“It is strange she should have died this night of all others.
Was she ill yesterday?”
“No, sir; she was even brighter than common; more lively.
I never thought of her being sick then or ever.
If I had—”
“You never thought of her being sick?” a voice here interrupted. “Why, then, did you take such pains to give her a dose of medicine last night?”
And Q entered from the room beyond.
“I didn’t!” she protested, evidently under the supposition it was I who had spoken.
“Did I, Hannah, did I, poor girl?” stroking the hand that lay in hers with what appeared to be genuine sorrow and regret.
“How came she by it, then?
Where she did she get it if you didn’t give it to her?”
This time she seemed to be aware that some one besides myself was talking to her, for, hurriedly rising, she looked at the man with a wondering stare, before replying.
“I don’t know who you are, sir; but I can tell you this, the girl had no medicine,—took no dose; she wasn’t sick last night that I know of.”
“Yet I saw her swallow a powder.”
“Saw her!—the world is crazy, or I am—saw her swallow a powder!
How could you see her do that or anything else? Hasn’t she been shut up in this room for twenty-four hours?”
“Yes; but with a window like that in the roof, it isn’t so very difficult to see into the room, madam.”
“Oh,” she cried, shrinking, “I have a spy in the house, have I?
But I deserve it; I kept her imprisoned in four close walls, and never came to look at her once all night.
I don’t complain; but what was it you say you saw her take? medicine? poison?”
“I didn’t say poison.”
“But you meant it.
You think she has poisoned herself, and that I had a hand in it!”
“No,” I hastened to remark, “he does not think you had a hand in it.
He says he saw the girl herself swallow something which he believes to have been the occasion of her death, and only asks you now where she obtained it.”
“How can I tell?
I never gave her anything; didn’t know she had anything.”
Somehow, I believed her, and so felt unwilling to prolong the present interview, especially as each moment delayed the action which I felt it incumbent upon us to take.
So, motioning Q to depart upon his errand, I took Mrs. Belden by the hand and endeavored to lead her from the room.
But she resisted, sitting down by the side of the bed with the expression,
“I will not leave her again; do not ask it; here is my place, and here I will stay,” while Q, obdurate for the first time, stood staring severely upon us both, and would not move, though I urged him again to make haste, saying that the morning was slipping away, and that the telegram to Mr. Gryce ought to be sent.
“Till that woman leaves the room, I don’t; and unless you promise to take my place in watching her, I don’t quit the house.”
Astonished, I left her side and crossed to him.
“You carry your suspicions too far,” I whispered, “and I think you are too rude.
We have seen nothing, I am sure, to warrant us in any such action; besides, she can do no harm here; though, as for watching her, I promise to do that much if it will relieve your mind.”
“I don’t want her watched here; take her below.
I cannot leave while she remains.”
“Are you not assuming a trifle the master?”
“Perhaps; I don’t know.
If I am, it is because I have something in my possession which excuses my conduct.”
“What is that? the letter?”
“Yes.”
Agitated now in my turn, I held out my hand.
“Let me see,” I said.
“Not while that woman remains in the room.”
Seeing him implacable, I returned to Mrs. Belden.
“I must entreat you to come with me,” said I. “This is not a common death; we shall be obliged to have the coroner here and others.
You had better leave the room and go below.”
“I don’t mind the coroner; he is a neighbor of mine; his coming won’t prevent my watching over the poor girl until he arrives.”
“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “your position as the only one conscious of the presence of this girl in your house makes it wiser for you not to invite suspicion by lingering any longer than is necessary in the room where her dead body lies.”