The Impending Sword: A Novel (Vol. 3 of 3)

Transcriber's Note: 1. Page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/impendingswordno02yate (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)

THE IMPENDING SWORD.

LONDON:
ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.

THE

IMPENDING SWORD.

A Novel.

BY

EDMUND YATES,

AUTHOR OF 'BLACK SHEEP,' 'THE ROCK AHEAD,' 'THE YELLOW FLAG,'
ETC. ETC.

'Put we our quarrel to the will of Heaven,
Who, when He sees the hours ripe on earth
Will rain hot vengeance on the offenders' heads.'

SHAKESPEARE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND.
1874.

[The right of translation, dramatic adaptation, and reproduction is reserved.]

<

Book the Second.

THE CRIME.

[CHAPTER I.]

CONSULTATION.

Thornton Carey stood as one transfixed; in all his recollection of Helen he had never seen her like this before--wonderfully pretty, but deadly white, and almost rigid.

'You wish to see me,' she said, advancing towards him, and placing her cold hand in his; 'you have bad tidings, and you hesitate to tell me; you need not be afraid--directly your arrival was announced I had a presentiment.'

'I have, indeed, something very serious to say to you,' said Thornton Carey, motioning her to a seat, 'and you judge me truly when you say that I find it difficult to break it to you.'

'What you have to tell me concerns Alston--concerns my husband,' said Helen, with unnatural calmness; 'don't fear to speak it at once--he is--is dead!'

'Helen,' said Thornton Carey, laying his hand softly on hers, 'I have known you from your earliest youth, and no brother could have a deeper interest in or affection for you than I have. It is my lot to bring you the news of the most serious trial that you could be put to, and I must not shrink from the obligation. So long as there was any hope, I kept silence myself; and enjoined it on others. Now there is none, and in mercy to you, as well as in justice to myself, I must speak. Summon your womanly fortitude to your aid, my poor child, for you will need it all. Helen--your husband is dead!'

She sunk back in her chair, closing her eyes, and pressing her hands before her face. From time to time a strong shiver shook her entire frame, and her interlaced fingers were convulsively twisted together. Once or twice, too, she uttered a deep groan, but there were no tears, nor any of the usual signs of grief.

After a few moments, still lying back, and with her face still covered by her hands, she asked, in a voice such as Thornton Carey had never heard from her before--dull, toneless, and metallic: 'Did he die in England?'

'He did,' replied Carey. 'Ah, Helen, I have not told you all even yet--you have much to hear and bear.'

'You can proceed,' she said. 'You see that I am perfectly quiet.'

Thornton Carey glanced at her uneasily; his good sense told him that this forced calmness was unnatural, and might be dangerous, and yet, now that he had once entered upon his mission, he could not hesitate to go through with it.

'There is reason to believe,' he said, half averting his head, for, though her eyes were covered by her hands, he felt as though her gaze was directed towards him, 'there is reason to believe that poor Griswold was the victim of foul play--that he met his death unfairly--' he saw that she failed to perceive his meaning, and added slowly--'that he was murdered!'

'O my God!' she cried; and with a piercing shriek she threw herself forward on the table, burying her head in her arms, which were enshrouded in her loose hair.

Thornton Carey sprang to his feet, and hastened to fetch her some iced-water from the pitcher which stood on the buffet. When he returned with the tumbler, she was sobbing fearfully, and rocking herself to and fro, moaning dismally the while.

'O, my Alston, my darling, my own husband--O, why did you leave me? Why did you not listen to me when I implored you not to go this fatal journey?'

'Helen,' said Thornton Carey, touching her lightly on the shoulder, 'where is the courage you promised to show me?'

'O, to think that he is dead! that I shall never see him again! O, my own darling, my own Alston--to think that he has been killed!'

'You are right to mourn him,' said Carey gently, 'for he was the best, the kindest, the most generous of men.'

'O, who could speak of that so well as I could?' murmured Helen, her face still covered. 'Did he not give me everything I wanted? Was it not for my sake that he took this journey in which he lost his life?'

'Recollect then, Helen, that, however much you may deplore his loss, there is yet another duty owing to his memory. If my suspicions are correct, he was treacherously and basely murdered, and our first duty is to avenge his death, and bring the murderer to justice.'

He had scarcely uttered the words before she raised her head and confronted him, with difficulty recognisable as the woman who, pale and shrinking, had so recently entered the boudoir; her eyes blazed with a fierce, lurid light, her cheeks flushed and tear-blurred, and her lips tightly set together.

'You are right, Thornton Carey,' she said very quietly; 'that is, of course, the first thing to be done. Who are these wretches? Are they known?'

'Not yet,' said Carey; 'but I hope they will be before long. I will leave you now; some other day--to-morrow, perhaps--when you are more calm, I will tell you the particulars of this dreadful affair, and we will consult as to what is to be done.'

'To-morrow,' she repeated; 'why not now? Why lose one moment? Is calmness required when the means of punishing my Alston's murderer is in question? For God's sake, talk to me, Thornton Carey, and give me something to employ my mind, for when I think of his loss and my own desolate position, I feel as if I should go mad.'

An instant's rapid reflection convinced Carey that to do as she requested would be the best means of serving her--the best chance of staving off that access of grief which he had so much dreaded.

'I will do what you wish, Helen,' he said, after a pause, 'if you will promise me to keep guard over yourself, and to strive hard against being betrayed into any exhibition of feeling; this will be the more necessary as I shall have to bring two strangers to you, people who made the acquaintance of our poor Alston in England, and who were the first to form the idea that he was indeed the murdered man.'

'To form the idea!' cried Helen. 'Is it not certain--is there any possible doubt?'

'None,' said Carey gently, but decisively. 'From all that I can make out, and you will understand that I have done my best to sift the matter thoroughly, I can have no doubt that the American gentleman passing under the name of Foster, whose murder in Liverpool is now reported in the newspapers, was your husband, and my poor friend, Alston Griswold.'

'Passing under the name of Foster!' repeated Helen. 'Alston would never have descended to such duplicity. What reason could he have,' she added, looking up, 'for concealing his real name?'

'That is more than I can say,' cried Carey; 'but whether he did or not you ought to be able to tell at once. How were your letters to him addressed?'

Helen's face fell, and her eyes were downcast; she did not like such an intimate friend even as Thornton Carey to know that her husband had not trusted her with his address. There was, however, no help for it, so she said:

'I did not write direct to Alston in England--my letters have been sent under cover to Mr. Warren, and have been forwarded by him.'

Carey was silent for a moment. Then he said:

'That intelligence goes far to confirm my worst fears. If Alston had not been under an assumed name, you would have written to him direct; that he had an assumed name, which must have been known to Warren, proves that the disguise must have been for business purposes. It is as I thought at first,' he said, lifting up his hands; 'that his business operations might not be known he took the name of Foster; by some one interested in thwarting those business operations he has been killed.'

Helen bowed her head.

'All things seem to point to that, I confess,' she said; 'but Foster is not an uncommon American name--there are hundreds and thousands of Americans now in England on business. The circumstance of Alston having thought fit to conceal his identity is merely a coincidence, and if no personal description of the murdered man has arrived, you may yet be wrong.'

'Would to God I could think so,' said Thornton Carey; 'but after you have heard the story of the two persons from England whom I spoke of, I am afraid even you will have to surrender that hope. I have brought them with me--will you see them?'

'No,' she said quickly, 'I cannot, not to-day, not for some time. You surely cannot consider it necessary?'

'Not if the matter is to be dropped,' he replied quietly; 'but if any action is to be taken upon it, if finding we are right in our surmise, we are at once to take steps to discover and pursue the perpetrators of this dreadful act, then I think no time should be lost in our availing ourselves of all the aid and assistance we can command.'

'That has decided me,' said Helen. 'I will see them at once. Who are they?'

'I think you have seen them,' said Thornton Carey; 'at all events their names are well known to you--they are Mr. Bryan Duval and Miss Clara Montressor.'

'The actors?' cried Helen.

'Exactly,' said Thornton Carey. 'You recollect poor Alston's love for the drama and its professors, and how he used to declare that the theatre was the only place in which he could forget the cares and troubles of business. He seems to have carried this idea over to England with him, and to have made the acquaintance of and become tolerably intimate with this lady and gentleman. It was after accompanying them to Liverpool, and seeing them start on their journey here, that the fatal attack was made upon him. They are, as I need scarcely tell you, highly-intelligent people, and with the kindliest feelings towards you; and as, from the manner in which they were mixed up with poor Griswold in England, their information and advice is highly valuable, I would you should see them at once.'

'I will do so,' said Helen; 'I will come down with you at once to the parlour, where I suppose they are.'

She went down-stairs, only pausing for an instant and trembling violently as she passed the door of the library, when the remembrance flashed across her of her interview with Alston on the night of their ball, and of the manner in which, acting under the presentiment which would seem to have been carried out, she had implored him to give up the idea of this journey. Then, summoning all her courage to her aid, she opened the door, and followed by Thornton Carey, entered the parlour.

A lady, who was turning over the leaves of a photographic album, and a gentleman, who seemed to be reading some memoranda in a note-book, rose at their entrance. She bowed as Thornton Carey muttered hastily some formal words of introduction, and looked at them keenly. Months afterwards Helen remembered that, notwithstanding the acuteness of the mental agonies she was suffering, she could not help remarking the difference between the quietly-dressed, mild-mannered lady who sat before her and the shrieking heroine of the stage, between the sharp, shrewd, worldly-wise Bryan Duval and the steeple-hatted, velvet-cloaked utterer of romantic rhapsodies.

Bryan Duval was the first to speak: 'Your friend Mr. Carey has an idea, Mrs. Griswold, that we may be able to be of some service to you by giving information which, combined with such knowledge as you yourself possess, may tend to elucidate the causes which prompted this dreadful deed, and enable you to recognise its perpetrator. I need scarcely assure you of our warm sympathy, or the earnest desire on our part to help you.'

Helen bowed, and steadying herself by a great mental effort, said: 'I am very grateful for the interest you have displayed towards me. Mr. Carey has given me no details, preferring that I should hear them all from you. I should like to know, in the first place, what gave you the idea of the identity of my husband, Mr. Griswold, with the victim of this cruel deed?'

'I think I can answer that question,' said Miss Montressor, bending forward. 'The gentleman whom we knew as Mr. Foster once showed me a portrait of a lady which he described as his wife's. I had the portrait in my hands for some time, and its features were vividly impressed in my mind. Before we made our first appearance at the theatre here, I had heard accidentally that you were to occupy a certain seat, and I was instructed to look out for you. You may judge of my astonishment when in that seat I saw a lady whom I recognised as the original of the portrait which Mr. Foster had shown me.'

'You must pardon my appearing a little confused,' said poor Helen, putting her hand on her head. 'Do I understand that you recognise me as the original of the portrait shown to you?'

'Certainly,' replied Miss Montressor; 'there could be no doubt about it.'

'And this portrait,' asked Helen, 'what was it like--how was it set?'

'It was a miniature, a very beautifully coloured photograph, I should say, and it was set in the inside case of a plain gold watch, the spring which discovered it being very difficult to find.'

'That was my parting gift to Alston,' murmured Helen. 'Either he must have shown it to you or it must have been stolen from him.'

'That I think can easily be decided,' interrupted Bryan Duval, 'by a description of the gentleman whom we knew as Mr. Foster, and who showed the portrait to this lady. A man between five-and-thirty and forty years of age, about my height, with hair somewhat lighter than mine, a thick dark moustache and imperial, or chin tuft; his expression somewhat prematurely grave and thoughtful, but brightening in an instant whenever anything struck his fancy; his manner rather English than American, perhaps a little formal at first, but frank and warm when he was known--I beg your pardon,' he added hurriedly, seeing that Helen had placed her handkerchief to her eyes, 'I fear I have said too much.'

'It was only for an instant,' she said, looking up. 'Your description, to my mind, is singularly accurate, and I fear that it would be useless to indulge in any further hope. It seems now only too certain that the worst is true.'

'What we have to do now, then,' said Thornton Carey, striking in quickly, and with a significant glance at Duval, 'is to try and discover what instigated the deed, and by whom it was perpetrated.'

'To aid us in that endeavour,' said Duval, who perfectly comprehended the reasons which actuated his companion, 'we must get Mrs. Griswold to answer as freely and as closely as she possibly can.'

'I will do so to the best of my ability,' said Helen; 'but I must warn you from the first that my knowledge of Mr. Griswold was mainly restricted to his home, where he was the best, the truest, and the most generous of men. He had not, and I have no doubt correctly, a very high estimate of woman's value in business matters; he imagined that they could not grasp the details, and if, during the first days of our marriage, I ever attempted to talk of his affairs, he invariably put me off with a pleasant word and a jest. Seeing how he felt about the matter, I had long since given up attempting to speak to him concerning them.'

'But surely this voyage to Europe, which was not an ordinary business matter, but one entirely out of the way, might have tempted you to break your rule?' said Bryan Duval.

'It did,' said Helen. 'I spoke to Mr. Griswold about it on several occasions; the last I remember perfectly. There had been a little social gathering at this house, and after our friends had gone my husband went into his library, to arrange some papers. I joined him there, and besought him to give up his intended voyage.'

'What a mercy it would have been if you had succeeded!' said Miss Montressor.

'I think I might have succeeded if he alone had been engaged in the undertaking, for he was much moved by my evident distress; but he told me that he was merely one of several; that certain of his friends had joined in the speculation on the strength of his having guaranteed to carry it out; and that it was impossible for him to back out of it with honour.'

'Certain of his friends,' repeated Bryan Duval slowly. 'Did he name any of them to you?'

'He did not,' replied Helen.

'This information gives colour to your idea, Mr. Carey,' continued Bryan, 'that the prompting of the deed may have come from this side of the water. You were acquainted with most of your husband's friends, I suppose, Mrs. Griswold?'

'In a casual way,' replied Helen. 'Mr. Griswold was of a very hospitable nature, and was in the habit of inviting them to dinners at Delmonico's or at this house, at most of which I was present, while they, in their turn, would invite us.'

'Now, among these acquaintances, can you think of any one who could be jealous of Mr. Griswold in any possible way, of his position in Wall-street, his social status, or--anything else?' asked Bryan Duval, looking narrowly at her.

'No,' answered Helen, whose cheeks flushed crimson as the remembrance of her last interview with Trenton Warren rose unbidden to her mind--'no, I think not.'

'It is useless to ask if he had any enemies; none of us, even the most insignificant, is without them; but had he any enemy, open and avowed--have you ever heard of any one whom he had crossed in business, or--in anything else, and who was likely to revenge himself upon him?'

'Never,' said Helen decisively; 'never.'

'And you are absolutely not aware of the existence of any motive likely to prompt such a crime?'

'I am not,' replied Helen.

Bryan Duval shrugged his shoulders, and sank back in his chair.

'Mr. Duval's questions have been very skilfully put, my dear Mrs. Griswold, and you have answered them plainly and conscientiously. I will ask you--'

'Pray excuse me one minute,' said Miss Montressor; 'there is one point in connection with the identity of Mr. Foster with Mr. Griswold which has not yet been brought forward. On the same evening on which your portrait had been shown to me,' she continued, turning to Helen, 'as we were driving to London in an open carriage, I complained of the cold, and Mr. Foster--I may as well continue to call him so--lent me this pin, which he took from his cravat, to secure my shawl--do you recognise it?'

As she spoke she handed the pin to Mrs. Griswold.

Helen looked at it attentively. 'I have seen this stone before, but I cannot tell where.' Then, after a pause, she said: 'Now I recollect perfectly. It was not set as a pin when I saw it, but as a sleeve link. I found it on the floor of the room after the little party which I have mentioned, and I do not remember having come across it since.'

'You are quite right,' said. Miss Montressor. 'Mr. Foster mentioned having found the link when he unpacked his trunk on his arrival in England. He imagined it to be one of a set belonging to you, and had it mounted as a pin. The evidence is not worth much, I know,' continued Miss Montressor, taking the pin from Helen's hand, and laying it on the table, 'but it is a small additional proof that Mr. Griswold and the victim of this horrible crime were one. I am sorry I interrupted you, Mr. Carey.'

'Not at all,' replied Thornton. 'I was merely going to sum up all Mr. Duval's skilful questions in one commonplace one. Have you, my dear Mrs. Griswold, no idea of anything which could have tempted any one to assassinate your husband?'

'Not the slightest in the world,' said Helen, shaking her head wearily; unless, 'indeed, my poor Alston was mistaken for some one else. I think that must have been it. I think he must have been mistaken for some one else.'

'Mrs. Griswold is growing a little fatigued,' said Bryan Duval, who had been watching her closely, 'and naturally requires rest and quiet. I do not think that we can say any more just now, and we had better bring this painful interview to a close.'

'I agree with you,' said Thornton Carey; 'one word more and I have done. I had concluded,' he added, turning to Helen, 'even before what you told me this morning concerning your letters, that the man who knew most about your poor husband's affairs, and who was most thoroughly in his confidence, was Trenton Warren. I have been to his office, and find that he is at Chicago. I have, accordingly, ventured to telegraph to him there in your name, desiring him to return at once, stating that it was of the utmost importance that you should see him, but not mentioning what has occurred. I hope I did rightly.'

'I--I suppose so,' Helen replied. 'But you will remain in town, Mr. Carey, and--this gentleman, and you, madam, will continue to advise me--will you not?'

'I may say, speaking for both of us, that we shall be too happy to be of any service to you,' said Bryan Duval. 'I have had some experience in the elucidation of mysteries, and I shall devote some time in the endeavour to bring this villany home to the proper person.'

'I would offer to stay with you,' said Miss Montressor, 'but, unfortunately, as you are aware, my avocations do not permit me. I cannot bear to think of you sitting alone here, without any one to console you in your trouble.'

'You are very kind,' said Helen; 'but I feel that I have overtaxed my strength, and I shall get to bed as soon as possible. Fortunately, my child's nurse, Mrs. Jenkins'--here Miss Montressor winced--'is a most attentive and considerate person, and will, I am sure, take every care of me.'

'She seems, indeed, quite a treasure,' said Thornton Carey. 'I will call upon Dr. O'Connor as I go down town, and ask him to look in upon you when he is driving this way. You must be careful, my dear Mrs. Griswold; you will need all your strength to help us in the unravelment of this mystery.' Then they took their leave.

When they reached the street, Thornton Carey parted from them, with promises to see them on the morrow; and Bryan Duval, who seemed to have recovered all his old manner, said to Miss Montressor: 'I am going down, my dear Clara, on a little mission to the Tombs, which is the cheerful name they give to the police office here. The judge is an old friend of mine, and I have already started inquiries among some of the police officers. It is not a place that I can conveniently take you to, so I advise you to get into the approaching omnibus, which these Americans, with their usual perversity, insist on calling a "stage," and which will put you down at the hotel. You will find the step very high, but woman is privileged in America, and you can seize the knee or the nose of the nearest gentleman, and help yourself in by it, without giving him any offence. You can add to the compliment, so soon as you are seated, by handing him this ten-cent bill, and observing his graceful attitudes as he pushes it through the hole in the roof to the driver. Adios, my child; I shall be back by dinner time.'

'Our Clara is a very nice little girl,' said Bryan Duval, as he strolled down the street, 'and Mr. Thornton Carey is a worthy, good man--rather of the steady-going beef-and-potatoes kind of order, without any particular originality or fancy about him, and they both do their best, and very possibly be of use in helping to puzzle out the inquiry; but there are times when a man of any genius likes to be alone, and not to be yoked to any of his humdrum fellow creatures. Collaboration, working with another person, is a thing that I never appreciated--I mean working at the same time with another person. If a fellow has been before me with certain excellent crude notions, which he had brought to a certain point, and then gave them up because he lacked the ability to carry them further, and I take them up where he dropped them, and trundle them into a triumph, I do not call that collaboration; they become my ideas, and his failure becomes my success.

'This is a very singular case,' continued Mr. Duval, taking from his pocket a small plaited-straw case of cigarettes, opening one, lighting it, and smoking it in the true Spanish fashion, 'a very singular case, and one which, properly manipulated, and placed on the boards with care, ought to bring me in something like a thousand pounds. I have no doubt there are men in London who are on to it already, who will make a wretched coarse bungle of the story, ascribing the cause of the murder to the usual motive, an improper lady, a horrible creature, with crimson cheeks and tow hair, and who will produce their garbage at the Surrey, where it will play for ten nights to overflowing galleries, and never be heard of afterwards. Now, let me see, if business continues well at the Varieties, I shall remain here till June; I can sketch out this story on the voyage home, and get it all ready for some London house to open with in September. Which manager shall I give it to? Wogsby, at the Parthenon, is too old; wants to play the principal parts himself, and though he has the remains of greatness about him, cannot recollect his words. Rowley, at the Coliseum, can't get on without a show piece; he would want to put lions and tigers, elephants, camels, and spotted horses into this, and somehow, as the scene must be laid in Liverpool and thereabouts, that would spoil the local colour. Hodgkinson, of the Gravity, is, I think, my man. He is a true showman; French farces, show-leg and break-down burlesques, fine old English comedy and opera bouffe, are all the same to Hodgkinson, so long as they draw the coppers, and I think I can make him see his way to this pretty clearly.

'I wonder if we are on the right scent or not? Carey's notion that the crime may have arisen from some business complication is not a bad one, and I took care immediately to adopt it as my own--there is never any use in losing the credit of these things. Whether he is right or not remains to be proved. Of course, in a dramatic version, one would have to give another motive; business is a deuced unromantic thing, and no audience could feel any sympathy for a man who was knocked on the head by some one who had projected an opposition gas-works or a rival railway line. On the stage, the woman interest must be brought out, and that is easy enough to do, only just now one has pure prose to deal with, and I should much like to know the truth of the case. Union-square, by Jove! How quickly I must have walked. I think the faintest suspicion of a lunch would recruit exhausted nature before I plunge into the dirt and desolation of the Tombs.'

As he said these words, Mr. Duval turned down Fourteenth-street, and walked into Delmonico's. He was received by the two clerks, who sat at the counter facing the door, with a grave bow, which he gravely returned; then he entered the public room, took up his position at a table in a window, and speedily found one of the sable-clad managers by his side.

'Delighted to see you again amongst us, M. Duval,' said this functionary, speaking in French. 'Every night this saloon is filled with ladies and gentlemen who, during their supper, raffolent of you and your success. You were here the other night yourself, I understand, but I had not the pleasure of seeing you.'

'Thanks, my dear M. Adolphe,' replied Bryan, in the same language. 'These good New Yorkers are always kind to one, who has happened once to please them, and I may truly say that they never forget old friends. And you are looking as young as ever; the cares of business sit lightly on your shoulders, mon brave,' and he tapped the little Frenchman lightly on the back. 'Say, Adolphe, is the brand of Chablis as good as ever?'

'I think I may say better, M. Duval. We have some now which is--' And the little man, instead of finishing his sentence, kissed the fingers of his right hand and waved them in the air.

'Very well then, Adolphe, send me half a bottle of it and a dozen Blue Points. I am keeping to small oysters just now, for I am not yet acclimatised to the American monsters, and come back here yourself when you have ordered them, for I want to have a few words with you.'

The oysters were perfectly served, and the Chablis was delicious. After Mr. Duval had smacked his lips over his first glass of wine, he turned to M. Adolphe, who stood with a pleased look by his side, and said: 'Adolphe, you know me of old, and you can be sure that all you say to me will be treated with perfect confidence.'

M. Adolphe bowed.

'You know Mr. Griswold, I suppose?'

'Why, certainly. He has now gone to Europe, but when he is at home there is scarcely a day that Mr. Griswold is not here.'

'Dines here by himself?'

'Dines and breakfasts here by himself, and with madame, and with his friends. There are few of our customers whose bills are so long as Mr. Griswold's, fewer still, alas, who are so prompt in paying them.'

'Exactly. Now,' continued Mr. Duval, 'I know the excellent rule of this house, that no one, however well known to the proprietor, is permitted to be served with a meal in a private room alone with a lady, even though there is no possible doubt that that lady is his wife; but I know also that, of course, there are various jolly supper-parties given up-stairs, at which all sorts of people are present. Was Mr. Griswold a frequent attendant of any of these?'

'Never,' said M. Adolphe energetically, 'I am perfectly prepared to say never. The people with whom Mr. Griswold consorted, male and female, were always les gens comme faut.'

'So I should have thought,' said Mr. Duval cheerfully. 'Thank you very much, Adolphe; in such matters, yours is an opinion to be relied upon. If ever, when you are off duty of an evening, you would like to come into the Varieties, send round to the Fifth-avenue Hotel, and I will give you my card. We are doing great business, but can always find room for friends.' And Mr. Duval paid his bill, and with a pleasant nod, strolled leisurely into the street.

'So far so good,' said he to himself, when he got outside. 'Now, to make myself quite certain, I will put the question to my old friend, O'Meara, and if he endorses Adolphe's opinion, I shall have no doubt about it that Thornton Carey is right; that this has been some business jealousy, and that there is no woman in the case.'

Judge O'Meara was the presiding justice, or what would be called in England the police magistrate, at the Tombs. Looking at him, there was little reason to ask from what country he originally sprang; his clear blue eyes, short, turn-up nose, and full, red lips proclaimed him a genuine son of Erin. His face was clean shaved, with the exception of a moustache, which, with his reddish-brown hair, was close cropped. His style of administering justice was peculiar, rough and ready, but admitted to be well suited to those with whom he had to do.

As Bryan entered the court, by a door behind the bench, a wretched-looking object had just been hauled before the judge by a stalwart Irish policeman.

'What's this?' cried Judge O'Meara.

'A dead drunken case, your honour,' said the policeman.

'Any violence?'

'No, sir.'

'Go along with you,' said the judge to the prisoner, who hurried off delighted at his discharge.

'What's this?' next asked the judge, as a woman with unkempt hair and a fearfully black eye was placed before him.

'Fighting and making a muss in Green-street,' said the policeman.

'Isn't it Mrs. McCleary?' said the judge, looking hard at her. 'Ah, Bridget, you villain!' he continued, 'you may well hang your head, but we are too old friends for me not to recognise you. Is this the three or four hundredth time I have had you here, Bridget, for battering the boys when you have taken a drop?'

'Judge, darling--' said Mrs. McCleary.

'Whist, Bridget! none of your familiarities before strangers. If I let you go this time, will you swear to keep straight, and not be bringing your country and mine into disgrace?'

'I will, judge, by the Blessed--'

'Get along out of that,' interrupted the judge, and Mrs. McCleary left the court rejoicing.

'Bryan, my dear boy,' said the judge, turning round at the light touch which Duval had laid on his shoulder, 'the sight of you is good for sore eyes. I hear you are packing them in like herrings at the Varieties, and I have not yet had time to come and see you.'

'So I have come to see you, my dear judge,' said Duval, 'and on a little matter of business. They used to say, when I was here before, that you knew every one in New York.'

'It is a little pride of mine to do so,' said the judge. 'I will walk up Broadway this afternoon, and there is not a man, woman, or scarce a child that I cannot tell you something about.'

'Of course, then, you knew Griswold?'

'Is it Alston Griswold, corner of Wall and William? I knew him well.'

'What sort of a fellow is he in his habits?' asked Duval. 'Like you and me, judge, with a tender leaning towards the tender sex?'

'My dear Bryan,' said the judge, 'Alston Griswold is the only one man of my acquaintance who has the least touch of the saint in him that way. I firmly believe he is devoted to his wife, and that even on this journey to Europe, which I hear he has undertaken, he will never let another woman cross his thoughts.'

'Many thanks, judge; you have told me just what I wanted to know. I won't detain you now, more especially as we are to meet at supper to-night at Sutherland's.'

'Delighted to hear you are to be of the party, my boy,' said the judge, waving his hand and returning to his business.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Duval,' said one of the police superintendents, stepping up to Bryan, as he was making his way out, 'but the mail from Europe has brought us further information about that murder in which you were interested.'

'Ah, indeed, and what is it?' asked Bryan quickly.

'We have got full particulars of the inquest from London, and copies of the photograph which was found in the watch.'

'The deuce you have,' said Bryan; then muttered to himself, 'It will be known all over the city now.'

'The Liverpool police,' continued the constable, 'are said to be investigating the matter with vigilant intelligence, but the coroner's verdict is an open one, "by some person or persons unknown."'

'Has the body been identified?' asked Bryan.

'By one person only,' said the constable, 'a passenger on board the Birkenhead ferry, who recollected seeing the gentleman leave it in the company of a man dressed as a Methodist preacher, and carrying a parcel wrapped in tarpaulin.'

'Many thanks,' said Bryan. Then, as he turned away, he said to himself: 'I don't mind parsons of the Establishment, but I never did like Methodists; they always do their best to spoil my successes.'

[CHAPTER II.]

RECOGNISED.

In the course of either her professional or private career, Miss Montressor had never before found herself mixed up with so interesting a concatenation of circumstances. She was too true and intentional an actress, the concentrativeness to which she was hereafter to owe a very considerable success in her profession, ever to be able to lose sight of the dramatic side of any event, but it would be doing her a grievous wrong to say that it was uppermost in her mind on this occasion. She, like most women in her profession, had rarely had an opportunity of coming in contact with well-bred and well-educated women in any other than the most formal and superficial relations. Such an opportunity was now afforded her, though under melancholy and deeply-affecting circumstances, by the catastrophe which had befallen Helen Griswold, and there arose in the mind of the actress a genuine womanly sympathy, and strong liking for the young widow who bore her trouble with a calmness and a submission which the other, accustomed to the strong lines and the forced expressions of the dramatic rendering of feeling, instinctively admired, though she could not analyse.

Strictly speaking, her one interview with Helen Griswold had served the purposes for which Bryan Duval and Thornton Carey had relied upon her, and she was in no way bound to undergo any further painful emotion in connection with this subject. There had been indeed almost a tone of dismissal in Bryan Duval's manner, when he parted with her after their interview with Mrs. Griswold--something which intimated that she was now free to go and enjoy herself, and make the most of her stay in a new and delightful scene, where all the honours of popularity awaited her at the hands of the people who best knew how to make popularity pleasant. But Miss Montressor could not shake off the impression which Helen had made upon her, and the following morning, at an hour which rarely witnessed her curtains undrawn or her eyes unclosed, saw her again at the now desolate house in Fifth-avenue. The solemn silence which succeeds to the confusion and dismay of such intelligence as that of which the three had been the bearers on the previous day, had settled down upon the home of the murdered man; the tall front of the house showed long lines of white blinds, there was not a sound to be heard, not a head to be seen at the windows, and for any stir about it, the house itself might have been as dead as its master.

Miss Montressor rang at the bell very gently, and, after a slight delay, was admitted by a servant whom she had not seen before, and who, therefore, could not identify her with the visitor to Mrs. Jenkins of a previous occasion, but who had no difficulty in discovering that he was addressing the celebrated actress, curiosity concerning whom even present circumstances had not been able thoroughly to repress among the household. Miss Montressor had had no fixed purpose in her mind beyond making an inquiry for Mrs. Griswold, but when she had done so, had been assured that 'she was wonderfully well, considering,' the man, with a thoughtful regard for the feelings of his fellow servants who had not the chance of opening the door to Miss Montressor, suggested that perhaps that lady would like to see the nurse, who could give her full particulars of Mrs. Griswold's state.

Miss Montressor thought she would very much like to see the nurse. The man then showed her into the dining-room, and went joyfully to inform Mrs. Jenkins of the great chance that had turned up for her.

Mrs. Jenkins glanced into Helen's room, where she was still sleeping heavily under the influence of the opiate, and laying the child, who had dozed off so soundly asleep, by the mother's side, where she must touch her on awakening, went softly down the stairs to meet her sister.

There was no longer any disguise or concealment in the household; the nature of the accident to their master, at which Thornton Carey had dimly hinted when he entreated their care and caution of observing Mrs. Griswold, was now fully known and incessantly discussed among the servants, who had become in some mysterious way thoroughly acquainted with the facts revealed by Bryan Duval and Miss Montressor to their mistress on the preceding day.

Their horror and regret were extreme. Alston Griswold had the good will and good word of all who held a dependent position with regard to him, and it never occurred to them, as it would have done to English people under similar circumstances, to discern anything sinister in his change of name. If he had called himself Foster instead of Griswold, it was because he had good reasons for it; every one knew how sharp was the practice in his line of business. The newspapers containing accounts of the murder at Liverpool, had been eagerly looked up and read all over again, now that the details had gained additional and ghastly importance, for the members of the Griswolds' household and Mrs. Jenkins had been made thoroughly familiar with all the particulars, extending to Thornton Carey's commission to Jim with regard to the speedy delivery of the telegram. On only two points she had not been informed, for the good and sufficient reason that they had not come to the knowledge of Jim himself. One of these points was the name of the person to whom the telegram had been despatched, the other was the place from whence the answer was expected.

Mrs. Jenkins closed the door of the dining-room as noiselessly as if Helen, two stories above, might have been disturbed by its sound, and instinctively the two women addressed each other in a whisper.

'O, my dear Bess,' said Miss Montressor, 'what an awful thing this is! To think of our having talked about her that night and what she would wear at the play, and her husband being murdered all the time, and our knowing him.'

'Awful, indeed,' said Mrs. Jenkins, as she seated herself by her sister and possessed herself of her hand, 'but tell me, what is this about this pin?'

'What pin? asked Miss Montressor, momentarily oblivious.

'The pin you left on the table here yesterday--how did you come by it?'

'How did I come by it--didn't Mrs. Griswold tell you?'

'She! bless you, she has not been able to speak two rational words since the doctor came yesterday.'

'Why, that is one of the great points in the case, Bess. Mr. Foster, or rather Mr. Griswold, gave me that pin a few days before we left London, and told me himself that it belonged to his wife. It went a great way in making us sure that he was Mr. Griswold, and they say it is a most important piece of conviction in case they catch the murderers.'

'Well,' said Mrs. Jenkins, shaking her head, and looking extremely puzzled, 'it is very odd; I have seen that carved head before, only there were two of them, and they were not pins, they were wrist buttons. I know the thing as well as I know my own wedding-ring; and how Mrs. Griswold ever got hold of them is strange, for my Ephraim bought those very heads--I can swear by the little speck in the edge of the cap in that one of them up-stairs now--when he was travelling with Mr. and Mrs. Moffat, as a courier at Rome, for a mere nothing. He believed them to be shams, but some one who knew all about such things told him afterwards they were nothing of the sort; that they were real antiques--I suppose you know what that means, Clara? I don't, except being very old, and dug up somewhere; and the same person said that the man who sold them to my Eph must have stolen them, for they were worth ten times the price he gave for them, and he got ten times the price when he sold them afterwards to Warren.'

'Who is Warren?' said Miss Montressor.

It was on the tip of Mrs. Jenkins's tongue, when she happily remembered her husband's injunctions not to talk of him, so she simply said:

'Nobody particular; a man Eph knew in the way of business; but I cannot understand how Mrs. Griswold came by them.'

'She probably bought them,' said Miss Montressor, 'from the other man, and very likely paid him ten times as much as he paid to Eph. That's the way people who have lots of money get done. I don't see any beauty in the pin; and you must understand, Bess,' she continued, assuming a sudden air of very amusing propriety, 'that it was not as a present--at least not deliberate and intentional--I came by the pin. I just could not manage to keep my shawl on with a stupid little pin I had in it, and Mr. Foster took this one out of his scarf, and lent it to me. I never thought more of it till I found it in my shawl here at New York.'

Mrs. Jenkins let the subject drop. She had so nearly erred from her strict fidelity to Eph's directions, that the sooner she put herself out of reach of a similar danger the safer she felt. 'Well, it don't matter,' she said. 'It will be many a long day before Mrs. Griswold will have any thought of such things again. She kept up wonderfully yesterday, when you and Mr. Carey were here, and even till after the doctor had seen her, but she must have suffered horribly when she shut herself up in her own room, for when it got quite dark, and she hadn't rung her bell, or made no sign, Justine and I got frightened, and we consulted as to what we had better do about going into the room without she had rung her bell; but, at last, I made up my mind I could not bear it any longer, and I took the baby and went in. She was lying all her length on the hearth-rug, with her face hidden in her hair and her hands; not insensible, she was in a kind of stupid despair. She let us lift her up like a log, and she never spoke one word, not even when I brought the baby to her. She just took her little hand up listlessly in hers for a minute, and let it drop.'

In the fulness of her heart, Mrs. Jenkins's homely manner gained a certain dignity of refinement, which acted immediately upon the sensitive nerves of her sister, whose tears fell silently, and who saw with her mental vision the scene her sister's words represented.

'And then we got her into bed, and sent for the doctor. He gave her a sleeping draught, and said she was to be watched. Justine wanted to sit up with her, but I would not let her--she is young, and young people are never wakeful--so I stayed and sat until this morning, just outside the curtain, peeping at her through a little chink where it joined the tester; and through the chink I could see her eyes wide open, quite unchanged all through the hours of night. I suppose it was the medicine that kept her so still, for she neither sighed, moaned, spoke, nor stirred. She might have been a dead woman, with only the eyes alive, until after the sun rose, and then she began to shiver. I put an eider-down over her, and in a few minutes she dropped asleep. I suppose it was the medicine had its own way at last, and there she is now.'

'The longer she sleeps the better; she has nothing but trouble to wake to,' said Miss Montressor. 'My goodness! I wonder why it is so--what harm did this creature ever do?'

'Ah,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'and what harm did Mr. Griswold ever do, or anything but good, so far as I can find out? They say here he hasn't an enemy in the world.'

'O, that's all nonsense, my dear!' said Miss Montressor. 'No man ever was so rich, so prosperous, and so happy as Mr. Griswold without having lots of enemies; the only wonderful thing is, that he could have any enemies so much in earnest about it as to run the risk of killing him. I suppose they will find out who did it?'

'Suppose they will find out!' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'Of course they will find out--what's the police for?'

'A good many people have been asking that same question lately,' said Miss Montressor, with a smile at her sister's simplicity. 'That is not, by a long way, the worst murder that they have not found out. You manage things better over here, I daresay, but in England, for some time past, the police have been making themselves famous either by catching no one at all in cases of crime, or by catching the wrong man.'

'They say it was not robbery,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'but that he was taken for somebody else.'

'That's all hearsay, my dear,' replied Miss Montressor, with an air of superior wisdom. 'Don't talk about it to the other servants, but I may tell you in confidence that Bryan Duval, who is about the best detective going, has very little doubt that the motive, if not the murderer, is to be found on this side the Atlantic.'

'No,' said Mrs. Jenkins; 'you don't say so! Then you may depend upon it he will be hunted down, because they tell me here there is no man more respected or liked than Mr. Griswold, in general; but that he has one friend whose devotion is quite a talk in the place.'

'Ah,' said Miss Montressor; 'I suppose that is Mr. Warren they were inquiring about yesterday? It is rather a pity he is away just now.'

Again Mrs. Jenkins felt herself on dangerous ground, and once more withdrew from it, changing the conversation to her sister's prospects and proceedings in New York.

The interview between the sisters lasted long, and was undisturbed by any summons from Helen. Once, in the course of it, Mrs. Jenkins went softly up-stairs, and looked into the room, whose stillness she dreaded to find roused into act of suffering. But Helen was still sleeping, with her child by her side. At first sight the scene was one of quiet and touching beauty, for the baby's face lay close to that of the girlish mother, and both looked equally fair; but on a nearer inspection, it might be seen that Helen's lips were colourless, and were marked with a dry, black line that comes of artificial sleep supervening upon acute suffering; and the waxen eyelids, which ranked among the chief beauties of her face, were tinged with purple; the weight of the weary head indented the pillow deeply, and the hands, listlessly stretched out, were cold and heavy. Mrs. Jenkins made some slight change in the attitude of the sleeper, fearing the constrained, long-maintained position, and again left her.

'She is sleeping still,' she said. 'One cannot look at her without thinking what a good thing it would be if she were never to wake.'

'O, nonsense, my dear Bess,' said Miss Montressor, who, having talked it out fully, was experiencing release from the tension of nerves occasioned by her excitement and genuine sympathy. 'It is an awful thing, no doubt, but she has youth, strength, and wealth to pull her through it--and these things do pull people through, somehow or other. She will be bright and happy again after a while, and then you will be very glad that the poor child is not left fatherless and motherless too, at one blow.'

'Yes, to be sure, Clara--you are right,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'If women were easily killed, especially by trouble, there would not be much gray hair to be seen on women's heads in the world--what a deal they have to go through in comparison with men!'

'Well, men are mostly let off easy,' said Miss Montressor; 'but after all, it is Mr. Griswold that has been murdered, recollect.'

They entered no further upon this metaphysical subject, and Miss Montressor shortly after rose to go.

'Are the gentlemen coming again today?' asked Mrs. Jenkins, while her sister was resuming her bonnet and jacket.

'I believe so,' replied Miss Montressor. 'Bryan Duval said something about it being necessary that Mrs. Griswold should see some of the police authorities, in order to give any information in her power that may throw light upon Mr. Griswold's correspondents. It appears that he wrote a great many business letters at home, so that the office papers are not sufficiently explicit to account for all his business transactions. I don't know when they are coming, but I think it is settled for to-day.'

'Then,' said Mrs. Jenkins, looking very serious, 'I think that is exceedingly wrong. I am quite certain Mrs. Griswold will be unable to see anybody, judging by her looks at present; for even when she was in no trouble I have known her perfectly stupefied for twenty-four hours after taking an opiate. I think it would be very cruel to hurt her, and I am quite sure it would be useless. They had much better not come here to-day, and I am quite certain that the doctor would strongly object to anything of the sort if he knew how long it was before she got rest.'

'Has he not been here this morning?'

'No; the orders were that he was to be sent for when she woke, but that she was not to be disturbed on any account, until the effect should go off naturally.'

'Shall I, then, tell Bryan Duval,' said Miss Montressor, 'that you think it would be useless to make any attempt at taking her evidence to-day? He is very energetic and deeply interested in this business, but he has a great objection to wasting his time on his own account, or on other people's account; and if she could not see them, he would be greatly annoyed at having been brought up here on a useless errand. Suppose you were to send round and ask the doctor, Bess?'

Mrs. Jenkins thought this an excellent suggestion, and forthwith proceeded to carry it out by means of Jim, who she interviewed in the hall, mindful of her sister's incognito.

'You've a head worth half a dozen,' was Jim's approving comment upon the commission with which he was intrusted, to the increase of his own sense of importance, which had been largely cultivated by Thornton Carey's confidence. 'I will just go round at once, and ask whether Mrs. Griswold is to be disturbed on any account whatever.'

Jim departed on his errand, and returned with marvellous celerity. The doctor's orders were that Mrs. Griswold was not to be disturbed, was not to be allowed to see any one, and he added that he would look in at five o'clock in the afternoon.

'Then I tell you what it is, Bess,' said Miss Montressor. 'I will just make the best of my way back to the hotel, and put off this appointment; Bryan Duval will know where Mr. Carey is to be found.'

Mrs. Jenkins accompanied her sister to the street-door, and once again encountered Mr. Thornton Carey there. He had come in order to ascertain the very fact of which Miss Montressor was about to apprise him, and perfectly agreed, on hearing their report, that no further steps should be taken on that day. He looked exceedingly worn and weary, and in answer to Miss Montressor's eager inquiries, informed her that no further information had transpired, but that his own conviction that the murder had been at first instigated from this side was deepened by every additional item of information which he had been able to gain respecting the magnitude and complication of Mr. Griswold's commercial transactions, and the conflicting interests involved in their failure or success.

* * * * * *

When her sister left her, accompanied by Thornton Carey, Mrs. Jenkins returned to her watch in Helen's room, from which she removed the infant, by this time awake.

Lurking under all her true womanly sympathy and acts of helpfulness in the great calamity of the household was a sense of deep personal disappointment; the heart of Mrs. Jenkins was filled with two great affections, one towards her husband, the other towards her sister, and her intellect contemplated but two absorbing pleasures; the first, the presence of her Ephraim was denied to her by Fate in so conclusive a manner that she had ceased to fret over it, for practical common sense had a large share in her organisation; the second, a personal observation of her sister's celebrity, success, and proficiency in her profession she had counted upon as within her reach, and now the great event had taken place, the star actor and his company were in possession of the boards of the Varieties, all New York was talking of Miss Montressor, the papers contained specific and voluminous descriptions of her appearance, dress, manners, and also indulged in dainty anecdotes respecting off-the-boards utterances of hers to the favoured few who had yet seen her in private. From all these glories and delights Mrs. Jenkins was excluded by hard Fate, which had hit her by a back-handed blow. Once or twice she had cherished for a moment the notion of slipping out for half an hour, and occupying some unobtrusive corner of the theatre, where she might see her sister for a few minutes in one of her great impersonations, and slipping back again unsuspected, but her better feelings utterly prevailed over the temptation. She could not leave her mistress, and she could not bear the contrast which the gaiety and brilliancy and pleasure of a theatre would present to the awful desolation of the fine house to which she had once thought of coming from the poverty and the difficulties that had condemned her to parting with Ephraim. 'It must be sheer heaven to live so,' she said with just one sigh, given to the recollection of the high hope with which she had heard the promise of her sister's coming, she went back to the painful round of her duties, many of them self-imposed.

Helen Griswold had the faculty of winning the love of all those in her employment, and there was not a servant in the house who would not willingly have shared Mrs. Jenkins's watch, but she had a notion that as she was the only wife and mother among them, she could draw nearer to the bereaved wife and mother who still lay there in merciful unconsciousness; so the hours wore away and Mrs. Jenkins watched her patient. The doctor came, looked at the sleeping form on the bed, felt the pulse, touched the clammy forehead, listened to the faltering breath, and went his way, declaring it still safe to leave her undisturbed.

'If she could sleep all round the clock,' said he, 'so much the better. Twenty-four hours' oblivion is not to be lightly thought of in such a case as hers.'

'I am afraid, sir,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'she will have to see the police people tomorrow, that it cannot be put off longer, because they talk of sending an agent to England by the next mail.'

'In that case,' said the doctor, 'when she wakes let her have food and stimulants; take her up, give her a warm bath, and, according as you find her nerves stronger and her mind clearer, prepare her for the task that lies before her. I shall see her in the morning, and will remain here to meet the gentlemen who are coming.'

Late that night Thornton Carey again called to hear the doctor's last report, which he did from Mrs. Jenkins, and then, begging, if possible, to prepare Mrs. Griswold for the trying visit upon which they were obliged to insist, at eleven o'clock on the following day, he went down to the theatre, where the performance was just coming to a close, and joined Bryan Duval. They returned to the Fifth-avenue Hotel together, and held a long conference, which lasted long into the night.

Immediately after Thornton Carey left Mrs. Jenkins, she once more pressed into her service the indefatigable Jim, despatching him with a note to Miss Montressor, adopting the periodical fiction that Mr. Carey had employed her to communicate on his behalf with that lady, who wished to know the latest accounts of Mrs. Griswold; but the purport of her note was to beg that Clara would come up to the house as early as she could on the following morning. 'The truth is,' wrote Mrs. Jenkins to her sister, 'I am exceedingly worn out, and though they are very willing up here, they have not much sense; and in case there is a great to-do to-morrow morning with the gentlemen and the police people, I do not feel equal to it all by myself or with only Justine, who is as incapable as any foreigner I have ever met, though not bad meaning. So, my dear Clara, come up if you can at all. Mrs. Griswold, who has been sitting up and talking quite rational, has taken a great fancy to you, and would, I am sure, be very glad that you should be with her in case I broke down altogether, which does not seem unlikely, and would be a very had job, especially for baby.'

As this invention jumped precisely with Miss Montressor's own wishes, she acceded to it with great alacrity, and with the full and cordial consent of Bryan Duval, with whom she communicated that very night.

'Quite right, my dear Clara; you are a capital person in emergencies, and everything of the sort is first-rate study.'

Miss Montressor arrived early, and was again conducted to the dining-room where her sister soon joined her.

'Mrs. Griswold had passed a good night, and was wonderfully composed.' Mrs. Jenkins related admiringly how she had risen early that morning, allowed herself to be carefully dressed, striven to eat the food which was prepared for her, and made a great effort to be cheerful and considerate towards her attendants. 'The only thing she is not equal to,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'is trying to play with baby. She just looks at her until the tears come, and then she turns away. Now she is quite ready to see Mr. Duval and Mr. Carey, and I have left her sitting before her writing-table, with a pile of papers and letters, sorting them all as regularly and orderly as possible. She said so meekly, "I must not waste these gentlemen's time, or give them trouble, you know. I must be prepared for them." They do say in the house that she never knew anything about business, and that Mr. Griswold thought she had no head for it; but I am greatly mistaken if she hasn't a head for anything she might choose to employ it in. She knows you are coming, Clara, and said she thought it very kind of you, indeed, and that she would be quite able to see you before the gentlemen came; but I think that would be a risk. She would get talking to you about everything Mr. Griswold said and did during the time you knew him, and that would be sure to make her cry. I daresay there is not much composure really in her; but the more she can keep her manner composed the better, and those violent fits of crying are so exhausting.'

'You are quite right, Bess,' returned Miss Montressor. 'I would much rather not see her until after they have all gone away; then it will do her good to talk it over in detail with me, and then to cry her poor eyes out if she likes. So if you will just put me into a room handy to the one you will put these people in, I will be ready in case you are wanted. The only thing you must not do is give me the baby to hold, for I don't know anything about babies, and, to tell the truth, I don't like them.'

With this amicable understanding, the two sisters were about to walk up-stairs, and Mrs. Jenkins had assumed the distant manner which she always put on when there was a risk of their encountering any of the other servants, when their progress was interrupted by overhearing a dialogue which was taking place in the hall between Jim and an unknown individual.

'Whoever can it be?' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'There are such strict orders for no one but Mr. Duval and Mr. Carey, and the people with them, to come in, that I cannot understand who Jim can be parleying with. I will just go and see.'

Mrs. Jenkins opened the dining-room door just sufficient to enable her to catch sight of the unknown individual, and to whom Jim was protesting, with characteristic vehemence, that something or other which he had demanded was an out-and-out impossibility.

The stranger was a man of rather low stature and slight figure, dressed in a loose, shaggy coat, with a low felt hat pulled down over his eyes, so as effectually to hide all the upper part of the face, and he was speaking to Jim with great urgency, placing one hand against the door, as if he dreaded that the servant, in the strict appreciation of his duty, would close it against him by force. 'I must see Mrs. Griswold,' he said; 'I must, indeed.'

'It is quite impossible, sir; Mrs. Griswold cannot see any one. You surely do not know the trouble the house is in, or you would not think of asking such a thing. You must send up your message.'

'I cannot send up my message,' said the stranger, 'it is totally impossible; pray take up my request to Mrs. Griswold.'

'I assure you, sir, it is useless to persist,' said Jim, 'and quite out of the question that you should see Mrs. Griswold. Do you really not know what has happened?'

'I know nothing,' returned the man.

'Then, sir,' said Jim, 'you had better know it--Mr. Griswold is dead, and what's more, he has met with foul play.'

The stranger started a little and exclaimed: 'How very dreadful! But is there nothing else wrong? Is there nothing wrong with any one in the house?'

'No, nothing,' replied Jim, 'except that Mrs. Griswold is very ill indeed, as might be expected; and you will now see, sir, how impossible it is that she could receive you.'

'I fear it is impossible. Can I not see any other member of the family?'

'There is no female,' returned Jim, 'except the baby, and she ain't weaned; but you can see Mrs. Jenkins, the nurse, if you will step into the dining-room; in case that can do you any good, I will go and call her down to you.'

In the general confusion, Jim, who had momentarily forgotten all about Miss Montressor, advanced to the dining-room, followed by the stranger, simply threw the door open, allowed him to pass through it. and without having glanced into the room, went on his errand in search of Mrs. Jenkins, who had withdrawn from the door and closed it as the sound of the stranger's voice reached her ears; also, to Miss Montressor's amazement, she had sat down, looking exceedingly pale and faint; she was realising her apprehensions, Miss Montressor thought, and breaking down in earnest.

It was only a minute from the time Mrs. Jenkins stepped back from the door until the stranger walked into the dining-room, at the farther end of which were the two women, who both rose at the sight of him. One, Mrs. Jenkins, cried out, 'Ephraim!' and rushed towards him; while the other, standing still in rigid amazement, exclaimed, 'Mr. Dolby!'

[CHAPTER III.]

A WAY OF ESCAPE.

The amazement of Miss Montressor had a double origin; the primary one, that Mr. Dolby should turn up, in this unexpected and extraordinary manner, in a place with which he had no connection that she had the most remote suspicion of; the secondary one, that her sister should have rushed into that gentleman's arms, and called him 'Ephraim.' Within the last few days her mind had been so absorbed in the terrible details of the Griswold story, that Mr. Dolby had hardly crossed it; and positively since that morning she had never remembered his existence until the fact was recalled to her in this unprecedented fashion. When she had thought of him at all, it was always with the fixed idea that he had preceded her to America for the purpose of watching her, and now she firmly believed her suspicions to be realised; but even the rapidity of thought did not enable her to do more than realise this fact before her sister said, turning to her, while she still clutched the stranger by the arm, 'This is my husband, Clara; what can you mean by calling him Mr. Dolby?'

Never had the self-possession inseparable from anything like a fair proficiency in her art stood Miss Montressor in such stead as at this moment. She recovered herself instantly, and replied, 'My dear Bess, is this really your husband, your Ephraim of whom we were talking only a few minutes ago? How very odd that an accidental but strong likeness should have led me to have imagined he was a friend of mine!'

'So he will be a friend of yours, I suppose,' said Mrs. Jenkins, with just the slightest possible revival of a combatant tone in her voice; for even the joy of her husband's unexpected return could not silence her from some measure of protest against her sister's indifference. 'And what in the world has brought you back, Eph, and why did you not tell me you were coming?'

'Why in the world was I sent for, Bess?' was Ephraim Jenkins's reply, as he fixed his eyes upon his wife's face with an unmistakably sincere expression of surprise.

Miss Montressor was not prepared to find her sister's husband a good-looking, gentlemanly, and well-dressed man; but these circumstances made no difference at all in the sensation of quiet, sincere, and irrepressible vexation with which she regarded this meeting. It was her most earnest wish that she should never be brought in contact with Jenkins under any circumstances; but to meet him under the present, and at Mrs. Griswold's, where she had such strong motives for disguising her identity with Mrs. Jenkins's sister, was especially annoying to her. Of course the secret could not be kept now, was almost her first thought, but it was worth trying for, and so she unceremoniously interrupted the explanation which Ephraim was about to give to his astonished wife by hurriedly explaining to him that no one must know of their relationship.

'Bess has made me a solemn promise,' she said, 'that she will not tell it, and I expect you to observe it for her sake.'

'Whoever do you suppose I am going to talk to about you,' said Jenkins roughly, with an instantaneous relief, throwing off all the gentlemanly manner and appearance, which was the merest disguise, and with which he equally discarded his previously striking resemblance to Mr. Dolby. 'Bess knows her own business, so do you; and if you don't want to acknowledge her, I'm not going to peach.'

'Thank you,' said Miss Montressor, with great self-command, and she actually put out her hand graciously to her detested brother-in-law.

He took it rather sulkily, and growled out that she need not be in such a hurry to disavow folks that didn't want anything from her.

'That's not my motive,' said Miss Montressor, 'as Bess will explain to you. But I must go now; she won't want me to stay with her now she has got you.'

'O, pray don't go!' exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins. 'I do want to talk to Ephraim, and find out how it is that he has dropped from the clouds in this unexpected way, but perhaps you won't mind staying all the same. There is no one in the boudoir, and I could take you up there while I talk to Ephraim. Mr. Duval and Mr. Carey will be here very shortly.'

Good-nature and curiosity united induced Miss Montressor to comply with her sister's request. 'Very well,' she said; 'I will go to the boudoir; you need not take me up, I know my own way there. Don't you remember, Bess, I have been all over the house with you.' And she went towards the door, but just as she had reached it, Ephraim Jenkins stopped her with a question.

'Would you mind telling me, Miss Montressor,' he said ceremoniously, and with a half-ironical sort of bow, 'who was the individual for whom you did me the honour to mistake me just now? Would you mind mentioning his name? I find it quite unpleasant enough to have one double, as I have already, without being accommodated with two.'

'I mistook you,' she said, 'for Mr. George Dolby, who is an American, like yourself, whom I knew very well in London. Pray don't be offended; I assure you you might very well accept my error as a compliment.'

'Mr. George Dolby,' repeated Ephraim, with an intent frown upon his face as of one trying painfully to retrace a track of thought or to work out a puzzle; 'Mr. George Dolby, an American? Is the gentleman in New York just now?'

'To the best of my belief,' returned Miss Montressor briefly, 'he is;' and with that she left the room.

'By Jove, Bess,' said Jenkins, laying his hand upon his wife's shoulder, holding her at a little distance from him, and looking into her face with an expression of strange mingled suspicion, curiosity, and amusement, 'it is Warren, and he has been up to his game with her in London--it must be, you know; but I am precious glad he has come back, though why he should not have let me know he is back, I cannot tell. However, his being here at New York gets me out of a devil of a mess that I should have been very much puzzled how to get out of myself; though I will tell you what it is,' he continued, drawing her close to him and kissing her fondly, 'I would have got into it ten times over, and trusted to my own luck, or the devil's own luck, to get out of it, for the relief the sight of your face gave me, and when I found there was nothing wrong with you.'

'But what brought you here, Eph, and how came you to think there was anything wrong with me?'

His wife was not to be won from her uneasiness, or diverted from her wish to understand precisely what had occurred, by even the affectionate assurance which was so dear to her, and she reiterated her question very earnestly.

'We shall have very little uninterrupted time, Eph,' she said; 'awful things have happened here. Mr. Griswold has been murdered in England--you must have seen all about it in the papers?'

'No, I didn't; I should have known the meaning if I had, on account of Warren as well as on account of you, Bess; for I haven't forgot, and I don't mean to, how kind Mrs. Griswold has been to you. Poor thing, she is awfully cut up, I suppose.'

'She's just heartbroken, Eph, and the police are coming here presently to make her tell all she knows, poor soul; and as I was saying to Nelly--to Clara, I mean--just now, that's not much, for they do say Mr. Griswold was the closest man in New York about his affairs; and I must leave you then and go to her; so you must tell me as much as you can as quick as you can. Take off that great heavy coat, Eph, and that hat, and sit down.'

'No, no; I mustn't do that, Bess,' replied Jenkins, drawing the coat still more closely round him, and ramming the hat still further down over his eyes by a blow on the crown. 'Whatever are you thinking about? They know Warren perfectly well here, and if they either took me for him, and found out I'm somebody else, or else if they discovered that there's anybody about so uncommon like him as I am, they might have their suspicions roused, and set to look for him directly. And that would not pay, Bess, my dear, neither on his account nor on my own; for though I don't suppose they could do me much harm, and for certain they couldn't make me out to be up to any--deliberate harm, I mean--of course, it ain't altogether on the square, this lay I'm on for Warren. And, then, if he should be up to anything out-of-the-way-fishy, which I'm sometimes tempted to suspect, and they find out that he is not at Chicago while he's pretending to be there, even suppose they couldn't molest me at all, they certainly could stop his little game; and in our present circumstances, Bess, my girl, we must remember that stopping his little game means stopping our rations.'

'Yes, yes,' said Mrs. Jenkins mournfully, twisting the end of her apron about in her fingers in a way habitual to her in perplexity. 'I know that, Eph; and yet I cannot tell you how uneasy and wretched I am feeling, and have been feeling ever since we parted, and you went to undertake this dark and dirty business for Warren. Dark we know it is, and dirty I cannot but suspect it to be. O Eph, could you but give it up? If you only would be satisfied to stick regularly to some kind of fixed work, and let us live respectable, however poor!'

'We couldn't easily be poorer than we've been when we lived disrespectable,' said Jenkins, with a kind of surly good humour; 'and I think I could stick to work if only the pay would stick to me,--but where is it to be had? You can't have forgotten, Bess, how hard I have had to work in this place, and how I never got any for a constancy--yes, yes, I know what your shake of the head means, and you've good right to shake it, I'm not going for a moment to deny that--and how, then, Warren was always giving me, or getting somebody else to get me, odd jobs. Well, one can't work steadily at odd jobs; it ain't in the nature of things, nor yet in one's own nature. If one's business is unsteady, one must be unsteady with it; and where any thing except odd jobs is to come from, especially if I vex Warren, and he shunts me off in earnest, I cannot guess. Can you?'

'I think, Eph--indeed I am sure--Mrs. Griswold would be a good friend to us, if you would let me tell her the truth--I don't mean about Warren, of course, but about our difficulties. I think she would get you a fixed place somewhere, through Mr. Carey's influence--and Warren would never hear of it; or if he did hear of it, he would know, by her ignorance of your being his brother, that you had not betrayed his secret. And, after all, he would then be effectually rid of us, Ephraim, and I think he would be very glad to be rid of us--or I should say of you, because he does not know of my existence--at the price of having his pride hurt by Mrs. Griswold or Mr. Carey observing that there is a strong likeness between him and the husband of her baby's nurse. Do think of it, Ephraim, and let me ask her, when she has got over her great trouble a little, and can look beyond it for the sake of other people. It will not be long first, for she is the most unselfish woman, I do believe, in all the world. Will you let me speak to her, Eph, when I can get an opportunity?'

'Well,' replied Ephraim Jenkins, with a little reluctance in his tone, as of an instinctive, irrepressible shrinking from the burden of a threatened respectability in the future, combined with regular hours and regular work, 'I don't mind--only, you know, I must see this piece of business through to the end; and now, Bess, I must tell you what has brought me here; you were awfully anxious to know a few minutes ago, until you went off at a tangent all about Mrs. Griswold, and a fixed occupation and what not, and now you seem to have forgotten all about it.'

'No, I haven't, Ephraim dear,' replied his wife, as she put her arm round his neck, and looked earnestly into his face; 'only the first feeling of fright has gone off in the pleasure of seeing you again so unexpected--for it did give me a shock of fright as well as a shock of joy. I suppose it was some business of Warren's?'

'I suppose it is too,' he said; 'but I only suppose, for I don't know--and you have thrown more light on it since I came than it has had on it all through the journey, and before I started; for I came off in such a desperate mortal fright about you, my girl, that I never remembered, until I was hours on my way, that the telegram was intended for Warren, and not for me at all.'

'What telegram, Ephraim? I am all astray--I don't understand you. Did you get a telegram? From whom?'

'Yes, I got a telegram, but I suppose, as you are all right, the message could not have had anything to do with me.'

He took out of a breast-pocket in his shaggy overcoat a crumpled and a dirty telegraph form, which was to the following effect:

'From Thornton Carey, New York, to Trenton Warren, 3 Bryan's Block, Chicago. You are earnestly requested by Mrs. Griswold to come to New York without delay. It is of the utmost importance that she should see you. A terrible calamity has occurred.'

Mrs. Jenkins read this document twice over with the seriousness of a person unaccustomed to telegrams, and then returned it to Ephraim. 'The terrible calamity, of course, means Mr. Griswold's murder.'

'Of course that is clear enough now; but can you not understand, Bess, that not knowing a word of that, and merely having this vague instruction, and being so accustomed to be and see myself called Trenton Warren in words and in writing, and, above all, having my mind so full of you, the mere notion of a calamity in connection with this house meant merely you for my fears, and I started at once, never remembering that Mrs. Griswold could not possibly have meant to address me. It all came quite clear to me after a while, but then I began to torment myself again with fresh fears. "What," I thought, "if Bess should be very ill and dying, and have confessed it all to this kind woman whom she likes, and Mrs. Griswold should have taken this clever way of letting me know that she knows, and that I need not be afraid of anything but just come to her at once?" From the instant that flashed into my thoughts, Bess, you may guess I was in an agony to get on every mile of the road, and I give you my word I could hardly drag myself up the stoop to ring at the door-bell, so completely had that second notion taken possession of my mind. I was in such a state of alarm and suspense that, God forgive me, I do believe the news that old fellow told me at the door did not seem half terrible to me.'

'You were always fond of me, Eph, any way,' said his wife, as she kissed him heartily, while tears glittered in her frank sweet eves.

'I should think so, Bess,' he replied. 'I am bad enough, I know, but not such a duffer, no, nor such a brute neither, as I should be if I ever leave off being that. Hollo! there's somebody coming. I hope it isn't the police people, in which case I had better clear out. I can come back, you know, when they're gone; but I've a constitutional objection, to say nothing of the present circumstances, to being inside a house with them.'

The approaching steps were not those of undesirable intruders. It was only Annette, who had brought the baby--she carried the little creature very much as Moggs carried Gabriel Varden's sword, as if she was terribly afraid of it--to her nurse. Annette explained that the child having grown restless, madame had rung her bell, and asked for Mrs. Jenkins and on being told that Mrs. Jenkins had a friend to see her, she had merely asked her to carry the child down to her. Annette reported that madame was still where Mrs. Jenkins had left her, sitting at her writing-table sorting letters and other papers, and that she was quite composed, though looking very ill and mortally pale. And Annette, to whom Miss Montressor had been most gracious, had just glanced into the boudoir as she came down-stairs, and found the celebrity fast asleep.

Mrs. Jenkins laughed. Her sister had always been famous for a most enviable power of going to sleep. 'I never remember a time when Nelly--Clara, I mean--could not eat and sleep, no matter what happened, or to whom it occurred,' she said admiringly to Ephraim, who remembered that those faculties were useful, but not particularly sentimental, 'and that for his part, he liked a touch of nerves about a woman; least-ways what some people called nerves, but he called feelings.'

In this pointed remark Ephraim Jenkins did injustice to his fair sister-in-law. Miss Montressor was by no means deficient in feeling, but she was very healthy, and just now she was very tired, so that it was her nature to sleep under the circumstances, and sleep she accordingly did. Having made her communications, Annette tripped out of the room, after having honoured Mrs. Jenkins's visitor with a condescending bow and a long, steady, attentive stare, of which he was uncomfortably conscious, and which he tried to avoid, but in vain.

He need not have felt alarmed, however, at any risk of recognition by Mdlle. Annette. She merely remarked in soliloquy, 'How all these Yankees resemble one another in an astonishing fashion. When one has seen one of them, one has seen them all, except just in the regard of height and thinness. It is only in France that we find variety of physiognomy.'

'What a pretty child!' said Ephraim Jenkins, touching the infant's dimpled cheek with his finger, as it lay close to his wife's breast--'not much like our poor little man, Bess?'

'No, bless her heart; not like him in the plump healthy face, but sweet and clever like him;' and the mother, who had not buried her dead out of her memory, hugged the baby with a slight rapidly-suppressed sob, and loved her husband all the more dearly for the reference to the little crippled sufferer who had been her treasure and her heartache in one.

'Now then, Bess, we must consult about what is to be done, for I do think things look extremely queer. The last communication I had from Warren was from London, and there was nothing at all unusual in it; he merely enclosed some letters to be sent on to New York, and sent me a lot of blank signatures. He has never given me the slightest inkling of what his business in England is really about. By the bye, isn't it odd that there should be the same sort of mystery about what Mr. Griswold has been doing over there? I wonder if they were in the same boat.'

'I have heard Mr. Warren spoken of among the servants,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'as being Mr. Griswold's greatest friend, but I have never heard them say anything about any business partnership between them, and there is no other name in the firm that I know of.'

'O, then I suppose they were not mixed up in business,' said Ephraim, 'and I must say, knowing what I do of my worthy brother, I should feel inclined to add, so much the better for poor Mr. Griswold during his own lifetime, and for those whom he has left to profit by his gains. I suspect they would find them materially reduced if Warren had had the handling of any of them. Of course, I have not had much to do with his affairs down at Chicago; but there is a precious lot of bogus in what I have had to do with, and I have been asked some very nasty questions lately--in writing, of courser I mean, and in his person, which I was totally unable to answer; and as he didn't authorise me to go in for cable expenses, I have been obliged to leave them unanswered, and I expect some of my correspondents are getting rather impatient under these circumstances. Bess, you will observe that what Miss Montressor let out just now when she took me for Mr. Dolby has rather a curious meaning; for suppose Warren should have left London, as her account of Mr. Dolby seems to imply, he will not have got my last letters informing him of the dilemma in which I find myself; and how I am to get out of it I am sure I can't tell should this be the case. Of course, as long as I felt sure he was in England, it was tolerably plain sailing; there was nothing to fear but delay; but if he has left England and come back here, and is hiding about anywhere and not communicating with me, I consider something much worse than delay is to be apprehended, and I don't at all bargain for getting into any extensive and difficult scrape in the matter. So that you see I had more motives than one in coming up immediately on receipt of the telegram; because, though I really did make the blunder I have told you of in forgetting that it could not be addressed to me in reality, I have had for some weeks a great wish to find out, if possible, what Warren is about. I don't think I can be involved in any serious mischief, because I have taken such care never to forge his name--all papers that have left my hands bearing it are genuine signatures.'

'That's a comfort,' said Bess; 'but how can you find out anything about him here? You can't go to any of the places where he is known without betraying him.'

'That's just my difficulty,' said Jenkins, 'because it's a perfectly new light to me that his real business friends here, the people with whom he is actually mixed up in big transactions, verily and indeed believe him to be at Chicago. My notion was that it was only some one or two particular persons he wanted to impose upon; but the matter takes a completely different complexion now that I find out his most confidential people here believe him to be where he is not.'

'How do you know they are also imposed upon?' asked Bess.

'By the telegram, my dear. Of course Mr. Carey must have got the address from Mrs. Griswold, or at Warren's office--there can be no two ways about that--and of course, under the circumstances, they would not deceive him, nor can Mrs. Griswold be reasonably supposed to be in ignorance of his whereabouts. If any one was to be in the secret, it would be the people in this house; and now it is plain that Warren is deceiving them all round, and, you see, it isn't pleasant. He was always a good hand at getting from out of one more than one bargained for; but I must say, in this matter I should like to know what amount of dirty work I am expected to do, and how deep the dirtiness is.'

Jenkins had said all this in his usual light and careless way, and while he was speaking had kept playing with the baby in his wife's arms; but she, watching him closely, discerned very real alarm and anxiety under his slightly-swaggering manner and at once well-founded fright.

'Ephraim,' she said, laying her hand upon his arm impressively, 'have you ever been sorry for listening to my advice?'

'Never, Bess', he replied; 'but I have very often been sorry for not listening to it.'

'Well,' she said, 'hear it and take it now. Of course, I understand no more, but a good deal less, of what your brother's object and actions are than you do; but something within me, something which I have heard before now in my life, and which never told me a lie, says plainly to me that you have put yourself into a dreadful danger; that whatever Warren is about it can be no good, and it is going wrong. Just think for a moment. I suppose it was for the best of purposes in the world, but how mad a thing it must be for any man well known in business in a great city like New York to imagine that he could successfully pretend to be in one place while he is in another, in these days of telegraphs, for any length of time beyond a few hours or days at the outside. He is a clever man, well up in business, and must have known this,--the difficulty would have been quite plain to him,--and therefore it is only reasonable to conclude that he had some motive for running this great risk strong enough to induce him to throw aside all his knowledge of business, and all his shrewd habits of calculating the consequences. Is this motive likely to be a good one, to say nothing of the crooked ways and the deceit through which he has to carry it out? I think you know your brother by this time too well to give him credit for good motives; besides, good things do not need doing in the dark. Now I will tell you what you must do, Eph, and you must do it at once if you want to save me from distraction, and yourself from being mixed up in the ruin which I am certain is coming on Warren. Whatever he intended to do while he was supposed to be at Chicago he intended to do quicker than this; he never can have imagined that the sham could be prolonged up to this time; and your not having heard from him, his not having returned, or, if what Miss Montressor says is the case, that he has been passing under the name of Dolby, and that he has come back to America, which would make it all look much more extraordinary and more dangerous, it is plain that he has failed, and failure in any object which he had to gain by such risky means must have a big meaning, and you must get out of it, Eph.'

'Get out of it, Bess? How am I to get out of it? I will do anything you tell me; you have got a clearer head than mine--since I have been down there at Chicago I have come to think myself no end of a bungler--but all your clear-headedness won't see my way out of this fix, at all events until we can get hold of Warren. If he comes back and shows up, I will promise you I will face him, and tell him at once that I will have no more of it, come what may; and I can't stir a peg until he does come.'

'Yes you can, Eph, and you must,' said his wife; 'you must, or we shall be utterly ruined, without doing him any good. I feel convinced this is no business matter, but something very bad, in which he has not succeeded, and which will involve us all. Now this is what you must do. Get back to Chicago without an hour's delay, without seeing any one, bring away all the business papers, take them to Warren's real place of business, and get off to England.'

Jenkins stared at her in open-eyed wonder. 'Get off to England! What on earth for?'

'How can I tell?' she said, rather impatiently. 'I speak under an irresistible impulse and a great fear. You must have done with this thing, and this is the only way to get rid of it.'

'But I haven't money to do all this,' said Jenkins. 'You don't suppose Warren would trust me with more than he could help; and if I were to leave him in the lurch in this way, I shouldn't like to take any in advance, you know; that would look as ugly as anything he may have been doing, for I suppose the worst of it has been dabbling in other people's dollars.'