The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (brene brown rising strong txt) 📕

Osborne will say when he learns of these articles. He will say

they strengthen his theory; that no sane man would publish such a

thing, except as a weak attempt to deceive the insurance companies.

As for the money all being paid to the discoverer of the assassin,

instead of to his daughter, he will simply dispose of that by

saying: ‘No assassin, no reward, and the fund remains intact.’ If

now, the other papers permit Miss Darrow to use the interest of this

fund while holding the principal in trust, we do not at present know

enough of this matter to successfully refute Osborne’s reasoning.

This mystery seems to grow darker rather than lighter. The one

thing upon which we seem continually to get evidence is the question

of sanity. If Mr. Darrow’s suspicions were directed against no one

in particular, then it is clear his dreams, and all the rest of his

fears for that matter, had a purely subjective origin, which is to

say that upon this one subject, at least, he was of unsound mind.”

“I cannot think so,” Gwen interrupted. “He was so rational in

everything else.”

“That is quite possible,” I replied. “I have known people to be

monomaniacs upon the subject of water, and to go nowhere without a

glass of it in their hands. There is also a well-authenticated case

of a man who was as sane as you or I until he heard the words ‘real

estate.’ One day while quietly carving the meat at a dinner to

which he had invited several guests, a gentleman opposite him

inadvertently spoke the fatal words, when, without a word of warning,

he sprang at him across the table, using the carving-knife with all

the fury of the most violent maniac; and yet, under all other

conditions, he was perfectly rational.”

“If, on the other hand,” said Maitland, continuing his remarks as if

unaware of our interruption, “Mr. Darrow’s suspicions had any

foundation in fact, it is almost certain they must have been directed

against some specific person or persons. If so, why did he not name

them ? - but, stay - how do we know that he did not? Let us proceed

with our examination of the papers,” and he began perusing the

insurance policies. Neither Gwen nor I spoke till he had finished

and thrown them down, when we both turned expectantly toward him.

“All in Osborne’s favour so far,” he said. “Principal to be held in

trust by Miss Darrow under the terms of a will which we have yet to

find; the income, until the discharge of the trust, to go to Miss

Darrow. Now for this,” and he passed Gwen the sealed envelope

addressed to her.

She broke the seal with much agitation. “Shall I read it aloud?”

she asked.

We signified our desire to hear it, and she read as follows:

MY DEAR GWEN:

My forebodings have seemed to you strange and uncalled for, but when

this comes to your hand you will know whether or not they were

groundless. Of one episode in my career which shook the structure

of my being to its foundation stone, you have been carefully kept

in ignorance. It is necessary that you should know it when I am

gone, and I have accordingly committed it to this paper, which will

then fall into your hands. My early life, until two years after I

married your mother, was spent in India, the adult portion thereof

being devoted to the service of the East India Company. I had charge

of a department in their depot at Bombay. You have seen Naples.

Add to the beauties of that city the interesting and motley

population of Cairo and you can form some idea of the attractions of

Bombay. I was very happy there until the occurrence of the event I

am about to narrate.

One morning, my duties calling me to one of the wharves, my attention

was attracted by a young girl dancing upon the flags by the water’s

edge. The ordinary bayadere is so common an object in India as to

attract but little notice from anyone of refined tastes, but this

girl, judging from the chaste beauty of her movements, was of a very

different type. As my curiosity drew me nearer to her she turned her

face toward me, and in that instant I knew my hour had come.

Though many years her senior she was still my first love, - the one

great passion of my life.

I do not attempt to describe her ineffable loveliness, for, like the

beauty of a flower, it was incapable of analysis. Nothing that I

could write would give you any adequate idea of this girl’s seraphic

face, for she was like unto no one you have ever seen in this cold

Western world. I watched in a wild, nervous transport, I know not

how long - time and space had no part in this new ecstasy of mine!

I could think of nothing, do nothing - only feel, - feel the hot

blood deluge my brain only to fall back in scalding torrents upon

my heart with a pain that was exquisite pleasure.

Suddenly she changed her step and executed a quick backward movement

toward the water, stopping just as her heels touched the curb at the

edge of the wharf; then forward, and again a quick return to the

backward movement, but this time she mistook the distance, her heels

struck the curb forcibly, and she was precipitated backward into the

water. For a moment I stood as one petrified, unable to reason,

much less to act; then the excited voices of the crowd recalled me.

They had thrown a rope into the water and were waiting for her to

come to the surface and grasp it. The wall from which she had fallen

must have been at least fifteen feet above the water, which was

littered with broken spars, pieces of timber, and other odd bits of

wood. It seemed as if she would never come to the surface, and when

at length she did, she did not attempt to seize the rope thrown to

her, but sank without a movement. The truth flashed upon me in an

instant. She had struck her head against some of the floating drift

and was unconscious! Something must be done at once. I seized the

rope and sprang in after her, taking good care to avoid obstructions,

and although, as you know, I never learned to swim, I succeeded in

reaching her, and we were drawn up together. I bore her in my arms

into one of the storerooms close by, and, laying her upon a bale of

cotton, used such restoratives as could be quickly procured.

I was kneeling by her, my arm under her neck, in the act of raising

her head, when she opened her eyes, and fastened them, full of

wonderment, upon my face. A moment more, her memory returning to her,

she made a little movement, as if to free herself. I was too excited

then to heed it, and continued to support her head. She did not

repeat the movement, but half closed her eyes and leaned back

resignedly against my arm. If, I thought, these few minutes could

be expanded into an eternity, it would be my idea of heaven. She

was recovering rapidly now and soon raised herself into a sitting

posture, saying, in very good English, “I think I can stand now,

Sahib.” I gave her my arm and assisted her to her feet. Her

hand closed upon my sleeve as if to see how wet it was, and glancing

at my dripping garments, she said simply: “You have been in the

water, Sahib, and it is to you I owe my life. I shall never forget

your kindness. She raised her eyes to my face and met my gaze for

a moment, as she spoke. We are told that the eye is incapable of

any expression save that lent it by the lids and brow, - that the

eyeball itself, apart from its direction, and the changes of the

pupil resulting from variations in the intensity of light, can

carry no message whatsoever. This may be so, but, without any

noticeable movement of the eyes that met mine, I learned with

ineffable delight that this young girl’s soul and mine were threaded

upon the same cord of destiny. My emotion so overpowered me that

I could not speak, and when my self-possession returned the young

girl had vanished.

>From the height of bliss I now plunged into the abyss of despair.

I had let her go without a word. I did not even know her name. I

had caught her to myself from the ocean only to suffer her to drown

herself among the half-million inhabitants of Bombay. What must she

think of me? I asked the wharfinger if he knew her, but he had never

seen her before. All my other inquiries proved equally fruitless.

I wondered if she knew that I loved her, but hardiy dared to hope

she had been able to correctly interpret my boorish conduct. I

could think of but one thing to do. If I did not know her name,

neither did she know mine, and so if she desired a further

acquaintance, she, like myself, must rely upon a chance meeting.

If she had detected my admiration for her she must know that I too

would strive to meet her again. Where would she be most likely to

expect me to look for her? Clearly at the same place we had met

before, and at the same time of day. She might naturally think my

duties called me there daily at that hour. I determined to be there

at the same time the next day.

I arrived to find her there before me, anxiously peering at the

passers-by. She was certainly looking for me, - there was ecstasy

in the thought!

It is not necessary, my dear child, that I should describe the

details of our love-making, for my present purpose is not merely to

interest you, but rather to acquaint you with certain occurrences

which I now deem it wise you should know. Time only intensified our

love for each other, and for several months all went well. One

serious obstacle to our union presented itself, - that of caste.

Her people, Lona said, would never permit her to marry outside her

own station in life, besides which there was another ground upon

which we might be equally sure of their opposition. They had already

chosen for her and she was betrothed to Rama Ragobah. It is of this

man that I have chiefly to speak. By birth he was of the same Vaisya

caste as Lona. Early in life his lot had fallen among fakirs and

he had acquired all their secrets. This did not satisfy his

ambitions, for he wished to be numbered among the rishis or adepts,

and subjected himself to the most horrible asceticism to qualify

himself for adeptship. His indifference to physical pain was truly

marvellous. He had rolled his naked body to the Ganges over

hundreds of miles of burning sands! He had held his hands clinched

until the nails had worn through the palm and out at the back of the

hand. He had at one time maintained for weeks a slow fire upon the

top of his head, keeping the skin burned to the skull.

When he came wooing Lona, his rigid asceticism had much relaxed, but

he would still seek to amuse her by driving knives into his body

until she would sicken at the blood, a condition of affairs which,

she said, afforded him great enjoyment. Ragobah was a man of

gigantic build