บทที่ บทที่ 21 · A PREJUDICE

. A PREJUDICE

“True, I talk of dreams,

Which are the children of an idle brain

Begot of nothing but vain phantasy.”

Romeo and Juliet.

For one moment I sat a prey to superstitious horror; then, my

natural incredulity asserting itself, I looked up and remarked:

“You say that all this took place the night previous to the actual

occurrence?”

He bowed his head. “For a warning,” he declared.

“But you did not seem to take it as such?”

“No; I am subject to horrible dreams. I thought but little of it in

a superstitious way till I looked next day upon Mr. Leavenworth’s

dead body.”

“I do not wonder you behaved strangely at the inquest.”

“Ah, sir,” he returned, with a slow, sad smile; “no one knows what

I suffered in my endeavors not to tell more than I actually knew,

irrespective of my dream, of this murder and the manner of its

accomplishment.”

“You believe, then, that your dream foreshadowed the manner of the

murder as well as the fact?”

“I do.”

“It is a pity it did not go a little further, then, and tell us

how the assassin escaped from, if not how he entered, a house so

securely fastened.”

His face flushed. “That would have been convenient,” he repeated.

“Also, if I had been informed where Hannah was, and why a stranger

and a gentleman should have stooped to the committal of such a

crime.”

Seeing that he was nettled, I dropped my bantering vein. “Why do

you say a stranger?” I asked; “are you so well acquainted with all

who visit that house as to be able to say who are and who are not

strangers to the family?

“I am well acquainted with the faces of their friends, and Henry

Clavering is not amongst the number; but----”

“Were you ever with Mr. Leavenworth,” I interrupted, “when he has

been away from home; in the country, for instance, or upon his

travels?”

“No.” But the negative came with some constraint.

“Yet I suppose he was in the habit of absenting himself from home?”

“Certainly.”

“Can you tell me where he was last July, he and the ladies?”

“Yes, sir; they went to R----. The famous watering-place, you know.

Ah,” he cried, seeing a change in my face, “do you think he could

have met them there?”

I looked at him for a moment, then, rising in my turn, stood level

with him, and exclaimed:

“You are keeping something back, Mr. Harwell; you have more

knowledge of this man than you have hitherto given me to

understand. What is it?”

He seemed astonished at my penetration, but replied: “I know no

more of the man than I have already informed you; but”--and a

burning flush crossed his face, “if you are determined to pursue

this matter--” and he paused, with an inquiring look.

“I am resolved to find out all I can about Henry Clavering,” was my

decided answer.

“Then,” said he, “I can tell you this much. Henry Clavering wrote

a letter to Mr. Leavenworth a few days before the murder, which

I have some reason to believe produced a marked effect upon the

household.” And, folding his arms, the secretary stood quietly

awaiting my next question.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I opened it by mistake. I was in the habit of reading Mr.

Leavenworth’s business letters, and this, being from one

unaccustomed to write to him, lacked the mark which usually

distinguished those of a private nature.”

“And you saw the name of Clavering?”

“I did; Henry Ritchie Clavering.”

“Did you read the letter?” I was trembling now.

The secretary did not reply.

“Mr. Harwell,” I reiterated, “this is no time for false delicacy.

Did you read that letter?”

“I did; but hastily, and with an agitated conscience.”

“You can, however, recall its general drift?”

“It was some complaint in regard to the treatment received by him

at the hand of one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces. I remember nothing

more.”

“Which niece?”

“There were no names mentioned.”

“But you inferred----”

“No, sir; that is just what I did not do. I forced myself to forget

the whole thing.”

“And yet you say it produced an effect upon the family?”

“I can see now that it did. None of them have ever appeared quite

the same as before.”

“Mr. Harwell,” I gravely continued; “when you were questioned as

to the receipt of any letter by Mr. Leavenworth, which might seem

in any manner to be connected with this tragedy, you denied having

seen any such; how was that?”

“Mr. Raymond, you are a gentleman; have a chivalrous regard for the

ladies; do you think you could have brought yourself (even if in

your secret heart you considered some such result possible, which I

am not ready to say I did) to mention, at such a time as that, the

receipt of a letter complaining of the treatment received from one

of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces, as a suspicious circumstance worthy to

be taken into account by a coroner’s jury?”

I shook my head. I could not but acknowledge the impossibility.

“What reason had I for thinking that letter was one of importance?

I knew of no Henry Ritchie Clavering.”

“And yet you seemed to think it was. I remember you hesitated

before replying.”

“It is true; but not as I should hesitate now, if the question were

put to me again.”

Silence followed these words, during which I took two or three

turns up and down the room.

“This is all very fanciful,” I remarked, laughing in the vain

endeavor to throw off the superstitious horror his words had

awakened.

He bent his head in assent. “I know it,” said he. “I am practical

myself in broad daylight, and recognize the flimsiness of an

accusation based upon a poor, hardworking secretary’s dream, as

plainly as you do. This is the reason I desired to keep from

speaking at all; but, Mr. Raymond,” and his long, thin hand

fell upon my arm with a nervous intensity which gave me almost

the sensation of an electrical shock, “if the murderer of Mr.

Leavenworth is ever brought to confess his deed, mark my words, he

will prove to be the man of my dream.”

I drew a long breath. For a moment his belief was mine; and a

mingled sensation of relief and exquisite pain swept over me as I

thought of the possibility of Eleanore being exonerated from crime

only to be plunged into fresh humiliation and deeper abysses of

suffering.

“He stalks the streets in freedom now,” the secretary went on, as

if to himself; “even dares to enter the house he has so wofully

desecrated; but justice is justice and, sooner or later, something

will transpire which will prove to you that a premonition so

wonderful as that I received had its significance; that the voice

calling ‘Trueman, Trueman,’ was something more than the empty

utterances of an excited brain; that it was Justice itself, calling

attention to the guilty.”

I looked at him in wonder. Did he know that the officers of justice

were already upon the track of this same Clavering? I judged not

from his look, but felt an inclination to make an effort and see.

“You speak with strange conviction,” I said; “but in all

probability you are doomed to be disappointed. So far as we know,

Mr. Clavering is a respectable man.”

He lifted his hat from the table. “I do not propose to denounce

him; I do not even propose to speak his name again. I am not a

fool, Mr. Raymond. I have spoken thus plainly to you only in

explanation of last night’s most unfortunate betrayal; and while I

trust you will regard what I have told you as confidential, I also

hope you will give me credit for behaving, on the whole, as well

as could be expected under the circumstances.” And he held out his

hand.

“Certainly,” I replied as I took it. Then, with a sudden impulse

to test the accuracy of this story of his, inquired if he had any

means of verifying his statement of having had this dream at the

time spoken of: that is, before the murder and not afterwards.

“No, sir; I know myself that I had it the night previous to that of

Mr. Leavenworth’s death; but I cannot prove the fact.”

“Did not speak of it next morning to any one?”

“O no, sir; I was scarcely in a position to do so.”

“Yet it must have had a great effect upon you, unfitting you for

work----”

“Nothing unfits me for work,” was his bitter reply.

“I believe you,” I returned, remembering his diligence for the last

few days. “But you must at least have shown some traces of having

passed an uncomfortable night. Have you no recollection of any one

speaking to you in regard to your appearance the next morning?”

“Mr. Leavenworth may have done so; no one else would be likely to

notice.” There was sadness in the tone, and my own voice softened

as I said:

“I shall not be at the house to-night, Mr. Harwell; nor do I know

when I shall return there. Personal considerations keep me from

Miss Leavenworth’s presence for a time, and I look to you to carry

on the work we have undertaken without my assistance, unless you

can bring it here----”

“I can do that.”

“I shall expect you, then, to-morrow evening.”

“Very well, sir”; and he was going, when a sudden thought seemed

to strike him. “Sir,” he said, “as we do not wish to return to

this subject again, and as I have a natural curiosity in regard to

this man, would you object to telling me what you know of him? You

believe him to be a respectable man; are you acquainted with him,

Mr. Raymond?”

“I know his name, and where he resides.”

“And where is that?”

“In London; he is an Englishman.”

“Ah!” he murmured, with a strange intonation.

“Why do you say that?”

He bit his lip, looked down, then up, finally fixed his eyes on

mine, and returned, with marked emphasis: “I used an exclamation,

sir, because I was startled.”

“Startled?”

“Yes; you say he is an Englishman. Mr. Leavenworth had the most

bitter antagonism to the English. It was one of his marked

peculiarities. He would never be introduced to one if he could help

it.”

It was my turn to look thoughtful.

“You know,” continued the secretary, “that Mr. Leavenworth was a

man who carried his prejudices to the extreme. He had a hatred for

the English race amounting to mania. If he had known the letter I

have mentioned was from an Englishman, I doubt if he would have

read it. He used to say he would sooner see a daughter of his dead

before him than married to an Englishman.”

I turned hastily aside to hide the effect which this announcement

made upon me.

“You think I am exaggerating,” he said. “Ask Mr. Veeley.”

“No,” I replied. “I have no reason for thinking so.”

“He had doubtless some cause for hating the English with which

we are unacquainted,” pursued the secretary. “He spent some time

in Liverpool when young, and had, of course, many opportunities

for studying their manners and character.” And the secretary made

another movement, as if to leave.

But it was my turn to detain him now. “Mr. Harwell, you must excuse

me. You have been on familiar terms with Mr. Leavenworth for so

long. Do you think that, in the case of one of his nieces, say,

desiring to marry a gentleman of that nationality, his prejudice

was sufficient to cause him to absolutely forbid the match?”

“I do.”

I moved back. I had learned what I wished, and saw no further

reason for prolonging the interview.