The Leavenworth Case

The clerk from Bohn’s here being dismissed, those assembled took the opportunity of making some change in their position, after which, the name of Mr Harwell was again called. That person rose with manifest reluctance. Evidently the preceding testimony had either upset some theory of his, or indubitably strengthened some unwelcome suspicion.

‘Mr Harwell,’ the coroner began, ‘we are told of the existence of a pistol belonging to Mr Leavenworth, and upon searching, we discover it in his room. Did you know of his possessing such an instrument?’

‘I did.’

‘Was it a fact generally known in the house?’

‘So it would seem.’

‘How was that? Was he in the habit of leaving it around where anyone could see it?’

‘I cannot say; I can only acquaint you with the manner in which I myself became aware of its existence.’

‘Very well, do so.’

‘We were once talking about firearms. I have some taste that way, and have always been anxious to possess a pocket-pistol. Saying something of the kind to him one day, he rose from his seat and, fetching me this, showed it to me.’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Some few months since.’

‘He has owned this pistol, then, for some time?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is that the only occasion upon which you have ever seen it?’

‘No, sir’—the secretary blushed—‘I have seen it once since.’

‘When?’

‘About three weeks ago.’

‘Under what circumstances?’

The secretary dropped his head, a certain drawn look making itself suddenly visible on his countenance.

‘Will you not excuse me, gentlemen?’ he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.

‘It is impossible,’ returned the coroner.

His face grew even more pallid and deprecatory. ‘I am obliged to introduce the name of a lady,’ he hesitatingly declared.

‘We are very sorry,’ remarked the coroner.

The young man turned fiercely upon him, and I could not help wondering that I had ever thought him commonplace. ‘Of Miss Eleanore Leavenworth!’ he cried.

At that name, so uttered, everyone started but Mr Gryce; he was engaged in holding a close and confidential confab with his finger-tips, and did not appear to notice.

‘Surely it is contrary to the rules of decorum and the respect we all feel for the lady herself to introduce her name into this discussion,’ continued Mr Harwell. But the coroner still insisting upon an answer, he refolded his arms (a movement indicative of resolution with him), and began in a low, forced tone to say:

‘It is only this, gentlemen. One afternoon, about three weeks since, I had occasion to go to the library at an unusual hour. Crossing over to the mantelpiece for the purpose of procuring a penknife which I had carelessly left there in the morning, I heard a noise in the adjoining room. Knowing that Mr Leavenworth was out, and supposing the ladies to be out also, I took the liberty of ascertaining who the intruder was; when what was my astonishment to come upon Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, standing at the side of her uncle’s bed, with his pistol in her hand. Confused at my indiscretion, I attempted to escape without being observed; but in vain, for just as I was crossing the threshold, she turned and, calling me by name, requested me to explain the pistol to her. Gentlemen, in order to do so, I was obliged to take it in my hand; and that, sirs, is the only other occasion upon which I ever saw or handled the pistol of Mr Leavenworth.’ Drooping his head, he waited in indescribable agitation for the next question.

‘She asked you to explain the pistol to her; what do you mean by that?’

‘I mean,’ he faintly continued, catching his breath in a vain effort to appear calm, ‘how to load, aim, and fire it.’

A flash of awakened feeling shot across the faces of all present. Even the coroner showed sudden signs of emotion, and sat staring at the bowed form and pale countenance of the man before him, with a peculiar look of surprised compassion, which could not fail of producing its effect, not only upon the young man himself, but upon all who saw him.

‘Mr Harwell,’ he at length inquired, ‘have you anything to add to the statement you have just made?’

The secretary sadly shook his head.

‘Mr Gryce,’ I here whispered, clutching that person by the arm and dragging him down to my side; ‘assure me, I entreat you—’ but he would not let me finish.

‘The coroner is about to ask for the young ladies,’ he quickly interposed. ‘If you desire to fulfil your duty towards them, be ready, that’s all.’

Fulfil my duty! The simple words recalled me to myself. What had I been thinking of; was I mad? With nothing more terrible in mind than a tender picture of the lovely cousins bowed in anguish over the remains of one who had been as dear as a father to them, I slowly rose, and upon demand being made for Miss Mary and Miss Eleanore Leavenworth, advanced and said that, as a friend of the family—a petty lie, which I hope will not be laid up against me—I begged the privilege of going for the ladies and escorting them down.

Instantly a dozen eyes flashed upon me, and I experienced the embarrassment of one who, by some unexpected word or action, has drawn upon himself the concentrated attention of a whole room.

But the permission sought being almost immediately accorded, I was speedily enabled to withdraw from my rather trying position, finding myself, almost before I knew it, in the hall, my face aflame, my heart beating with excitement, and these words of Mr Gryce ringing in my ears: ‘Third floor, rear room, first door at the head of the stairs. You will find the young ladies expecting you.’

CHAPTER VI (#ulink_e1107862-091a-5735-b942-9ad6b4686eb7)

SIDE-LIGHTS (#ulink_e1107862-091a-5735-b942-9ad6b4686eb7)

‘Oh! She has beauty might ensnare

A conqueror’s soul, and make him leave his crown

At random, to be scuffled for by slaves.’

—OTWAY’S ORPHAN

THIRD floor, rear room, first door at the head of the stairs! What was I about to encounter there?

Mounting the lower flight, and shuddering by the library wall, which to my troubled fancy seemed written all over with horrible suggestions, I took my way slowly upstairs, revolving in my mind many things, among which an admonition uttered long ago by my mother occupied a prominent place.

‘My son, remember that a woman with a secret may be a fascinating study, but she can never be a safe, nor even satisfactory, companion.’

A wise saw, no doubt, but totally inapplicable to the present situation; yet it continued to haunt me till the sight of the door to which I had been directed put every other thought to flight save that I was about to meet the stricken nieces of a brutally murdered man.

Pausing only long enough on the threshold to compose myself for the interview, I lifted my hand to knock, when a rich, clear voice rose from within, and I heard distinctly uttered these astounding words: ‘I do not accuse your hand, though I know of none other which would or could have done this deed; but your heart, your head, your will, these I do and must accuse, in my secret mind at least; and it is well that you should know it!’

Struck with horror, I staggered back, my hands to my ears, when a touch fell on my arm, and turning, I saw Mr Gryce standing close beside me, with his finger on his lip, and the last flickering shadow of a flying emotion fading from his steady, almost compassionate countenance.

‘Come, come,’ he exclaimed; ‘I see you don’t begin to know what kind of a world you are living in. Rouse yourself; remember they are waiting down below.’