The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (best fiction novels of all time TXT) 📖
- Author: Melvin L. Severy
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“I mean to ask if his positions were steadily sustained - or if,
on the other hand, his manoeuvres were swift, and what you might
call brilliant.”
“I think you would call them brilliant.”
“Hum! How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Tell me your relations with your father.”
“We were most constant companions. My mother - she and my father
- they were not altogether companionable - in short, they were
ill-mated, and, being wise enough to find it out, and having no
desire to longer embitter each other’s lives, they agreed to
separate when I was only four. They parted without the slightest
ill-feeling, and I remained with father. He was very fond of me,
and would permit no one else to teach me. At seven I was drawing
and painting under his guidance. At eight the violin was put into
my hands and my studies in voice began. In the meantime father was
most careful not to neglect my physical training; he taught me the
use of Indian clubs, and how to walk easily. At eight I could
walk four miles an hour without fatigue. The neighbours used to
urge that I be put to school, but my father would reply - many a
time I have heard him say it - ‘a child’s brain is like a flower
that blossoms in perceptions and goes to seed in abstractions.
Correct concepts are the raw material of reason. Every desk in
your school is an intellectual loom which is expected to weave a
sound fabric out of rotten raw material. While your children are
wasting their fibre in memorising the antique errors of classical
thought my child is being fitted to perceive new truths for herself.’
It is needless to say his friends considered these views altogether
too radical. But for all that I was never sent to school. My
father’s library was always at my disposal, and I was taught how
to use it. We were constantly together, and grew so into each
other’s lives that ” - but her voice failed her, and her eyes
moistened. Maitland, though he apparently did not notice her
emotion, so busy was he in making notes, quickly put a question
which diverted her attention.
“Your father seemed last night to have a presentiment of some
impending calamity. Was this a common experience?”
“Of late, yes. He has told me some six or seven times of dreaming
the same dreams - a dream in which some assassin struck him out of
the darkness.” “Did you at any of these times notice anything
which might now lead you to believe this fancied repetition was the
result of any mental malady?”
“No.”
“Was his description of the dreams always the same?”
“No; never were they twice alike, save in the one particular of the
unseen assassin.”
“Hum!, Did the impression of these dreams remain long with him?”
“He never recovered from it, and each dream only accentuated his
assurance that the experience was prophetic. When once I tried to
dissuade him from this view, he said to me: ‘Gwen, it is useless;
I am making no mistake. When I am gone you will know why I am now
so sure - I cannot tell you now, it would only ‘ - here he stopped
short, and, turning abruptly to me, said with a fierceness entirely
alien to his disposition: ‘Hatred is foreign to my nature, but I
hate that man with a perfect hell of loathing! Have I been a kind
father to you, Gwen? If so, promise me ‘ - and he seized me by the
wrist - ‘ promise me if I’m murdered - I may as well say when I’m
murdered - you will look upon the man who brings my assassin to
justice - the thought that he may escape is damning - as your dearest
friend on earth! You will deny him nothing. You will learn later
that I have taken care to reward him. My child, you will owe this
man a debt you can never repay, for he will have enabled your
father’s soul to find repose. I dreamed last night that I came back
from the dead, and heard my avenger ask you to be his wife. You
refused, and at your ingratitude my restless soul returned to torment
everlasting. Swear to me, Gwen, that you’ll deny him nothing,
nothing, nothing!’ I promised him, and he seemed much reassured.
‘I am satisfied,’ he said, ‘and now can die in peace, for you are
an anomaly, Gwen, - a woman who fully knows the nature of a covenant,’
and he put his arm about me, and drew me to him. His fierceness
had subsided as quickly as it had appeared, and he was now all
tenderness.”
Maitland, who appeared somewhat agitated by her recital, said to
her: “After the exaction of such a promise you have, of course, no
doubt that your father was the victim of a mental malady - at least,
at such times as those of which you speak?”
Gwen replied deliberately: “Indeed, I have grave doubts. My father
was possessed by a strange conviction, but I never saw anything
which impressed me as indicating an unsound mind. I am, of course,
scarcely fitted to judge in such matters.”
Maitland’s face darkened as he asked: “You would not have me infer
that you would consider your promise in any sense binding?”
“And why not?” she ejaculated in astonishment.
“Because,” he continued, “the request is so unnatural as to be in
itself sufficient evidence that it was not made by a man in his
right mind.”
“I cannot agree with you as to my father’s condition,” Gwen replied
firmly; ” yet you may be right; I only know that I, at least, was
in my right mind, and that I promised. If it cost me my life to
keep that pledge, I shall not hesitate a moment. Have you forgotten
that my father’s last words were, ‘remember your promise’?” She
glanced up at Maitland as she said this, and started a little as she
saw the expression of pain upon his face. “I seem to you foolishly
deluded,” she said apologetically; “and you are displeased to see
that my purpose is not shaken. Think of all my father was to me,
and then ask yourself if I could betray his faith. The contemplation
of the subject is painful at best; its realisation may, from the
standpoint of a sensitive woman, be fraught with unspeakable horror,
- I dare not think of it! May we not change the subject?”
For a long time Maitland did not speak, and I forbore to break the
silence. At last he said: “Let us hope, if the supposed assassin
be taken, the discovery may be made by someone worthy the name of
man - someone who will not permit you to sacrifice either yourself
or your money.” Gwen glanced at him quickly, for his voice was
strangely heavy and inelastic, and an unmistakable gloom had settled
upon him. I thought she was a little startled, and I was considering
if I had not better call her aside and explain that he was subject
to these moods, when he continued, apparently unaware of the
impression he had made: “Do you realise how strong a case of suicide
the authorities have made out? Like all of their work it has weak
places. We must search these in order to overthrow their conclusion.
The insurance policies they were ‘too busy’ to read we must peruse.
Then, judging from your story, there seems little doubt that your
father has left some explanation of affairs hitherto not confided to
you - some document which he has reserved for your perusal after his
death. No time should be lost in settling this question. The papers
may be here, or in the hands of his attorney. Let us search here
first.”
“His private papers,” Gwen said, rising to lead the way, “are in his
desk in the study.”
“One moment, please,” Maitland interrupted, calling her back, “I
have something I have been trying to ask you for the last hour, but
have repeatedly put off. I believe your father’s death to have
resulted from poisoning. You know the result of the post-mortem
inquest. It is necessary to make an analysis of the poison, if
there be any, and an absolutely thorough microscopic examination of
the wound. I - I regret to pain you - but to do this properly it
will be necessary to cut away the wounded portion. Have we your
permission to do so?”
For a moment Gwen did not answer. She fell upon her knees before
her father’s body, and kissed the cold face passionately. For the
first time since the tragedy she found relief in tears. When she
arose a great change had come over her. She was very pale and
seized a chair for support as she replied to Maitland’s question
between the convulsive sobs which she seemed powerless to check:
“I - I have bidden him goodbye. We shall but obey his command in
sparing no pains to reach the assassin. You - you have my permission
to do anything - everything - that may be - necessary to that end.
I - I know you will be as gentle - ” But she could not finish her
sentence. The futility of gentleness - the realisation that her
father was forever past all need of tenderness, fell like a shroud
about her soul. The awakening I had dreaded had come. Her hand
fell from the chair, she staggered, and would have fallen to the
floor had not Maitland caught her in his arms.
THE EPISODE OF THE SEALED DOCUMENT
Father of all surveyors, Time drags his chain of rust through
every life, and only Love - unaging God of the Ages - immeasurable,
keeps his untarnished youth.
Maitland carried the unconscious girl into the study, and for some
time we busied ourselves in bringing her to herself. When this task
was accomplished we did not feel like immediately putting any further
tax upon her strength. Maitland insisted that she should rest while
he and I ransacked the desk, and, ever mindful of her promise to obey
his instructions, she yielded without remonstrance. Our search
revealed the insurance policies, and a sealed envelope bearing the
inscription: “To Miss Gwen Darrow, to be opened after the death of
John Darrow,” and three newspapers with articles marked in blue
pencil. I read the first aloud. It ran as follows:
I have reason to believe an attempt will sooner or later be made
upon my life, and that the utmost cunning will be employed to lead
the authorities astray. The search for the assassin will be long,
expensive, and discouraging - just such a task as is never
successfully completed without some strong personal incentive.
This I propose to supply in advance. My death will place in my
daughter’s hands a fund of fifty thousand dollars, to be held in
trust by her, and delivered, in the event of my being murdered, to
such person or persons as shall secure evidence leading to the
conviction of the murderer.
(Signed) JOHN HINTON DARROW.
I glanced at the other two papers - the marked article was the same
in each. “I wonder what your friend Osborne would say to that,” I
said to Maitland.
“How old are the papers?” he replied.
“March l5th, - only a little over a month,” I answered.
“Let me see them, please,” he said. “Hum! All of the same date,
and each in the paid part of the paper! It is clear Mr. Darrow
inserted these singular notices himself.
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