“Are we there already?” asked the young man, with a shudder. “I wish you had not considered it necessary for me to see her. I shall detect nothing familiar in her, I know.”
Mr. Gryce bowed, repeated that it was a mere formality, and followed the young gentleman into the building and afterwards into the room where the dead body lay. A couple of doctors and one or two officials stood about, in whose faces the young man sought for something like encouragement before casting his eyes in the direction indicated by the detective. But there was little in any of these faces to calm him, and turning shortly away, he walked manfully across the room and took his stand by the detective.
“I am positive,” he began, “that it is not my wife—” At this moment the cloth that covered the body was removed, and he gave a great start of relief. “I said so,” he remarked, coldly. “This is no one I know.”
His sigh was echoed in double chorus from the doorway. Glancing that way he encountered the faces of his father and elder brother, and moved towards them with a relieved air that made quite another man of him in appearance.
“I have had my say,” he remarked. “Shall I wait outside till you have had yours?”
“We have already said all that we had to,” Franklin returned. “We declared that we did not recognize this person.”
“Of course, of course,” assented the other. “I don’t see why they should have expected us to know her. Some common suicide who thought the house empty—But how did she get in?”
“Don’t you know?” said Mr. Gryce. “Can it be that I forgot to tell you? Why, she was let in at night by a young man of medium height”—his eye ran up and down the graceful figure of the young élégant before him as he spoke—“who left her inside and then went away. A young man who had a key—”
“A key? Franklin, I—”
Was it a look from Franklin which made him stop? It is possible, for he turned on his heel as he reached this point, and tossing his head with quite a gay air, exclaimed: “But it is of no consequence! The girl is a stranger, and we have satisfied, I believe, all the requirements of the law in saying so, and may now drop the matter. Are you going to the club, Franklin?”
“Yes, but—” Here the elder brother drew nearer and whispered something into the other’s ear, who at that whisper turned again towards the place where the dead woman lay. Seeing this movement, his anxious father wiped the moisture from his forehead. Silas Van Burnam had been silent up to this moment and seemed inclined to continue so, but he watched his younger son with painful intentness.
“Nonsense!” broke from Howard’s lips as his brother ceased his communication; but he took a step nearer the body, notwithstanding, and then another and another till he was at its side again.
The hands had not been injured, as we have said, and upon these his eyes now fell.
“They are like hers! O God! they are like hers!” he muttered, growing gloomy at once. “But where are the rings? There are no rings to be seen on these fingers, and she wore five, including her wedding-ring.”
“Is it of your wife you are speaking?” inquired Mr. Gryce, who had edged up close to his side.
The young man was caught unawares.
He flushed deeply, but answered up boldly and with great appearance of candor:
“Yes; my wife left Haddam yesterday to come to New York, and I have not seen her since. Naturally I have felt some doubts lest this unhappy victim should be she. But I do not recognize her clothing; I do not recognize her form; only the hands look familiar.”
“And the hair?”
“Is of the same color as hers, but it’s a very ordinary color. I do not dare to say from anything I see that this is my wife.”
“We will call you again after the doctor has finished his autopsy,” said Mr. Gryce. “Perhaps you will hear from Mrs. Van Burnam before then.”
But this intimation did not seem to bring comfort with it. Mr. Van Burnam walked away, white and sick, for which display of emotion there was certainly some cause, and rejoining his father tried to carry off the moment with the aplomb of a man of the world.
But that father’s eye was fixed too steadily upon him; he faltered as he sat down, and finally spoke up, with feverish energy:
“If it is she, so help me, God, her death is a mystery to me! We have quarrelled more than once lately, and I have sometimes lost my patience with her, but she had no reason to wish for death, and I am ready to swear in defiance of those hands, which are certainly like hers, and the nameless something which Franklin calls a likeness, that it is a stranger who lies there, and that her death in our house is a coincidence.”
“Well, well, we will wait,” was the detective’s soothing reply. “Sit down in the room opposite there, and give me your orders for supper, and I will see that a good meal is served you.”
The three gentlemen, seeing no way of refusing, followed the discreet official who preceded them, and the door of the doctor’s room closed upon him and the inquiries he was about to make.
VI
New Facts
Mr. Van Burnam and his sons had gone through the formality of a supper and were conversing in the haphazard way natural to men filled with a subject they
