A DOUBLE LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9118, 28 July 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

A DOUBLE LIFE.

BY HELEN CRAMPTON DALE.

CHAPTER XVII.

OS THE SCENT. The day of the inquest caino in dismally and hopelessly wet. A heavy fog hung over the sea, a steady drizzling rain fell continuously, and all the world seemed wrapped in white mist, but, in spite of the weather, Baymouth turned out in full force, and by nine o'clock a.m. Darkendale was packed with ajostlingcrowd of country people, all breathlessly awaiting the unfolding of the big doors at the rear of the long dining-room, behind which lay the body of the victim. But not alone! for a rude coffin had been carried over from the cabin in the woods last night, and after many years of sorrow and. separation Rose Tressylian and her husband lay side by side without murmur or reproach But there were 110 children to weep over them to-day—upstairs in her own room lay one raving in the delirium of brain fever, while the other was adrift upon the world without name or home. Ton o'clock struck at last, the heavy oaken doors were thrown back, there was a flutter of excitement, a momentary bustle, a dead calm, and then the inquest began. Over Mrs. Remington it was brief enough. Old Nichette told how she had come to her cabin in the night and asked for admittance, savin" that she had walked a great distance and wished to remain there until morning, as she was going away to the city to-morrow. Yes the witness had seen her before. She came to visit her with Miss Tressylian on the day after their arrival at Darkendale. She seemed very nervous and ill, but fitness did not question her regarding her presence in the woods at such an hour. She thought it was none of her business, because the deceased was a lady and she only the mother of a servant. - Deceased asked for pen and paper to write a letter, and begged witness to go to bed. She had complied. In tho morning she had found her dead. „ , , . , Madame Benvardo testified that tho deceased was in the habit} of taking moon-

light strolls. Had been ill many days previous to her death.

On that night she had asked witness to go to bed and leave her. Witness had done so and believed she was still sleeping in her room when she received a letter from her mother next morning apprising her of Mrs. Remington's death as stated. No, she knew nothing of the lady. Had never met her before going to the Olarkenham Seminary to conduct Miss Tressylian home. Had heard of her many times. Miss Tressylian was very fond of her, and in remembrance of that fact, since the authorities had found no relatives and no money to pay for the interment, witness would be very grateful if the body might be given over to her for burial. She was quite sure that Miss Tressylian would not like to have her friend interred in the Potter's Field,

were she able to express her sentiments at present. Witness would defray the expenses out of her own pocket. Miss TressyJ lian would return the money to her when she recovered. There was only one more witness —the doctor. He testified that the woman's death was the result of heart disease. He had known it the moment he looked at the body. In all probability death was instantaneous. No, he had not made an autopsy, merely a diagnosis. The cause of death was palpable enough, and any physician would have recognised it. Deceased had doubtless long been a sufferer from heart trouble, and was aware of the nature of her illness, for he had found in her bosom a vial containing a few drops of digitalis. Further testimony was not needed. A verdict of death from disease of the heart was given, the rude coffin covered with a sheet, the body delivered into the charge of Madame Fifine Benvarde for interment, the

ase laid aside for ever, and the all-absorbing

one begun. Robert, the coachman, opened it by a description of the finding of the body, together with the discovery of the thick letter lying upon Floy's table, and his testimony was corroborated by Belinda, the cook, Sophia, the laundress, and, in fact, everyone who had been present at the time ; but no real excitement prevailed until Patty took the stand. Witness being duly sworn, stated she could faithfully testify to the letters shown being in the handwriting of Miss Floy Remington, as that young lady had frequently addressed envelopes for her when she (the witness) was writing to her young man. No, she could not be deceived (in answer to Hadley). She was willing to swear that the letters were not forgeries, and she'd like to know who in pity's name would want to forge them. They were genuine, fast enough, and so was the sentiment they contained, according to her opinion. Miss Remington always hated the deceased, and she, for one, had expected there would be something desperate come out of it. Why, she had heard Miss Remington declare that she wished he was dead, and once she had heard just theawfullest time between them. They were quarrelling over money in the library. " Over what?" Hadley. " Over money. I was just coining up the stairs when I heard them. They were in the library, and as I came near to the door I heard Miss Remington say : "' 1 hate youl hate you !Do you hear that ? and I wouldn't own you nor anything belonging to you if you got down on your knees and begged me!' Then she shot out of the room and rushed upstairs like she was gone crazy. I didn't know what to make of it, but I always set it down after that there must be some money ' matters between them, and that was the reason they always quarrelled so." It was a new phase, this money question, and amid a general murmur, witness stepped down.

" George Hadley, take the stand. You are the detective sent to work out this case, are you not ? Will you have the goodness to tell the jury what you have discovered, Mr. Hadley ? The constable asserts that you have found some valuable clues," asked the coroner.

" I have found something that may tend to strengthen your belief in a bit of ridiculous nonsense, sir, if you pretend to believe that Miss Remington's letters amount to anything as proof." " You do not, then ?" "I—do—not ! I said so at first, and I say so' still. Those letters, if written by her, must allude to something foreign to the matter.

"My first idea was that they might allude to the gentleman who was injured on the bluff, He is Miss Tres3ylian's affianced husband, I know, but young men are fond of firting, and I thought it just possible that there might have been a misunderstanding, a quarrel on the bluff, and that ' misstep' he made, turn out to be a deliberate push, given by an indignant woman. " But I quite failed to discover anyone who saw Miss Remington go out that night, and Madame Benvarde swears that she was in her room.

" Then I thought of going over and interviewing Mr. Dane. But when I reached the house, the doctor told me that he was in such alftw condition that they had carefully avoided even telling him of this murder, for fear the shock might prove serious. Still, if I liked, he would ask if Miss Remington had been with him that night. He needn't say why we wished to know, nor mention anything regarding the tragedy. "I asked him to do so, and he complied with the request. The answer was 'No ;' simply that, and there was nothing left me but to take my departure. " To be frank, sir, I did not believe that answer, and I never will until the girl herself corroborates it. Naturally Mr. Dane does not want to acknowledge his folly, which is one reason for the denial ; it may be that he does not want to compromise her for another. But whether he denies it or not, there is a man in the case, and that man was at Darkendale on the night of the murder, for I found the marks of his feet 011 the soft earth about the wicket at the rear of the grounds, and beside them this glove !" There was a sudden excitement, and when the commotion had ceased, the detective continued : " The glove, as you see, is of buckskin, with the fingers cut off midway—such a glove as men use for rowing. I put it in my pocket and continued my searcn, and in the bottom of an old disused well I found something else— bundle. It is a woman's dress rolled up and tied with a sash. A white muslin dress, streaked and smeared

with blood and marked on the inside of the

waist 'F. Remington' " —intense excitement. "But my last and most important find was close to the library window. Clinging to the thorn of a rose-bush I found a bit of grey woollen fringe, It had been torn from a woman's shawl and was of coarse cheap material, as though it might have belonged to one of the servants,and as I stooped to remove it, I found lying upon the earth at the foot of the rose-bush—this bullet !

"As you see, gentleman, it is of a peculiar design, a lobe of lead tipped at one end with a long sharp brass cap, and having a tassel of red-white-and-blue yarn at the other, is an inch and a quarter in length, and deeply grooved upon two of its four sides.

"Gentlemen, it is valuable even a? a relic, for we do not seo many of these nowadays. I never saw but one in my live. It is tho ' slug ' of the old lever air-gun invented by Antoine Gigneaux, in 1720, and formerly in great use among the French and Swiss peasants. The gun was capable of discharging these bullets with great force, tho sharp brass cap, guided by the tassel, could be driven home with deadly effect, whilst the fluttering yarn enabled the marksman to trace the fall of his shot if lie failed in his aim. There was no ammunition necessary, the same bullet could be used a hundred times, and the economy of the arrangement made them favourites with the poor peasants. Dr. Blanchard will tell you that the mate of this bullet was found in the brain of the murdered man; I will tell you that the reason 110 noise was heard upon that fatal night was because the air-gun is silent, that tho shot which laid Mr. Tressylian low was fired through the window, and probably aimed at his shadow on the blind. Gentlemen, did Miss Remington do this ? If so, how did she get the blood upon her garments? It is true she might have climbed in ; the distance is trifling, and the window was closed but not locked, and, supposing she did climb in, let me ask you where she got an air-gun so rare that it is almost worth its weight in gold ? If she did have it, she would have shown it, boasted of her treasure— is nature. " But she didn't have it, and there were two persons in the grounds that night. A woman with a common grey shawl, a man with a sports mail's glove, and one of these

two people I think I have discovered. Carrying that glove, I went to seek the owner. It was a long while before I got a clue and struck the trail of my man, but last night I did it. It was a fisherman who put me on the scent, and he knew the glove the instant he saw it.

" ' That belongs to Captain Archer —that there swell chap who stops over at the tavern, and does nothing but shoot and fish and spend his money,' he said ; ' I've seen him put on them there gloves when he rows along the coast for snipe. Oh, he's a good 'un. sir—devil a bit does he care whether the game-laws are up on snipe or ducks or nothing. He shoots what he likes, and when he likes, law or no law, that chap, and a rattling good shot he is too !' " That sounded very much like the manner of man who would mix in an affair of this sort, and I started off for the village inn to find him. Gentlemen, Captain Archer left the tavern at nine o'clock on the night of the murder, and has never since returned !" The wildest excitement followed this announcement, and it was several moments before Hadley could continue. " He left no baggage beyond a hunting suit, his gun, and some fishing tackle," he went on ; "he had settled his board bill two days before and only owed a trifling amount beyond. The innkeeper told me he was a pretty wild customer, drank like a fish and gambled like a blackleg; and in spite his money and his fine clothes, he had an idea that he was one of the crooked type, for one night, when Archer was too drunk to walk, he and his son had carried him up to his room and put him to bed. In doing that, he had discovered that the man was branded with the letters ' G. T.'

"Gentlemen, that mark is the sign of a French convict, the brand of the galleys at Toulon ; and the air-gun came from France ! I searched the room he had occupied, but found nothing in the way of writinghe was too sharp for that ; but in spite of his sharpness he left a clue. The stationmaster at Baymouth will tell you that there came to the depot that fatal night a woman dressed in dark clothes, who purchased a ticket for Boston and went outside to wait for the 4.10 train in the morning. It came along, but five minutes before it reached the platform, Captain Archer walked in and bought a ticket for the same trip, stepped outside, and the last the stationmaster saw of him he was assisting that woman into the train.

"Gentlemen, do not all these links fit ? Captain Archer is either a Frenchman, or has been in France ; that old air-gun came from France; there is a Frenchwoman among the servants at Darkendale ; her French mother kept the house where Mrs. Remington died, and to me it looks strangely like a family affair. " What I ask of you, therefore, is to deliberate upon this evidence and commit those two Frenchwomen under suspicion, and in a fortnight's time I promise to tell you if their hands are in this or not. It all depends upon the verdict you give, but this I say " —as he stepped down — " Miss Remington is innocent of this crime, despite those strangely-worded letters. She had not the shadow of a motive, and the evidence against her reveals none. Why should she kill Mr. Tressylian ? There was no reason for the thing —" There isn't, eh?" broke in a voice. " Well, Mr. Detective, we'll put a little light on the subject and show you that the blundering fossils, as you call us law gentlemen down here, know a thing or two as you didn't find out. Chatterly, swear me. I'm going to testify." And through the crowd came the dumpy figure and florid face of Mr. John Dorkins. "I said you warn't much as a detective, and I kept mum about a few little things I'd learned, just to see what you were made of," he said as he faced Hadley; " and I'm going to show you that Boston hasn't all the brains in the country. So open your | ears, Mr. Detective, and learn a thing or | two."

CHAPTER XVIII. VERY MYSTERIOUS.

There was a general bustle, many nods and smiles of approval from the supporters of " home talent," and with a grandiloquent air, Mr. Dorkins took the stand and turned his beaming face upon the jury.

" That's a very fine mess the last witness put together," he began, " but it was all as you heard, gentlemen—a supposition. I'll give you evidence that's real, and as for that yarn about Captain Archer and poor Madame Benvarde, as everyone of you knows, there isn't an honester woman, and I'll knock it all to pieces a deal quicker than he built it up. Now, Mr. Chatterly, take up those letters of Miss Remington's and read 'em out loud. First the one addressed to Miss Tressylian, where she says she has done a murder. That's it. Now the one to her mother that Hadley opened, where she says if she'd have been a man she'd have leaped out and killed Mr. Tressylian, etc. Ah—h ! do you hear it, gentlemen ? And he wanted to say that didn't mean anything. He said there wasn't a motive—the muff! Well, just you read this here letter and see if the motive's missing any longer. There it is set down before you in black and white. Miss Floy Remington killed Mr.' Tressylian because lie had wronged her mar, and because the Mr. Remington there had oughter be never had been. He was Mr. Tressylian, that's what he was, and Miss Floy was his child." There was the wildest kind of a sensation at this announcement.

The auditors sprung to their feefc with "Oil's!" and " Ah's!" the jury fell back thunderstruck, Mr. Dorkins with his round, red face, flushed like a great tomato, stood erect, the hero of the hour, and with a muttered exclamation, Hadley wheeled and glared at him. There was a moment's panic, a lull, and then : "Are you insane?" gasped Hadley, with a scowl.

" Not a bit of it, sir, as the evidence will show. I say she's his child, and I've her mother's word to prove it. When I sent my men over to seize the body and arrest Madame Benvarde's mother as a witness, they found this letter, and brought it to me that afternoon.

"I'd have told you at first, but you were so uppish and laughed at the way we were conducting the case, so I thought I'd let you run on and see what you'd do. A pretty muddle you made of it, too, with your racing around after Cap'n Archer and the rest of your nonsense. There's the motive, Mr. Detective; more than that, the crime is foreshadowed, for that letter written by Mrs. Remington to Mr. Tressylian almost as much as tells him that she fears for his life, now the girl knows all. Read it, Mr. Chatterly, read it aloud, and let everybody hear !" The man obeyed, and so that fatal unfinished letter found its way to Darkendale at last and was read over the coffin of the writer, and the clay of the man to whom she wrote it.

"You see— you hear—you understand?" pursued Mr. Dorkins, when the reading was over. "You were to put your wits to work and make a chain out of the links Hadley supplied ; here it is all made for you. The money matter Patty suspected existed between .Mr. Tressylian and the Remingtons did exist. The deceased woman lived well, dressed well, yet she didn't leave enough money to bury her decently. Of course not, she was dependent upon her— hem ! upon Mr. Tressylian. The child was ignorant of the true state of affairs ; but she must have got an inkling into the fact that her mother received money from Mr. Tressylian, and as she hated him, she went to find out about it ; he wouldn't tell, and there was the quarrel. When she found out the truth she killed him. Gentlemen, there's the whole case in a nutshell, and I flatter myself as pretty a nutshell as ever you saw !" The tide had turned—the case was lost— this bungler had baulked him—that Hadley knew even then, and it did not surprise him when they brought in a verdict of wilful murder against Florence Remington, and witnesses were dismissed, the burial-permit made out, and the inquest over. "I might have known it," he muttered, as he turned away. " The blockheads have been making child's play of it from the very first. The verdict settles it. Nobody here wants to keep me going on the case ; I can't afford to stick to it for pleasure, and I shall return to Boston at once. I gave them the trail and they wouldn't follow it, and if ever that poor innocent girl is made to suffer for this, may her blood be upon their heads. I'm through, and I wash my hands of it, but I said it from the first and I say it still: all this mingling of evidence from France means something, and although I cannot see the faintest cause for the act, as surely as this mystery ever conies to light, so surely will it' bo shown that Madamo Benvardo has a secret of her own, connected with this

murder, and if the assassin is ever brought to justice, she will not bo far from the scaffold." r-t ' v r'

Was Mr. Hadley among the prophets? Three hours after her release, Fifine Benvarda stole into the kitchen while the servants were busy-above, and slipping into the closet, lifted a loose board from the floor, and took out—a grey woollen shawl. " I dared not burn it that morning while the officers were in the house, for wool smells so," she muttered. " But I will not wait another moment. Ah, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! that man—Hadley— he human, or a fiend ?

" From the moment I first saw him, my senses began to swim—there was something in his eyes that fascinated and chained me, and I believe had he stayed here he would have dragged my secret from my very lips, and better I drop dead than tell it! "Oh,Meesßose, my darling, mv darling 1 I so long kept your secret, but how shalf I keep my own—-how shall I keep from betraying it in my sleep, when the shadow of the scaffold enters my dreams? And you are dead, darling, dead, and to-morrow will bo at rest. But I have not forgotten • your goodness, and I never shall. You died trying to keep your secret from Mees Norma— I will live for the same end. You hear mo up in heaven, do you not, Mees Rose? You hear me say—" She stopped short, startled by tho creaking of a door, turned suddenly, and then there rung forth upon the stillness a throttled shriek of fright. The door of the din-ing-room was opened, and—dead or alive, shadow or substance —a woman in black was standing on the threshold, looking at her with Rose Tressylian's eyes !

CHAPTER XIX. A REALISATION.

Madame's shrill scream of horror at the sight of that dark figure standing in the doorway reaches the ears of the servants who are assisting the undertaker in the drawing-room above, and with a sudden start they rush pell-mell for the door. "The Lord help us! but what's up now?" gasps Robert, as he meets Patty and the laundress, and all the women of the household flying down the staircase from the upper storey. "Is there anybody hurt ? Who screamed so wildly ? What's the matter up there ?" " 'Twasn't up there; it was down here," gasps Patty, in a palpitating voice. "We heard it, and ran down to see what was th matter."

"Down here?" repeats Robert, opening his eyes to their fullest extent. " Good Lord ! there ain't no woman down here, and that was a woman's voice, I'll be sworn, or else—

His voice sinks, he shivers and glances nervously around him, but although he does not finish the sentence, lys colleagues understand the allusion, and huddle together with little gasps and suppressed screams.

" There ! don't make fools of yourselves, for there was nothing ghostly about that cry ; and when you've dealt with dead foiks as long as I have, you'll learn- that there's nothing ghostly anyhow," contemptuously says the undertaker, as he stalks out into their midst. '' Perhaps there is somebody hurt after all, and while you stand here quaking, one of your fellowservants may be in need of assistance. Are you all here ?" " All but Madame Benvarde housekeeper," volunteers Patty. " She's downstairs cleaning up the dining-room, because there was no one else to do it. Catch me working around with that awful dead woman almost under a-body's nose. Lord ! I won't do a hand's turn downstairs till that corpse is out of the house—no, not if I lose my placej!" " Nor I," says the fat cook, decidedly, and "Nor I, nor I, nor I!" chorus her colleagues, one after the other. " Well, if I owned the house, you wouldn't be worried about keeping your places another hour," grunts the undertaker. " I never saw such a parcel of fools, and— So Madame Benvarae's below, is she? Well, we'll go down and see if there's anything the matter with her. Come along at once ; I haven't any time to waste, and I dare say you won't mind going downstairs so long as you have plenty of company." No, they don't object to that, and huddling together like a drove of sheep, they follow the undertaker's lead, half expecting to stumble upon another tragedy, and to find Madame Benvarde weltering in blood at the bottom of the staircase. '

But no such gruesome spectacle awaits them, for when the dining-room doors are flung open, there stands madame, serenely dusting the pictures little paler than usual, but otherwise calm and collected. Scream ? No, she has heard no scream— has heard no sound of any sort—and certainly if there has been one, it has not emanated from this part of the building. Grande Dieu! monsieur does not think it possible the house can be haunted already, does he ?

" No, monsieur doesn't, but he did think that you had a little more sense, that's all!"responds the undertaker. "A woman of your age ought to know better. There are no such things as ghosts." "No such things as ghosts!" repeats madame, with a little waver of scornful laughter. " Oh, if monsieur only knew ! Why, the night after the murder, I do hear Moester Tree-seel-yong's voice call ' Fifine ! Fifine !' so plain as I ever did hear him alive. I tell you, monsieur, that murdered men always walk until the assassin is found, and so surely as I live, we shall hear that scream ringing down these halls until the murderer is brought to justice ; we shall see his spirit walking through the house ; we—" But madame has cause to proceed no further, for tho point she is aiming at is reached then and there.

" Lord ! I won't stay in the house another hour !" gulps Patty, turning deadly palo. " I'm going to pack my trunk and get out now while I'm safe." " So'm I !" gasps the cook. "And I!" responds the laundress. "And I! And I!" echo all the rest. " Lord deliver us ! the house is haunted !" Then, with suppressed "Ohs!" and " Ahs !"™they bundle out of the room and rush headlong up the stairs. "A fine pickle you've gob yourself into now !" grunts the undertaker, as they disappear. "In twenty minutes everyone of those fools will be out of the house, and you can have it to yourself to-night, at least. Yes, and until new servants can be had from Boston, for money wouldn't tempt that batch to stay now !" Then, with a snort, he bangs the door and goes above, serenely unconscious that the moment he goes, madame falls upon her knees with a faint, low cry, and lifts her clasped hands as a token of gratitude to Heaven.

" Thank God they will go, and I shall be here until morning—alone !" she says, in a wavering whisper. " Heaven is good to me —oh, very good—and now I see my way ! But one more task ;to see —to see .Meester Dane, and bind him to secrecy, and then all is safe, all is safe until —the Judgment day !" *• * * * *

An hour later, what the undertaker has predicted comes to pass ; the servants fly from Darkendale as from a place accursed — from the coachman to the dairymaid—not one will consent to stay, and night coming in blackness and storm, finds Madame Benvarde all alone under the roof-tree of that fatal house.

She asks for no aid, she sends for no one to help her in the sick roomwhere Norma lies delirious still—and for the entire fortyeight hours that drag out in storm and gloom before the day of the funeral comes around, nothing living passes over the threshold, and under the driving rain and beating wind, Darkendale stands alone— shunned even by the curious—like a house

" Under somo prodigious ban Of excommunication."

Solitary as an exile, madame is left; and solitary still she follows the two coffins when hey are taken out and driven over to the village graveyard. There are no relatives, no other friends to follow the dead, and when the hearse rolls out of the gates of Darkendale, it is accompanied by only ono carriago, and in that madame sits.

She alone has guarded the dead and she alone follows them to the tomb.

It has stormed since the morning of the inquest, and it storms still—a heavy, steady fall of rain that soaks the horses and sops the drivers—as the two vehicles glide down the winding road into the valley where the graveyard lies—such a dreary, lonely graveyard as it is at best, such a forlorn, forgotten graveyard as it looks to-day, with the light slanting down between the hills that shut it in, the grey trees dripping and the grey sky scowling over all. The cracked bell tolls a doleful note as hey pass boneath the arch and enter the drive that trails on between the mounds of

green and the wet, white tombstones, ana to the day of her death, Madame Benvard*. never quite forgets that dismal afternoon. . The sexton meets them at the bend, just below the spot where the burial is to take place, and calls the carriage to a halt. "There has been an accident," ho ex* plains. "The rain has washed the earth back into one of the graves and half filled it, and he and his assistant are busy repairing the difficulty. If the lady likes, she can step into the receiving vault with the i gentleman and wait. There will be no danger of the rain soaking into the carriage then, and as the work of repairing the grave will , occupy almost an hour longer, Mr. Swelkins, the undertaker, can lift the bodies into the tomb also, and let the hearse be driven home. As it is only a few steps from the vault to the graves, the coffins can as well be carried over by the men." Mr. Swelkins, who has an eye to the welfare of the plumes and funeral trappings of his horses, strongly urges the advisability of following out this suggestion, and madame, nothing loath, obeys. , The two coffins are lifted out and seto down upon the stone flooring of the vault, then madame and Mr. Swelkins follow; the hearse drives off and leaves the two wooden boxes at the graves, then drives homo through.the rain, and the hour of waiting begins. ' Mr. Swelkins tramps up and down the spacious, high-ceiled vault, glancing at thor tablets and possibly speculating upon the E resent condition of the several gentlemen e personally has helped into those sealed recesses ; but madame, as motionless as they, stands like a crepe spectre close to the two coffins and rigidly holds her peace. The hour passes, but brings no sign of tho sexton, the storm slackens a little, the sky seems to shut down closer, but, not speaking, not moving, still she stands there looking at those two coffinsone of common stained wood, the other of velvet, with mountings of gold— all of a sudden, she utters a sharp, shrill cry, that brings Mr. Swelkins to her side like an arrow, and,' falling back against the wall, leans there faint and white with terror.

[To be continued.]