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Title: Agatha Webb
Author: Anna Katherine Green
Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5162] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on May 24, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, AGATHA WEBB ***
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
AGATHA WEBBBY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN (MRS. CHARLES ROHLFS)
AUTHOR OF âTHE LEAVENWORTH CASE,â âTHAT AFFAIR NEXT DOORâ âLOST MANâS LANE,â ETC.
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND
PROFESSOR A. V. DICEY
OF OXFORD, ENGLAND
CONTENTS BOOK I THE PURPLE ORCHIDIâA Cry on the Hill IIâOne Nightâs Work IIIâThe Empty Drawer IVâThe Full Drawer VâA Spot on the Lawn VIââBreakfast is Served, Gentlemen!â VIIââMarry Meâ VIIIââA Devil That Understands Menâ IXâA Grand Woman XâDetective Knapp Arrives XIâThe Man with a Beard XIIâWattles Comes XIIIâWattles Goes XIVâA Final Temptation XVâThe Zabels Visited XVIâLocal Talent at Work XVIIâThe Slippers, the Flower, and What Sweetwater Made of Them XVIIIâSome Leading Questions XIXâPoor Philemon XXâA Surprise for Mr. Sutherland
XXIâSweetwater Reasons XXIIâSweetwater Acts XXIIIâA Sinister Pair XXIVâIn the Shadow of the Mast XXVâIn Extremity XXVIâThe Adventure of the Parcel XXVIIâThe Adventure of the Scrap of Paper and the Three Words XXVIIIââWho Are You?â XXIXâHome Again
XXXâWhat Followed the Striking of the Clock XXXIâA Witness Lost XXXIIâWhy Agatha Webb will Never be Forgotten in Sutherlandtown XXXIIIâFather and Son XXXIVââNot When They Are Young Girlsâ XXXVâSweetwater Pays His Debt at Last to Mr. Sutherland
The dance was over. From the great house on the hill the guests had all departed and only the musicians remained. As they filed out through the ample doorway, on their way home, the first faint streak of early dawn became visible in the east. One of them, a lank, plain-featured young man of ungainly aspect but penetrating eye, called the attention of the others to it.
âLook!â said he; âthere is the daylight! This has been a gay night for Sutherlandtown.â
âToo gay,â muttered another, starting aside as the slight figure of a young man coming from the house behind them rushed hastily by. âWhy, whoâs that?â
As they one and all had recognised the person thus alluded to, no one answered till he had dashed out of the gate and disappeared in the woods on the other side of the road. Then they all spoke at once.
âItâs Mr. Frederick!â
âHe seems in a desperate hurry.â
âHe trod on my toes.â
âDid you hear the words he was muttering as he went by?â
As only the last question was calculated to rouse any interest, it alone received attention.
âNo; what were they? I heard him say something, but I failed to catch the words.â
âHe wasnât talking to you, or to me either, for that matter; but I have ears that can hear an eye wink. He said: âThank God, this night of horror is over!â Think of that! After such a dance and such a spread, he calls the night horrible and thanks God that it is over. I thought he was the very man to enjoy this kind of thing.â
âSo did I.â
âAnd so did I.â
The five musicians exchanged looks, then huddled in a group at the gate.
âHe has quarrelled with his sweetheart,â suggested one.
âIâm not surprised at that,â declared another. âI never thought it would be a match.â
âShame if it were!â muttered the ungainly youth who had spoken first.
As the subject of this comment was the son of the gentleman whose house they were just leaving, they necessarily spoke low; but their tones were rife with curiosity, and it was evident that the topic deeply interested them. One of the five who had not previously spoken now put in a word:
âI saw him when he first led out Miss Page to dance, and I saw him again when he stood up opposite her in the last quadrille, and I tell you, boys, there was a mighty deal of difference in the way he conducted himself toward her in the beginning of the evening and the last. You wouldnât have thought him the same man. Reckless young fellows like him are not to be caught by dimples only. They want cash.â
âOr family, at least; and she hasnât either. But what a pretty girl she is! Many a fellow as rich as he and as well connected would be satisfied with her good looks alone.â
âGood looks!â High scorn was observable in this exclamation, which was made by the young man whom I have before characterised as ungainly. âI refuse to acknowledge that she has any good looks. On the contrary, I consider her plain.â
âOh! Oh!â burst in protest from more than one mouth. âAnd why does she have every fellow in the room dangling after her, then?â asked the player on the flageolet.
âShe hasnât a regular feature.â
âWhat difference does that make when it isnât her features you notice, but herself?â
âI donât like her.â
A laugh followed this.
âThat wonât trouble her, Sweetwater. Sutherland does, if you donât, and thatâs much more to the point. And heâll marry her yet; he canât help it. Why, sheâd witch the devil into leading her to the altar if she took a notion to have him for her bridegroom.â
âThere would be consistency in that,â muttered the fellow just addressed. âBut Mr. Frederickââ
âHush! Thereâs some one on the doorstep. Why, itâs she!â
They all glanced back. The graceful figure of a young girl dressed in white was to be seen leaning toward them from the open doorway. Behind her shone a blaze of lightâthe candles not having been yet extinguished in the hallâand against this brilliant background her slight form, with all its bewitching outlines, stood out in plain relief.
âWho was that?â she began in a high, almost strident voice, totally out of keeping with the sensuous curves of her strange, sweet face. But the question remained unanswered, for at that moment her attention, as well as that of the men lingering at the gate, was attracted by the sound of hurrying feet and confused cries coming up the hill.
âMurder! Murder!â was the word panted out by more than one harsh voice; and in another instant a dozen men and boys came rushing into sight in a state of such excitement that the five musicians recoiled from the gate, and one of them went so far as to start back toward the house. As he did so he noticed a curious thing. The young woman whom they had all perceived standing in the door a moment before had vanished, yet she was known to possess the keenest curiosity of any one in town.
âMurder! Murder!â A terrible and unprecedented cry in this old, God-fearing town. Then came in hoarse explanation from the jostling group as they stopped at the gate: âMrs. Webb has been killed! Stabbed with a knife! Tell Mr. Sutherland!â
Mrs. Webb!
As the musicians heard this name, so honoured and so universally beloved, they to a man uttered a cry. Mrs. Webb! Why, it was impossible. Shouting in their turn for Mr. Sutherland, they all crowded forward.
âNot Mrs. Webb!â they protested. âWho could have the daring or the heart to kill HER?â
âGod knows,â answered a voice from the highway. âBut sheâs deadâ weâve just seen her!â
âThen itâs the old manâs work,â quavered a piping voice. âIâve always said he would turn on his best friend some day. âSylumâs the best place for folks as has lost their wits. Iââ
But here a hand was put over his mouth, and the rest of the words was lost in an inarticulate gurgle. Mr. Sutherland had just appeared on the porch.
He was a superb-looking man, with an expression of mingled kindness and dignity that invariably awakened both awe and admiration in the spectator. No man in the countryâI was going to say no woman was more beloved, or held in higher esteem. Yet he could not control his only son, as everyone within ten miles of the hill well knew.
At this moment his face showed both pain and shock.
âWhat name are you shouting out there?â he brokenly demanded. âAgatha Webb? Is Agatha Webb hurt?â
âYes, sir; killed,â repeated a half-dozen voices at once. âWeâve just come from the house. All the town is up. Some say her husband did it.â
âNo, no!â was Mr. Sutherlandâs decisive though half-inaudible response. âPhilemon Webb might end his own life, but not Agathaâs. It was the moneyââ
Here he caught himself up, and, raising his voice, addressed the crowd of villagers more directly.
âWait,â said he, âand I will go back with you. Where is Frederick?â he demanded of such members of his own household as stood about him.
No one knew.
âI wish some one would find my son. I want him to go into town with me.â
âHeâs over in the woods there,â volunteered a voice from without.
âIn the woods!â repeated the father, in a surprised tone.
âYes, sir; we all saw him go. Shall we sing out to him?â
âNo, no; I will manage very well without him.â And taking up his hat Mr. Sutherland stepped out again upon the porch.
Suddenly he stopped. A hand had been laid on his arm and an insinuating voice was murmuring in his ear:
âDo you mind if I go with you? I will not make any trouble.â
It was the same young lady we have seen before.
The old gentleman frownedâhe who never frowned and remarked shortly:
âA scene of murder is no place for women.â
The face upturned to his remained unmoved.
âI think I will go,â she quietly persisted. âI can easily mingle with the crowd.â
He said not another word against it. Miss Page was under pay in his house, but for the last few weeks no one had undertaken to contradict her. In the interval since her first appearance on the porch, she had exchanged the light dress in which she had danced at the ball, for a darker and more serviceable one, and perhaps this token of her determination may have had its influence in silencing him. He joined the crowd, and together they moved down-hill. This was too
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