The Leavenworth Case by Anna Katharine Green (best books to read all time TXT) 📕

other; every one seemed to hesitate to proceed. I heard a tremulous sigh at my side, and, turning, beheld Mary Leavenworth staring at her cousin with a startled flush on her cheek, as if she began to recognize that the public, as well as herself, detected something in this woman, calling for explanation.

At last the coroner summoned up courage to continue.

“You ask me, Miss Leavenworth, upon the evidence given, what then? Your question obliges me to say that no burglar, no hired assassin, would have used this pistol for a murderous purpose, and then taken the pains, not only to clean it, but to reload it, and lock it up again in the drawer from which he had taken it.”

She did not reply to this; but I saw Mr. Gryce make a note of it with that peculiar emphatic nod of his.

“Nor,” he went on, even more gravely, “would it be possible for any one who was not accustomed to pass in and out of Mr. Leavenworth’s room at all hours, to enter his door so late at night, procure this pistol from its place of concealment, traverse his apartment, and advance as closely upon him as the facts show to have been necessary, without causing him at least to turn his head to one side; which, in consideration of the doctor’s testimony, we cannot believe he did.”

It was a frightful suggestion, and we looked to see Eleanore Leavenworth recoil. But that expression of outraged feeling was left for her cousin to exhibit. Starting indignantly from her seat, Mary cast one hurried glance around her, and opened her lips to speak; but Eleanore, slightly turning, motioned her to have patience, and replied in a cold and calculating voice: “You are not sure, sir, that this was done. If my uncle, for some purpose of his own, had fired the pistol off yesterday, let us say—which is surely possible, if not probable—the like results would be observed, and the same conclusions drawn.”

“Miss Leavenworth,” the coroner went on, “the ball has been extracted from your uncle’s head!”

“Ah!”

“It corresponds with those in the cartridges found in his stand drawer, and is of the number used with this pistol.”

Her head fell forward on her hands; her eyes sought the floor; her whole attitude expressed disheartenment. Seeing it, the coroner grew still more grave.

“Miss Leavenworth,” said he, “I have now some questions to put you concerning last night. Where did you spend the evening?”

“Alone, in my own room.”

“You, however, saw your uncle or your cousin during the course of it?”

“No, sir; I saw no one after leaving the dinner table—except Thomas,” she added, after a moment’s pause.

“And how came you to see him?”

“He came to bring me the card of a gentleman who called.”

“May I ask the name of the gentleman?”

“The name on the card was Mr. Le Roy Robbins.”

The matter seemed trivial; but the sudden start given by the lady at my side made me remember it.

“Miss Leavenworth, when seated in your room, are you in the habit of leaving your door open?”

A startled look at this, quickly suppressed. “Not in the habit; no, sir.”

“Why did you leave it open last night?”

“I was feeling warm.”

“No other reason?”

“I can give no other.”

“When did you close it?”

“Upon retiring.”

“Was that before or after the servants went up?”

“After.”

“Did you hear Mr. Harwell when he left the library and ascended to his room?”

“I did, sir.”

“How much longer did you leave your door open after that?”

“I—I—a few minutes—a—I cannot say,” she added, hurriedly.

“Cannot say? Why? Do you forget?”

“I forget just how long after Mr. Harwell came up I closed it.”

“Was it more than ten minutes?”

“Yes.”

“More than twenty?”

“Perhaps.” How pale her face was, and how she trembled!

“Miss Leavenworth, according to evidence, your uncle came to his death not very long after Mr. Harwell left him. If your door was open, you ought to have heard if any one went to his room, or any pistol shot was fired. Now, did you hear anything?”

“I heard no confusion; no, sir.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Nor any pistol shot.”

“Miss Leavenworth, excuse my persistence, but did you hear anything?”

“I heard a door close.”

“What door?”

“The library door.”

“When?”

“I do not know.” She clasped her hands hysterically. “I cannot say. Why do you ask me so many questions?”

I leaped to my feet; she was swaying, almost fainting. But before I could reach her, she had drawn herself up again, and resumed her former demeanor. “Excuse me,” said she; “I am not myself this morning. I beg your pardon,” and she turned steadily to the coroner. “What was it you asked?”

“I asked,” and his voice grew thin and high,—evidently her manner was beginning to tell against her,—“when it was you heard the library door shut?”

“I cannot fix the precise time, but it was after Mr. Harwell came up, and before I closed my own.”

“And you heard no pistol shot?”

“No, sir.”

The coroner cast a quick look at the jury, who almost to a man glanced aside as he did so.

“Miss Leavenworth, we are told that Hannah, one of the servants, started for your room late last night after some medicine. Did she come there?”

“No, sir.”

“When did you first learn of her remarkable disappearance from this house during the night?”

“This morning before breakfast. Molly met me in the hall, and asked how Hannah was. I thought the inquiry a strange one, and naturally questioned her. A moment’s