The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (best fiction novels of all time TXT) 📖

CHAPTER III

When we least expect it the Ideal meets us in the street of the

Commonplace and locks arms with us. Nevermore shall we choose

our paths uninfluenced. A new leaven has entered our personality

to dominate and direct it.

 

The new advertisement duly appeared and on the next day, which was

Wednesday - I remember it because it was my hospital day - I received

several written answers, and among them, one in which I felt confident

I recognised the peculiar z*‘s and r*‘s of Weltz and Rizzi.

 

I took it at once to Maitland. He glanced at it a moment and then

impulsively grasped my hand. “By Jove, Doc!” he exclaimed, “if this

crafty fox doesn’t scent the hound, we shall soon run him to earth.

You see he has given no address and signs a new name. We are to write

to Carl Cazenove, General Delivery, Boston. Good! we will do so at

once, and I will then arrange with the postal authorities to notify

me when they deliver the letter. Of course this will necessitate a

continuous watch, perhaps for several days, of the general delivery

window. It is hardly likely our crafty friend will himself call for

the letter, so it will be imperative that someone be constantly on

hand to shadow whomsoever he may send as a substitute. May I depend

on your assistance in this matter?”

 

“I will stand by you till we see the thing through,” I said, “though

I have to live in the Post Office a month.”

 

Well, I wrote and mailed the decoy letter and Maitland explained the

situation to the postal authorities, who furnished us a comfortable

place inside and near the general delivery window. They promised to

notify us when anyone called for our letter. Our vigil was not a

very long one. On Thursday afternoon the postal clerk signalled to

us that Carl Cazenove’s mail had been asked for, and, while he was

consuming as much time as possible in finding our letter, Maitland

and I quietly stepped out into the corridor. The sight that met our

gaze was one for which we had not been at all prepared. There at the

window stood a beautiful young girl just on the verge of womanhood.

Her frank blue eyes met mine with the utmost candour as I passed by

her so that she should be between Maitland and me, and thus unable

to elude us, whichever way she turned upon leaving the window. We

had previously planned how we should shadow our quarry, one on each

side of the street in order not to attract attention, but these

tactics seemed to be entirely unnecessary, for the young lady did

not have the slightest suspicion that anyone could be in the least

interested in her movements. She walked leisurely along, stopping

now occasionally to gaze at the shop windows and never once turning

to look back. She did not even conceal the letter, but held it in

her hand with her porte-monnaie, and I could see that the address

was uppermost. A strange sensation came over me as I dogged her

steps. I felt as an assassin must feel who tracks his victim into

some lonely spot where he may dare to strike him. It was useless

for me to tell myself that I was on the side of justice and engaged

in an honourable errand. A single glance at the girl’s delicate

face, as frank and open as the morning light, brought the hot blush

of shame to my cheek. In following her I dimly felt that, in some

way, I was seeking to associate her with evil, which seemed little

less than sacrilege. I could do nothing, however, but keep on, so

I followed her through Devonshire Street, to New Washington and

thence down Hanover Street almost to the ferry. Here she turned

into an alleyway and, waiting for Maitland to come up, we both

saw her enter a house at its farther end.

 

George glanced hastily up at the house and then said, as he seized

me impatiently by the arm: “It’s a tenement house; come on, the

chase is not up yet; we, too, must go in!”

 

So in we went. The young lady had disappeared, but as we entered

we heard a door close on the floor above, and felt sure we knew

where she had gone. We mounted the stairs as noiselessly as

possible and listened in the hall. We could distinguish a woman’s

voice and occasionally that of a man, but we could not hear what

passed between them. On our right there was a door partly ajar.

Maitland pushed it open, and looked in. The room was empty and

unfurnished, with the exception of a dilapidated stove which stood

against the partition separating this room from the one the young

lady had entered. Maitland beckoned to me and I followed him into

the room. There was a key on the inside of the door which he

noiselessly turned in the lock. He then began to investigate the

premises. Three other rooms communicated with the one of which we

had taken possession, forming, evidently, a suite which had been

let for housekeeping. Everything was in ill-repair, as is the

case with most of the cheap tenements in this locality. The

previous tenant had not thought it necessary to clean the apartments

when quitting them, - for altruism does not flourish at the North

End, - but had been content to leave all the dirt for the next

occupant.

 

When we had finished reconnoitering we returned to the room we first

entered, which apparently was the kitchen. We could still hear

the voices, but not distinctly. “Do you stay here, Doc,” whispered

Maitland, “while I get into some old clothes and hunt up the

landlord of this place. I’m going to rent these rooms long enough

to acquaint myself with my neighbours on the other side of the wall.

I’ll be back soon. Don’t let any man leave that room without your

knowing where he goes.” With this he left me and I soon found a

way to busy myself in his absence. In the wall above the stove,

where the pipe passed through the partition into our neighbour’s

apartment, there was a chink large enough to permit me, when

mounted upon the stove, to overlook the greater part of the adjacent

room. I availed myself of this privilege, though not without those

same twinges of conscience which I had felt some minutes before

when following the young lady. The apartment was poorly furnished,

and yet, despite this scantiness of appointment, there was

unmistakable evidence of refinement. Everything visible in the

room was scrupulously neat and the few pictures that adorned the

walls, while they were inexpensive half-tones, were yet reproductions

of masterpieces. In the centre of the room stood a small, deal

table, on the opposite side of which sat the man who had answered my

letter.

 

At one end of the table, poised upon the back of a chair, sat a

small Capucin monkey of the Weeper or Sai species. He watched the

man with that sober, judicial air which is by no means confined

exclusively to supreme benches. I, too, observed the man carefully.

He was tall and spare. He must have measured nearly six feet in

height and could not, I think, have weighed over one hundred and

fifty pounds. His face was pinched and careworn, but this effect

was more than redeemed by a pair of full, black eyes having a depth

and penetration I have never seen equalled, albeit there was, ever

and anon, a suggestion of wildness which somewhat marred their deep,

contemplative beauty. The brows and the carriage of the head at

once bespoke the scholar. While thus I watched him, the young girl

came from a corner of the room I could not overlook and laid my

letter before him. She stood behind his chair as he opened it,

smoothing his hair caressingly and, every now and then, kissing him

gently. He paused with the open letter before him, reached up both

arms, drew her down to him, kissed her passionately, sighed, and

picked up the letter again. I took pains that no act, word, or look

should escape me. This show of affection surprised me, and I

remember the thought flashed through my mind, “What inconsistent

beings we all are! Here is a man apparently capable of a causeless

and cold-blooded assassination of a harmless old man. You would

say such a murderer must be hopelessly selfish and brutal, amenable

to none of the better sentiments of mankind, and yet it needs but

a casual glance to see how his whole life is bound up in the young

girl before him.”

 

While this was