The Leavenworth Case, Anna Katharine Green [chrysanthemum read aloud TXT] 📗
- Author: Anna Katharine Green
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“How many times has this person, of whose name you do not appear to be certain, been to see Mary?”
“Once.”
“When was it?”
“Last night.”
“Did he stay long?”
“About twenty minutes, I should say.”
“And do you think he will come again?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He has left the country.”
A short silence followed this, I felt her eyes searching my face, but doubt whether, if I had known she held a loaded pistol, I could have looked up at that moment.
“Mr. Raymond,” she at length observed, in a changed tone, “the last time I saw you, you told me you were going to make some endeavor to restore me to my former position before the world. I did not wish you to do so then; nor do I wish you to do so now. Can you not make me comparatively happy, then, by assuring me you have abandoned or will abandon a project so hopeless?”
“It is impossible,” I replied with emphasis. “I cannot abandon it. Much as I grieve to be a source of sorrow to you, it is best you should know that I can never give up the hope of righting you while I live.”
She put out her hand in a sort of hopeless appeal inexpressibly touching to behold in the fast waning firelight. But I was relentless.
“I should never be able to face the world or my own conscience if, through any weakness of my own, I should miss the blessed privilege of setting the wrong right, and saving a noble woman from unmerited disgrace.” And then, seeing she was not likely to reply to this, drew a step nearer and said: “Is there not some little kindness I can show you, Miss Leavenworth? Is there no message you would like taken, or act it would give you pleasure to see performed?”
She stopped to think. “No,” said she; “I have only one request to make, and that you refuse to grant.”
“For the most unselfish of reasons,” I urged.
She slowly shook her head. “You think so”; then, before I could reply, “I could desire one little favor shown me, however.”
“What is that?”
“That if anything should transpire; if Hannah should be found, or—or my presence required in any way,—you will not keep me in ignorance. That you will let me know the worst when it comes, without fail.”
“I will.”
“And now, good-night. Mrs. Veeley is coming back, and you would scarcely wish to be found here by her.”
“No,” said I.
And yet I did not go, but stood watching the firelight flicker on her black dress till the thought of Clavering and the duty I had for the morrow struck coldly to my heart, and I turned away towards the door. But at the threshold I paused again, and looked back. Oh, the flickering, dying fire flame! Oh, the crowding, clustering shadows! Oh, that drooping figure in their midst, with its clasped hands and its hidden face! I see it all again; I see it as in a dream; then darkness falls, and in the glare of gas-lighted streets, I am hastening along, solitary and sad, to my lonely home.
XXIV. A REPORT FOLLOWED BY SMOKE “Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises; and oft it hits Where Hope is coldest, and Despair most sits.” —All’s Well that Ends Well.
WHEN I told Mr. Gryce I only waited for the determination of one fact, to feel justified in throwing the case unreservedly into his hands, I alluded to the proving or disproving of the supposition that Henry Clavering had been a guest at the same watering-place with Eleanore Leavenworth the summer before.
When, therefore, I found myself the next morning with the Visitor Book of the Hotel Union at R—— in my hands, it was only by the strongest effort of will I could restrain my impatience. The suspense, however, was short. Almost immediately I encountered his name, written not half a page below those of Mr. Leavenworth and his nieces, and, whatever may have been my emotion at finding my suspicions thus confirmed, I recognized the fact that I was in the possession of a clue which would yet lead to the solving of the fearful problem which had been imposed upon me.
Hastening to the telegraph office, I sent a message for the man promised me by Mr. Gryce, and receiving for an answer that he could not be with me before three o’clock, started for the house of Mr. Monell, a client of ours, living in R——. I found him at home and, during our interview of two hours, suffered the ordeal of appearing at ease and interested in what he had to say, while my heart was heavy with its first disappointment and my brain on fire with the excitement of the work then on my hands.
I arrived at the depot just as the train came in.
There was but one passenger for R——, a brisk young man, whose whole appearance differed so from the description which had been given me of Q that I at once made up my mind he could not be the man I was looking for, and was turning away disappointed, when he approached, and handed me a card on which was inscribed the single character “?” Even then I could not bring myself to believe that the slyest and most successful agent in Mr. Gryce’s employ was before me, till, catching his eye, I saw such a keen, enjoyable twinkle sparkling in its depths that all doubt fled, and, returning his bow with a show of satisfaction, I remarked:
“You are very punctual. I like that.”
He gave another short, quick nod. “Glad, sir, to please you. Punctuality is too cheap a virtue not to be practised by a man on the lookout for a rise. But what orders, sir? Down train due in ten minutes; no time to spare.”
“Down train? What have we to do with that?”
“I thought you might wish to take it, sir. Mr. Brown”—winking expressively at the name, “always checks his carpet-bag for home when he sees me coming. But that is your affair; I am not particular.”
“I wish to do what is wisest under the circumstances.”
“Go home, then, as speedily as possible.” And he gave a third sharp nod exceedingly business-like and determined.
“If I leave you, it is with the understanding that you bring your information first to me; that you are in my employ, and in that of no one
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