XVI. DOUBT
I prayed uncle that we might be driven home by the way of Eighty-sixthStreet. I wanted to look at the Fairbrother house. I had seen it manytimes, but I felt that I should see it with new eyes after the storyI had just heard in the inspector's office. That an adventure of thisnature could take place in a New York house taxed my credulity. Imight have believed it of Paris, wicked, mysterious Paris, the home ofintrigue and every redoubtable crime, but of our own homely, commonplacemetropolis--the house must be seen for me to be convinced of the factrelated.
Many of you know the building. It is usually spoken of with a shrug, thesole reason for which seems to be that there is no other just like it inthe city. I myself have always considered it imposing and majestic; butto the average man it is too suggestive of Old-World feudal life tobe pleasing. On this afternoon--a dull, depressing one--it lookedundeniably heavy as we approached it; but interesting in a very newway to me, because of the great turret at one angle, the scene of thatmidnight descent of two men, each in deadly fear of the other, yetquailing not in their purpose,--the one of flight, the other of pursuit.
There was no railing in front of the house. It may have seemed anunnecessary safeguard to the audacious owner. Consequently, the smalldoor in the turret opened directly upon the street, making entranceand exit easy enough for any one who had the key. But the shaft and thesmall room at the bottom--where were they? Naturally in the center ofthe great mass, the room being without windows.
It was, therefore, useless to look for it, and yet my eye ran along thepeaks and pinnacles of the roof, searching for the skylight in which itundoubtedly ended. At last I espied it, and, my curiosity satisfied onthis score, I let my eyes run over the side and face of the building foran open window or a lifted shade. But all were tightly closed andgave no more sign of life than did the boarded-up door. But I was notdeceived by this. As we drove away, I thought how on the morrow therewould be a regular procession passing through this street to see justthe little I had seen to-day. The detective's adventure was like tomake the house notorious. For several minutes after I had left itsneighborhood my imagination pictured room after room shut up from thelight of day, but bearing within them the impalpable aura of thosetwo shadows flitting through them like the ghosts of ghosts, as thedetective had tellingly put it.
The heart has its strange surprises. Through my whole ride and theindulgence in these thoughts I was conscious of a great inner revulsionagainst all I had intimated and even honestly felt while talking withthe inspector. Perhaps this is what this wise old official expected. Hehad let me talk, and the inevitable reaction followed. I could now seeonly Mr. Grey's goodness and claims to respect, and began to hate myselfthat I had not been immediately impressed by the inspector's views, andshown myself more willing to drop every suspicion against the augustpersonage I had presumed to associate with crime. What had given me thestrength to persist? Loyalty to my lover? His innocence had not beeninvolved. Indeed, every word uttered in the inspector's office hadgone to prove that he no longer occupied a leading place in policecalculations: that their eyes were turned elsewhere, and that I had onlyto be patient to see Mr. Durand quite cleared in their minds.
But was this really so? Was he as safe as that? What if this new cluefailed? What if they failed to find Sears or lay hands on the doubtfulWellgood? Would Mr. Durand be released without a trial? Should we hearnothing more of the strange and to many the suspicious circumstanceswhich linked him to this crime? It would be expecting too much fromeither police or official discrimination.
No; Mr. Durand would never be completely exonerated till the trueculprit was found and all explanations made. I had therefore been simplyfighting his battles when I pointed out what I thought to be the weakplace in their present theory, and, sore as I felt in contemplationof my seemingly heartless action, I was not the unimpressionable,addle-pated nonentity I must have seemed to the inspector.
Yet my comfort was small and the effort it took to face Mr. Grey and myyoung patient was much greater than I had anticipated. I blushed as Iapproached to take my place at Miss Grey's bedside, and, had her fatherbeen as suspicious of me at that moment as I was of him, I am sure thatI should have fared badly in his thoughts.
But he was not on the watch for my emotions. He was simply relievedto see me back. I noticed this immediately, also that something hadoccurred during my absence which absorbed his thought and filled himwith anxiety.
A Western Union envelope lay at his feet,--proof that he had justreceived a telegram. This, under ordinary circumstances, would not haveoccasioned me a second thought, such a man being naturally the recipientof all sorts of communications from all parts of the world; but at thiscrisis, with the worm of a half-stifled doubt still gnawing at my heart,everything that occurred to him took on importance and roused questions.
When he had left the room, Miss Grey nestled up to me with the seeminglyingenuous remark:
"Poor papa! something disturbs him. He will not tell me what. I supposehe thinks I am not strong enough to share his troubles. But I shall besoon. Don't you see I am gaining every day?"
"Indeed I do," was my hearty response. In face of such a sweetconfidence and open affection doubt vanished and I was able to give allmy thoughts to her.
"I wish papa felt as sure of this as you do," she said. "For some reasonhe does not seem to take any comfort from my improvement. When DoctorFreligh says, 'Well, well! we are getting on finely to-day,' I noticethat he does not look less anxious, nor does he even meet theseencouraging words with a smile. Haven't you noticed it? He looks ascare-worn and troubled about me now as he did the first day I was takensick. Why should he? Is it because he has lost so many children he cannot believe in his good fortune at having the most insignificant of allleft to him?"
"I do not know your father very well," I protested; "and can not judgewhat is going on in his mind. But he must see that you are quite adifferent girl from what you were a week ago, and that, if nothingunforeseen happens, your recovery will only be a matter of a week or twolonger."
"Oh, how I love to hear you say that! To be well again! To readletters!" she murmured, "and to write them!" And I saw the delicate handfalter up to pinch the precious packet awaiting that happy hour. I didnot like to discuss her father with her, so took this opportunityto turn the conversation aside into safer channels. But we had notproceeded far before Mr. Grey returned and, taking his stand at thefoot of the bed, remarked, after a moment's gloomy contemplation of hisdaughter's face:
"You are better today, the doctor says,--I have just been telephoningto him. But do you feel well enough for me to leave you for a few days?There is a man I must see--must go to, if you have no dread of beingleft alone with your good nurse and the doctor's constant attendance."
Miss Grey looked startled. Doubtless she found it difficult tounderstand what man in this strange country could interest her fatherenough to induce him to leave her while he was yet laboring under suchsolicitude. But a smile speedily took the place of her look of surprisedinquiry and she affectionately exclaimed:
"Oh, I haven't the least dread in the world, not now. See, I can hold upmy arms. Go, papa, go; it will give me a chance to surprise you with mygood looks when you come back."
He turned abruptly away. He was suffering from an emotion deeper than hecared to acknowledge. But he gained control over himself speedily and,coming back, announced with forced decision:
"I shall have to go to-night. I have no choice. Promise me that you willnot go back in my absence; that you will strive to get well; that youwill put all your mind into striving to get well."
"Indeed, I will," she answered, a little frightened by the feeling heshowed. "Don't worry so much. I have more than one reason for living,papa."
He shook his head and went immediately to make his preparations fordeparture. His daughter gave one sob, then caught me by the hand.
"You look dumfounded," said she. "But never mind, we shall get on verywell together. I have the most perfect co
nfidence in you."
Was it my duty to let the inspector know that Mr. Grey anticipatedabsenting himself from the city for a few days? I decided that I wouldonly be impressing my own doubts upon him after a rebuke which shouldhave allayed them.
Yet, when Mr. Grey came to take his departure I wished that theinspector might have been a witness to his emotion, if only to give meone of his very excellent explanations. The parting was more like thatof one who sees no immediate promise of return than of a traveler whointends to limit his stay to a few days. He looked her in the eyes andkissed her a dozen times, each time with an air of heartbreak which wasgood neither for her nor for himself, and when he finally tore himselfaway it was to look back at her from the door with an expression I wasglad she did not see, or it would certainly have interfered with thepromise she had made to concentrate all her energies on getting well.
What was at the root of his extreme grief at leaving her? Did he fearthe person he was going to meet, or were his plans such as involved amuch longer stay than he had mentioned? Did he even mean to return atall?
Ah, that was the question! Did he intend to return, or had I been theunconscious witness of a flight?
The Woman in the Alcove Page 16
