The detective’s eye stole in the direction of my necktie, which was as near as he ever came to a face.
“You are a bright one,” said he; “a very bright one.
I quite admire you, Mr. Raymond.”
A little surprised, and not altogether pleased with this unexpected compliment, I regarded him doubtfully for a moment and then asked:
“What is your opinion upon the matter?”
“Oh, you know I have no opinion.
I gave up everything of that kind when I put the affair into your hands.”
“Still—”
“That the letter of which these scraps are the remnant was on Mr. Leavenworth’s table at the time of the murder is believed.
That upon the body being removed, a paper was taken from the table by Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, is also believed.
That, when she found her action had been noticed, and attention called to this paper and the key, she resorted to subterfuge in order to escape the vigilance of the watch that had been set over her, and, partially succeeding in her endeavor, flung the key into the fire from which these same scraps were afterwards recovered, is also known.
The conclusion I leave to your judgment.”
“Very well, then,” said I, rising; “we will let conclusions go for the present.
My mind must be satisfied in regard to the truth or falsity of a certain theory of mine, for my judgment to be worth much on this or any other matter connected with the affair.”
And, only waiting to get the address of his subordinate P., in case I should need assistance in my investigations, I left Mr. Gryce, and proceeded immediately to the house of Mr. Veeley.
XXIII. THE STORY OF A CHARMING WOMAN
“Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”
—Old Song.
“I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted.”
—Measure for Measure.
“YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD, then, the particulars of Mr. Leavenworth’s marriage?”
It was my partner who spoke. I had been asking him to explain to me Mr. Leavenworth’s well-known antipathy to the English race.
“No.”
“If you had, you would not need to come to me for this explanation.
But it is not strange you are ignorant of the matter.
I doubt if there are half a dozen persons in existence who could tell you where Horatio Leavenworth found the lovely woman who afterwards became his wife, much less give you any details of the circumstances which led to his marriage.”
“I am very fortunate, then, in being in the confidence of one who can.
What were those circumstances, Mr. Veeley?”
“It will aid you but little to hear.
Horatio Leavenworth, when a young man, was very ambitious; so much so, that at one time he aspired to marry a wealthy lady of Providence.
But, chancing to go to England, he there met a young woman whose grace and charm had such an effect upon him that he relinquished all thought of the Providence lady, though it was some time before he could face the prospect of marrying the one who had so greatly interested him; as she was not only in humble circumstances, but was encumbered with a child concerning whose parentage the neighbors professed ignorance, and she had nothing to say.
But, as is very apt to be the case in an affair like this, love and admiration soon got the better of worldly wisdom.
Taking his future in his hands, he offered himself as her husband, when she immediately proved herself worthy of his regard by entering at once into those explanations he was too much of a gentleman to demand.
The story she told was pitiful.
She proved to be an American by birth, her father having been a well-known merchant of Chicago.
While he lived, her home was one of luxury, but just as she was emerging into womanhood he died.
It was at his funeral she met the man destined to be her ruin.
How he came there she never knew; he was not a friend of her father’s.
It is enough he was there, and saw her, and that in three weeks—don’t shudder, she was such a child—they were married.
In twenty-four hours she knew what that word meant for her; it meant blows.
Everett, I am telling no fanciful story.
In twenty-four hours after that girl was married, her husband, coming drunk into the house, found her in his way, and knocked her down.
It was but the beginning.
Her father’s estate, on being settled up, proving to be less than expected, he carried her off to England, where he did not wait to be drunk in order to maltreat her. She was not free from his cruelty night or day.
Before she was sixteen, she had run the whole gamut of human suffering; and that, not at the hands of a coarse, common ruffian, but from an elegant, handsome, luxury-loving gentleman, whose taste in dress was so nice he would sooner fling a garment of hers into the fire than see her go into company clad in a manner he did not consider becoming.
She bore it till her child was born, then she fled.
Two days after the little one saw the light, she rose from her bed and, taking her baby in her arms, ran out of the house.
The few jewels she had put into her pocket supported her till she could set up a little shop.
As for her husband, she neither saw him, nor heard from him, from the day she left him till about two weeks before Horatio Leavenworth first met her, when she learned from the papers that he was dead.
She was, therefore, free; but though she loved Horatio Leavenworth with all her heart, she would not marry him.