The House Opposite: A Mystery

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TRUTH OF THE WHOLE MATTER

THE Atkinses had departed, and Merritt and I were again alone.

“Well,” I exclaimed, “the Rosemere mystery doesn’t seem any nearer to being solved, does it?”

“You ought to be satisfied with knowing that your friend, Mrs. Atkins, is exonerated.”

“Of that I am heartily glad; but who can the criminal be?”

The detective shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t know?” I asked.

“Haven’t an idea,” he answered.

“But what about that pretty criminal you’ve been talking so much about?”

“Well, Doctor, to tell you the truth this case has proved one too many for me. You see,” he went on, settling himself more comfortably in his chair, “there isn’t enough evidence against any one to warrant our holding them an hour. Mrs. Atkins knew the man and had a motive for killing him, but had no place in which to secrete the body, nor did she make any effort to obtain that key. Against Argot the case is stronger. One of the greatest objections to the theory that it was he who murdered Brown is that, as far as we can find out, the man was a perfect stranger to him. But as he did not know his wife’s lover by sight, it seems to me not impossible that he may have mistaken Brown for the latter, and thought that in killing him he was avenging his honour. The Frenchman is also one of the few persons who could have abstracted the key of the vacant apartment. On the other hand, it would have been impossible for him to have either secreted or disposed of the body without his wife’s knowledge. And unless Madame Argot is an actress and a liar of very unusual talent, I am willing to swear that she knew and knows nothing of the crime!”

“I am sure of it,” I assented.

“Furthermore, I can think of no way by which Argot could have run across Brown. He would naturally follow the man whom he believed to be his wife’s lover, and not only did Madame Argot tell you that her husband ran out the back way in pursuit of her cousin, but that seems to me the thing which he would most likely do. And yet, having left by that door, he could not possibly have got into the house again unperceived. Therefore, I cannot imagine how he could have met Allan Brown. No, there is really not a scrap of real evidence against the Frenchman. Now, there remains Miss Derwent. She could easily have obtained the key; she could also have hidden the body. But there is absolutely nothing to connect her with the murder, or the victim—nothing. And yet, Doctor, I have always believed that she knew more about this crime than she was willing to acknowledge, and I may as well tell you now that the reason I took such pains to inform Miss Derwent of Mrs. Atkins’s plight, was that I thought that, rather than allow an innocent person to suffer, she would reveal the name of the true author of the crime. You see, I had exhausted every means of discovering her secret, without the least result. My only hope of doing so now lay with her. But my ruse failed. She has given no sign, although, for aught she knows, Mrs. Atkins may be languishing in a prison, or is being hunted from house to house or from city to city. I am therefore forced to believe that Miss Derwent’s mysterious secret has absolutely nothing to do with the Rosemere murder.”

“I have always been sure of it.”

“But the fact remains that the man was killed. And yet every person who could by any possibility have committed the crime has practically been proved guiltless. I’m getting old.” And he sighed deeply.

“So you have given the case up!”

“No, sirree. But I confess I’m not very hopeful. If I failed to pick up a clue while the scent was fresh, there ain’t much chance of my doing it now. So I guess you’ve won your bet, Doctor,” he went on, as he pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket.

“Certainly not. I bet that a man committed the crime, and that has not been proved, either.”

“That’s so! Well, good-day, Doctor. Hope I’ll see you again. I tell you what, you should have been on the force.” And so we parted.

He had hardly shut the door behind him, when my boy came in with a note. The handwriting was unknown to me. I tore the envelope open, and threw it down beside me. This is what I read:

Dear Dr. Fortescue,

I am in great trouble and beg you to come to me as soon as you possibly can.

“Any answer, sir?”

“No.” I should be there as soon as the messenger.

I was so dreadfully alarmed that I felt stunned for a moment. Pulling myself together, I started to my feet, when my eyes fell on the envelope, lying beside my plate. A large crest was emblazoned on its back. I stood spell-bound, for that crest was, alas, not unfamiliar to me. I could not be mistaken—it was identical with the one engraved on the sleeve-link which had been found on the body of the murdered man. What did this similarity mean? Was it possible that the victim’s real name was Derwent? That would account for the coincidence of the two Allans, and all I knew of one was equally applicable to the other. Merritt had told me that Brown was supposed to have been born a gentleman, and often posed as an Englishman of title. But if the corpse was indeed that of her brother, why had May not recognised it? No, the probabilities were, as the detective had said, that the crest meant nothing.

Still deeply perturbed, I hastened to the hotel. On giving my name I was at once ushered into the Derwent’s private sitting-room. It was empty, but a moment later May appeared. She was excessively pale, and heavy dark rings encircled her eyes. I longed to take her in my arms, but all I dared to do was to detain her small hand in mine till after several efforts on her part to free herself—very gentle efforts, however—I finally relinquished it.

“It is kind of you to come so soon.”

“You knew I would come the moment I received your message.”

“I hoped so. All night long I have lain awake, praying for courage to make a confession, knowing all the time that if I do so it will break my mother’s heart.”

“Your mother’s heart!” I repeated, bewildered.

“It must be done, it is right that it should be done—but I can’t do it. I have, therefore, decided to tell you the whole story, and then you can repeat it to her very gently, very calmly, which I could not do. And you will remain to comfort her when I am gone, won’t you?”

“Don’t talk in this way,” I commanded, forcibly possessing myself of her hands. “You are not going to die.”

“Don’t touch me,” she entreated, tearing herself away from me. “You won’t want to, when you know the truth. I have not only committed a dreadful crime, but have allowed an innocent person to suffer in my stead. I should have confessed to the detective yesterday that I knew Mrs. Atkins had not killed the man, because—because—I myself killed him.”

I was so overcome with horror and surprise at hearing this confession, that for a moment I was paralysed.

“My poor darling,” I exclaimed at last, “how did this accident occur?”

She had evidently expected me to express horror and indignation, and that I did not do so was such an unexpected relief, that the poor child burst into tears. This time she did not repulse me. When she had become a little calmer, she said:

“I am glad that there is one person at least who, hearing that admission, does not at once believe me guilty of a dreadful crime. Oh, I assure you, I swear to you, that I never meant to kill the—the—fellow.” She shuddered.

“Of course you didn’t. Tell me all about it, and let me see if I can’t help you in some way.”

A faint gleam of hope shot across her face.

“It is a long story,” she began. “You remember that I told the Coroner about a certain gentleman who called on me on that fatal Tuesday evening?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that was all true. Mr. Greywood (for, of course, you now know that that was my visitor’s name) and I quarrelled (no matter why), and we parted in anger. This is no news to you. What happened later is what I have tried so hard to conceal. Mr. Greywood had hardly left when I was startled by a violent ringing at the door-bell. Thinking that it was my late visitor who had returned, to apologise, probably, I hurried to the door, and incautiously opened it. In the dim light, the man before me resembled Mr. Greywood so closely that I did not doubt that it was he, and moved aside to allow him to enter. As he did so, he pushed roughly against me. I stared at him in astonishment, and to my horror, discovered that I was face to face with a perfect stranger. The fellow banged the door behind him, and stood with his back against it. He was mumbling something I couldn’t catch, and his head rolled alarmingly from side to side. That the man was insane was the only thing that occurred to me, and as I realised that I was locked into an apartment with a lunatic, I became panic-stricken, and lost my head. Instead of making a dash for the upper floor, where I could either have barricaded myself into one of the bed rooms, or perhaps have managed to escape by the back stairs, I stupidly ran into the drawing-room, which is only shut off from the hall by portières, and has no other outlet. The brute, of course, followed me, and stood in the door way, barring my exit. I was caught like a rat in a trap. He lurched in my direction, muttering imprecations. His speech was so thick that I could only understand a word here and there. I made out, however, that he wished me to give him something that night, which, he said, I had promised to let him have the next day. As he staggered toward me, I uttered a piercing shriek, but even as I did so, I knew that there was little or no chance of anybody’s hearing me. The building was almost empty, and the street at that hour practically deserted.

“In the middle of our room opposite the fire place, stands a large sofa. When his eyes fell upon that he paused a minute. ‘Perhaps I’ll go to bed,’ I heard him say, and forthwith he proceeded to take off his coat and waistcoat. Meanwhile, I was cowering near the window. As he had apparently forgotten me, I began to hope that I might possibly succeed in creeping past him unobserved. But, unfortunately, as I was attempting to do so, my skirt caught in something, and I fell forward on my hands and knees. The noise attracted his attention, and he paused in his undressing to look at me. I sprang to my feet. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and I thought I saw a ray of comprehension come into his dull eyes. ‘I don’t think I ever met this lady before,’ he mumbled.

“He tried to pull himself together, and made me an awkward bow. I stood perfectly still. The wretch smiled horridly at me. Of course, I now see that I ought to have humoured him, instead of which I was injudicious enough to meet his advances with a fierce scowl. That apparently infuriated the fellow, for he sprang towards me, cursing loudly. I had not thought him capable of such agility, so was unprepared for the attack. He caught my wrist. I tried to wrench it from him, but he was very strong, and I soon realised that I was quite powerless in his grasp. Yet I would not give in, but continued to struggle fiercely. Oh, it was too awful!”

The unfortunate girl paused a moment and covered her face with her hands, as if she were trying to shut out the memory of that terrible scene.

“At last the end came. He had got me into a corner. Escape was impossible. My back was against the wall, and in front of me towered the wretch, his hands on my shoulders, his poisoned breath blowing into my face. Now, remember, before you blame me for what followed, that I was perfectly desperate. As I glanced frantically around, hoping against hope to find some way out of my awful situation, my eyes fell upon a hat-pin, which lay on a table by my side, well within reach of my right hand. It was sticking in my hat, which I had carelessly thrown down there when I came in from dinner a few hours before. It may be that its design, which was that of a dagger, suggested my putting it to the use I did. I don’t know. At any rate, I seized it, and managed to get it in between me and my assailant, with its sharp point pressing against his chest. By this time I had become convinced that the man was simply intoxicated, and, hoping to frighten him, I cried: ‘Let me go. If you don’t, I will kill you.’ Yes, I said that; I acknowledge it. But I had no real intention of doing such a thing. I didn’t even dream that I held in my hand a weapon. What happened then I don’t quite know. Whether he tripped over something, or whether he was so drunk that he lost his balance, I can’t tell. At all events, he fell heavily against me. If I had not been braced against the wall he certainly would have knocked me down. As it was, I was stunned for a minute. Recovering myself, I pushed him from me with all my strength. He reeled back, staggered a few steps, and then, to my surprise, fell flat upon the floor. As I stood staring at him, too frightened still to take advantage of this opportunity to escape, I heard a queer rattling in his throat. What could be the matter, I wondered, and what was that sticking out of his shirt, right over his heart? Could it be my hat-pin? I looked down at my hands; they were empty. Slowly the truth dawned upon me. I rushed to his side, looked into his glazing eyes, saw the purple fade from his face, and a greenish hue creep into its place. As the full horror of my position was borne in upon me, I thought I should go mad. I seized the pin and tried to drag it out, actuated by an unreasoning hope that if I could only extract it from the wound the man might even yet revive. But my hands must have been paralysed with fear, for, although I tugged and tugged, I failed to move it. At last, after an especially violent effort, I succeeded in pulling it out, but unfortunately in doing so the head broke off. I peered again at the man. Still no sign of life, but I could not, would not believe the worst. Overcoming my horror of the fellow, I bent down and shook his arm. I shall never forget the sensation it gave me to touch him. I could doubt the awful truth no longer: the man was dead, and I had killed him. Then for a time I lost consciousness. Unfortunately I am young and strong, and soon revived. When I did so I found myself lying on the floor not a foot away from that horrible thing that had so lately been a man. I feared him as much dead as alive, and, staggering to my feet, I fled from the room. Oh, the darkness, the frightful darkness which confronted me everywhere! In my terror of it I rushed hither and thither, leaving the electric light shining in my wake. I felt I must know, that I must be able to see, that he, who would never stir again, was not still following me. Stumbling up stairs in my haste, I locked myself into my bedroom. There I tried to think, but all I could do was to crouch, trembling, behind the door, listening for I knew not what. Several times I thought I heard footsteps stealing softly up the stairs.

“At last, the day dawned and brought with it comparative calm. I was now able to consider my position. It was, indeed, a desperate one. What should I do? Whom could I appeal to? My mother? Another helpless woman—never! Then Mr. Norman occurred to me. I felt I could rely on him. He would save me if any one could. I decided to go to him as soon as possible. I knew that I must be most careful not to do anything which might arouse suspicion. I, therefore, made up my mind not to leave the house before half-past seven at the earliest. I could then be supposed to be going out to breakfast. The hours crept wearily by. I watched the hot, angry sun rise superbly above the horizon, and fancied that it glared contemptuously down on my ruined life. To make matters worse, my watch had stopped, and I had to guess at the time by the various signs of reawakening which I could observe in the street beneath me. At last I decided that I might safely venture forth. Burning with impatience to be gone, I turned towards the door. Suddenly I remembered that my hat still lay in the room below. I started back, trembling in every limb. Never, never should I have the courage to enter there alone. Then I thought of the alternative. Summoning the police—the awful publicity, a prison cell and perhaps finally—no, no, I couldn’t face that. Anything rather than that. No one will ever know how I felt as I slowly unlocked my door. My teeth chattered notwithstanding the heat, and half-fainting with terror I staggered down-stairs. Everywhere the lights still glowed feebly—sickly reminders of the horrors of the night. I don’t remember how I got into the drawing-room, but the scene that greeted my eyes there can never be erased from my memory. The blazing August sun shone fiercely down on the disordered room, mercilessly disclosing the havoc which the recent struggle had wrought. In the midst of this confusion, that ghastly, silent object lay, gaping at the new day. His sightless eyes seemed to stare reproachfully at me. I turned quickly away. This was no time for weakness. If I indulged my fears I should be unable to accomplish what I had to do. Fixing my eyes on the thing I was in search of, I walked steadily past the corpse, but, having once seized what I had come for, I rushed frantically from the room and the apartment. The heavy outer door securely fastened behind me, made a sufficiently formidable barrier between the dead and myself to give me a sense of comparative safety. Still panting with excitement, I paused a moment on the landing. Reminding myself of how important it was that nothing about me should excite remark, I put on my hat and adjusted my thick veil with the utmost care, although my stiff, shaking fingers were hardly able to perform their task. Then, summoning up all my self-control I was ready to face the world again.”

She stopped, and sank back exhausted.

“Go on,” I begged; “what did you do then?”

“I knew that if Mr. Norman was in town at all, he would be at his father’s house,” May continued, more quietly.

“Hailing a cab, I drove directly there. You can imagine in what an overwrought state I was when I tell you that the idea that I was doing anything unusual never occurred to me. I rang the bell and asked for Mr. Stuart Norman without the least embarrassment. The butler’s look of surprise and his evident unwillingness to admit me, recalled me a little to my senses. But even when I saw how my conduct must strike others, I did not turn back, and I finally persuaded the man to call his master. The latter hurried from the breakfast table to see who the mysterious and importunate female might be who had come knocking so early at his door. Notwithstanding my veil, he recognised me at once. Ushering me into a small reception room he closed the door behind him; then turning towards me he took me by the hand and, gently leading me to a sofa, begged me to tell him what had happened. I told my dreadful story as briefly as possible. You can imagine with what horror he listened. Strangely enough, I remained perfectly calm. I was astonished at my own callousness, but at the moment I felt as if all that had occurred was nothing but a hideous nightmare, from which I had happily awakened. When I had finished, Mr. Norman did not speak for some time, but paced up and down the room with ill-concealed agitation. Trying to appear calm, he again sat down beside me.

“‘I have come to the conclusion that the only thing for you to do is to return at once to the Rosemere,’ he said at last. This suggestion at once dispelled the numbness which had come over me, and the painful fluttering of my heart convinced me that the power of suffering had, alas, not left me. I first thought that he intended me to go back alone, but that I knew I could not do. He soon reassured me on that point, however, and promised that as long as I needed him, or wanted him, he would never desert me. He seemed to understand intuitively how I shrank from returning to the scene of the tragedy, and I felt sure he would not urge me to do so if he did not think it absolutely necessary. He pointed out that the body must be removed from our apartment as soon as possible. Where to put it was the question. We thought of various places, none of which seemed practicable, till I remembered the vacant suite on our landing. As soon as I told him of it, and that at present painters and paper-hangers were working there, he decided that we could never find a more convenient spot, or one where the discovery of the dead man was so little likely to compromise any one. How Mr. Norman was to get into our apartment was the next question. For obvious reasons he could not do so openly. At last, he hit on the idea of disguising himself as a tradesman. He suggested that we should both enter the building at the same time, I by the front, and he by the back door. I was then to let him in through the kitchen, which could easily be done without anybody’s being the wiser. This seemed the most feasible plan, and I agreed to it. It would take him only a few minutes to dress, he assured me, but while I was waiting he begged me to have some breakfast. I told him that it would be impossible for me to eat, but he insisted. As it was most important that the servants should not recognise me, he took me to a quiet restaurant round the corner. There he ordered an ample breakfast, and stayed (notwithstanding my protests) till he satisfied himself that I had done full justice to it. He was gone an incredibly short time, and when he did return I had some difficulty in recognising him, so faultless, to my inexperienced eyes, did his get-up appear. He did not enter the restaurant, but lounged outside, chewing a straw with apparent carelessness. That straw was a very neat touch, for it permitted him to distort his mouth without exciting remark. A battered straw hat, drawn well over his eyes, a large apron, and a market-basket completed the transformation. Even if he had come face to face with a party of friends, I doubt if they would have known him. For who could suspect a man like Mr. Norman of masquerading as a tradesman? People would therefore be inclined to attribute any likeness they observed to an accidental resemblance.”

So he was the tradesman I had seen leaving the Rosemere! I felt a terrible pang of jealousy, but managed to ask: “What did his servants think at seeing their master go out in such costume?”

“Later on, he told me that he had been able to leave the house unperceived,” she replied; “at least, he thought so, as all the servants happened to be at breakfast. He had crept softly up-stairs, put on an old suit and hat, both of which had suffered shipwreck; then, with infinite precautions, he had stolen into the butler’s pantry, seized an apron, stuffed it inside his coat, which he buttoned over it, and, after watching till the street was clear, slipped quietly out. When he turned the corner, and fancied himself unobserved, he pulled out the apron and tied it on. Then, walking boldly into Bloomingdale’s, he purchased a market-basket, into which, with great forethought, he put a few needful groceries. All this, as I said before, he told me later. At the time, I left the restaurant without even glancing in his direction. We boarded the same car, but sat as far apart as possible. All went off as we had arranged, and half an hour later I had let him into our kitchen without having aroused anybody’s suspicions.” She paused a moment.