The Gloved Hand Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  FRANCISCO SILVA

  It was not quite ten o'clock when Godfrey and I turned in at the gatesof Elmhurst, next morning, and made our way up the drive to the house,but in the library we found a considerable company already assembled.Goldberger was there, with Freylinghuisen his physician, his clerk,his stenographer, and the men who were to constitute the jury;Simmonds was there, and with him was an alert little man in glasses,who, Godfrey told me in an aside, was Sylvester, the head of theIdentification Bureau, and the greatest expert on finger-prints inAmerica. The district attorney had sent up an assistant, also with astenographer, and altogether the room was decidedly crowded.

  It became impossible a moment later, when a string of automobilespuffed up the drive and disgorged a mob of reporters andphotographers. As many as the room would hold pushed into it, and theothers stood outside in the drive and complained loudly. Thecomplaints of the photographers were especially varied and forceful.Goldberger looked around him in despair, mopping his face angrily,for the crowded room was very hot.

  "You fellows will have to get out of here," he said to the reporters."There's no room. I'll give you a transcript of the proceedings afterthey're over."

  The protests redoubled. How were they to get any human interest out ofa transcript? Besides, there were the photographers. What did heexpect them to do--photograph the transcript? And finally, the lawrequired that the hearing be public, so they had a right to bepresent. It was a tense moment, the more so since Goldberger was by nomeans insensible of the value of newspaper popularity to a man inpublic life.

  "Why not go out on the lawn?" Godfrey suggested. "It's only a questionof moving some chairs and tables, and the boys will all lend a hand."

  The boys applauded, almost forgiving Godfrey his scoop, protestedtheir entire willingness to lend two hands if necessary, and, whenGoldberger nodded his approval, fell to work with a will. The lowerfloor of the house was denuded, the garden seats pressed into service,and at the end of five minutes, the court was established amid thecircle of trees, the reporters had their coats off and their pipeslighted, the photographers ditto and their cameras placed. Good humourwas restored; peace reigned; and Goldberger smiled again, for he knewthat the adjectives with which the reporters would qualify his namewould be complimentary ones!

  He took his place, rapped for order, and instructed his clerk to swearthe jury. Nobody paid much attention to the jury, for it was arecognised device for paying small political debts, and its verdictwas usually in strict accord with the wishes of the presiding officer.Then Goldberger looked at the vacant chair which I had kept beside me.

  "By the way, Mr. Lester," he said, "I don't see Mr. Swain."

  "He had to go back to the city last night," I explained, "to get somefresh clothes. He had an errand or two to do this morning, and mayhave been detained. I left word at the house for him to come over hereat once."

  "You seem to have a good deal of confidence in him," Goldbergerremarked.

  "I have," I answered quietly. "A great deal."

  Goldberger frowned a little, but proceeded to open the case withoutfurther delay. Godfrey was the first witness, and told his story muchas he had told it the night before. I followed him, but contributed nonew details. Both of us were excused without cross-examination.

  To my great satisfaction, Swain arrived while I was testifying, and Icould not deny myself a triumphant glance at Goldberger, but he wasstudying some memoranda and affected not to notice it. As soon as Ileft the stand, Swain came and sat down beside me and gave me aletter. It was addressed to Miss Vaughan.

  "It's from Mrs. Royce," he said. "She's a trump! She's determined thatMarjorie shall come to her. She says if you don't bring her, she'llcome after her herself. Do you know how she is this morning?"

  "No," I said; "I haven't seen Hinman. But how are you?"

  "Oh, I'm all right again--head a little sore yet where I bumpedit--but otherwise as fit as a fiddle."

  "You look it!" I said; and I was glad, because I wanted him to make agood impression on the stand. I knew what weight appearances oftenhad; and no jury, I told myself, would believe that this bright-eyed,fresh-coloured boy could have had any hand in a brutal murder.

  Just then Hinman's name was called, and an officer hurried away to thehouse after him. They returned together almost at once, and Hinman wasplaced on the stand. He told of being summoned by Godfrey, and of theevents which followed. He said that the murder had been committedabout midnight, that death had been due to strangulation; andidentified the cord and the blood-stained handkerchief which thecoroner submitted to him. I fancied that Swain lost a little of hiscolour when he saw the handkerchief and learned where it had beenfound, but he made no remark.

  "Will Miss Vaughan be able to testify?" Goldberger inquired, justbefore the doctor stepped down.

  "Unless it is absolutely necessary, I think she would better beexcused," Hinman answered. "She is still very nervous. The ordealmight cause a serious collapse."

  "We will try to get along without her," assented Goldberger. "Ifnecessary, I can take her deposition. Is she in bed?"

  "Yes; I am keeping her as quiet as possible."

  "Very well; we won't disturb her," said Goldberger, and Hinman wasexcused, and Freylinghuisen called. He merely testified to the causeof death and that the autopsy had shown that the deceased was in fairhealth and without organic disease.

  Then the servants were called, but their evidence was unimportant.They had gone to bed about ten o'clock, and had not awakened until thecoroner himself had pounded at the door. They had heard no unusualsound. Yes, they had slept with their doors locked and windowsshuttered because that was the rule of the house. Yes, even in thehottest weather; that made no difference, since each of their roomswas fitted with a ventilator.

  Questioned as to the manner of life of the other inmates of the house,the German and his wife were non-committal. They had been with thefamily a long time; had taken care of the place when their master wasabroad; only after his return had it been necessary to get anotherservant. He had been at home for a year, and the Hindus had arrivedabout six months later. Yes, they knew their master was studying somestrange religion, but that was no affair of theirs, and they had neverseen anything wrong. He had always treated them well; was a littlestrange and absent-minded at times; but neither of them really sawmuch of him. He never interfered in the household affairs, MissVaughan giving such instructions as were necessary. The man spent mostof his time in the grounds, and the woman in the kitchen. She was alittle petulant over the fact that one of the Hindus--the "uglyone"--refused to eat her cooking, but insisted on preparing his ownfood. Also, the housemaid had told her that there was a snake, but shehad never seen it.

  From the Irish housemaid a little more information was obtained.Neither Mr. Vaughan nor the yogi ate any breakfast; indeed, theyrarely left their rooms before noon. The other Hindu mixed himself upsome sort of mess over the kitchen stove. Miss Vaughan breakfastedalone at nine o'clock. At such times, she was accustomed to talk overhousehold affairs with the maid, and after breakfast would visit thekitchen and make a tour of the grounds and garden. The remainder ofher day would be spent in reading, in playing the piano, in doinglittle household tasks, or in walking about the grounds with herfather. Yes, sometimes the yogi would join them, and there would belong discussions. After dinner, in the library, there would also belong discussions, but the girl had no idea what they were about. Sheheard a fragment of them occasionally, but had never been able to makeanything of them. In fact, from the way they dressed and all, she hadcome to the conclusion that Mr. Vaughan and the yogi were both alittle crazy, but quite inoffensive and harmless.

  "And how about Miss Vaughan?" asked the coroner.

  "Miss Vaughan, bless her heart, wasn't crazy," said the girl quickly;"not a bit of it. She was just sad and lonely,--as who wouldn't be!She never went out--in the five months I've been here, she's neverbeen off the place; and them front gates was never opened to le
tanybody in. The only people who come in were the grocer and milk-manand such-like, through the little door at the side."

  "You say you have been here five months?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How did you come to apply for the place?"

  "I didn't apply for it. I was sent here by an employment bureau. MissMarjorie engaged me. I didn't see the Hindus till afterwards, or Idon't think I'd have took it. After that, I stayed for Miss Marjorie'ssake."

  "You thought she needed you?"

  "Yes, I did. With her father moonin' round in a kind of trance, andthe yogi lookin' at her with eyes like live coals, and a snake thatstood on its tail, and the other naygur going around with nothin' onbut a diaper, I thought she needed somebody to look after her; andsays I, 'Annie Crogan, you're the girl to do it!'"

  There was a ripple of laughter and the pencils of the reporters flewacross their paper. It was the first gleam to enliven a prosaic andtiresome hearing.

  "Were the Hindus obtrusive in any way?" asked the coroner.

  "Oh, no; they minded their business; I've no complaint on thatscore."

  "Did you see any of their religious practices?"

  "I wouldn't call them religious--quite the contrary. I've seen themwavin' their arms and bowin' to the sun and settin' in the darkstarin' at a glass globe with a light in it; that's about all. I gotused to it, after a while, and just went on about my work withouttakin' any notice."

  There was little more to be got from her, and finally she was excused.The reporters yawned. The jury twitched nervously. Worthington Vaughanwas dead; he had been strangled--so much was clear; but not ascintilla of evidence had as yet been introduced as to who hadstrangled him. Then a movement of interest ran through the crowd, fora policeman came from the direction of the house accompanied by twostrange figures. One was the yogi, in robes of dazzling white; theother his attendant, wearing something more than a diaper, indeed, butwith his thin brown legs bare.

  The yogi bowed to Goldberger with grave courtesy, and, at a word fromthe attendant policeman, sat down in the witness-chair. Everybody wasleaning forward looking at him, and the cameras were clicking inchorus, but he seemed scarcely aware of the circle of eager faces.

  "Hold up your right hand, please," began Goldberger, aftercontemplating him for a moment.

  "For what purpose?" asked the yogi.

  "I'm going to swear you."

  "I do not understand."

  "I'm going to put you on oath to tell nothing but the truth,"explained the coroner.

  "An oath is unnecessary," said the yogi with a smile. "To speak thetruth is required by my religion."

  There was something impressive in the words, and Goldberger slowlylowered his arm.

  "What is your name?" he asked.

  "Francisco Silva."

  "You are not a Hindu?"

  "I am of their faith."

  "But by birth?"

  "I am a Portuguese."

  "Born in India?"

  "Born at Goa."

  The coroner paused. He had never heard of Goa. Neither had I. Neither,I judged, had any one else present. In this, however, I was wrong.Godfrey had heard of it, and afterwards referred me to Marryat's"Phantom Ship" as his source of information.

  "Goa," Silva explained, seeing our perplexity, "is a colony owned byPortugal on the Malabar coast, some distance below Bombay."

  "How does it come that you speak English so well?"

  "I was educated at Bombay, and afterwards at Oxford and at Paris."

  "But you are by religion a Hindu?"

  "I am a Saiva--a follower of Siva, the Lord of life and death."

  As he spoke, he touched his forehead with the fingers of his lefthand. There was a moment's silence. Goldberger's moustache, I notedwith a smile, was beginning to suffer again.

  "You are what is called an adept?" he asked, at last.

  "Some may call me that," said Silva, "but incorrectly. Among my fellowSaivas, I am known as a White Priest, a yogi, a teacher of the law."

  "Mr. Vaughan was your pupil?"

  "Yes; for six months he was my pupil."

  "In what way did you come to accept this position?"

  "Two years ago, Mr. Vaughan visited the monastery of our order inCrete. He was at that time merely a student of Orientalism, and cameto us from curiosity. But his interest grew; and after a year spent instudying the holy books, he asked that a teacher be sent to him. Therewas none at that time who could be spared; but six months ago, havingcompleted a task which had occupied me in Paris, I was assigned tothis."

  "Do you always go to so much trouble to secure converts?" questionedGoldberger, a little cynically.

  "Usually we require that the period of study be passed at one of ourmonasteries. But this case was exceptional."

  "In what way?"

  "It was our hope," explained the yogi, calmly, "that Mr. Vaughan wouldassist us in spreading the Great Truth by endowing a monastery for usin this country."

  "Ah!" and Goldberger looked at him. "Did he agree to do so?"

  "He did," answered the yogi, still more calmly. "This estate was tohave been given to us for that purpose, together with an endowmentsufficient to maintain it. Mr. Vaughan himself hoped to gain the WhiteRobe and become a teacher."

  "What was to become of his daughter?"

  "It was his hope that she would become a priestess of our order."

  "You hoped so, too, no doubt?" inquired Goldberger sweetly.

  "I did. It is an office of high honour and great influence. She wouldwalk all her days in the shadow of the Holy One. So sweet a cup isoffered to few women. The number of priestesses is limited to nine."

  Goldberger pulled at his moustache helplessly. Evidently the witness'scalm self-control was not to be broken down, or even ruffled.

  "Please tell me where you were night before last," said the coroner,finally.

  "I was in this house."

  "Did you see Mr. Vaughan?"

  "I did not."

  "How did you spend the night?"

  "In contemplation. It was, as I have told you, the White Night ofSiva, sacred to him from sunset to sunrise."

  "Do you mean that you spent the whole night sitting before thatcrystal?" asked the coroner, incredulously.

  "That is my meaning."

  "You know nothing, then, of the death of Mr. Vaughan?"

  "I saw his soul pass in the night. More than that I know not."

  Again Goldberger twitched at his moustache. He was plainly at a losshow to proceed.

  "Was your attendant with you?" he asked, at last.

  "He was in his closet."

  "At his devotions too, perhaps?"

  "The White Night of Siva is also the Black Night of Kali," said theyogi, gravely, as one rebuking an unworthy levity.

  "What do you mean by that?" Goldberger demanded.

  "Mahbub is of the cult of Kali, who is the wife of Siva," said theyogi, touching his forehead reverently as he spoke the words. "Hespent the night in adoration of her attributes."

  Goldberger's stenographer was having his difficulties; the pencils ofthe reporters were racing wildly in unison; everyone was listeningwith strained attention; there was, somehow, a feeling in the air thatsomething was about to happen. I saw Godfrey write a line upon a sheetof paper, fold it, and toss it on the table in front of Goldberger.The coroner opened it, read the line, and stared at the impassiveMahbub, who stood beside his master with folded arms, staring over theheads of the crowd.

  "In other words," said Goldberger, slowly, "your attendant is a Thug."

  The yogi bowed.

  "Yes," he said, calmly; "Mahbub is Thuggee."