting in their turn for Mr. Sutherland, they all crowded forward.

  "Not Mrs. Webb!" they protested. "Who could have the daring or the heartto kill HER?"

  "God knows," answered a voice from the highway. "But she's dead--we'vejust seen her!"

  "Then it's the old man's work," quavered a piping voice. "I've alwayssaid he would turn on his best friend some day. 'Sylum's the best placefor folks as has lost their wits. I--"

  But here a hand was put over his mouth, and the rest of the words waslost in an inarticulate gurgle. Mr. Sutherland had just appeared on theporch.

  He was a superb-looking man, with an expression of mingled kindness anddignity that invariably awakened both awe and admiration in thespectator. No man in the country--I was going to say no woman was morebeloved, or held in higher esteem. Yet he could not control his onlyson, as everyone within ten miles of the hill well knew.

  At this moment his face showed both pain and shock.


  "What name are you shouting out there?" he brokenly demanded. "AgathaWebb? Is Agatha Webb hurt?"

  "Yes, sir; killed," repeated a half-dozen voices at once. "We've justcome from the house. All the town is up. Some say her husband did it."

  "No, no!" was Mr. Sutherland's decisive though half-inaudible response."Philemon Webb might end his own life, but not Agatha's. It was themoney--"

  Here he caught himself up, and, raising his voice, addressed the crowdof villagers more directly.

  "Wait," said he, "and I will go back with you. Where is Frederick?" hedemanded of such members of his own household as stood about him.

  No one knew.

  "I wish some one would find my son. I want him to go into town with me."

  "He's over in the woods there," volunteered a voice from without.

  "In the woods!" repeated the father, in a surprised tone.

  "Yes, sir; we all saw him go. Shall we sing out to him?"

  "No, no; I will manage very well without him." And taking up his hat Mr.Sutherland stepped out again upon the porch.

  Suddenly he stopped. A hand had been laid on his arm and an insinuatingvoice was murmuring in his ear:

  "Do you mind if I go with you? I will not make any trouble."

  It was the same young lady we have seen before.

  The old gentleman frowned--he who never frowned and remarked shortly:

  "A scene of murder is no place for women."

  The face upturned to his remained unmoved.

  "I think I will go," she quietly persisted. "I can easily mingle withthe crowd."

  He said not another word against it. Miss Page was under pay in hishouse, but for the last few weeks no one had undertaken to contradicther. In the interval since her first appearance on the porch, she hadexchanged the light dress in which she had danced at the ball, for adarker and more serviceable one, and perhaps this token of herdetermination may have had its influence in silencing him. He joined thecrowd, and together they moved down-hill. This was too much for theservants of the house. One by one they too left the house till it stoodabsolutely empty. Jerry snuffed out the candles and shut the front door,but the side entrance stood wide open, and into this entrance, as thelast footstep died out on the hillside, passed a slight and resolutefigure. It was that of the musician who had questioned Miss Page'sattractions.