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The House Opposite: A Mystery

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Год написания книги
2019
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“Are you going for a walk?” I asked.

“Yes; it is much cooler to-day, and I really must get a little exercise.”

“Do you mind my joining you?” I inquired.

“I’d be glad of your company,” she answered, cordially.

“It’s terribly sad about that poor woman, isn’t it?” she said, as we sauntered along.

“It is, indeed,” I replied; “and the hospital authorities give no hope of her husband’s recovery.”

“I suppose there is no doubt that he killed the man?”

Here we were again on this dangerous topic, and I glanced quickly at her, fearing a repetition of last night’s attack.

She noticed my hesitation, and laughed.

“Oh, you needn’t be so afraid of what you say. I ain’t going to faint again. I want to know the truth, though, and I can’t see why you shouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, if you insist upon it,” I said, “here it is: I really don’t know whether he is guilty or not; I have been convinced that he was till very recently, but Merritt (the detective, you know) has always been sceptical, and maintains that a woman committed the murder.”

“A woman,” she repeated, turning her eyes full on me. “But what woman?”

“Merritt refuses to tell me whom he suspects, but he promises to produce the fair criminal before next Tuesday.”

We walked on for about a block, when, struck by her silence, I looked at her, and saw that she had grown alarmingly pale. I cursed myself for my loquacity, but what could I have done? It is almost impossible to avoid answering direct questions without being absolutely rude, and as I knew the detective did not suspect her I really could not see why she should be so agitated.

“I guess I’m not very strong,” she said; “I’m tired already, and think I’ll go home.”

I wondered if my society had been disagreeable or, at any rate, inopportune, and had caused her to cut short her walk.

As we repassed my house, I caught Mrs. Atkins peering apprehensively at it. I followed the direction of her eyes, but could see nothing unusual.

When I got back to my office, I found that Atkins had called during my absence; I was very sorry to have missed him, as he no doubt came to report what Dr. Hartley had said about his wife.

That night I was called out to see a patient, and returned home during the small hours of the morning. I was still some distance from my house when I distinctly saw the back door of the Rosemere open, and a muffled figure steal out. I was too far away to be able to distinguish any details. I could not even be sure whether the figure was that of a man or a woman. I hastened my steps as I saw it cross the street, but before I had come within reasonable distance of it, it had disappeared round the corner.

The next morning I was aroused at a very early hour by a vigorous ringing at my bell. Hurrying to the door, I was astonished to find Atkins there. He was white and trembling. I pulled him into the room and made him sit down.

“What is the matter?” I asked, as I went to the sideboard and poured out a stiff glass of brandy, which I handed him. “Drink that, and you’ll feel better,” I said.

He gulped it down at one swallow.

“My wife has disappeared.”

“Disappeared!” I repeated.

He nodded.

“But when?—how?”

“I don’t know. At dinner yesterday she acted queerly. The tears kept coming to her eyes without any reason–”

“Before you go any further,” I interrupted him, “tell me if this was after the doctor had seen her?”

“Yes, and he practically confirmed all you said. He laid great stress on her being spared all agitation, and advised a course of baths at Nauheim.”

“Her tears, then, were probably caused by worrying over her condition,” I said.

“I don’t think so, for the doctor was very careful to reassure her, and I had not even mentioned that we were to go abroad. No, it was something else, I’m sure.” He paused. I wondered if anything I had said during our short walk had upset her.

“I suggested going to a roof garden,” continued Atkins, “and she acquiesced enthusiastically, and after that was over she insisted on a supper at Rector’s. It was pretty late when we got home, and we both went immediately to bed. Now, I assure you that ever since she fainted on Wednesday I have been most affectionate towards her. I had determined to bury my suspicions, and my anxiety for her health helped me to do so. She responded very tenderly to my caresses, but I could see that she was still as depressed as before, although she tried her best to hide it from me. I tell you all this so that you may know that nothing occurred yesterday between us that could have caused her to leave me, and yet that is what she has done.”

He buried his head in his arms. I laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me the rest, old man.”

“The rest?—I woke up a short time ago and was surprised to find my wife had already left the room. Wondering what could be the matter (for she is usually a very late riser), I got up also. On the table beside my bed lay a letter addressed to me in her handwriting. I tore it open. Here it is,” and he handed me a small pink note redolent of the peculiar scent which I had noticed his wife affected. This is what I read:

My Darling Husband:

I must leave you. It is best for both. Don’t think I’m going because I don’t love you. It isn’t that. I love you more than ever. It breaks my heart to go. Oh, my darling, darling! We have been happy, haven’t we? And now it is all over. Don’t look for me, I beg you. I must hide. Don’t tell any one, even the servants, that I have gone, for two days. Oh, do oblige me in this. I have taken all the money I could find, $46.00, and some of my jewelry; so I shall not be destitute.

Forgive me, and forget me.

    Your loving, heart-broken wife,
    Lulu.

After reading the note to the end, I stared at him in speechless astonishment.

“What do you think of that?” he asked.

“Well, really, of all mysterious, incomprehensible–”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, impatiently, “but what am I to do now? It is, of course, nonsense her telling me not to look for her. I will look for her and find her, too. But how shall I go about it? O my God, to think of that little girl sick, unhappy, alone; she will die—” he cried, starting up.

“Atkins,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “I think the best thing for you to do is to lay this case before Mr. Merritt.”

“What, the man who was mixed up in the murder? Never!”

“You can hardly speak of a detective as being mixed up in a murder,” I said. “Every celebrated detective has always several important cases going at once, one of which is very likely to be a murder. The reason I suggest Merritt is that I have seen a good deal of him lately, and have been much impressed by his character as well as his ability. He is a kindly, honourable, and discreet man, and that is more than can be said for the majority of his fellows, and, professionally, he stands at the very top of the ladder. You want to find your wife as quickly as possible, and at the same time to avoid all publicity. You therefore must consult a thoroughly reliable as well as competent person.”

“But if I go to Merritt and tell him that my wife has disappeared, I must also tell of the strange way she has been behaving lately. That will lead to his discovering that the murdered man was a friend of hers, and who knows but that he may end by suspecting her of complicity in his death?—and I acknowledge that her flight lends some colour to that theory.”

“My dear fellow, he has been aware for some time—since Monday, in fact—that the dead man visited your wife the very evening he was killed, and yet, knowing all this, he told me that Mrs. Atkins could not be connected in the remotest way with the tragedy.”

“He said that!” exclaimed Atkins, with evident relief.

“He did,” I assured him.
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