The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (best fiction novels of all time TXT) đź“–
- Author: Melvin L. Severy
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I found this to be sage counsel, for, when Gwen was able to
understand what I had done, she exhibited no antipathy toward the
new member of our household, but, on the contrary, became exceedingly
interested in her. I was especially glad of this, not only on
account of Miss Latour, the suspect’s daughter, but also because the
one thing Gwen needed above all others was something to challenge
her interest. She had again relapsed into the old, state of passive
endurance, wherein nothing seemed to reach her consciousness. Her
actions appeared to flow more from her nerve-centres than from her
mind. She moved like an automaton. There is scarcely any condition
of which I am more fearful than this. The patient becomes wax in
one’s hands. She will do anything without a murmur, or as willingly
refrain from anything. She simply is indifferent to life and all
that therein is. Is it any wonder, then, that I rejoiced to see
Gwen interest herself in poor Jeannette? It was a long time,
however, before Jeannette repaid this interest with anything more
than a dreamy, far-off gaze, that refused to focus itself upon
anything. As time wore on, however, I noticed with relief that there
was a faint expression of wonder in her look, and, as this daily
grew stronger, I knew she was beginning to realise her novel
surroundings and to ask herself if she were still dreaming. Yet she
did not speak; she seemed to fear the sound of her own voice and to
determine to solve, unaided, the mystery confronting her. I
requested that no one question her or make any attempt to induce
her to break silence, for I knew the time would come when she would
do so of her own free will. As it happened, her first words were
spoken to me, and, as my writing this recalls the event, a thrill
of pleasurable pain passes through me. You may think this foolish,
the more so, indeed, when you learn that nothing was said to warrant
such a feeling, but I must urge upon you not to let your satisfied
heart set itself up as judge in bachelor regions.
I had been mixing some medicine for her and was holding the cup to
her lips that she might drink the draught. She laid her hand upon
my wrist and gently put the cup aside, saying, as she gazed
thoughtfully at me: “Did you not bring me here?” “Yes,” I replied.
She reached for the cup, and drinking its contents, sank back upon
the pillows with a half-satisfied look upon her face, as if my reply
had cleared up one mystery, but left many more to be solved.
>From this day Jeannette steadily improved, and within two weeks she
and Gwen had come to a very good understanding. It was plainly
evident that Alice, too, came in for a very good share of the little
French girl’s love. They did not exchange confidences to any great
degree, for, as Maitland used to say, Alice was one of those rare,
sweet women who say but little, but seem to act upon all around them
by a sort of catalysis, sweetening the atmosphere by their very
presence.
Belief, though it be as ample as the ocean, does not always
similarly swell in crystallising. It has, however, its point of
maximum density, but this, not infrequently, is also ifs point
of minimum knowledge.
During all these days Gwen was gaining rapidly. Maitland came to
visit us almost every night, and he told Gwen that he did not feel
altogether certain that, in arresting M. Latour, the law had secured
her father’s real assassin. It would be necessary to account for,
he told her, some very singular errors in his early calculations if
M. Latour was the man.
“When first I took up my abode under the same roof with him,” he
said, “I had no doubt that we had at last run down our man. Now,
although another detective has come to the same conclusion, I myself
have many misgivings, and you may be assured, Miss Darrow, that I
shall lose no time in getting these doubts answered one way or the
other. At present you may say to your friend Jeannette that I am
straining every nerve in her father’s behalf.”
Why all this should so please Gwen I was at a loss to comprehend,
but I could not fail to see that it did please her greatly. She
had been the most anxious of us all to see her father’s murderer
brought to justice, and now, when through the efforts of M. Godin,
a man stood all but convicted of the crime, she was pleased to hear
Maitland, whose efforts to track Latour she had applauded in no
equivocal way, say that he should spare no pains to give the suspect
every possible chance to prove his innocence. There was certainly
a reason, whatever it might have been, for Gwen’s attitude in this
matter, for that young woman was exceptionally rational in all
things. Nothing of especial moment occurred between this time and
the beginning of the trial. Maitland, for the most part, kept his
own counsel and gave us little information other than a hint that
he still thought there was a chance of clearing M. Latour.
With this end in view he had become an associate attorney with
Jenkins in order the better to conduct M. Latour’s case along the
lines which seemed to him the most promising. I asked him on one
occasion what led him to entertain a hope that Latour could be
cleared and he replied: “A good many things.” “Well, then,” I
rejoined, “what are some of them?” He hesitated a moment and then
replied laughingly: “You see I hate to acknowledge the falsity of
my theories. I said shortly after the murder was committed that I
thought the assassin was short and probably did not weigh over one
hundred and thirty-five pounds; that he most likely had some especial
reason for concealing his footprints, and that he had a peculiarity
in his gait. I felt tolerably sure then of all this, but now it
turns out that M. Latour is six feet tall in his stockings, and thin;
and that, emaciated as he is, he tips the scales at one hundred and
fifty pounds by reason of his large frame. His feet are as
commonplace as - as yours, Doc, and his gait as regular as - mine.
Is it to be expected that I am going to give up all my pet illusions
without a struggle?”
When the hour for the trial arrived Gwen insisted on accompanying us
to the courtroom. She had a great deal of confidence in George and
felt sure that, as he expressed a strong doubt of the prisoner’s
guilt, he would triumph in proving him innocent. She determined,
therefore, to be present at the trial, even before her attendance
should be required as a witness.
M. Latour, when he was led into the prisoner’s box, seemed to have
aged greatly during his incarceration. It was with a marked effort
that he arose and straightened himself up as the indictment was read
to him. When the words: “Are you guilty or not guilty?” were
addressed to him every eye was turned upon him and every ear listened
to catch the first sound of his voice, but no sound came. The
question was repeated more loudly, “Are you guilty or not guilty?”
Like one suddenly awakened from a reverie M. Latour started, turned
toward his questioner, and in a full, firm voice replied:” Guilty,!”
I was so dumfounded that I could offer Gwen no word of comfort to
alleviate this sudden shock. Maitland and Godin seemed about the
only ones in the courtroom who were not taken off their feet, so to
speak, by this unexpected plea, and George was at Gwen’s side in a
moment and whispered something to her which I could not hear, but
which I could see had a very beneficial effect upon her. We had all
expected a long, complicated trial, and here the whole matter was
reduced to a mere formality by M. Latour’s simple confession,
“Guilty!” Is it any wonder, therefore, that we were taken aback?
While we were recovering from our surprise at this sudden turn of
affairs, Maitland was engaged in private conversation with the Judge,
with whom, he afterward told me, he had become well acquainted both
in his own cases and in those of other lawyers requiring his services
as an=20expert chemist. He never told me what passed between them, nor
the substance of any of the brief interviews which followed with the
prosecuting attorney, his associate counsel, and other legal
functionaries. All I know is that when the case was resumed M.
Latour’s senior counsel, Jenkins, kept carefully in the background,
leaving the practical conduct of the case in Maitland’s hands.
If a hazelnut had the shell of a cocoanut, its meat would, in my
opinion, sustain about the same relation to its bulk as the gist of
the usual legal proceeding sustains to the mass of verbiage in which
it is enshrouded. For this reason you will not expect me to give a
detailed account of this trial. I couldn’t if I would, and I wouldn’t
if I could. My knowledge of legal procedure is far from profound,
albeit I once began the study of law. My memories of Blackstone
are such as need prejudice no ambitious aspirant for legal honours.
I have a recollection that somewhere Blackstone says something
about eavesdropping, - I mean in its literal sense - something
about the drippings from A’s roof falling on B’s estate; but for
the life of me I couldn’t tell what he says. More distinctly do
I remember this learned lawgiver stated that there could be no
doubt of the evidence of witchcraft, because the Bible was full
of it, and that witches should be punished with death. This made
an impression upon me, because it was an instance, rare to me then,
but common enough now, of how minds, otherwise exceptionally able,
may have a spot so encankered with creed, bigotry, and superstition
as to render their judgments respecting certain classes of phenomena
erroneous and illogical, puerile and ridiculous.
But to return to those points of the trial which I can remember,
and which I think of sufficient interest to put before you. These
refer chiefly to Maitland’s examination of M. Latour, and of the
government’s chief witness, M. Godin. Such portions of their
testimony as I shall put before you I shall quote exactly as it
was given and reported by Maitland’s friend, Simonds.
When Maitland began for the defence he said:
“At about half-past seven on the night of the 22d of April, John
Darrow met his death at his home in Dorchester. He died in the
presence of his daughter, Messrs. Willard, Browne, Herne, and
myself. His death was caused by injecting a virulent poison into
his system through a slight incision in his neck. That wound the
prisoner before you confesses he himself inflicted. I would like
to know a little more definitely how he succeeded in doing it
without detection, in the presence, not only of his victim, but
of five other persons sitting close about him. M. Latour will
please take the stand.”
As M. Latour stepped into the witness-box, a wave of suppressed
excitement ran all over the courtroom. Every nerve was strained
to its tensest pitch, every ear eager for the slightest syllable
he might utter. What could be done for a man who had confessed,
and what would be the solution of the crime which had so long
defied the authorities? The
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