The Clue (7 page)

“Now, that shows a nice spirit,” said Kitty, smiling, even in the midst of her sorrow. “But, truly, I'm 'most always right; aren't you?”

“I shall be after this, for I'm always going to agree with you.”

“That's a pretty large order, for I'm sometimes awfully disagreeable.”

“I shouldn't believe that, but I've practically promised to believe everything you tell me, so I suppose I shall have to.”

“Oh, now I
have
defeated my own ends! Well, never mind; abide by your first impression,—that I'm always right,—and then go ahead.”

“Go ahead it is,” declared Fessenden, and then Molly Gardner joined them. Molly was more overcome by the tragic turn affairs had taken than Kitty, and had only just made her appearance downstairs that day.

“You dear child,” cried Kitty, noting her pale cheeks and sad eyes, “sit right down here by us, and let Mr. Fessenden talk to you. He's the nicest man in the world to cheer any one up.”

“And you look as if you need cheering, Miss Gardner,” said Fessenden, arranging some pillows at her back, as she languidly dropped down on the sofa.

“I can't realize it at all,” said poor Molly; “I don't want to be silly and keep fainting all over the place, but every time I remember how Maddy looked last night.” She glanced toward the closed library doors with a shudder.

“Don't think about it,” said Rob Fessenden gently. “What you need most, Miss Gardner, is a bit of fresh air. Come with me for a little walk in the grounds.”

This was self-sacrifice on the part of the young man, for he greatly desired to be present when the coroner should open the closed doors to them again. But he really thought Miss Gardner would be better for a short, brisk walk, and, getting her some wraps, they went out at the front door.

VII

MR. BENSON'S QUESTIONS

IT WAS SOME TIME after Fessenden and Molly had returned from their walk that the library doors were thrown open, and Coroner Benson invited them all to come in.

They filed in slowly, each heart heavy with an impending sense of dread. Doctor Hills ushered them to seats, which had been arranged in rows, and which gave an unpleasantly formal air to the cozy library.

The body of Madeleine Van Norman had been taken upstairs to her own room, and at the library table, where she had last sat, stood Coroner Benson.

The women were seated in front. Mrs. Markham seemed to have settled into a sort of sad apathy, but Miss Morton was briskly alert and, though evidently nervous, seemed eager to hear what the coroner had to tell.

Kitty French, too, was full of anxious interest, and, taking the seat assigned to her, clasped her little hands in breathless suspense, while a high color rose to her lovely cheeks.

Molly Gardner was pale and wan-looking. She dreaded the whole scene, and had but one desire, to get away from Mapleton. She could have gone to her room, had she chosen, but the idea of being all alone was even worse than the present conditions. So she sat, with overwrought nerves, now and then clutching at Kitty's sleeve.

Cicely Dupuy was very calm—so calm, indeed, that one might guess it was the composure of an all-compelling determination, and by no means the quiet of indifference.

Marie was there, and showed the impassive face of the well-trained servant, though her volatile French nature was discernible in her quick-darting glances and quivering, sensitive lips.

The two doctors, Mr. Carleton, Tom Willard, and young Fessenden occupied the next row of seats, and behind them were the house servants.

Unlike the women, the men showed little or no emotion on their faces. All were grave and composed, and even Doctor Leonard seemed to have laid aside his brusque and aggressive ways.

As he stood facing this group, Coroner Benson was fully alive to the importance of his own position, and he quite consciously determined to conduct the proceedings in a way to throw great credit upon himself in his official capacity.

After an impressive pause, which he seemed to deem necessary to gain the attention of an already breathlessly listening audience, he began:

“While there is much evidence that seems to prove that Miss Van Norman took her own life, there is very grave reason to doubt this. Both of the eminent physicians here present are inclined to believe that the dagger thrust which killed Miss Van Norman was not inflicted by her own hand, though it may have been so. This conclusion they arrive at from their scientific knowledge of the nature and direction of dagger strokes, which, as may not be generally known, is a science in itself. Indeed, were it not for the conclusive evidence of the written paper, these gentlemen would believe that the stroke was impossible of self-infliction.

“But, aside from this point, we are confronted by this startling fact. Although the dagger, which you may see still lying on the table, has several blood-stains on its handle, there is absolutely no trace of blood on the right hand of the body of Miss Van Norman. It is inconceivable that she could have removed such a trace, had there been any, and it is highly improbable, if not indeed impossible, that she could have handled the dagger and left it in its present condition, without showing a corresponding stain on her hand.”

This speech of Coroner Benson's produced a decided sensation on all his hearers, but it was manifested in various ways. Kitty French exchanged with Fessenden a satisfied nod, for this seemed in line with her own theory.

Fessenden returned the nod, and even gave Kitty a faint smile, for who could look at that lovely face without a pleasant recognition of some sort? And then he folded his arms and began to think hard. Yet there was little food for coherent thought.

Granting the logical deduction from the absence of any stain on Miss Van Norman's hands, there was, as yet, not the slightest indication of any direction in which to look for the dastard who had done the deed.

Schuyler Carleton showed no emotion, but his white face seemed to take on one more degree of horror and misery. Tom Willard looked blankly amazed, and Mrs. Markham began on a new one of her successive crying spells. Miss Morton sat bolt upright and placidly smoothed the gray silk folds of her gown, while her face wore a decided “I told you so” expression, though she hadn't told them anything of the sort.

But as Fessenden watched her—the rows of seats were slightly horseshoed, and he could see her side face well—he noticed that she was really trembling all over, and that her placidity of face was without doubt assumed for effect. He could not see her eyes, but he was positive that only a strong fear or terror of something could explain her admirably suppressed agitation.

The behavior of Cicely Dupuy was perhaps the most extraordinary. She flew into a fit of violent hysterics, and had to be taken from the room. Marie followed her, as it had always been part of the French maid's duty to attend Miss Dupuy upon occasion as well as Miss Van Norman.

“In view of this state of affairs,” went on the coroner, when quiet had been restored after Cicely's departure, “it becomes necessary to make an investigation of the case. We have absolutely no evidence, and no real reason to suspect foul play, yet since there is the merest possibility that the death was not a suicide, it becomes my duty to look further into the matter. I have been told that Miss Van Norman had expressed a sort of general fear that she might some day be impelled to turn this dagger upon herself. But that is a peculiar mental obsession that affects many people at sight of a sharp-pointed or cutting instrument, and is by no means a proof that she did do this thing. But quite aside from the temptation of the glittering steel, we have Miss Van Norman's written confession that she at least contemplated taking her own life, and ascribing a reason therefor. In further consideration, then, of this written paper, of which you all know the contents, can any of you tell me of any fact or quote any words spoken by Miss Van Norman that would corroborate or amplify the statement of this despairing message?”

As Mr. Benson spoke, he held in his hand the written paper that had been found on the library table. It was indeed unnecessary to read it aloud, for every one present knew its contents by heart.

But nobody responded to the coroner's question. Mr. Carleton looked mutely helpless, Tom Willard looked honestly perplexed, and yet many of those present believed that both these men knew the sad secret of Madeleine's life, and understood definitely the written message.

Again Mr. Benson earnestly requested that any one knowing the least fact, however trivial, regarding the matter, would mention it.

Then Mrs. Markham spoke.

“I can tell you nothing but my own surmise,” she said; “I know nothing for certain, but I have reason to believe that Madeleine Van Norman had a deep sorrow,—such a one as would impel her to write that statement, and to act in accordance with it.”

“That is what I wished to know,” said Coroner Benson; “it is not necessary for you to detail the nature of her sorrow, or even to hint at it further, but the assurance that the message is in accordance with Miss Van Norman's mental attitude goes far toward convincing me that her death is the outcome of that written declaration.”

“I know, too,” volunteered Kitty French, “that Madeleine meant every word she wrote there. She
was
miserable, and for the very reason that she herself stated!”

Mr. Benson pinched his glasses more firmly on his nose, and turned his gaze slowly toward Miss French.

Kitty had spoken impulsively, and perhaps too directly, but, though embarrassed at the sensation she had caused, she showed no desire to retract her statements.

“I am told,” said the coroner, his voice ringing out clearly in the strange silence that had fallen on the room, “that the initial on this paper designates Mr. Schuyler Carleton. I must therefore ask Mr. Carleton if he can explain the reference to himself.”

“I cannot,” said Schuyler Carleton, and only the intense silence allowed his low whisper to be heard. “Miss Van Norman was my affianced wife. We were to have been married to-day. Those two facts, I think, prove the existence of our mutual love. The paper is to me inexplicable.”

Tom Willard looked at the speaker with an expression of frank unbelief, and, indeed, most of the auditors' faces betrayed incredulity.

Even with no previous reason to imagine that Carleton did not love Madeleine, the tragic message proved it beyond all possible doubt,—and yet it was but natural for the man to deny it.

Doctor Hills spoke next.

“I think, Coroner Benson,” he said, as he rose to his feet, “we are missing the point. If Miss Van Norman took her life in fulfillment of her own decision, the reasons that brought about that decision are not a matter for our consideration. It is for us to decide whether she did or did not bring about her own death, and as a mode of procedure may I suggest this? Doctor Leonard and myself hold, that, in view of the absence of any stain on Miss Van Norman's hands, she could not have handled the stained dagger that killed her. A refutation of this opinion would be to explain how she could have done the deed and left no trace on her fingers. Unless this can be shown, I think we can
not
call it a suicide.”

Although nothing would have induced him to admit it, Coroner Benson was greatly accommodated by this suggestion, and immediately adopting it as his own promulgation, he repeated it almost exactly word for word, as his official dictum.

“And so,” he concluded, “as I have now explained, unless a theory can be offered on this point, we must agree that Miss Van Norman's unfortunate death was not by her own hand.”

Robert Fessenden arose.

“I have no theory,” he said; “I have no argument to offer. But I am sure we all wish to discover the truth by means of any light that any of us may throw on the mystery. And I want to say that in my opinion the absence of blood on the hands, though it
indicates
,
does not positively
prove
,
that the weapon was held by another than the victim. Might it not be that, taking the dagger from the table, clean as of course it was, Miss Van Norman turned it upon herself, and then, withdrawing it, let it drop to the floor, where it subsequently became blood-stained, as did the rug and her own gown?”

The two doctors listened intently. It was characteristic of both that though Doctor Hills had shown no elation when he had convinced Doctor Leonard of his mistake the night before, yet now Doctor Leonard could not repress a gleam of triumph in his eyes as he turned to Doctor Hills.

“It is possible,” said Mr. Benson, with a cautiously dubious air, though really the theory struck him as extremely probable, and he wished he had advanced it himself.

Doctor Hills looked thoughtful, and then, as nobody else spoke, he observed:

“Mr. Carleton might perhaps judge of that point. As he first discovered the dagger, and picked it up from the floor, he can perhaps say if it lay in or near the stains on the carpet.”

Everybody looked at Schuyler Carleton. But the man had reached the limit of his endurance.

“I don't know!” he exclaimed, covering his white face with his hands, as if to shut out the awful memory. “Do you suppose I noticed such details?” he cried, looking up again. “I picked up the dagger, scarce knowing that I did it! It was almost an unconscious act. I was stunned, dazed, at what I saw before me, and I know nothing of the dagger or its blood-stains!”

Truly, the man was almost frenzied, and out of consideration for his perturbed state, the coroner asked him no more questions just then.

“It seems to me,” observed Rob Fessenden, “that the nature or shape of the stains on the dagger handle might determine this point. If they appear to be fingermarks, the weapon must have been held by some other hand. If merely stains, as from the floor, they might be considered to strengthen Doctor Hill's theory.”

The Venetian paper-cutter was produced and passed around.

None of the women would touch it or even look at it, except Kitty French. She examined it carefully, but had no opinion to offer, and Mr. Benson waited impatiently for her to finish her scrutiny. He had no wish to hear her remarks on the subject, for he deemed her a mere frivolous girl, who had no business to take any part in the serious inquiry. All were requested not to touch the weapon, which was passed round on a brass tray taken from the library table.

Schuyler Carleton covered his eyes, and refused to glance at it.

Tom Willard and Robert Fessenden looked at it at the same time, holding the tray between them.

“I make out no finger-prints,” said Tom, at last. “Do you?”

“No,” said Fessenden; “that is, not surely. These
may
be marks of fingers, but they are far too indistinct to say so positively. What do you think, Doctor Leonard?”

The gruesome property was passed on to the two doctors, who examined it with the greatest care. Going to the window, they looked at it with magnifying glasses, and finally reported that the slight marks might be fingermarks, or might be the abrasion of the nap of the rug on which the dagger had fallen.

“Then,” said Coroner Benson, “we have, so far, no evidence which refutes the theory that Miss Van Norman's written message was the expression of her deliberate intent, and that that intention was fulfilled by her.”

Once more Mr. Benson scanned intently the faces of his audience.

“Can no one, then,” he said again, “assert or suggest anything that may have any bearing on this written message?”

“I can,” said Robert Fessenden.