The Deep Lake Mystery

“No. Now, Jennie, you told Mrs. Moore you knew something about the night of Mr. Tracy’s death.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it, do you think, of importance?”

“Yes, sir.”

Not only the monotony of the girl’s monosyllabic replies, but the enigmatic smile that played about her lips and was remindful of the Mona Lisa, began to grate on the nerves of all of us.

But March swallowed, took a long breath, and plunged into the matter.

“Then, Jennie, since you deem it of importance, tell it to us, and we will see what we think about it.”

“Must I tell it, sir?”

“Indeed you must,” and March glared at her threateningly.

But it was unnecessary. Jennie seemed to think it a case of needs must when the law drives, and she began to speak in real sentences.

“You see,” she said, “my room is across the house from Mr. Tracy’s room. I mean across the part of Deep Lake that he called the Sunless Sea.”

“Across?”

“Yes, sir. You can look out of my window and see down into Mr. Tracy’s room. Of course, my room is on the third floor and his on the second, but you can see in.”

“Yes, and did you see in?”

“Oh, yes, I often looked in there late at night.”

“What for?”

“Nothing in particular, only it was bright and gay and there were always flowers about, and sometimes company and music, and so I liked to look at it.”

“Well, go on.”

“Yes, sir. And never did I see anything strange or peculiar, except this one night, sir. You see, it was his sitting room as I could look into, and it was so fixed, with curtains and all that, that I couldn’t really see much after all. I just sort of had a glimpse like, and then nothing.”

“I see. Well, get along to the night of the strange thing you saw. What was it?”

“I saw Miss Alma dive out of the window into the lake.”

There was a moment’s dead silence and then March found his voice somehow, and carried on.

“You’re – you’re sure it was Miss Remsen?”

“Oh, yes, sir, of course. I know her well.”

“How was she dressed?”

“She had on a white dress, a sports suit, and white shoes and stockings. She most always wears white in the summer time. She came to the window, and I saw her step up on the sill, and then she looked down at the lake for a moment.”

“As if afraid?”

“Oh, no, sir. As if just judging the distance, or something like that, Then, she put her hands together over her head, and dived right off. She went down like a lovely bird, into the water and in a few seconds up again, and straight out to where her boat was, near by.”

“What sort of boat?”

“The little canoe she always uses, sir. I know it well.”

“And then?”

“Then, sir, she settled herself in the boat, all dripping wet as she was, but she didn’t seem to mind, and she paddled away just as she always paddled, with that clear, sharp stroke that everybody admires so much.”

“Where did she go?”

“Toward her own home, on the Island. Of course, when she turned the bend I couldn’t see her.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went to bed, sir.”

“Put out your light?”

“I didn’t have any light. It was moonlight and I was just looking out at the lake when this thing happened.”

“Jennie, this is a very strange tale.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You say it is true – all of it?”

“Every word, sir.”

The girl’s eyes were of a dull gray, but they had a penetrating gaze that was a bit irritating.

But both eyes and voice carried conviction.

None of Jennie’s listeners was the kind to be hoodwinked, and moreover we all rather fancied ourselves as being able to discern between true and false witnessing.

And as we found later, when we compared notes, each of us was thoroughly impressed with the indubitable truthfulness of this strange girl with her strange story.

“And you’ve not told this before?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t asked.”