The House of the Whispering Pines (21 page)

The coroner waited, a slight flush deepening on his cheek.

"How do you know that phial came from this house?"

Dr. Perry looked up, astonished. He was prepared for the most frantic
ebullitions of wrath, for violence even; or for dull, stupid, blank
silence. But this calm, quiet questioning of fact took him by surprise.
He dropped his anxious look, and replied:

"It has been seen on the shelves by more than one of your servants. Your
sister kept it with her medicines, and the druggist with whom you deal
remembers selling it some time ago to a member of your family."

"Which member? I don't believe this story; I don't believe any of your—"
He was fast verging on violence now.

"You will have to, Arthur. Facts are facts, and we cannot go against
them. The person who bought it was yourself. Perhaps you can recall the
circumstance now."

"I cannot." He did not seem to be quite master of himself. "I don't know
half the things I do; at least, I didn't use to. But what are you coming
to? What's in your mind, and what are your intentions? Something to shame
us further, I've no doubt. You're soft on Ranelagh and don't care how I
feel, or how Carmel will feel when she comes to herself—poor girl. Are
you going to call it suicide? You can't, with those marks on her throat."

"We're going to carry out our investigations to the full. We're going to
hold the autopsy, which we didn't think necessary before. That's why I am
here, Arthur. I thought it your due to know our intentions in regard to
this matter. If you wish to be present, you have only to say so; if you
do not, you may trust me to remember that she was your father's daughter,
as well as my own highly esteemed friend."

Shaken to the core, the young man sat down amid innumerable tokens of the
two near, if not dear, ones just mentioned; and for a moment had nothing
to say. Gone was his violence, gone his self-assertion, and his insolent,
captious attitude towards his visitor. The net had been drawn too
tightly, or the blow fallen too heavily. He was no longer a man
struggling with his misery, but a boy on whom had fallen a man's
responsibilities, sufferings, and cares.

"My duty is here," he said at last. "I cannot leave Carmel."

"The autopsy will take place to-morrow. How is Carmel to-day?"

"No better." The words came with a shudder. "Doctor, I've been a brute to
you. I am a brute! I have misused my life and have no strength with which
to meet trouble. What you propose to do with—with Adelaide is horrible
to me. I didn't love her much while she was living; I broke her heart and
shamed her, from morning till night, every day of her life; but
good-for-nothing as I am and good-for-nothing as I've always been, if I
could save her body this last humiliation, I would willingly die right
here and now, and be done with it. Must this autopsy take place?"

"It must."

"Then—" He raised his arm; the blood swept up, dyeing his cheeks, his
brow, his very neck a vivid scarlet. "Tell them to lock up every
bottle the house holds, or I cannot answer for myself. I should like
to drink and drink till I knew nothing, cared for nothing, was a
madman or a beast."

"You will not drink." The coroner's voice rang deep; he was greatly
moved. "You will not drink, and you will come to the office at five
o'clock to-morrow. We may have only good news to impart. We may find
nothing to complicate the situation."

Arthur Cumberland shook his head. "It's not what you will find—" said
he, and stopped, biting his lips and looking down.

The coroner uttered a few words of consolation forced from him by the
painfulness of the situation. The young man did not seem to hear them.
The only sign of life he gave was to rush away the moment the coroner had
taken his leave, and regain his seat within sight and hearing of his
still unconscious sister. As he did so, these words came to his ears
through the door which separated them:

"Flowers—I smell flowers! Lila, you always loved flowers; but I never
saw your hands so full of them."

Arthur uttered a sharp cry; then, bowing his face upon his aims, he broke
into sobs which shook the table where he sat.

Twenty-four hours later, in the coroner's office, sat an anxious group
discussing the great case and the possible revelations awaiting them. The
district attorney, Mr. Clifton, the chief of police, and one or two
others—among them Sweetwater—made up the group, and carried on the
conversation. Dr. Perry only was absent. He had undertaken to make the
autopsy and had been absent, for this purpose, several hours.

Five o'clock had struck, and they were momentarily looking for his
reappearance; but, when the door opened, as it did at this time, it was
to admit young Cumberland, whose white face and shaking limbs betrayed
his suspense and nervous anxiety.

He was welcomed coldly, but not impolitely, and sat down in very much
the same place he had occupied during his last visit, but in a very
different, and much more quiet state of mind. To Sweetwater, his
aspect was one of despair, but be made no remark upon it; only kept
all his senses alert for the coming moment, of so much importance to
them all. But even he failed to guess how important, until the door
opened again, and the coroner appeared, looking not so much depressed
as stunned. Picking out Arthur from the group, he advanced towards him
with some commonplace remark; but desisted suddenly and turned upon
the others instead.

"I have finished the autopsy," said he. "I knew just what poison the
phial had held, and lost no time in my tests. A minute portion of this
drug, which is dangerous only in large quantities, was found in the
stomach of the deceased; but not enough to cause serious trouble, and she
died, as we had already decided, from the effect of the murderous clutch
upon her throat. But," he went on sternly, as young Cumberland moved, and
showed signs of breaking in with one of his violent invectives against
the supposed assassin, "I made another discovery of still greater
purport. When we lifted the body out of its resting-place, something
beside withered flowers slid from her breast and fell at our feet. The
ring, gentlemen—the ring which Ranelagh says was missing from her hand
when he came upon her, and which certainly was not on her finger when she
was laid in the casket,—rolled to the floor when we moved her. Here it
is; there is one person here, at least, who can identify it. But I do not
ask that person to speak. That we may well spare him."

He laid the ring on the table, not too near Arthur, not within reach of
his hand, but close enough for him to see it. Then he sat down, and hid
his face in his hands. The last few days had told on him. He looked
older, by ten years, than he had at the beginning of the month.

The silence which followed these words and this action, was memorable to
everybody there concerned. Some had seen, and all had heard of young
Cumberland's desperate interruption of the funeral, and the way his hand
had invaded the flowers which the children had cast in upon her breast.
As the picture, real or fancied, rose before their eyes, one man rose and
left his place at the table; then another, and presently another. Even
Charles Clifton drew back. The district attorney remained where he was,
and so did young Cumberland. The latter had reached out his hand, but he
had not touched the ring, and he sat thus, frozen. What went on in his
heart, no man there could guess, and he did not enlighten them. When at
last he looked up, it was with a dazed air and an almost humble mien:

"Providence has me this time," he muttered. "I don't understand these
mysteries. You will have to deal with them as you think best." His eyes,
still glued to the jewel, dilated and filled with fierce light as he
said this. "Damn the ring, and damn the man who gave it to her! However
it came into her casket, he's at the bottom of the business, just as he
was at the bottom of her death. If you think anything else, you will
think a lie."

Turning away, he made for the door. There was in his manner, desperation
approaching to bravado, but no man made the least effort to detain him.
Not till he was well out of the room did any one move, then the district
attorney raised his finger, and Arthur Cumberland did not ride back to
his home alone.

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep Merciful powers!
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose.

Macbeth
.

For several days I had been ill. They were merciful days to me since I
was far too weak for thought. Then there came a period of conscious rest,
then renewed interest in life and my own fate and reputation. What had
happened during this interval?

I had a confused memory of having seen Clifton's face at my bedside, but
I was sure that no words had passed between us. When would he come again?
When should I hear about Carmel, and whether she were yet alive, or
mercifully dead, like her sister? I might read the papers, but they had
been carefully kept from me. Not one was in sight. The nurse would
undoubtedly give me the information I desired, but, kind as she had been,
I dreaded to consult a stranger about matters which involved my very
existence and every remaining hope. Yet I must know; for I could not help
thinking, now, and I dreaded to think amiss and pile up misery for myself
when I needed support and consolation.

I would risk one question, but no more. I would ask about the inquest.
Had it been held? If she said yes—ah, if she said yes!—I should know
that Carmel was dead; and the news, coming thus, would kill me. So I
asked nothing, and was lying in a sufficiently feverish condition when
the doctor came in, saw my state, and thinking to cheer me up,
remarked blandly:

"You are well enough this morning to hear good news. Do you recognise the
room you are in?"

"I'm in the hospital, am I not?"

"Hardly. You are in one of Mr. O'Hagen's own rooms." (Mr. O'Hagen was the
head keeper.) "You are detained, now, simply as a witness."

I was struck to the heart; terrified in an instant.

"What? Why? What has happened?" I questioned, rapidly, half starting up,
then falling back on my pillow under his astonished eye.

"Nothing," he parried, seeing his mistake, and resorting to the soothing
process. "They simply have had time to think. You're not the sort of man
from which criminals are made."

"That's nonsense," I retorted, reckless of his opinion, and mad to know
the truth, yet shrinking horribly from it. "Criminals are made from all
kinds of men; neither are the police so philosophical. Something has
occurred. But don't tell me—" I protested inconsistently, as he opened
his lips. "Send for Mr. Clifton. He's my friend; I can better bear—"

"Here he is," said the doctor, as the door softly opened under the
nurse's careful hand.

I looked up, saw Charles's faithful face, and stretched out my hand
without speaking. Never had I needed a friend more, and never had I been
more constrained in my greeting. I feared to show my real heart, my real
fears, my real reason for not hailing my release, as every one evidently
expected me to!

With a gesture to the nurse, the doctor tiptoed out, muttering to
Clifton, as he passed, some word of warning or casual instruction. The
nurse followed, and Clifton, coming forward, took a seat at my side. He
was cheerful but not too cheerful; and the air of slight constraint which
tinged his manner, as much as it did mine, did not escape me.

"Well, old fellow," he began—

My hand went up in entreaty.

"Tell me why they have withdrawn their suspicions. I've heard
nothing—read nothing—for days. I don't understand this move."

For reply, he laid his hand on mine.

"You're stanch," he began. "You have my regard, Elwood. Not many men
would have stood the racket and sacrificed themselves as you have done.
The fact is recognised, now, and your motive—"

I must have turned very white; for he stopped and sprang to his feet,
searching for some restorative.

I felt the need of blinding him to my condition. With an effort, which
shook me from head to foot, I lifted myself from the depths into which
his words had plunged me, and fighting for self-control, faltered forth,
feebly enough:

"Don't be frightened. I'm all right again; I guess I'm not very strong
yet. Sit down; I don't need anything."

He turned and surveyed me carefully, and finding my colour restored,
reseated himself, and proceeded, more circumspectly:

"Perhaps I had better wait till to-morrow before I satisfy your
curiosity," said he.

"And leave me to imagine all sorts of horrors? No! Tell me at once.
Is—is—has anything happened at the Cumberlands'?"

"Yes. What you feared has happened—No, no; Carmel is not dead. Did you
think I meant that? Forgive me. I should have remembered that you had
other causes for anxiety than the one weighing on our minds. She is
holding her own—just holding it—but that is something, in one so young
and naturally healthy."

I could see that I baffled him. It could not be helped. I did not dare to
utter the question with which my whole soul was full. I could only look
my entreaty. He misunderstood it, as was natural enough.

"She does not know yet what is in store for her," were his words;
and I could only lie still, and look at him helplessly, and try not
to show the despair that was sinking me deeper and deeper into
semi-unconsciousness. "When she comes to herself, she will have to be
told; but you will be on your feet, then, and will be allowed, no doubt,
to soften the blow for her by your comfort and counsel. The fact that
it must have been you, if not he—"

"
He!"
Did I shout it, or was the shout simply in my own mind? I
trembled as I rose on my elbow. I searched his face in terror of my
self-betrayal; but his showed only compassion and an eager desire to
clear the air between us by telling me the exact facts.