Mr. Orcutt, who was only too glad to comply with her request, again offered her his arm. But anxious as they evidently were to quit the house, they were not allowed to do so without experiencing another shock. Just as they were passing the door of the room where the wounded woman lay, the physician in attendance again appeared before them with that silently uplifted hand.
“Hush!” said he; “she stirs again. I think she is going to speak.”
And once more that terrible suspense held each and every one enthralled: once more that faint, inarticulate murmur eddied through the house, growing gradually into speech that this time took a form that curdled the blood of the listeners, and made Mr. Orcutt and the young woman at his side drop apart from each other as though a dividing sword had passed between them.
“May the vengeance of Heaven light upon the head of him who has brought me to this pass,” were the words that now rose ringing and clear from that bed of death. “May the fate that has come upon me be visited upon him, measure for measure, blow for blow, death for death.”
Strange and awe-inspiring words, that drew a pall over that house and made the dullest person there gasp for breath. In the silence that followed—a silence that could be felt—the white faces of lawyer and physician, coroner and detective, turned and confronted each other. But the young lady who lingered in their midst looked at no one, turned to no one. Shuddering and white, she stood gazing before her as if she already beheld that retributive hand descending upon the head of the guilty; then, as she awoke to the silence of those around her, gave a quick start and flashed forward to the door and so out into the street before Mr. Orcutt could rouse himself sufficiently from the stupor of the moment to follow her.
III
The Unfinished Letter
Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.
Merry Wives of Windsor
“Would there be any indiscretion in my asking who that young lady is?” inquired Mr. Byrd of Mr. Ferris, as, after ascertaining that the stricken sufferer still breathed, they stood together in a distant corner of the dining-room.
“No,” returned the other, in a low tone, with a glance in the direction of the lawyer, who was just reentering the house, after an unsuccessful effort to rejoin the person of whom they were speaking. “She is a Miss Dare, a young lady much admired in this town, and believed by many to be on the verge of matrimony with—” He nodded toward Mr. Orcutt, and discreetly forbore to finish the sentence.
“Ah!” exclaimed the youthful detective, “I understand.” And he cast a look of suddenly awakened interest at the man who, up to this time, he had merely regarded as a more than usually acute criminal lawyer.
He saw a small, fair, alert man, of some forty years of age, of a good carriage, easy manner, and refined cast of countenance, overshadowed now by a secret anxiety he vainly tried to conceal. He was not as handsome as Coroner Tredwell, nor as well built as Mr. Ferris, yet he was, without doubt, the most striking-looking man in the room, and, to the masculine eyes of the detective, seemed at first glance to be a person to win the admiration, if not the affection, of women.
“She appears to take a great interest in this affair,” he ventured again, looking back at Mr. Ferris.
“Yes, that is woman’s way,” replied the other, lightly, without any hint of secret feeling or curiosity. “Besides, she is an inscrutable girl, always surprising you by her emotions—or by her lack of them,” he added, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand.
“Which is also woman’s way,” remarked Mr. Byrd, retiring into his shell, from which he had momentarily thrust his head.
“Does it not strike you that there are rather more persons present than are necessary for the purposes of justice?” asked the lawyer, now coming forward with a look of rather pointed significance at the youthful stranger.
Mr. Ferris at once spoke up. “Mr. Orcutt,” said he, “let me introduce to you Mr. Byrd, of New York. He is a member of the police force, and has been rendering me assistance in the case just adjourned.”
“A detective!” repeated the other, eying the young man with a critical eye. “It is a pity, sir,” he finally observed, “that your present duties will not allow you to render service to justice in this case of mysterious assault.” And with a bow of more kindness than Mr. Byrd had reason to look for, he went slowly back to his former place near the door that hid the suffering woman from sight.
However kindly expressed, Mr. Byrd felt that he had received his dismissal, and was about to withdraw, when the coroner, who had been absent from their midst for the last few minutes, approached them from the foot of the stairs, and tapped the detective on the arm.
“I want you,” said he.
Mr. Byrd bowed, and with a glance toward the District Attorney, who returned him a nod of approval, went quickly out with the coroner.
“I hear you are a detective,” observed the latter, taking him upstairs into a room which he carefully locked behind them. “A detective on the spot in a case like this is valuable; are you willing to assume the duties of your profession and act for justice in this matter?”
“Dr. Tredwell,” returned the young man, instantly conscious of a vague, inward shrinking from meddling further in the affair, “I am
