The House Opposite: A Mystery

“Mr. Norman went at once into the room where the body lay,” she continued. “He went alone, as I dared not follow him. When he came out he told me that he had pulled down all the shades, as, owing to the intense heat, he feared that some one might be tempted to climb to the opposite roof, in which case a chance look would lead to the discovery of my ghastly secret. The quiet and business-like way in which he talked of our situation was most comforting, and I was surprised to find myself calmly discussing the different means of obtaining possession of the key to the vacant apartment. This must be my task, as he could not go outside the door, for fear of being seen. So I stole out on the landing to reconnoitre. To my joy, I saw the key sticking in the lock. When Mr. Norman heard of this piece of good luck, it did not take him long to decide on a plan of action. Hastily scribbling a few lines to his butler, he gave them to me. He then told me to go out again and ring for the elevator. While waiting for it to come, I was to saunter casually to the threshold of the adjoining flat, and, leaning on the door-knob, quietly abstract the key. Should any one notice me, my curiosity would be a sufficient excuse for my presence. Having got the key and enclosed it in the envelope he had given me, I was to hurry to a district messenger office (taking care to select one where I was not likely to be known), send the note, and there await the answer, which would be addressed to Miss Elizabeth Wright. In this note he gave orders to have the key duplicated as quickly and secretly as possible. Mr. Norman thought that the butler, who was a man of great discretion, and had been with the family for many years, could be entrusted with this delicate mission, but anyhow we had to risk it as the only alternative (my going to a locksmith myself) was not to be thought of. The police would be sure to make inquiries of all such people, and if they discovered that a girl answering to my description had been to them on such an errand, it would fasten suspicion upon me and prove a perhaps fatal clue. I thought his plan most ingenious, and promised to follow his instructions to the letter. I had no difficulty in obtaining the key, although my extreme nervousness made me so awkward that I almost dropped it at the critical moment. After that everything else was easy. It seemed, however, an interminable time before I at last held both keys in my hand. I flew back to the Rosemere. Impatience lent wings to my feet. But here a disappointment awaited me. On stepping out of the elevator, I found the hall full of workmen, noisily eating their luncheons. There was no help for it—I must postpone returning the key till later. This agitated me very much, as I feared every moment that its absence would be discovered. Mr. Norman, however, took the delay much more philosophically than I did, and reassured me somewhat by saying that he did not believe any one would think of the key till evening. Still, as it was advisable to run as few risks as possible, I decided to make another attempt as soon as the men returned to their work. Peeping through a crack of our door, I waited till the coast was clear before venturing out. After ringing the elevator bell, I walked boldly forward, and had already stretched out my hand towards the key-hole, when a queer grating noise made me pause. A tell-tale boot was thrust suddenly out, and to my horror I discovered that a man was standing directly behind the door, busily scraping off the old paint. The narrowness of my escape made me feel quite faint. Another moment and the click of the lock would have betrayed me, and then—but I could not indulge in such conjectures. Swallowing my disappointment, I got into the lift. There was no help for it; I dared not try again till later in the day. In the meantime, I decided to do some shopping, as I wanted to be able to give that as an excuse for my prolonged stay in town. After spending several hours in this way, I concluded that I might again make an effort to replace the key, and this time I was successful, for although I met one of the workmen, yet I am sure he had not noticed that I had been fumbling with the lock. I found Mr. Norman, on my return, as calm and cheerful as ever. He urged me not to stay in the apartment, and although I felt ashamed to leave him to face the situation alone, yet the place was so dreadful to me that I yielded to my fears and his entreaties, and went out again and wandered aimlessly about till it grew so dark that I no longer dared to remain out alone. It is impossible for me to describe the ensuing evening. We sat together in the kitchen, as being the spot farthest from the scene of the tragedy. At first we tried to talk, but as the hours crept by, we grew more and more taciturn. We had decided that at two o’clock we would attempt our gruesome task, for that is the time when the world sleeps most soundly. Mr. Norman suggested that I should muffle myself up as much as possible, so that in case we were discovered, I might yet escape recognition, or, what would be even better, observation. I therefore put on a dark shirtwaist I found hanging in my closet, drew on a pair of black gloves to prevent my hands attracting attention, and tied up my hair in a black veil, which I could pull down over my face in case of emergency. Two o’clock at last struck. We immediately—but why linger over the gruesome details of what occurred during the next fifteen minutes? Fortunately, no one surprised us as we staggered across the landing with our burden, and we managed to get back to the shelter of our four walls unobserved. As we stood for a moment in the hall congratulating ourselves on having got rid of the body so successfully, I noticed a long, glittering object lying at my feet. Bending down, I picked it up. It was the fatal hat-pin. I dropped it with a shudder. Mr. Norman asked me what it was. I told him. He picked it up again and examined it closely. ‘Where is the head of this pin?’ he asked. I had no idea. I remembered that it had broken off in my hand as I wrenched it out of the body, and I thought that in all probability it still lay somewhere in the drawing-room, unless it had been carried elsewhere by the same chance which had swept its other part into the hall. Mr. Norman looked very grave when he heard of this loss, and said he would look for it immediately. He insisted, however, on my going to my room and trying to get some sleep. But sleep was, of course, out of the question, and at six o’clock I crept down stairs to bid my kind friend good-bye. We had concluded that at that hour he could easily leave the building unobserved.

“I had to wait till later, and just as I thought the time for my release had come the janitor brought me a request, a command rather, from the Coroner, to the effect that I was to remain on the premises till he had seen me. If McGorry had not been so excited himself he must have noticed my agitation, for I jumped at once to the conclusion that my secret was discovered. Luckily, I had time enough before I was finally called to regain my self-possession, and to decide how I had better behave so as to dissipate suspicion, even if it had already fastened upon me. I knew that to show too much emotion would be fatal. I must try and prove to them that I was not particularly affected by the sight of the corpse, and yet must be careful not to go to the other extreme and appear callous. How could I do this? Had I enough self-control to risk raising my veil when I entered the room where the dead man lay? If I did this and showed a calm, grave face, I believed it would go far towards establishing my innocence in the minds of those who would be watching me. And I think I did hide my agitation till the detective asked me a question I was quite unprepared for.”

“You did, indeed,” I assured her.

“When the ordeal was at last over, and Mr. Merritt had handed me into a cab, I really thought that I had allayed all suspicion. On arriving at Thirty-fourth Street Ferry, I was detained by a collision which had occurred between two vehicles, and as I was afraid of missing my train I jumped out in the middle of the street. As I was paying my fare, another hansom dashed up and I saw the man who was in it making desperate efforts to attract the driver’s attention. Having at last succeeded in doing so, the horse was pulled up on its haunches and the man sprang out, knocking against me as he did so. He apologised profusely, and I noticed that he was an insignificant-looking person, a gentleman’s servant, perhaps, and thought no more about him. I did not see him on the ferry, but after I had taken my seat in the cars I turned around and saw that he was sitting almost directly behind me. It then occurred to me that I ought to have telegraphed to my mother and asked her to send the carriage to meet me. I looked at my watch. The train would not start for six minutes. I got off and hurried towards the telegraph office, but, catching sight of the station clock, I saw that my watch had been slow and that I had barely time to regain my seat. Turning abruptly around, I almost ran into a man’s arms. I started back and recognised, to my surprise, the same fellow I had already noticed twice before. I then made up my mind that he was following me. I jumped on to the last car and stood outside on the platform. A moment later the man appeared. Seeing me he hurried forward, but I had found out what I wanted to know.

“I walked back to my seat, outwardly calm, but inwardly a prey to the most dreadful emotions. What could I do? Nothing. On arriving at my destination the fellow also alighted, and as I drove home I felt he was still following me. After that, knowing that I was being shadowed, I had not a moment’s peace. I dared not go beyond the gate. I dared not roam around the garden. I hardly knew what I feared, for of course they could have arrested me as easily in the house as outside. At last, I could bear the strain no longer and sent for Mr. Norman. His presence gave me a wonderful sense of security, and as I did not see my persecutor for several days, I really began to hope that the Rosemere tragedy would always remain a mystery, when, picking up the paper one morning, I read that a wretched Frenchman was suspected of the—the death. Of course, there was nothing else for me to do; I must give myself up. Then, you, Doctor, suggested that it might not be necessary, after all—oh, you gave that advice quite unconsciously. I knew that. But when you told me that the man, Argot, was hopelessly insane, and would in any case spend the rest of his days in a lunatic asylum, I wondered if the sacrifice of my life were indeed demanded. At any rate I felt I must go to New York so as to be on hand in case something unexpected occurred, and to watch developments. You can now understand why I begged you so hard to persuade Mamma to bring me here. When I had at last induced you all to let me come, I went out for a walk and was terribly frightened by a tramp whom I mistook for a detective. On reaching New York, I found there was nothing to be done here, and yet I have felt much more calm than I did in the country. Then, yesterday, I met Mr. Merritt, who told me that Mrs. Atkins was suspected, and had fled from her home in consequence. I might hold my tongue where a poor mad creature was concerned, whom my confession could not benefit, but in this case it was not to be thought of. I had a great many last things to attend to, so I decided not to give myself up till to-day. That is the end of my story.”

And it is very nearly the end of mine. I easily persuaded May that to make her confession public would do no good to any one. When the inquest was held Mrs. Atkins told what she knew of the deceased, and although several people considered that her conduct had been suspicious, yet no one, I think, questioned that the verdict that Allan Brown met his death “by a person or persons unknown,” was the only one which could have been rendered. I have never really learned whether the name of the Rosemere victim was Derwent or Brown. As May had not seen her brother since he left his home many years before as a beardless boy, it is quite possible that her failure to recognise him was simply due to the great change which dissipation, as well as years, had wrought in him. However, as young Derwent was never again heard of, I have always believed that it is he who lies in some unnamed grave in the potter’s field. But that his fate may never become known to his mother and sister, is my most ardent wish.

Years have passed since these occurrences took place, and May Derwent is, I am glad to say, May Derwent no longer.

From time to time I see Merritt, but as he will talk of nothing but the Rosemere murder, I avoid him as much as possible. I am sure that, although he has never been able to discover a single damaging fact against my wife, yet his detective instinct tells him that she alone could solve, if she wanted to, the mystery of “The House Opposite.”