Early one morning, in the spring of eighteen hundred and seventy-three, two young lawyers were seated in their private office. The firm name, painted in gilt letters upon the glass of the door, was DUDLEY & BLISS. Mortimer Dudley was the senior member, though not over thirty years old. Robert Bliss was two years younger.
Mr. Dudley was sorting some papers and deftly tying them into bundles with red tape. Why lawyers will persist in using tape of a sanguine color is an unsolvable mystery to me, unless it may be that they are loath to disturb the many old adages in which the significant couplet of words appears. However that may be, Mr. Dudley paused in his occupation, attracted by an exclamation from his partner, who had been reading a morning paper.
"What is it, Robert?" asked Mr. Dudley.
"Oh! Only another sensational murder case, destined, I imagine, to add more lustre to the name of some lawyer who doesn't need it. Mortimer, I wonder when our turn will come. Here we have been in these rooms for three months, and not a criminal case has come to us yet."
"Don't be impatient, Robert. We must not give up hope. Look at Munson. He was in the same class with us at college, and we all considered him a dunce. By accident he was engaged to defend that fellow who was accused of poisoning his landlady. Munson actually studied chemistry in order to defend the case. His cross-examination of the prosecution's experts made him famous. Who knows! We may get an opportunity like that some day."
"Some day! Yes, some day! I believe there is a song that begins that way. I always detested it. I do not like that word 'some day.' It's so beastly indefinite. I prefer 'to-day' or even 'to-morrow.' But let me read to you the account of this case. It is about that young woman who died so mysteriously, up in the boarding-house on West Twenty-sixth Street."
"I don't know anything about it, Robert. I haven't read the papers for three days. Tell me the main facts."
"Well, it is really a very curious story. It seems there was a young girl, twenty or thereabouts, living in town temporarily, whilst she studied music. Her name was Mabel Sloane. She is described as pretty, though that is a detail that the reporters always add. But, pretty or ugly, she died last Sunday morning, under rather peculiar circumstances. The doctors differed as to the cause of death."
"Why, there is nothing odd about that, is there?" Mr. Dudley smiled at his own wit. "Doctors disagree and the patient dies. That is the old adage. You have only reversed it. Your patient died, and the doctors then disagreed. Where's the odds?"
"The odds amount to this, Mortimer. One doctor signed a certificate of death, naming diphtheria as the cause. The other physician reported to the Board of Health that there were suspicious circumstances which led him to think that the woman might have died from poison."
"Poison? This is interesting."
"The more you hear, the more you will think so. In yesterday's papers it was announced that the Coroner had taken up the case, and that an autopsy would be held."
"Does this morning's paper give the result of the post-mortem?"
"Yes. Listen! 'The autopsy upon the body of Mabel Sloane, the beautiful young musician'—you see they still harp on the beautiful—'young musician, whose mysterious death was reported yesterday, shows conclusively that the girl was poisoned. The doctors claim to have found morphine enough to kill three men. Thus the caution of Dr. Meredith, in notifying the Health Board of his suspicions, is to be commended. It is but just to say, however, that the doctors who made the post-mortem, entirely exonerate Dr. Fisher, the physician who certified that the death was caused by diphtheria, for they claim, curiously enough, that the woman would undoubtedly have died of that disease even if the morphine had not been administered. This opens up a most interesting set of complications. Why should any one poison a person who is about to die a natural death? It might be claimed that the murderer did not know that a fatal termination of the disease would ensue. This brings us to the most interesting fact, that the one who is suspected by the police is no other than the girl's sweetheart, who is himself a physician. Thus it is plain that he should have known that the disease would probably prove fatal, and under these circumstances it is almost inconceivable that he should have resorted to poison. Nevertheless, the detectives claim that they have incontestible evidence of his guilt, although they refuse to reveal what their proofs are. However, some facts leaked out yesterday which certainly tend to incriminate Dr. Emanuel Medjora, the suspected man. In the first place, Dr. Medjora has suddenly and completely disappeared. Inquiry at his office elicited the statement that he has not been there since the day before yesterday, which it will be remembered was the time when the Coroner first came into the case. Dr. Medjora has not been at his residence, and none of his friends has seen him. In short, if he had been swallowed by an earthquake he could not have vanished more swiftly. He was supposed to have been engaged to marry Miss Sloane, and as she was a beautiful girl, accomplished, and altogether charming, it has puzzled all who knew her, to understand why he should wish to destroy her. Some light may be thrown upon this, however, by the discovery at the autopsy, that she has been a mother. What has become of the child, or where it was born, is still a part of the mystery. Miss Sloane has lived at the Twenty-sixth Street house about three months, and as she has always been cheerful and happy, the boarders cannot reconcile this report of the doctors with what they knew of the woman. They claim, with much reason, that if her baby had died she should have had moments of despondency when her grief would have been noticeable. Or if the child were alive, then why did she never allude to it? Another significant fact is, that Dr. Medjora has been seen driving in the Park, recently, with a handsome woman, stylishly dressed, and evidently wealthy, as the coachman and footman wore expensive livery. Did the Doctor tire of his pretty little musician, and wish to marry his rich friend who owns the carriage and horses? His disappearance lends color to the theory.' There, what do you think of that?" said Mr. Bliss, throwing aside the newspaper.
"What do I think?" answered his partner. "I think that this will be a great case. A chance for young men like us to make fame and fortune. If we could only be retained by that man——"
The door from the outer office opened and young Jack Barnes, the assistant, entered and handed Mr. Dudley a visiting card. The lawyer looked at it, seemed astonished, said "Show the gentleman in," and when Barnes had left the office, turned to his partner, handing him the card, and, slightly excited, exclaimed:
"In heaven's name, Robert, look at that!"
Mr. Bliss took the card and read the name:
The two young men looked at each other in silence, startled by the coincidence, and wondering whether at last Dame Fortune was about to smile upon them. A moment later Dr. Medjora entered.
Dr. Emanuel Medjora was no ordinary personage. His commanding stature would attract attention anywhere, and the more he was observed the more he incited curiosity. First as to his nationality. To what clime did he owe allegiance by birth? One could scarcely decide. His name might lead to the conclusion that he was Spanish, but save that his skin was swarthy there was little to identify him with that type. Perhaps, more than anything, he looked like the ideals which have been given to us of Othello, though again his color was at fault, not being so deep as the Moor's. He wore a black beard, close trimmed, and pointed beneath the chin. His hair, also jetty, was longer than is usually seen in New York, and quite straight, combed back from the forehead without a part. The skull was large, the brain cavity being remarkably well developed. Any phrenologist would have revelled in the task of fingering his bumps. The physiognomist, also, would have delighted to read the character of the man from the expressiveness of his features, every one of which evidenced refined and cultured intellectuality. The two, summing up their findings, would probably have accredited the Doctor with all the virtues and half of the vices that go to make up the modern man, not to mention many of the talents commonly allotted to the rare geniuses of the world.
But according these scientists the freest scope in their examinations, and giving them besides the assistance of the palmist, clairvoyant, astrologist, chirographist, and all the other modern savants who advertise to read our inmost thoughts, for sums varying in proportion to the credulity of the applicant, and when all was told, it could not be truthfully said that either, or all, had discovered about Dr. Medjora aught save that which he may have permitted them to learn. Probably no one thoroughly understood Dr. Medjora, except Dr. Medjora himself. That he did comprehend himself, appreciating exactly his abilities and his limitations, there cannot be a shadow of a doubt. And it was this that made him such a master of men, being as he was so completely the master of himself. Those who felt bound to admit that in his presence they dwindled even in their own estimation, attributed it to various causes, all erroneous, the true secret being what I have stated. Some said that it was a certain magnetic power which he exerted through his eyes. The Doctor's eyes certainly were remarkable. Deep set in the head, and thus hidden by the beautifully arched brows, they seemed to lurk in the shadow, and from their point of vantage to look out at, and I may say into, the individual confronting him. I remember the almost weird attraction of those eyes when I first met him. Being at the time interested in an investigation of the phenomena which have been attributed to mesmerism, hypnotism, and other "isms" which are but different terms for the same thing, I could not resist the impulse to ask him whether he had ever attempted any such experiments. Evading my question, without apparently meaning to shirk a reply, he merely smiled and said, "Do you believe in that sort of thing?" Then he passed on and spoke to some one else. I relate the incident merely to show the manner of the man. But on the point, raised by some, that he controlled men by supernatural means, I think that we must dismiss that hypothesis as untenable in the main. Of course those who believed that he possessed some uncanny or mysterious power of the eyes, might be influenced by his keen scrutiny, and would probably reveal whatever he were endeavoring to extort from them. But a true analysis would show that this was but an exhibition of their weakness, rather than of his strength. Yet, after all, the man was excessively intellectual, and as the eyes have been aptly called the "windows of the soul," what more natural than that so self-centred and wilful a man should find his lustrous orbs a great advantage to him through life?
At the moment of his entrance into the private office of Messrs. Dudley & Bliss, those two young men had partly decided that he was a murderer. At sight of him, they both abandoned the conclusion. Thus it will be seen that, if brought to the bar of justice, his presence might equally affect the jury in his behalf. He held his polished silk hat in his gloved hand, and looked keenly at each of the lawyers in turn. Then turning towards Mr. Dudley he said:
"You are Mr. Dudley, I believe? The senior member of your firm?"
Mr. Bliss was insensibly annoyed, although very fond of his partner. Being only two years his junior, he did not relish being so easily relegated to the secondary status.
"My name is Dudley," replied the elder lawyer, "but unless you have met me before, I cannot understand how you guessed my identity, as my partner is scarcely at all younger than I am." Mr. Dudley understood his partner's character very well, and wished to soothe any irritation that may have been aroused. Dr. Medjora grasped the situation instantly. Turning to Mr. Bliss he said with his most fascinating manner:
"I am sure you are not offended at my ready discrimination as to your respective ages. It is a habit of mine to observe closely. But youth is nothing to be ashamed of surely, or if so, then I am the lesser light here, for I am perhaps even younger than yourself, Mr. Bliss, being but twenty-seven."
"Oh, not at all!" exclaimed Mr. Bliss, much mollified, and telling the conventional lie with the easy grace which we all have acquired in this nineteenth century. "You were quite right to choose between us. Mr. Dudley is my superior——"
"In the firm name only, I am sure," interjected the Doctor. "Will you shake hands, as a sign that you forgive my unintentional rudeness? But stop. I am forgetting. I see that you have just been reading the announcement"—he pointed to the newspaper lying where Mr. Bliss had dropped it on a chair, folded so that the glaring head-lines were easily read—"that I am a murderer!" He paused a moment and both lawyers colored deeply. Before they could speak, the Doctor again addressed them. "You have read the particulars, and you have decided that I am guilty. Am I not right?"
"Really, Dr. Medjora, I should hardly say that. You see——" Mr.
Dudley hesitated, and Dr. Medjora interrupted him, speaking sharply:
"Come! Tell me the truth! I want no polite lying. Stop!" Mr. Dudley had started up, angry at the word "lying." "I do not intend any insult; but understand me thoroughly. I have come here to consult you in your professional capacity. I am prepared to pay you a handsome retainer. But before I do so, I must be satisfied that you are the sort of men in whose hands I may place my life. It is no light thing for a man in my position to intrust such an important case to young men who have their reputations to earn."
"If you do not think we are capable, why have you come to us?" asked
Mr. Bliss, hotly.
"You are mistaken. I do think you capable. But think is a very indefinite word. I must know before I go further. That is why I asked, and why I ask again, have you decided, from what you have read of my case, that I am guilty? Upon your answer I will begin to estimate your capability to manage my case."
The two young lawyers looked at each other a moment, embarrassed, and remained silent. Dr. Medjora scrutinized them keenly. Finally, Mr. Dudley decided upon his course, and spoke.
"Dr. Medjora, I will confess to you that before you came in, and, as you have guessed, from reading what the newspaper says, I had decided that you are guilty. But that was not a juridical deduction. That is, it was not an opinion adopted after careful weighing of the evidence, for, as it is here, it is all on one side. I regret now that I should have formed an opinion so rashly, even though you were one in whom, at the time, I supposed I would have no interest."
"Very good, Mr. Dudley," said the Doctor. "I like your candor. Of course, it was not the decision of the lawyer, but simply that of the citizen affected by his morning newspaper. As such, I do not object to your having entertained it. But now, speaking as a lawyer, and without hearing anything of my defence, tell me what value is to be put upon the evidence against me, always supposing that the prosecution can bring good evidence to sustain their position."
"Well," replied Mr. Dudley, "the evidence is purely circumstantial, though circumstantial evidence often convinces a jury, and convicts a man. It is claimed against you that you have disappeared. From this it is argued that you are hiding from the police. The next deduction is, that if you fear the police, you are guilty. Per contra, whilst these deductions may be true and logical, they are not necessarily so; consequently, they are good only until refuted. For example, were you to go now to the District Attorney and surrender yourself, making the claim that you have been avoiding the police only to prevent arrest, preferring to present yourself to the law officers voluntarily, the whole theory of the police, from this one standpoint, falls to the ground utterly worthless."
"Very well argued. Do you then advise me to surrender myself? But wait! We will take that up later. Let me hear your views on the next fact against me. I refer to the statement that poison was found in the body."
"Several interesting points occur to me," replied Mr. Dudley, speaking slowly. "Let me read the newspaper account again." He took up the paper, and after a minute read aloud: "'The result of the autopsy, etc., etc., shows conclusively that the girl was poisoned. The doctors claim to have discovered morphine enough to kill three men.' That is upon the face of it a premature statement. The woman died on Sunday morning. The autopsy was held yesterday. I believe it will require a chemical analysis before it can be asserted that morphine is present. Am I not correct?" The Doctor made one of his non-committal replies.
"Let us suppose that at the trial, expert chemists swear that they found morphine in poisonous quantities."
"Even then, the burden of proof would be upon the prosecution. They must prove not merely that morphine was present in quantities sufficient to cause death, but that in this case it did actually kill. That is, they must show that Mabel Sloane died from poison, and not from diphtheria. That will be their great difficulty. We can have celebrated experts, as many as you can afford, and even though poison did produce the death, we can create such a doubt from the contradictions of the experts, that the jury would give you the verdict."
"Very satisfactorily reasoned. I am encouraged. Now then, the next point. The drives with the rich unknown."
"Oh! That is a newspaper's argument, and would have no place in a court of law, unless——"
"Yes! Unless——?"
"Unless the prosecution tried to prove that the motive for the crime was to rid yourself of your fiancée in order to marry a richer woman. Of course we should fight against the admission of any such evidence as tending to prejudice the jury against you, and untenable because the proof would only be presumptive."
"Presumptive. That is as to my desire to marry the woman with whom I am said to have been out driving. Now then, suppose that it could be shown that, since the death of Mabel Sloane, and prior to the trial, I had actually married this rich woman?"
"I should say that such an act would damage your case very materially."
"I only wished to have your opinion upon the point. Nothing of the sort has occurred. Well, gentlemen, I have decided to place my case in your hands. Will five hundred dollars satisfy you as a retaining fee?"
"Certainly." Mr. Dudley tried hard not to let it appear that he had never received so large a fee before. Dr. Medjora took a wallet from his pocket and counted out the amount. Mr. Bliss arose from his chair and started to leave the room, but as he touched the door knob the Doctor turned sharply and said:
"Will you oblige me by not leaving the room?"
"Oh! Certainly!" replied Mr. Bliss, mystified, and returning to his seat.
"Here, gentlemen, is the sum. I will take your receipt, if you please.
Now then, as to your advice. Shall I surrender myself to the District
Attorney, and so destroy argument number one, as you suggested?"
"But, Doctor," said Mr. Dudley, "you have not told us your defence."
"I am satisfied with the one which you have outlined. Should future developments require it, I will tell you whatever you need to know, in order to perfect your case. For the present I prefer to keep silent."
"Well, but really, unless you confide in your lawyers you materially weaken your case."
"I have more at stake than you have, gentlemen! You will gain in reputation, whatever may be the result. I risk my life. You must permit me therefore to conduct myself as I think best."
"Oh! Certainly, if that is your wish. As to your surrendering yourself, I strongly advise it, as you probably could not escape from the city, and even if you did, you would undoubtedly be recaptured."
"There you are entirely wrong. Not only can I escape, as you term it, but I would never be retaken."
"Then why take the risk of a trial? Innocent men have been convicted, even when ably defended!"
"Yes, and guilty ones have escaped. But you ask why I do not leave New York. I answer, because I wish to remain here. Were I to run away from these charges, of course I should never be able to return."
"Then, Doctor, I advise you to surrender."
"I will adopt your advice. But not until the day after to-morrow. I have some affairs to settle first."
"But you risk being captured by the detectives."
"I think not," said the Doctor, with a smile.
"Should we wish to communicate with you, where may we be able to find you, Doctor?"
Doctor Medjora appeared not to have heard the question. He said:
"Oh! By the way, gentlemen, you need not either of you study up chemistry, as did Mr. Munson. You remember the case? I know enough chemistry for any experts that they may introduce, and will formulate the main lines of their cross-examination myself. Let me refer to a point that you made. Did I understand you that if we can show that Mabel died of diphtheria, our case is won?"
"Why, certainly, Doctor. If we can prove that, we show that she died a natural death."
"Of course, I understood that. I merely wished to show you what a simple thing our defence is. We will convince the jury of that. I will meet you at the office of the District Attorney at eleven o'clock on the day after to-morrow. Good-morning, gentlemen." The Doctor bowed and left the room. The two lawyers looked at one another a moment, and then Mr. Dudley spoke:
"What a singular man!"
"The most extraordinary man I ever met!"
"Robert, why did you start to leave the room?"
"Mortimer, that is a very curious thing. I had a sort of premonition that he would go away without leaving his address. I meant to instruct Barnes to shadow him, when he should leave. I wonder if he read my thoughts?"
"Rubbish! But why not send Jack after him now? He will catch up with him easily enough."
Acting upon the suggestion, Mr. Bliss went into the outer office, and was annoyed to be told by the office boy that Jack Barnes had gone out half an hour before.
Jack Barnes, at this time, had just attained his majority. He was studying law with Messrs. Dudley & Bliss, and acting as their office assistant. But it was by no means his intention ever to practise the profession, which he was acquiring with much assiduity. His one ambition was to be a detective. Gifted with a keen, logical mind, a strong disposition to study and solve problems, and possessing the rare faculty of never forgetting a face, or a voice, he thought himself endowed by nature with exactly the faculties necessary to make a successful detective. His study of law was but a preliminary, which, he rightly deemed, would be of value to him.
Anxious, as he was, to try his wits against some noted criminal, the chance had never been his to make the effort. He had indeed ferreted out one or two so-called "mysterious cases," but these had been in a small country village, where a victory over the dull-witted constabulary had counted for little in his own estimation.
Naturally he had read with avidity all the various newspaper accounts of the supposed murder of Mabel Sloane, and it was with considerable satisfaction that he had read the name upon the card intrusted to him to be taken to his employers. It seemed to him that at last fortune had placed an opportunity within his grasp. Here was a man, suspected of a great crime, whom the great Metropolitan detective force had entirely failed to locate. From what he had read of Dr. Medjora, he quickly decided that, though he might consult Messrs. Dudley & Bliss, he would not intrust them with his address. Jack Barnes determined to follow the Doctor when he should leave the office. Thus it was, that he was absent when Mr. Bliss inquired for him.
Descending by the elevator—a contrivance oddly named, since it takes one down as well as up—he stationed himself in a secluded corner, whence he could keep watch upon the several exits from the building. Presently, he saw Dr. Medjora step from the elevator, and leave the building, after casting his eyes keenly about him, from which circumstance Barnes thought it best not to follow his man too closely. When, therefore, he saw the Doctor jump upon a Third Avenue horse-car, he contented himself with taking the next one following, and riding upon the front platform.
He saw nothing of Dr. Medjora until the Harlem terminus was reached. Here his man alighted and walked rapidly across the bridge over the river, Barnes following by the footpath on the opposite side, keeping the heavy timbers of the span between them as a screen. But, however careful Dr. Medjora had been to look behind him when leaving the lawyers' offices, he evidently felt secure now, for he cast no anxious glances backward. Thus Barnes shadowed him with comparative ease, several blocks uptown, and then down a cross street, until at last he disappeared in a house surrounded by many large trees.
Barnes stopped at the tumbled-down gate, which, swinging on one hinge, offered little hindrance to one who wished to enter. He looked at the house with curiosity. Old Colonial in architecture, it had evidently once been the summer home of wealthy folks. Now the sashless windows and rotting eaves marked it scarcely more than a habitat for crows or night owls. Wondering why Dr. Medjora should visit such a place, he was suddenly astonished to hear the sound of wheels rapidly approaching. Peeping back, he saw a stylish turn-out coming towards him, and it flashed across his mind that this might be the equipage in which the Doctor had been said to drive in the Park. Not wishing to be seen, he entered the grounds, ran quickly to the house, and admitted himself through a broken-down doorway that led to what had been the kitchen. He had scarcely concealed himself when the carriage stopped, a woman alighted, and walking up to the house, entered by the same door through which the Doctor had passed. Barnes was satisfied now that this meeting was pre-arranged, and that it would interest him greatly to overhear the conversation which would occur.
Seeking a means of reaching the upper floor, he soon found a stairway from which several steps were absent, but he readily ascended. At the top, he stopped to listen, and soon heard low voices still farther up. The staircase in the main hall was in a fair state of preservation, and there was even the remains of an old carpet. Carefully stepping, so as to avoid creaking boards, he soon reached a level from which he could peep into the room at the head of the stairs, and there he saw the two whom he was following. But though he could hear their voices, he could not distinguish their words. To do so he concluded that he must get into the adjoining room, but he could not go farther upstairs without being detected, as the door was open affording the Doctor a clear view of the top of the stairway.
Barnes formed his plan quickly. Reaching up with his hands, he took hold of the balustrade which ran along the hallway, and then, dangling in the air, he worked his way slowly from baluster to baluster, until he had passed the open doorway, and finally hung opposite the room which he wished to enter. Then he drew himself up, until he could rest a foot upon the floor of the hall, after which he quickly and noiselessly swung himself over and passed into the front room. That he succeeded, astonished him, after it had been done, for he could not but recognize that a single rotten baluster would either have precipitated him to the floor below, or at least by the noise of its breaking have attracted the attention of Dr. Medjora, who, be it remembered, was suspected of no less a crime than murder.
Looking about the room in which he then stood, he took little note of the decaying furniture, but went at once to a door which he thought must communicate with the adjoining room. Opening this very gently, he disclosed a narrow passageway, from which another door evidently opened into the room beyond. Stealthily he passed on, and pressing his ear against a wide crack, was pleased to find that he could easily hear what was said by the two in the next room. The conversation seemed to have reached the very point of greatest interest to him. The woman said:
"I wish to know exactly your connection with this Mabel Sloane."
"So do the police," replied the Doctor, succinctly.
"But I am not the police," came next in petulant tones.
"Exactly! And not being the police you are out of your province, when investigating a matter supposed to be criminal." Barnes learned two things: first that the Doctor would not lose his temper, and therefore would not be likely to betray himself by revealing anything beyond what his companion might already know; and second, that she knew little as to his relation with Mabel Sloane. This was not very promising, yet he still hoped that something might transpire, which would repay all the trouble that he had taken. The woman spoke again quickly.
"Then you are not going to explain this thing to me?"
"Certainly not, since you have not the right to question me."
"I have not the right? I, whom you expect to marry? I have not the right to investigate your relations with other women?"
"Not with one who is dead!"
"Dead or alive, I must know what this Mabel Sloane was to you, or else——" She hesitated.
"Or else?" queried the Doctor, without altering his tone.
"Or else I will not marry you."
"Oh! Yes, you will!" replied the Doctor, with such a tone of certainty that his companion became exasperated and stamped her feet as she replied in anger:
"I will not! I will not! I will not!" Then, as though her asseveration had slightly mollified her, she added: "Or if I do——" and, then paused.
"Continue!" exclaimed the Doctor, still calm. "You pause at a most interesting period. Or if you do——"
"Or if I do," wrathfully rejoined the woman—"I'll make your whole life a burden to you!"
"No, my wife that is to be, you will not even do that. Perhaps you might try, but I should not permit you to succeed in any such an undertaking. No, my dear friend, you and I are going to be a model couple, provided——"
"Provided what?"
"That you curb your curiosity as to things that do not concern you."
"But this does concern me."
"As I have intimated already, Mabel Sloane being dead, you can have no interest whatever in knowing what relations existed between us."
"Not even if, as the newspapers claim, she had a child?"
"Not even in that case."
"Well, is there a child?"
"I have told you that it does not concern you."
"Do you deny it?"
"I neither deny it, nor affirm it. You have read the evidence, and may believe it or not as you please."
"Oh! I hate you! I hate you!" She was again enraged. "I wonder why I am such a fool as to marry you?"
"Ah! This time you show curiosity upon a subject which does concern you. Therefore I will enlighten you. You intend to marry me, first, because, in spite of the assertion just made, you love me. That is to say, you love me as much as you can love any one other than yourself. Second, you are ambitious to be the wife of a celebrated man. You have been keen enough to recognize that I have genius, and that I will be a great man. Do you follow me?"
"You are the most supreme egotist that I have ever met." The words, meant as a sort of reproach, yet were spoken in tones which betokened admiration.
"Thank you. I see you appreciate me for what I am. All egotists are but men who have more than the average ego, more than ordinary individuality. The supreme egotist, therefore, has most of all. Now, to continue the reasons for our marriage, perhaps you would like to know why I intend to marry you?"
"If your august majesty would condescend so far." The Doctor took no notice of the sneer, but said simply:
"I too have my ambitions, but I need money with which to achieve success. You have money!"
"You dare to tell me that! You are going to marry me for my money!
Never, you demon! Never!"
"I thought you had concluded to be sensible and leave off theatricals. You look very charming when you are angry, but it prolongs this conversation to dangerous lengths. We may be interrupted at any moment by the police."
"By the police! In heaven's name how?" In a moment she showed a transition from that emotion which spurned him, to that love for him which trembled for his safety. Thus wisely could this crafty physician play upon the feelings of those whom he wished to influence.
"It is very simple. As much as you love me, you love your own comfort more. I asked you to come up here quietly. You came in your carriage, with driver and footman in full livery. Is that your idea of a quiet trip?"
"But I thought——"
"No! You did not think." The Doctor spoke sternly, and the woman was silent, completely awed. "If you had thought for one moment, you would have readily seen that the police are probably watching you, hoping that, through you, they might find me. Fortunately, however, I have thought of the contingency, and am prepared for it. But let us waste no more time. No! Do not speak. Listen, and heed what I have to say. I have decided not to follow your suggestion. You wrote to me advising flight. That was another indiscretion, since your messenger might have been followed. However, I forgave you, for you not only offered to accompany me, but you expressed a willingness to furnish the funds, as an earnest of which I found a thousand dollars in your envelope. A token, you see, of a love more intense than that jealousy which a moment ago whispered to you to abandon me. From this, and other similar circumstances, I readily deduce that after all you will marry me. But to come to the point. I have consulted a firm of lawyers, and by their advice I shall surrender myself on the day after to-morrow."
"You will surrender to the police?" The woman was thoroughly alarmed.
"They will convict you. They will——ugh!" She shuddered.
"No," said the Doctor more kindly than he had as yet spoken. "Do not be afraid. They will neither convict me, nor hang me. I will stand my trial, and come out of it a freed man."
"But if not? Even innocent men have been convicted."
"Even innocent men! Why do you say even? Do you doubt that I am innocent?"
"No! No! But this is what I mean. Although innocent you might be brought in guilty."
"Well, even so, I must take the chance. All my hopes, all my ambitions, all that I care for in life depend upon my being a free man. I cannot ostracize myself, and reach my goal. So the die is cast. But there is another thing that I must tell you. We cannot be married at present."
"Not married? Why not? Why delay? I wish to marry you now, when you are accused, to prove to you how much I love you!" Thus she showed the vacillation of her impulsive, passionate nature.
"I appreciate your love, and your generosity. But it cannot be. My lawyers advise against it, and I agree with them that it would be hazardous. Next, I must have money with which to carry on my defence. When can you give it to me? You must procure cash. It would not be well for me to present your check at my bankers. The circumstances forbid it, lest the prosecution twist it into evidence against me."
"When I received your note bidding me to meet you here, I thought that you contemplated flight. I have brought some money with me. Here are five thousand dollars. If you need more I will get it."
"This will suffice for the present. I thank you. Will you kiss me?" A sound followed which showed that this woman, eager for affection, gladly embraced the opportunity accorded to her. At the same moment there was a loud noise heard in the hall below, from which it was plain that several persons had entered.
"The police!" exclaimed the Doctor. Then there was a pause as though he might be listening, and then he continued, speaking rapidly: "As I warned you, they have followed you. Hush! Have no fear. I shall not be taken. I am prepared. But you! You must wait up here undisturbed. When they find you, you must explain that you came here to look at the property, which you contemplate buying. And now, whatever may happen, have no fear for my safety. Keep cool and play your part like the brave little woman that I know you to be."
There was the sound of a hurried kiss, and then Barnes was horrified to see the door at which he was listening, open, and to find himself confronted by Dr. Medjora. But if Barnes was taken by surprise, the Doctor was even more astonished. His perturbation however passed in a moment, for he recognized Barnes quickly, and thus knew that at least he was not one of the police. Stepping through the door, he pulled it shut after him, and turned a key which was in the lock, and, placing the key in his pocket, thus closed one exit. Barnes retreated into the next room and would have darted out into the hall, had not the strong arm of the Doctor clutched him, and detained him. The Doctor then locked that door also, after which he dragged Barnes back into the passage between the two rooms. Here he shook him until his teeth chattered, and though Barnes was not lacking in courage, he felt himself so completely mastered, that he was thoroughly frightened.
"You young viper," hissed the Doctor through his teeth. "You will play the spy upon me, will you? How long have you been listening here? But wait. There will be time enough later for your explanations. You remain in here, or I will take your life as mercilessly as I would grind a rat with my heel." As though to prove that he was not trifling, he pressed the cold barrel of a revolver against Barnes's temple, until the young man began to realize that tracking murderers was not the safest employment in the world.
Leaving Barnes in the passageway the Doctor went into the front room, and Barnes was horrified by what he saw next. Taking some matches from his pocket he deliberately set fire to the old hangings at the windows, and then lighted the half rotten mattress which rested upon a bedstead, doubly inflammable from age. Despite his fear Barnes darted out, only to be stopped by Dr. Medjora, who forcibly dragged him back into the passageway, and then stood in the doorway watching the flames as they swiftly fed upon the dry material.
"Dr. Medjora," cried Barnes, "you are committing a crime in setting this house afire!"
"You are mistaken. This house is mine, and not insured."
"But there are people in it!"
"They will have ample time to escape!"
"But I? How shall I escape?"
"I do not intend that you shall escape."
"Do you mean to murder me?"
"Have patience and you will see. There, I guess that fire will not be easily extinguished." Then to the amazement of young Barnes the Doctor stepped back into the passageway, and closed and locked the door. Thus they were in total darkness, in a small passageway having no exit save the doors at each end, both of which were locked. Already the fire could be heard roaring, and bright gleams of light appeared through the chinks in the oak door. At this moment voices were heard in the next room. The Doctor brushed Barnes to one side and took the place near the crevice to hear what passed.
"Madam," said the voice of a man evidently a policeman, "where is Dr.
Medjora?"
"Dr. Medjora?" replied the woman. "Why, how should I know?"
"You came here to meet him. It is useless to try to deceive me. We tracked you to this house, and, what is more, the man himself was seen to enter just before you did. We only waited long enough to surround the grounds so that there would be no chance to escape. Now that you see how useless it is for him to hide, you may as well tell us where he is, and save time!"
"I know nothing of the man for whom you are seeking. I came here merely to look over the property, with a view to buying it."
"What, buy this old rookery! That's a likely yarn."
"I should not buy it for the house, but for the beautiful grounds."
"Well, I can't stop to argue with you. If you won't help us, we'll get along without you. He is in the house. I know that much."
"Sarjent! Sarjent! Git outer this! The house is on fire!" This announcement, made in breathless tones by another man who had run in, caused a commotion, and, coming so unexpectedly, entirely unnerved the woman, who hysterically cried out:
"He is in there! Open that door! Save him! Save him!"
Dr. Medjora smothered an ejaculation of anger, as in response to the information thus received, the police began hammering upon the door. Old as it was, it was of heavy oak and quite thick. The lock, too, was a good one and gave no signs of yielding.
"Where is the fire?" exclaimed the sergeant.
"In the front room," answered the other man.
"Get the men up here. Bring axes, or anything that can be found to break in with." The man hurried off, in obedience to this order, and the policeman said to the woman:
"Madam, you'd better get out of this. It is going to be hot work!"
"No! No! I'll stay here."
Barnes wondered what was to be the outcome of the situation, and was surprised to hear the sound of bolts being pushed through rusty bearings. Dr. Medjora was further fortifying the door against the coming attack. Barnes would have assailed the other door, but from the roar of the flames he knew that no safety lay in that direction. Presently heavy blows were rained upon the door, showing that an axe had been found. In a few moments the panel splintered, and through a gap thus made could be seen the figure of the man wielding the axe. It seemed as though he would soon batter down the barrier which separated Barnes from safety, when at the next blow the handle of the axe broke in twain. A moment more, and a deafening crash and a rush of smoke into the passageway indicated that a part of the roof had fallen in. The sergeant grasped the woman by the shoulders, and dragged her shrieking, from the doomed house, which was now a mass of flames. The little knot of policemen stood apart and watched the destruction, waiting to see some sign of Dr. Medjora. But they saw nothing of the Doctor, nor of Barnes, of whom, indeed, they did not know.
All New York, that afternoon, was treated to a sensational account in the afternoon "Extra" newspapers, of the supposed holocaust of the suspected murderer of Mabel Sloane. Yet in truth not only was Dr. Medjora safe and well, but he had never been in any serious danger.
As soon as the police had abandoned the effort to batter in the door,
Dr. Medjora turned and said to young Barnes:
"It would serve you right were I to leave you in here to be burned, in punishment for your audacity in spying upon me. Instead of that, I shall take you out with me, if only to convince you that I am not a murderer. Give me your hand!"
Barnes obeyed, satisfied that even though treachery were intended, his predicament could not be made worse than it already was. By the dim light which occasionally illuminated the passageway, as the flames flared up, momentarily freed from the smoke, and shone through the crack in the door, already burned considerably, Barnes now saw the Doctor stoop and feel along the wainscoting, finally lifting up a sliding panel, which disclosed a dark opening beyond.
"Fear nothing, but follow me," said the Doctor. "Step lightly though, as these stairs are old and rickety." Much astonished, Barnes followed the Doctor into the opening, and cautiously descended the narrow winding stairs, still holding one hand of the man who preceded him. He counted the steps, and calculated that he must be nearing the basement, when a terrible crash overhead made him look up. For one moment he caught a glimpse of blue sky, which in a second was hidden by lurid flames, and then darkness ensued, whilst a shower of debris falling about him plainly indicated that the burning building was tumbling in. The hand which held his, gripped it more tightly and their descent became more rapid, but beyond that, there was no sign from the Doctor that he was disturbed by the destroying element above them. In a few more moments they stood upon a flat cemented floor.
"It seems odd," said the Doctor, with a laugh that sounded ghoulish, considering their position, "that I should need to ask you for a match when there is so much fire about us. But I used my last one upstairs." Barnes fumbled in his pocket, and finding one, drew it along his trouser leg until it ignited. As the flame flared up, a dull red glare illumined the face of Dr. Medjora, making him seem in his companion's fancy the prototype of Mephistopheles himself. Again the Doctor laughed.
"Afraid to trust me with fire, eh? Is that why you lighted it yourself? Never mind. I only wished to get my bearings. It is long since I have been in this place. See, here is a door to the right." He grasped the iron handle, and after some exertion the bolt shot back, but when he pushed against it the door did not yield. At the same moment the match spluttered and the flame died.
"Help me push this door," said the Doctor. Barnes obeyed most willingly, but their combined efforts still failed to move it.
"Well," said the Doctor, "my young friend, it looks as though we were doomed, after all. In case we should fail to escape, when we are thus unexpectedly hurried into the presence of the secretary of the other world, in making your statement, I trust you will not forget that you cannot blame me for the accident which curtails your earthly existence. It was no fault of mine that you were in the passageway above, nor could I foresee that we could not open this door."
This sacrilegious speech, made in a tone of voice which showed in what contempt the speaker held the great mystery of life and death, chilled young Barnes so that he shivered. It made him more than convinced that this man was fully capable of committing the murder which had been attributed to him. At the same time, as the Doctor appeared to have abandoned the effort to escape, despair rendered Barnes more courageous and sharpened his senses so that he could think for himself. Freeing his hand from the other's grasp, he felt about until he found the edge of the door, and rapidly searched for the hinges. In a few moments a cry of gladness escaped from him.
"It is all right, Doctor. The hinges are on our side. We must pull the door to open it, and not push it as we have been doing."
"Good!" said the Doctor. "I knew that. I was only trying you. You are clever. And courageous. Too much so for me to run any risks." The last words were spoken as though to himself. He continued: "Come. We must get out of this before it is too late!" He opened the door, which moved so easily that Barnes readily comprehended that the Doctor must have held it firmly shut whilst the two had been trying to open it, else his own shaking would have disclosed the fact that it opened inward. Thus he saw that Dr. Medjora spoke truly, and had only been submitting him to a test. He followed through the door, glad once more to have hope before him, for had the Doctor intended to destroy him, it would have been easy enough to shut the door, leaving him behind, fastening it, as he did now, with a heavy bolt.
"There is little chance of our being followed," said the Doctor, as he thus barred the way behind them, "but it is as well to be careful. And now that we are safe, for this vault is fire-proof, I will let you see where you are." In a moment the Doctor had found a match and lighted a lamp, and Barnes gazed about him bewildered.