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  VII

  THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN BY THE NEWEL-POST

  "This is surprising. Do you understand this, Miss Meredith? There isnothing written here. The sheet is perfectly blank."

  She turned, stared, and laughed convulsively.

  "Blank, do you say? What a fuss about nothing! No words, no words atall? Let me see. I certainly expected you to find some final messagein it."

  What a change of manner! The moment before she had confronted us, asilent agonised woman; now her words rattled forth with such feverishvolubility we scarcely knew her. The coroner, not noticing, orpurposely blind to the relief she showed, handed her the slip withouta word. The brothers had all drawn off, and for the first time beganto whisper among themselves. As for myself, I did not know what to door think. My position, if anything, had changed for the worse. Iseemed to have played some trick. I wanted to beg her pardon andtheirs, and seeing her finally let the paper fall to the floor with anincredulous shake of the head, I began to stammer out some words ofexplanation, which sounded weak enough under the tension of suppressedexcitement called forth in every breast by this unexpected incident.

  "I feel--I am persuaded--you will not give me credit either for goodsense or for the sincerity of my desire to be of service to you," Imade out to say. "I certainly thought from Mr. Gillespie's actions,above all from the expressions which accompanied them, that he hadentrusted me with a communication of no little importance, and thatthis communication was meant for Miss Meredith."

  To my chagrin, my plea went unheeded: she was too absorbed in hidingher own satisfaction at the turn affairs had taken, and her cousins indeciding to what extent their position had been improved by thediscovery of a blank sheet of paper where all had expected to findwords, and very important words, too. Consequently it fell to Dr.Bennett to answer me.

  "No one can doubt your intentions, Mr. Outhwaite. Miss Meredith willbe the first to acknowledge her indebtedness to you when she comes toherself. You have fulfilled your commission according to the dictatesof your own conscience. That you have failed to effect all you hopedfor is not your fault. As a lawyer you will rate the matter at itsworth, and as a man of heart excuse the exaggerated effect it has toall appearance produced upon those about you."

  It was a palpable dismissal, and I took it for such, or would have ifMiss Meredith, whose attention the word lawyer had seemingly caught,had not honoured me with a look which held me rooted to the spot.

  "Wait!" she cried, "I want to speak to that young man. Do not let himgo yet." And advancing, she stood before me in an attitude at oncewomanly and confiding.

  "Come back, Hope!" I heard uttered in the peremptory tones of him theycalled Leighton.

  But though the spasm which passed over her face denoted what it costher to disobey the voice of so near a relative, she stood her ground.

  "I need a friend," she said to me. "Someone who will stand by me andsupport me in a task I may find myself too weak to accomplish unaided.I cannot have recourse to my cousins. They are too closely connectedwith the sorrows brought upon us all by this event. Besides, I find iteasier to depend on a stranger,--one who does not care for me, as Dr.Bennett does; a lawyer, too; I may need a lawyer--sir, will you aid mewith your counsels? I should find it hard to come upon another man ofsuch evident sincerity as yourself."

  "Hope! Hope!"

  Entreaty had now become command; Leighton even took a step towardsher. She faltered, but managed to murmur:

  "You will not go till I have seen you again. You will not!"

  "I will not," I rejoined, putting down the hat I had caught up.

  The next minute she, as well as myself, perceived why she had beenthus peremptorily called back.

  The group around the newel-post had changed. A large, elderly man,with a world of experience in his time-worn but kindly visage, wasstanding in the place occupied by the coroner a moment before. He wasbowing in the direction of Miss Meredith, and he held some half-dozenletters in his hand.

  As her eyes fell on these letters he regarded her with an encouragingsmile, and said:

  "I am Detective Gryce, miss. I ask pardon for disturbing you, and Idon't want you to lay too much stress upon my presence here or uponthe few questions I have to put on behalf of the coroner who has justbeen called to the telephone. A few explanations are all I want, andsome of these you are in a position to give me. You have been in thehabit of using the typewriter for your uncle, I am told."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Did you use it for the writing of these five letters found upon hisdesk?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "To-night?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "At what hour?"

  "Between dinner time and half-past eight."

  This was the first time she had acknowledged having seen her uncleafter dinner.

  "So you were with him until half-past eight?"

  "Yes, or thereabouts."

  "And left him in the enjoyment of his usual health?"

  "To all appearance, yes."

  "Before or after your cousin Leighton came into the study?"

  "Before."

  "Why did you leave? Was Mr. Gillespie through with his work for thenight?"

  "I don't know; I don't think so, but I was tired, and he begged me togo upstairs."

  "In his usual manner?"

  "Yes."

  "Not like a man anxious to have you go?"

  "No."

  "And when did the child come down?"

  "Later."

  "Not immediately?"

  "No; a quarter of an hour or so later."

  "Humph! The child was with him then a quarter of an hour before hisdeath?"

  "I suppose so; I do not know."

  The detective waited a moment, then his hand closed over the letters.

  "Miss, it is very important to know whether Mr. Gillespie anticipateddeath. This correspondence--you know it--a letter to Simpson & Beals,Attorneys, Dubuque, Iowa; another to Howard MacCartney, St. Augustine,Florida; this to the president of the Santa Fe Railroad; and this toClarke, Beales & Co., Nassau Street, City. All business letters, Ipresume?"

  "Entirely so, sir."

  "And none of them, I judge, such as a man would write who expected toclose all accounts with the world in less than an hour?"

  "None."

  How laconic she was for a girl scarcely out of her teens!

  "From this correspondence, then, as you know it, he showed nointention of suicide?"

  "On the contrary. In one of those letters, the one to Clarke, Beales &Co., I think, he made an appointment for to-morrow. My uncle was veryexact in business matters. He would never have made this appointmentif he had not hoped to keep it."

  "Are you two in league?" the angry voice of George broke in. "Are youtrying to make out that father died from violence?"

  "In league?"

  Did she say it or only look it? I felt my heart swell at her piteous,her agonised expression. Mr. Gryce, as he called himself, may haveseen it, but he appeared to be looking at the slip of paper he nowdrew from his pocket, and which we all recognised as that which shehad shortly before let drop.

  "You see this," he said, "it looks like a piece of perfectly blankpaper."

  "And it is," she declared. "Why he should send it to me I do not know.It was given me in an envelope by the gentleman at the door, who sayshe got it from my uncle before he died. Everyone here knows that."

  "Very good. Now let me ask from what sheet your uncle tore this scrapof paper? You recognise it as paper you have seen before?"

  "O, yes, it is part of what is used in the typewriter. At least Isuppose it to be. It looks like it."

  "Sweetwater, bring me the typewriter!"

  Sweetwater was the young man who had before shown himself inattendance on the coroner.

  "O, what does this mean?" asked Hope, shrinking back.

  An oath answered her. George had reached the end of his patience.

  The placidity of the old man remained undisturbed.
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br />   Meanwhile the young detective called Sweetwater had returned with thetypewriter in his arms. Setting it down on the library table, towardswhich they all immediately moved, he composedly strolled my way. Wewere now grouped as follows: the family and some others in thelibrary, Sweetwater and myself at the front door.

  Naturally, from the point I have just indicated, I could not look intothe library; but my hearing being good and that of the young detectivestill better, we both managed to get the drift of what was being said,though we could not note the speakers.

  I had seen a slip of paper protruding from the machine when it wascarried past me, and it was to this piece of paper Mr. Gryce firstcalled Miss Meredith's attention.

  "There's an unfinished letter here, as you see. Did you have a hand inwriting it?"

  She did not answer very promptly, but when she did, it was with a "No"which was startlingly abrupt.

  "Ah! then there's someone else in the house who uses the typewriter."

  "Mr. Gillespie. He often used it when he was in a hurry and I not by."

  "Mr. Gillespie? Do you think it was he who wrote these lines?"

  "I do. There was no one else to do it."

  Was my imagination too active, or had her voice a choked sound whichspoke of some latent emotion she strove to conceal?

  "Then," suavely responded the detective, "we need no other proof ofMr. Gillespie's condition up to the time he worked off this last line.I doubt if you ever made a better copy yourself, Miss Meredith. Butwhy is it torn across in this manner? Half of the sheet is missing,and some portion at least of the letter is gone."

  A sudden gasp which could have come from no other lips than hers wasfollowed by certain short exclamations from the others indicative ofinterest if not surprise.

  "Shall I take it out? Or will one of you read it as it lies here? Iprefer one of you to read it."

  We heard a few stammering sentences uttered by George or Alfred, thenLeighton's voice broke in with the calm remark:

  "It is about some shares lately purchased in Denver. If you think itnecessary to hear what my father had to say concerning them, this is afacsimile of what he wrote a half-hour or so before he died:

  ]

  New York, N. Y., Oct. 17, 1899.

  James C. Taylor, Esq., 18 State St., Boston, Mass.

  Dear Sir:---

  In regard to the financing of the $10,000,000, mentioned in our conversation on the 12th inst., it is of the utmost importance that I am placed as soon as possible in full possession of the facts regarding the propert

  The rest is torn off, as you say. Do you consider this letterimportant?"

  "Not at all, except as showing the sound condition of your father'smind immediately prior to his collapse at ten o'clock. It is not theletter itself which should engage your attention, but the fact thatthis portion of it which has been wrenched off cannot be found. Iknow," he went on, before a rejoinder could be made by anyone in thestartled group about him, "that a strip seemingly of this same paperwas received by Miss Meredith in an envelope a few minutes ago.Indeed, I have it here. But though it was evidently stripped from thissame sheet--from the bottom part of it, as you can see from its onestraight edge--it does not fit the portion left in the machine. Sometwo inches or so of the sheet is lacking. Now where are these twoinches? Not in the room from which we brought the typewriter, nor yeton Mr. Gillespie's person, for we have looked."

  Silence.

  "No one seems to answer," breathed a voice in my ear.

  Had this shrewd and seemingly able detective expected a reply? I hadnot. Silence had too often followed inquiry in this house.

  "It is a loss open to explanation," mildly resumed the aged detective."It is also one which the police deems important. We shall have tosearch for that connecting slip of paper unless, as I sincerely hope,someone here present can produce it."

  "Search!" a commanding voice broke in--that of Leighton. "We knownothing about it."

  "It is a pity," rejoined the old man, with a mildness unusual in oneof his class. "Such a measure should not be necessary. Someone hereought to be able to direct us where to find this missing portion of aletter interrupted by so stern a fact as the writer's death."

  Still no answer.

  "Had there been a fire in the room--but there was no fire. Or had Mr.Gillespie left the room----"

  "Speak out!" the stern tones again enjoined. "You think some of ustook it?"

  "I do not say so," was the conciliatory reply. "But this scrap must befound. Its remarkable disappearance shows that it has more or lessbearing on the mystery of your father's death."

  "Then we must entreat you to use your power and find it if you can."It was still Leighton who was speaking. "George, Alfred, let us acceptthe situation with good grace; we will gain nothing by antagonisingthe police."

  Two muffled oaths answered him; their natures were more passionatethan his, or possibly less under control. But they offered noobjections, and the next minute the old detective appeared in thehall.

  One look passed between him and the young man loitering at my side.Then the latter turned to me:

  "This is to be my task," he whispered. "I don't know the house at all.I hear that you have been up."

  From whom could he have heard this? From Dr. Bennett? It was possible.Such fellows worm themselves into the confidence of warier personsthan this amiable old physician.

  "I have passed through the halls," I admitted, none too encouragingly."But I don't see how that can help you."

  "It's a four-story building, I suppose. All the houses along hereare."

  "Yes, it's a four-story house."

  He rubbed one hand awkwardly against the other; indeed, his wholemanner was awkward; then he walked slowly down the hall. When hereached the library door he stopped and looked in with a shy anddeprecating air. Suddenly he began to back away. Someone was comingout. It was Miss Meredith. When she was in full sight and he broughtto a stand-still by the wall against which he had retreated, he spoke,but not to her, though his eyes were fixed upon her in a sort of blankstare she may have attributed to the power of her beauty, but which Ifelt was of a character to make her careful.

  "Four stories!" he muttered. "Parlour floor, first bedroom floor,second bedroom floor, and the attic! Where shall I begin? Ha! I thinkI know," he smiled, and passed quickly down the hall.

  She had given an involuntary pressure to her hands when he mentionedthe word attic.

  I thought of the position in which I had found her there; of thedoubts expressed by the doctor as to how she could have received anintimation of her uncle's death before an alarm had been raised or hercousins fully aroused, and felt forced to acknowledge that the policewere justified in their action, great as was the spell cast over me byher loveliness.

  That, justified or not, they meant to do their work, I soon saw. Witha steady eye the coroner held us all to our places, while the youngdetective disappeared above, followed only by Leighton, who had askedthe privilege of accompanying him for fear of some alarm being givento his little child who was upstairs alone. From the way MissMeredith's eyes followed them, I knew there was something to befeared from this quest which she alone had the power of measuring.

  What was I to think of this young girl who chose to be reticent on asubject involving questions of life and death! I would not probe mydoubts too closely. I steeled myself against her look, resolving to bethe lawyer--her lawyer--if required, but nothing more, at least tillthese shadows were cleared up.

  Her two cousins remained in the library, to which Mr. Gryce hadreturned after making the signal to his man Sweetwater. We were allunder great restraint with the exception of the doctor, who waschatting confidentially with the coroner. What he said I could in ameasure gather from the expression of Miss Meredith's face, who wasnearer him than I. That it served to intensify rather than relieve thesituation was apparent from the gravity with which the coronerlistened. Later, some stray words reached me.

  "Had the greatest dre
ad of poison--" This I distinctly heard--"Nevertook any medicine without asking--" I could not catch the rest. "Tellhim symptoms--all the poisons--like a child--he _never_ poisonedhimself." This last rung in my ears with persistent iteration. It rangso loud I thought everyone on that floor must have heard it. But I sawno change in Alfred's restless figure hovering on the threshold of thelibrary door a few feet behind Miss Meredith; while George, conversingfeverishly with Mr. Gryce, raised his voice rather than dropped it asthese fatal words fell from the lips of one who certainly had thebest of reasons for believing himself in the confidence of hispatient.

  Miss Meredith, who was listening to something besides thisconversation, fateful as it was, was meanwhile schooling herself forSweetwater's return. I could discern this by the change that passedover her face just when his steps began to be heard; and was consciousof quite a personal shock when I saw her hand fall involuntarily onher bosom as if the thing he sought was _there_ and not in the roomsabove.

  Cursing myself for the infatuation which would not let my eyes leaveher face, I turned with sudden impulse into the reception room openingon my right. But I speedily stepped back again. Miss Meredith, whoseemed to have gained some confidence by my presence, had feeblyuttered my name. It seemed that the child had been heard to cry above,and that the coroner had refused to let her go up.

  I made my way to her side, and, despite Alfred's scowls, entered intoconversation with her, urging her to be calm and wait patiently forthe detective's return.

  "The child has its father," I suggested.

  But this did not seem to afford her much comfort. She wrung her handsin her anxiety, and showed no relief till her cousin, followed by thewatchful detective, was again seen on the stairs.

  Then she took my arm. She needed it, for life and death were in thegaze she fixed upon the latter. And he--well, I had never seen the manbefore that night; yet I felt as certain from the way his feet fell onthe stairs he so slowly descended that he had been successful in hissearch, and that the piece of paper which rustled so gently in hishand was the one Mr. Gryce had declared to be of such importance, andwhich she--but what man can complete a thought suggestive of distrust,while the hand of its lovely object presses warmly on his arm, and theeyes whose glance he both fears and loves rest upon his in aconfidence which in itself is a rebuke?

  I gave up speculation and devoted myself to sustaining Miss Meredithin her present ordeal. As Sweetwater reached the last step shemurmured these words:

  "I tried; but fate has rebuked me. Now I see my duty."

  Her eyes had not followed Leighton's figure as he joined his brothersin the library, but mine did, and it did not make my heart any lighterto see from the glance he tossed her on entering that he was preparedfor some event serious enough to warrant all this emotion.

  "You have found what you have sought!" she cried, intercepting theyoung detective in her anxiety to end the suspense it took all herstrength to sustain.

  His smile was dubious, but it was a smile. Meantime the paper he heldhad found its way into the coroner's hands.

  "Call Gryce!" shouted out that functionary, with a doubtful look atthe slip in his hand; "I shall need his experience in decipheringthis."

  The detective was at his side in an instant, and together they bentover the scrap. The suspense was great, and the moment well-nighintolerable. Then we saw the detective's finger rest on a certainportion of the paper they were mutually consulting, and remain there.The coroner read the words thus indicated, and his face showed bothstrong and sudden feeling.

  "Ah!" he ejaculated. "What do you make out of that?"

  The detective uttered a few low words, and taking the piece which hadbeen in the envelope he fitted it to the one held by the coroner. Wecould all see that they were part of the same sheet.

  "I should like to see if it also fits the portion that was left in thetypewriter," suggested the other, ignoring the anxious looks bent uponhim from every side. Passing by us all, he laid the three piecestogether on the library table with a glance at the young Gillespieswhich was not without its element of compassion.

  "Let us see it. What's on it?" urged Alfred. "Why, this is worse thanfather's death."

  "If Miss Meredith will tell me how this central portion came to be onthe attic floor, I will presently oblige you," rejoined the coroner.

  She who of all present showed no interest in the completed sheetanswered instantly, and without any further attempt at subterfuge ordenial:

  "I carried it there. I had come upon my uncle lying dead in his study,and thinking, fearing, that he had been struck while at thetypewriter, I flew to the latter, and, lifting up the carriage,consulted the letter attached to it for some indication of this, andsaw--George, Leighton, Alfred," she vehemently cried, facing them witha look before which each proud and spirited head sank in turn, "I donot know upon which of your three souls the weight of this crimerests. But one of you, one, I say, lies under the ban of your father'sdenunciation. Read!" And her trembling finger crossed that of thedetective and fell upon a line terminating the half-finished letterwhich they had already partially read.

  This was the appearance of that letter as now presented:

  ]

  New York, N. Y., Oct. 17, 1899.

  James C. Taylor, Esq.,18 State St.,Boston, Mass.,

  Dear Sir:--

  In regard to the financing of the $10,000,000, mentioned in our conversation on the 12th inst., it is of the utmost importance that I am placed as soon as possible in full possession of the important facts regarding the property covered by these bonds.

  First, the actual cost per mile, and if such cost covers the necessary equipment for same both for freight and passenger service; also if these bonds are the first lien one of my sons he

  "Those last words were written after he felt himself sinking under thepoison," rang out in instinctive emphasis from her lips. "Contradictme, George! Contradict me, Leighton! or you, Alfred, if you can! Itwould give me new life. It would restore me----"

  She was sinking, fainting, almost at the point of death herself, butnot a voice was lifted, not a hand raised. This suggestion of crimehad robbed them, one and all, of breath, almost of life.