Project Gutenberg's The Impending Sword (Vol. 3 of 3), by Edmund Yates This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Impending Sword (Vol. 3 of 3) A Novel Author: Edmund Yates Release Date: June 1, 2020 [EBook #62298] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMPENDING SWORD (VOL. 3 OF 3) *** Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books 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.] CONTENTS OF VOL. III. Book the Third. THE DISCOVERY. CHAP. I. CONSULTATION. II. RECOGNISED. III. A WAY OF ESCAPE. IV. ESCAPED. V. A CLUE. VI. HARKING BACK. VII. MR. DUNN. VIII. IDENTIFIED. EPILOGUE. A NOTE BY THE AUTHOR. < 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. Jenk...