The District Attorney was sincerely dismayed. The guilt of the renowned lawyer was certainly assuming positive proportions. Yet, true to his friendship for Mr. Orcutt, he made one final effort to controvert the arguments of the detective, and quietly said:
"You profess to explain how the ring might have been carried into Mrs. Clemmens' house, but how do you account for the widow having used an exclamation which seems to signify it was on the hand which she saw lifted against her life?"
"By the fact that it was on that hand."
"Do you think that probable if the hand was Mr. Orcutt's?"
"Perfectly so. Where else would he be likely to put it in the preoccupied state of mind in which he was? In his pocket? The tramp might have done that, but not the gentleman."
Mr. Ferris looked at the detective with almost an expression of fear.
"And how came it to be on the floor if Mr. Orcutt put it on his finger?"
"By the most natural process in the world. The ring made for Miss Dare's third finger was too large for Mr. Orcutt's little finger, and so slipped off when he dropped the stick of wood from his hand."
"And he left it lying where it fell?"
"He probably did not notice its loss. If, as I suppose, he had picked it up and placed it on his finger, mechanically, its absence at such a moment would not be observed. Besides, what clue could he suppose a diamond ring he had never seen before, and which he had had on his finger but an instant, would offer in a case like this?"
"You reason close," said the District Attorney; "too close," he added, as he recalled, with painful distinctness, the look and attitude of Mr. Orcutt at the time this ring was first brought into public notice, and realized that so might a man comport himself who, conscious of this ring's association with the crime he had just secretly perpetrated, sees it claimed and put on the finger of the woman he loves.
Mr. Gryce, with his usual intuition, seemed to follow the thoughts of the District Attorney.
"If our surmises are correct," he remarked, "it was a grim moment for the lawyer when, secure in his immunity from suspicion, he saw Miss Dare come upon the scene with eager inquiries concerning this murder. To you, who had not the clue, it looked as if he feared she was not as innocent as she should be; but, if you will recall the situation now, I think you will see that his agitation can only be explained by his apprehension of her intuitions and an alarm lest her interest sprang from some mysterious doubt of himself."
Mr. Ferris shook his head with a gloomy air, but did not respond.
"Miss Dare tells me," the detective resumed, "that his first act upon their meeting again at his house was to offer himself to her in marriage. Now you, or any one else, would say this was to show he did not mistrust her, but I say it was to find out if she mistrusted him."
Still Mr. Ferris remained silent.
"The same reasoning will apply to what followed," continued Mr. Gryce. "You cannot reconcile the thought of his guilt with his taking the case of Mansell and doing all he could to secure his acquittal. But you will find it easier to do so when I tell you that, without taking into consideration any spark of sympathy which he might feel for the man falsely accused of his crime, he knew from Imogene's lips that she would not survive the condemnation of her lover, and that, besides this, his only hope of winning her for his wife lay in the gratitude he might awaken in her if he succeeded in saving his rival."
"You are making him out a great villain," murmured Mr. Ferris, bitterly.
"And was not that the language of his own countenance as he lay dying?" inquired the detective.
Mr. Ferris could not say No. He had himself been too deeply impressed by the sinister look he had observed on the face of his dying friend. He therefore confined himself to remarking, not without sarcasm:
"And now for the motive of this hideous crime – for I suppose your ingenuity has discovered one before this."
"It will be found in his love for Miss Dare," returned the detective; "but just how I am not prepared to-day to say."
"His love for Miss Dare? What had this plain and homespun Mrs. Clemmens to do with his love for Miss Dare?"
"She was an interference."
"How?"
"Ah, that, sir, is the question."
"So then you do not know?"
Mr. Gryce was obliged to shake his head.
The District Attorney drew himself up. "Mr. Gryce," said he, "the charge which has been made against this eminent man demands the very strongest proof in order to substantiate it. The motive, especially, must be shown to have been such as to offer a complete excuse for suspecting him. No trivial or imaginary reason for his wishing this woman out of the world will answer in his case. You must prove that her death was absolutely necessary to the success of his dearest hopes, or your reasoning will only awaken distrust in the minds of all who hear it. The fame of a man like Mr. Orcutt is not to be destroyed by a passing word of delirium, or a specious display of circumstantial evidence such as you evolve from the presence of the ring on the scene of murder."
"I know it," allowed Mr. Gryce, "and that is why I have asked for a week."
"Then you still believe you can find such a motive?"
The smile which Mr. Gryce bestowed upon the favored object then honored by his gaze haunted the District Attorney for the rest of the week.
XLII.
CONSULTATIONS
That he should die is worthy policy;
But yet we want a color for his death;
'Tis meet he be condemned by course of law.
– Henry VI.
MR. GRYCE was perfectly aware that the task before him was a difficult one. To be himself convinced that Mr. Orcutt had been in possession of a motive sufficient to account for, if not excuse, this horrible crime was one thing; to find out that motive and make it apparent to the world was another. But he was not discouraged. Summoning his two subordinates, he laid the matter before them.
"I am convinced," said he, "that Mrs. Clemmens was a more important person to Mr. Orcutt than her plain appearance and humble manner of life would suggest. Do either of you know whether Mr. Orcutt's name has ever been associated with any private scandal, the knowledge of which might have given her power over him?"
"I do not think he was that kind of a man," said Byrd. "Since morning I have put myself in the way of such persons as I saw disposed to converse about him, and though I have been astonished to find how many there are who say they never quite liked or altogether trusted this famous lawyer, I have heard nothing said in any way derogatory to his private character. Indeed, I believe, as far as the ladies were concerned, he was particularly reserved. Though a bachelor, he showed no disposition to marry, and until Miss Dare appeared on the scene was not known to be even attentive to one of her sex."
"Some one, however, I forget who, told me that for a short time he was sweet on a certain Miss Pratt," remarked Hickory.
"Pratt? Where have I heard that name?" murmured Byrd to himself.
"But nothing came of it," Hickory continued. "She was not over and above smart they say, and though pretty enough, did not hold his fancy. Some folks declare she was so disappointed she left town."
"Pratt, Pratt!" repeated Byrd to himself. "Ah! I know now," he suddenly exclaimed. "While I stood around amongst the crowd, the morning Mrs. Clemmens was murdered, I remember overhearing some one say how hard she was on the Pratt girl."
"Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Gryce. "The widow was hard on any one Mr. Orcutt chose to admire."
"I don't understand it," said Byrd.
"Nor I," rejoined Mr. Gryce; "but I intend to before the week is out." Then abruptly: "When did Mrs. Clemmens come to this town?"
"Fifteen years ago," replied Byrd.
"And Orcutt – when did he first put in an appearance here?"
"At very much the same time, I believe."
"Humph! And did they seem to be friends at that time?"
"Some say Yes, some say No."
"Where did he come from – have you learned?"
"From some place in Nebraska, I believe."
"And she?"
"Why, she came from some place in Nebraska too!"
"The same place?"
"That we must find out."
Mr. Gryce mused for a minute; then he observed:
"Mr. Orcutt was renowned in his profession. Do you know any thing about his career – whether he brought a reputation for ability with him, or whether his fame was entirely made in this place?"
"I think it was made here. Indeed, I have heard that it was in this court he pleaded his first case. Don't you know more about it, Hickory?"
"Yes; Mr. Ferris told me this morning that Orcutt had not opened a law-book when he came to this town. That he was a country schoolmaster in some uncivilized district out West, and would never have been any thing more, perhaps, if the son of old Stephen Orcutt had not died, and thus made a vacancy in the law-office here which he was immediately sent for to fill."
"Stephen Orcutt? He was the uncle of this man, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"And quite a lawyer too?"
"Yes, but nothing like Tremont B. He was successful from the start. Had a natural aptitude, I suppose – must have had, to pick up the profession in the way he did."
"Boys," cried Mr. Gryce, after another short ruminative pause, "the secret we want to know is of long standing; indeed, I should not be surprised if it were connected with his life out West. I will tell you why I think so. For ten years Mrs. Clemmens has been known to put money in the bank regularly every week. Now, where did she get that money? From Mr. Orcutt, of course. What for? In payment for the dinner he usually took with her? No, in payment of her silence concerning a past he desired kept secret."
"But they have been here fifteen years and she has only received money for ten."
"She has only put money in the bank for ten; she may have been paid before that and may not. I do not suppose he was in a condition to be very lavish at the outset of his career."
"You advise us, then, to see what we can make out of his early life out West?"
"Yes; and I will see what I can make out of hers. The link which connects the two will be found. Mr. Orcutt did not say: 'It was all for you, Imogene,' for nothing."
And, dismissing the two young men, Mr. Gryce proceeded to the house of Mr. Orcutt, where he entered upon an examination of such papers and documents as were open to his inspection, in the hope of discovering some allusion to the deceased lawyer's early history. But he was not successful. Neither did a like inspection of the widow's letters bring any new facts to light. The only result which seemed to follow these efforts was an increased certainty on his part that some dangerous secret lurked in a past that was so determinedly hidden from the world, and resorting to the only expedient now left to him, he resolved to consult Miss Firman, as being the only person who professed to have had any acquaintance with Mrs. Clemmens before she came to Sibley. To be sure, she had already been questioned by the coroner, but Mr. Gryce was a man who had always found that the dryest well could be made to yield a drop or two more of water if the bucket was dropped by a dexterous hand. He accordingly prepared himself for a trip to Utica.
XLIII.
MRS. FIRMAN
Hark! she speaks. I will set down what comes from her…
Heaven knows what she has known. – Macbeth.
"MISS FIRMAN, I believe?" The staid, pleasant-faced lady whom we know, but who is looking older and considerably more careworn than when we saw her at the coroner's inquest, rose from her chair in her own cozy sitting-room, and surveyed her visitor curiously. "I am Mr. Gryce," the genial voice went on. "Perhaps the name is not familiar?"
"I never heard it before," was the short but not ungracious reply.
"Well, then, let me explain," said he. "You are a relative of the Mrs. Clemmens who was so foully murdered in Sibley, are you not? Pardon me, but I see you are; your expression speaks for itself." How he could have seen her expression was a mystery to Miss Firman, for his eyes, if not attention, were seemingly fixed upon some object in quite a different portion of the room. "You must, therefore," he pursued, "be in a state of great anxiety to know who her murderer was. Now, I am in that same state, madam; we are, therefore, in sympathy, you see."
The respectful smile and peculiar intonation with which these last words were uttered, robbed them of their familiarity and allowed Miss Firman to perceive his true character.
"You are a detective," said she, and as he did not deny it, she went on: "You say I must be anxious to know who my cousin's murderer was. Has Craik Mansell, then, been acquitted?"
"A verdict has not been given," said the other. "His trial has been adjourned in order to give him an opportunity to choose a new counsel."
Miss Firman motioned her visitor to be seated, and at once took a chair herself.
"What do you want with me?" she asked, with characteristic bluntness.
The detective was silent. It was but for a moment, but in that moment he seemed to read to the bottom of this woman's mind.
"Well," said he, "I will tell you. You believe Craik Mansell to be innocent?"
"I do," she returned.
"Very well; so do I."
"Let me shake hands with you," was her abrupt remark. And without a smile she reached forth her hand, which he took with equal gravity.
This ceremony over, he remarked, with a cheerful mien:
"We are fortunately not in a court of law, and so can talk freely together. Why do you think Mansell innocent? I am sure the evidence has not been much in his favor."
"Why do you think him innocent?" was the brisk retort.
"I have talked with him."
"Ah!"
"I have talked with Miss Dare."
A different "Ah!" this time.
"And I was present when Mr. Orcutt breathed his last."
The look she gave was like cold water on Mr. Gryce's secretly growing hopes.
"What has that to do with it?" she wonderingly exclaimed.
The detective took another tone.
"You did not know Mr. Orcutt then?" he inquired.
"I had not that honor," was the formal reply.
"You have never, then, visited your cousin in Sibley?"
"Yes, I was there once; but that did not give me an acquaintance with Mr. Orcutt."
"Yet he went almost every day to her house."
"And he came while I was there, but that did not give me an acquaintance with him."
"He was reserved, then, in his manners, uncommunicative, possibly morose?"
"He was just what I would expect such a gentleman to be at the table with women like my cousin and myself."
"Not morose, then; only reserved."
"Exactly," the short, quick bow of the amiable spinster seemed to assert.
Mr. Gryce drew a deep breath. This well seemed to be destitute of even a drop of moisture.
"Why do you ask me about Mr. Orcutt? Has his death in any way affected young Mansell's prospects?"
"That is what I want to find out," declared Mr. Gryce. Then, without giving her time for another question, said: "Where did Mrs. Clemmens first make the acquaintance of Mr. Orcutt? Wasn't it in some town out West?"
"Out West? Not to my knowledge, sir. I always supposed she saw him first in Sibley."
This well was certainly very dry.
"Yet you are not positive that this is so, are you?" pursued the patient detective. "She came from Nebraska, and so did he; now, why may they not have known each other there?"
"I did not know that he came from Nebraska."
"She has never talked about him then?"
"Never."
Mr. Gryce drew another deep breath and let down his bucket again.
"I thought your cousin spent her childhood in Toledo?"
"She did, sir."
"How came she to go to Nebraska then?"
"Well, she was left an orphan and had to look out for herself. A situation in some way opened to her in Nebraska, and she went there to take it."
"A situation at what?"
"As waitress in some hotel."
"Humph! And was she still a waitress when she married?"
"Yes, I think so, but I am not sure about it or any thing else in connection with her at that time. The subject was so painful we never discussed it."
"Why painful?"
"She lost her husband so soon."
"But you can tell me the name of the town in which this hotel was, can you not?"
"It was called Swanson then, but that was fifteen years ago. Its name may have been changed since."
Swanson! This was something to learn, but not much. Mr. Gryce returned to his first question. "You have not told me," said he, "why you believe Craik Mansell to be innocent?"
"Well," replied she, "I believe Craik Mansell to be innocent because he is the son of his mother. I think I know him pretty well, but I am certain I knew her. She was a woman who would go through fire and water to attain a purpose she thought right, but who would stop in the midst of any project the moment she felt the least doubt of its being just or wise. Craik has his mother's forehead and eyes, and no one will ever make me believe he has not her principles also."
"I coincide with you, madam," remarked the attentive detective.
"I hope the jury will," was her energetic response.
He bowed and was about to attempt another question, when an interruption occurred. Miss Firman was called from the room, and Mr. Gryce found himself left for a few moments alone. His thoughts, as he awaited her return, were far from cheerful, for he saw a long and tedious line of inquiry opening before him in the West, which, if it did not end in failure, promised to exhaust not only a week, but possibly many months, before certainty of any kind could be obtained. With Miss Dare on the verge of a fever, and Mansell in a position calling for the utmost nerve and self-control, this prospect looked any thing but attractive to the benevolent detective; and, carried away by his impatience, he was about to give utterance to an angry ejaculation against the man he believed to be the author of all this mischief, when he suddenly heard a voice raised from some unknown quarter near by, saying in strange tones he was positive did not proceed from Miss Firman:
"Was it Clemmens or was it Orcutt? Clemmens or Orcutt? I cannot remember."
Naturally excited and aroused, Mr. Gryce rose and looked about him. A door stood ajar at his back. Hastening toward it, he was about to lay his hand on the knob when Miss Firman returned.
"Oh, I beg you," she entreated. "That is my mother's room, and she is not at all well."
"I was going to her assistance," asserted the detective, with grave composure. "She has just uttered a cry."
"Oh, you don't say so!" exclaimed the unsuspicious spinster, and hurrying forward, she threw open the door herself. Mr. Gryce benevolently followed. "Why, she is asleep," protested Miss Firman, turning on the detective with a suspicious look.
Mr. Gryce, with a glance toward the bed he saw before him, bowed with seeming perplexity.
"She certainly appears to be," said he, "and yet I am positive she spoke but an instant ago; I can even tell you the words she used."
"What were they?" asked the spinster, with something like a look of concern.
"She said: 'Was it Clemmens or was it Orcutt? Clemmens or Orcutt? I cannot remember.'"
"You don't say so! Poor ma! She was dreaming. Come into the other room and I will explain."
And leading the way back to the apartment they had left, she motioned him again toward a chair, and then said:
"Ma has always been a very hale and active woman for her years; but this murder seems to have shaken her. To speak the truth, sir, she has not been quite right in her mind since the day I told her of it; and I often detect her murmuring words similar to those you have just heard."
"Humph! And does she often use his name?"
"Whose name?"
"Mr. Orcutt's."
"Why, yes; but not with any understanding of whom she is speaking."
"Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Gryce, with that peculiar impressiveness he used on great occasions.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," returned the detective, dryly, "that I believe your mother does know what she is talking about when she links the name of Mr. Orcutt with that of your cousin who was murdered. They belong together; Mr. Orcutt was her murderer."
"Mr. Orcutt?"
"Hush!" cried Mr. Gryce, "you will wake up your mother."
And, adapting himself to this emergency as to all others, he talked with the astounded and incredulous woman before him till she was in a condition not only to listen to his explanations, but to discuss the problem of a crime so seemingly without motive. He then said, with easy assurance:
"Your mother does not know that Mr. Orcutt is dead?"
"No, sir."
"She does not even know he was counsel for Craik Mansell in the trial now going on."
"How do you know that?" inquired Miss Firman, grimly.
"Because I do not believe you have even told her that Craik Mansell was on trial."
"Sir, you are a magician."
"Have you, madam?"
"No, sir, I have not."
"Very good; what does she know about Mr. Orcutt, then; and why should she connect his name with Mrs. Clemmens?"
"She knows he was her boarder, and that he was the first one to discover she had been murdered."
"That is not enough to account for her frequent repetition of his name."
"You think not?"
"I am sure not. Cannot your mother have some memories connected with his name of which you are ignorant?"
"No, sir; we have lived together in this house for twenty-five years, and have never had a thought we have not shared together. Ma could not have known any thing about him or Mary Ann which I did not. The words she has just spoken sprang from mental confusion. She is almost like a child sometimes."
Mr. Gryce smiled. If the cream-jug he happened to be gazing at on a tray near by had been full of cream, I am far from certain it would not have turned sour on the spot.
"I grant the mental confusion," said he; "but why should she confuse those two names in preference to all others?" And, with quiet persistence, he remarked again: "She may be recalling some old fact of years ago. Was there never a time, even while you lived here together, when she could have received some confidence from Mrs. Clemmens – "
"Mary Ann, Mary Ann!" came in querulous accents from the other room, "I wish you had not told me; Emily would be a better one to know your secret."
It was a startling interruption to come just at that moment The two surprised listeners glanced toward each other, and Miss Firman colored.
"That sounds as if your surmise was true," she dryly observed.
"Let us make an experiment," said he, and motioned her to re-enter her mother's room, which she did with a precipitation that showed her composure had been sorely shaken by these unexpected occurrences.
He followed her without ceremony.
The old lady lay as before in a condition between sleeping and waking, and did not move as they came in. Mr. Gryce at once withdrew out of sight, and, with finger on his lip, put himself in the attitude of waiting. Miss Firman, surprised, and possibly curious, took her stand at the foot of the bed.
A few minutes passed thus, during which a strange dreariness seemed to settle upon the room; then the old lady spoke again, this time repeating the words he had first heard, but in a tone which betrayed an increased perplexity.
"Was it Clemmens or was it Orcutt? I wish somebody would tell me."
Instantly Mr. Gryce, with his soft tread, drew near to the old lady's side, and, leaning over her, murmured gently:
"I think it was Orcutt."
Instantly the old lady breathed a deep sigh and moved.
"Then her name was Mrs. Orcutt," said she, "and I thought you always called her Clemmens."
Miss Firman, recoiling, stared at Mr. Gryce, on whose cheek a faint spot of red had appeared – a most unusual token of emotion with him.
"Did she say it was Mrs. Orcutt," he pursued, in the even tones he had before used.
"She said – " But here the old lady opened her eyes, and, seeing her daughter standing at the foot of her bed, turned away with a peevish air, and restlessly pushed her hand under the pillow.
Mr. Gryce at once bent nearer.
"She said – " he suggested, with careful gentleness.
But the old lady made no answer. Her hand seemed to have touched some object for which she was seeking, and she was evidently oblivious to all else. Miss Firman came around and touched Mr. Gryce on the shoulder.
"It is useless," said she; "she is awake now, and you won't hear any thing more; come!"
And she drew the reluctant detective back again into the other room.
"What does it all mean?" she asked, sinking into a chair.
Mr. Gryce did not answer. He had a question of his own to put.
"Why did your mother put her hand under her pillow?" he asked.
"I don't know, unless it was to see if her big envelope was there."
"Her big envelope?"
"Yes; for weeks now, ever since she took to her bed, she has kept a paper in a big envelope under her pillow. What is in it I don't know, for she never seems to hear me when I inquire."
"And have you no curiosity to find out?"
"No, sir. Why should I? It might easily be my father's old letters sealed up, or, for that matter, be nothing more than a piece of blank paper. My mother is not herself, as I have said before."
"I should like a peep at the contents of that envelope," he declared.
"You?"
"Is there any name written on the outside?"
"No."
"It would not be violating any one's rights, then, if you opened it."
"Only my mother's, sir."
"You say she is not in her right mind?"
"All the more reason why I should respect her whims and caprices."
"Wouldn't you open it if she were dead?"
"Yes."
"Will it be very different then from what it is now? A father's letters! a blank piece of paper! What harm would there be in looking at them?"
"My mother would know it if I took them away. It might excite and injure her."
"Put another envelope in the place of this one, with a piece of paper folded up in it."
"It would be a trick."
"I know it; but if Craik Mansell can be saved even by a trick, I should think you would be willing to venture on one."
"Craik Mansell? What has he got to do with the papers under my mother's pillow?"
"I cannot say that he has any thing to do with them; but if he has – if, for instance, that envelope should contain, not a piece of blank paper, or even the letters of your father, but such a document, say, as a certificate of marriage – "
"A certificate of marriage?"
"Yes, between Mrs. Clemmens and Mr. Orcutt, it would not take much perspicacity to prophesy an acquittal for Craik Mansell."
"Mary Ann the wife of Mr. Orcutt! Oh, that is impossible!" exclaimed the agitated spinster. But even while making this determined statement, she turned a look full of curiosity and excitement toward the door which separated them from her mother's apartment.
Mr. Gryce smiled in his wise way.
"Less improbable things than that have been found to be true in this topsy-turvy world," said he. "Mrs. Clemmens might very well have been Mrs. Orcutt."
"Do you really think so?" she asked; and yielding with sudden impetuosity to the curiosity of the moment, she at once dashed from his side and disappeared in her mother's room. Mr. Gryce's smile took on an aspect of triumph.
It was some few moments before she returned, but when she did, her countenance was flushed with emotion.
"I have it," she murmured, taking out a packet from under her apron and tearing it open with trembling fingers.
A number of closely written sheets fell out.