The Gloved Hand by Burton Egbert Stevenson (ebook reader web txt) 📖

to the house?"

"Yes; father was still very violent. He had forbidden me to see Mr. Swain or to write to him. He had taken a violent dislike to him."

"Do you know why?"

"Yes," and she flushed a little, but went on bravely. "He believed that Mr. Swain wished to marry me."

"As, in fact, he did," I commented.

"Yes; or, at least, he did before his financial troubles came. After that, he wished to give me up."

"But you refused to be given up?"

"Yes," she said, and looked at me with eyes beautifully radiant. "I refused to be given up."

I felt that I was rushing in where angels would hesitate to enter, and beat a hasty retreat.

"Was your father always opposed to your marriage?" I asked.

"No; he has wanted me to wait until I was of age; but he never absolutely forbade it until a few months ago. It was at the time he first tried to persuade me to become a convert to Hinduism."

"What occurred after you and your father reached the house?"

"Father was very angry, and demanded that I promise never to see Mr. Swain again. When I refused to promise, he sent me to my room, forbidding me to leave it without his permission. I came up at once, more than ever convinced that father needed medical attention. I was very nervous and over-wrought, and I sat down by the window to control myself before going to bed. And then, suddenly, I remembered something the yogi had told me—that father was not strong, and that a fit of anger might be very serious. I knew the servants had gone to bed, and that he must be downstairs alone, since I had heard no one come up."

"You had heard no one in the hall at all?" I asked.

"No, I had heard no one. But I remember, as I started down the stairs, a curious feeling of dread seized me. It was so strong that I stood for some moments on the top step before I could muster courage to go down. At last, I did go down and—and found my father!"

She stopped, her hands over her eyes, as though to shut away the remembrance of that dreadful sight.

"Have you strength to tell me just what happened, Miss Vaughan?" I asked gently.

She controlled herself with an effort and took her hands from her face.

"Yes," she said; "I can tell you. I remember that I stood for a moment at the door, looking about the room, for at the first glance I thought there was no one there. I thought, for an instant, that father had gone into the grounds, for the curtain at the other door was trembling a little, as though someone had just passed."

"Ah!" I said, and looked at Goldberger.

"It might have been merely the breeze, might it not?" he asked.

"I suppose so. The next instant I saw my father huddled forward in his chair. I was sure he had had a seizure of some sort; I ran to him, and raised his head...."

Again she stopped, her eyes covered, and a slow shudder shook her from head to foot. I could guess what a shock the sight of that horrible face had been!

"I do not remember anything more," she added, in a whisper.

For a moment, we all sat silent. The only portion of her evidence which could in any way help Swain was her discovery of the swaying curtain, and even that, as Goldberger had pointed out, might easily mean nothing.

"Miss Vaughan," I said, at last, "how long a time elapsed from the moment you left your father in the library until you found him?"

"I don't know. Perhaps fifteen minutes."

"Was he quite dead when you found him?"

"Yes, I—I think so."

"Then," I said to Goldberger, "the murder must have been committed very soon after Miss Vaughan came upstairs."

"Yes," agreed Goldberger, in a low tone, "and by somebody who came in from the grounds, since she met no one in the hall and heard no one."

Miss Vaughan leaned toward him, her hands clasping and unclasping.

"Do you know who it was?" she gasped. "Have you found out who it was?"

"We suspect who it was," answered Goldberger gravely.

"Tell me," she began.

"Wait a minute, Miss Vaughan," I broke in. "Tell me, first—did you hear anyone following you across the garden?"

"Yes," she answered thoughtfully; "once or twice I fancied that someone was following us. It seemed to me I heard a step, but when I looked back I saw no one."

"Did that fact make you uneasy?"

"No," she said, with a little smile. "I thought it was Mr. Swain."

I saw Goldberger's sudden movement. I myself could not repress a little shudder.

"You thought that would be the natural thing for Mr. Swain to do, did you not?" the coroner inquired.

"Yes—I thought he might wish to see me safe." Then she stopped, leaning forward in her chair and staring first at Goldberger and then at me. "What is it?" she whispered, her hands against her heart. "Oh, what is it? You don't mean—you can't mean—oh, tell me! It isn't Fred you suspect! It can't be Fred!"

It was Dr. Hinman who laid a gentle and quieting hand upon her shoulder, and it was his grave voice which answered her.

"Yes," he said, "there are some things which seem to implicate Mr. Swain; but both Mr. Lester and I are certain he isn't guilty. We're going to prove it!"

She looked up at him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you!" she gasped. "I—wait a moment—I was silly to give way so. Of course you will prove it! It's absurd!" And then she stopped and looked at Goldberger. "Do you believe it?" she demanded.

Goldberger flushed a little under her gaze.

"I don't know what to believe, Miss Vaughan," he said. "I'm searching for the truth."

"So are we all," I said. "I am counsel for Mr. Swain, Miss Vaughan, and I have come to you, hoping that your story would help to clear him."

"Oh, I wish it might!" she cried.

"You know Mr. Swain cut his wrist as he came over the wall that night?"

"Yes, he told me. He didn't know it was bleeding, at first; then he felt the blood on his hand, and I wrapped his wrist in my handkerchief."

"Was it this handkerchief?" asked Goldberger, and took from his pocket the blood-stained square and handed it to her.

She took it with a little shiver, looked at it, and passed it back to him.

"Yes," she said; "that is it."

Then she sat upright, her clenched hands against her breast, staring at us with starting eyes.

"I remember now!" she gasped. "I remember now! I saw it—a blotch of red—lying on the floor beside my father's chair! How did it get there, Mr. Lester? Had he been there? Did he follow us?" She stopped again, as she saw the look in Goldberger's eyes, and then the look in mine. With a long, indrawn breath of horror, she cowered back into the chair, shaking from head to foot. "Oh, what have I done!" she moaned. "What have I done?"

There could be no question as to what she had done, I told myself, bitterly: she had added another link to the chain of evidence about her lover. I could see the same thought in the sardonic gaze which Goldberger turned upon me; but before either of us could say a word, the doctor, with a peremptory gesture, had driven us from the room.

CHAPTER XVII THE VERDICT

Goldberger paused at the stair-head and looked at me, an ironical light in his eyes. I knew he suspected that Miss Vaughan's story of the handkerchief was no great surprise to me.

"Well," he asked, "will you wish to put her on the stand?"

I shook my head and started down the stairs, for I was far from desiring an argument just then, but he stopped me with a hand upon the sleeve.

"You realise, Mr. Lester," he said, more seriously, "that it is plainly my duty to cause Swain's arrest?"

"Yes," I assented. "I realise that. Under the circumstances, you can do nothing else."

He nodded, and we went downstairs together. I saw Swain's eager eyes upon us as we came out upon the lawn, and his lips were at my ear the instant I had taken my seat.

"Well?" he whispered.

"She cannot help you," I said. I did not think it necessary to say how deeply she would hurt him when her testimony was called for in open court, as, of course, it would be.

"And you won't put her on the stand?"

"No," I answered, and he sank back with a sigh of relief. Then something in my face seemed to catch his eye, for he leaned forward again. "You don't mean that she believes I did it!" he demanded hoarsely.

"Oh, no," I hastened to assure him; "she says such an accusation is absurd; she was greatly overcome when she learned that you were even suspected; she said...."

But the coroner rapped for order.

"Have you any other evidence to introduce, Mr. Lester?" he asked.

"No, Your Honour," I answered, and I saw the cloud of disappointment which fell upon the faces of reporters and photographers. To have been able to feature Miss Vaughan would have meant an extra column. I could also see, from the expression on the faces of the jury, that my failure to put her on the stand made an unfavourable impression. There was, indeed, only one inference to draw from it.

Goldberger turned aside for a few words with the prosecutor, and I suspected that he was telling him of Miss Vaughan's discovery of the blood-stained handkerchief; but there was no way to get the story before the jury without calling her. They seemed to agree, at last, that they had evidence enough, for the jury was instructed to prepare its verdict. Its members withdrew a little distance under the trees, and gathered into a group to talk it over.

I watched them for a moment, and then I turned to Swain.

"I suppose you know," I said, "that they're certain to find against you? Even if they don't, the district attorney will cause your arrest right away."

He nodded.

"I'm not worrying about that. I'm worrying about Miss Vaughan. You won't forget your promise?"

"No."

"She'll have no one but you," he went on rapidly. "Neither will I! You mustn't fail us!"

"I shan't," I promised. "But you'd better think about yourself a little, Swain."

"Plenty of time for that when I'm sure that Marjorie's safe. The minute you tell me she's at the Royces', I'll begin to think about myself. I'm not afraid. I didn't kill that man. No jury would convict me."

I might have told him that convictions are founded on evidence, and that the evidence in this case was certainly against him, but I thought it better to hold my peace. The more confident he was, the less irksome he would find imprisonment. So I sat silent until the members of the jury filed back into their places.

"Have you reached a verdict, gentlemen?" the coroner asked, after his clerk had polled them.

"Yes, Your Honour," the foreman answered.

"What is the verdict?"

The foreman held out a folded paper to the clerk, who took it, opened it, and read:

"We, the jury in the inquest held this thirteenth day of June, 1908, into the death of one Worthington Vaughan, residing in the Borough of the Bronx, City of New York, do find that the deceased came to his death by strangulation at the hands of one Frederic Swain."

There was an instant's silence, and then Goldberger turned to the jury.

"Is this your verdict, gentlemen?" he asked quietly; and each juryman replied in the affirmative as his name was called. "I thank you for your services," Goldberger added, directed his clerk to give them their vouchers on the city treasurer, and dismissed them.

Simmonds and the assistant district attorney came toward us, and I arose to meet them. Swain got up, also, and when I glanced at him I saw that he was smiling.

"I don't know whether you have met Mr. Blake, Mr. Lester," said Simmonds, and the prosecutor and I shook hands. I introduced him to Swain, but Swain did not offer his hand.

"I suppose you've come to take me along?" he said, the smile still on his lips.

"I'm afraid we'll have to."

"Would bail be considered?" I asked.

"I'm afraid not," and Blake shook his head. "It isn't a bailable offence."

I knew, of course, that he was right and that it was of no use to argue or protest. Swain turned to me and held out his hand.

"Then I'll say good-bye, Mr. Lester," he said. "I'll hope to see you Monday."

"You shall," I promised.

"And with good news," he added.

"Yes—and with good news."

"Can we give