The House Opposite: A Mystery

I stared at him in bewilderment. Then, remembering that of course he had not yet heard Madame’s story, I proceeded at once to impart it to him.

“Very curious,” was the only comment he made.

“But, look here, Mr. Merritt; what more do you want to convince you of the Frenchman’s guilt?”

“Proofs; that’s all,” he replied cheerfully.

“But what further proof do you need? Here you have a man who is undoubtedly insane, who is furthermore an inmate of the Rosemere, and who, on Tuesday evening, went out with the avowed intention of killing his supposed rival; and, to cap the climax, the victim’s hat is found in his possession. And yet, you have doubts!”

The detective only smiled quietly.

“By the way,” he said, “I must go to the hospital, and get that hat before it disappears again.”

I started.

“It didn’t occur to me before, but when we put him into the ambulance, he was bareheaded,” I confessed.

Merritt uttered an exclamation of impatience.

“We’ll go to your place, then; it must be there. When you saw him in the street, he had on a hat similar to the one we are looking for, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s probably somewhere in your hall. That you shouldn’t have noticed its absence does not surprise me so much, but that my man should have overlooked an article of such importance, does astonish me. It’s his business to look after just such details.”

When we reached the house we had to fight our way through a crowd of reporters, but in the hall, sure enough, we found the hat. Merritt positively pounced on it, and, taking it into my office, examined it carefully.

“What do you think of it?” I at last asked.

“I’m not yet prepared to say, Doctor; besides, you and I are now playing on different sides of the fence—of that $50, in other words, and till I can produce my pretty criminal, mum’s the word.”

“When will that be?”

“Let me see,” replied the detective; “to-day is Tuesday. What do you say to this day week? If I haven’t been able to prove my case before then, I will acknowledge myself in the wrong and hand you the $50.”

“That suits me,” I said.

I am ashamed to say that all this time I had forgotten about poor Madame. Having remembered her, I went to her at once, and found her violently hysterical and attended by several well-meaning, if helpless, Irish women, who listened to her voluble French with awe, not unmixed with distrust. I at last succeeded in calming her, but I was glad her master was spending several days out of town, for I could imagine nothing more distasteful to that correct gentleman than all this noise and notoriety. I was afraid that if he heard that more reporters were awaiting his return, he would not come back at all.

CHAPTER XII

A PROFESSIONAL VISIT OUT OF TOWN

    Beverley, L. I.,
    Monday, August 15.

Dear Charley:

My leg is worse. Won’t you run down here and have a look at it? I also want your advice about May Derwent.

    Aff. yours,
    Fred.

When I received this note early on Tuesday morning, I at once made arrangements for a short absence. Now that duty, and not inclination alone, called me elsewhere, I had no scruples about leaving New York; and when, a few hours later, after visiting my most urgent cases, I found myself on a train bound for Beverley, I blessed Fred’s leg, which had procured me this unexpected little holiday. What a relief it was to leave the dust and the noise of the city behind, and to feast my eyes once more on the sight of fields and trees.

On arriving at my destination, I drove immediately to the Cowper’s cottage. I found Fred in bed, with his leg a good deal swollen. His anxiety to go to the Derwents had tempted him to use it before it was sufficiently strong; consequently, he had strained it, and would now be laid up with it for some time longer.

“Well, Charley,” he said, when I had finished replacing the bandages, “I don’t suppose you are very sorry to be in this part of the world, eh? My leg did you a good turn, didn’t it?”

I assented, curtly, for, although I agreed with him from the bottom of my heart, I didn’t mean to be chaffed on a certain subject, even by him.

In order, probably, to tease me, he made no further allusion to the other object of my visit, so that I was, at last, forced to broach the subject myself.

“Oh, May? She’s really much better. There is no doubt of it. I think the idea of brain fever thoroughly frightened her, for now she meekly obeys orders, and takes any medicine I prescribe without a murmur.”

“Well, but then why did you write that you wished to consult me about her?”

“Because, Charley,” he replied, laying aside his previously flippant manner, “although her general health has greatly improved, I can’t say as much for her nervous condition. The latter seems to me so unsatisfactory that I am beginning to believe that Mrs. Derwent was not far wrong when she suggested that her daughter might be slightly demented.”

I felt myself grow cold, notwithstanding the heat of the day. Then, remembering the quiet and collected way she had behaved under circumstances as trying as any I could imagine a girl’s being placed in, I took courage again. May was not insane. I would not believe it.

“At all events,” continued Fred, “I felt that she should not be left without medical care, and, as I can’t get out to see her, and as she detests the only other doctor in the place, I suggested to Mrs. Derwent that she should consult you. Being a friend of mine, ostensibly here on a simple visit, it would be the most natural thing in the world for you to go over to their place, and you could thus see May, and judge of her condition without her knowing that she was under observation.”

“That’s well. It is always best to see a nervous patient off guard, if possible. Now, tell me all the particulars of the case.”

When he had done this, I could not refrain from asking whether Norman was still there.

“Certainly! And seems likely to remain indefinitely.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I forgot to tell you that May begged to be allowed to see him yesterday. As she was able to get up, and lie on the sofa, I consented, for I feared a refusal would agitate her too much. I only stipulated that he should not remain with her over half an hour. What occurred during this meeting, of course, I don’t know. But May experienced no bad effects. On the contrary, her mother writes that she has seemed calmer and more cheerful ever since.”

“They are probably engaged. Don’t you think so?” And as I put the question, I knew that if the answer were affirmative my chance of happiness was gone for ever.

“I don’t believe it,” he answered, “for after his interview with May, Norman spent the rest of the day sunk in the deepest gloom. He ate scarcely anything, and when forced to remain in the house (feeling, I suppose, that politeness demanded that he should give us at any rate a little of his society) he moved restlessly from one seat to another. Several times he tried to pull himself together and to join in the conversation, but it was no use; notwithstanding all his efforts he would soon relapse into his former state of feverish unrest. Now, that doesn’t look like the behaviour of a happy lover, does it?

“Since he has been here he has spent most of his time prowling about the Derwents’ house, and as Alice was leaving their place yesterday evening she caught a glimpse of him hiding behind a clump of bushes just outside their gate. At least, she is almost sure that it was he, but was so afraid it would embarrass him to be caught playing sentinel that, after a cursory glance in his direction, she passed discreetly by. Afterwards it occurred to her that she should have made certain of his identity, for the man she saw may have been some questionable character. We are not sure that May’s extreme nervousness is not due to the fact that she is being persecuted by some unscrupulous person, her brother, for instance. You know I have always believed that he was in some way connected with her illness.”

“I know you have.”

“But to return to Norman,” continued Fred. “I not only suspect him of haunting her door by day, but of spending a good part of the night there. At any rate, I used to hear him creeping in and out of the house at all sorts of unusual hours. The first night I took him for a burglar, and showed what I consider true courage by starting out after him with an empty pistol and—a crutch!”

“I don’t think that anything you have told me, however, is at all incompatible with his being Miss Derwent’s accepted suitor. His distress is probably due to anxiety about her health.” I said this, hoping he would contradict me.

Whether he would have done so or not I shall never know, for at that point our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of his sister; and as it had been previously arranged that she was to drive me over to the Derwents, we started off at once.

At last I was to see my lady again! It seemed too good to be true.