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

He who shakes the tree of Vengeance but harvests apples of Sodom

in whose fruit of ashes he becomes buried, for the wage of the

sinner is death.

There was no doubt of Ragobah’s guilt in any of our minds, so that

action at our end of the line seemed entirely useless, and nothing

was left us but to quietly await whatever developments Maitland

should disclose. We were not kept long in suspense, for in less than

a week his next letter arrived. I broke its seal in the presence of

Gwen and my sister who, if possible, were even more excited than I

myself. Is it to be wondered at? Here was the letter which was to

tell us whether or not the murderer of John Darrow had been caught.

We felt that if Ragobah had returned to India, according to his

expressed intention, there could be no doubt upon this point. But

had he so returned? I read as follows:

MY DEAR DOCTOR:

The Dalmatia arrived as expected on Thursday, and on her came Ragobah.

I had him arrested as he stepped from the boat. When examined he

did not seem in the least disconcerted at the charges I preferred

against him. This did not surprise me, however, as I had expected

that a man who could roll his naked body over the burning sands from

Mabaj an to the Ganges, and who could rise from the Vaisyan to the

Brahman caste, - albeit he fell again, - would not be likely to betray

his cause by exhibiting either fear or excitement. He acknowledged

his acquaintance with Mr. Darrow and the ill-feeling existing between

them. When charged with his murder at Dorchester on the night of the

22d of April he coolly asked if I were aware when and how he had left

India. I had not neglected to look this matter up and told him he had

left on the same steamer which had brought him back - the Dalmatia -=20

which should have arrived at New York on the 21st of April, thus

leaving him ample time to get to Boston before the night of the 22d.

To this he replied with the utmost assurance. (I give you the exact

gist of what he said. Since I was not able to immediately commit his

language to writing, you will, of course, hardiy expect me to remember

those peculiar Oriental idioms which an Indian, however great his

command of English, never drops. What I say here is, of course, true

of all conversations I put before you except such as I practically

reported.) - But to return to our muttons. As I was saying, he

replied with the utmost assurance:

“The Sahib is right. I did sail upon the Dalmatia, due at New York

on the 21st of April. This steamer, as you are perhaps aware, is

propelled by twin screws. On the trip in question she broke one

of her propellers in mid-Atlantic and in consequence, arrived in New

York on the 24th of April, three days late, without the transference

of any of her passengers to other boats. If you will take the

trouble to at once verify this statement at the steamship office,

you will be able to relieve me of the annoyance of further detention.”

All this was said with a rare command of language and a cold, cynical

politeness which cut like a knife. I at first thought it was merely

a ruse to gain time, but the steamship officials substantiated every

word uttered by Ragobah relative to their vessel. The Dalmatia had

steamed into New York at eleven o’clock on the morning of the 24th

day of April with a broken screw!

Imagine my amazement! The net of circumstantial evidence wound

around Ragobah seemed to be such as to leave no possibility of

escape, and yet, the very first effort made to draw it tighter about

him had resulted in his walking, with the utmost ease, right through

its meshes! There is no gainsaying such an alibi, and I am,

therefore, forced to acknowledge that Rama Ragobah could not, by any

possibility, have murdered John Darrow. That he may have planned

the deed and that he may have intended to be present at its execution

is quite possible, but we may at once dismiss the idea of his having

personally committed the act. You will immediately appreciate that

nearly all of the evidence which we secured against Ragobah was

directed against him as the assassin, and is of little or no use to

prove his complicity in an affair committed by another. In his

hatred of Mr. Darrow we have, I believe, a sufficient motive for

the act, but what evidence have we to support the theory that the

murder was committed by anyone acting in his interests? I must

confess my inability to detect, at present writing, the slightest

evidence that Ragobah acted through an accomplice. So, here the

matter rests.

I may state in closing that Ragobah has requested the “pleasure”

(sic) of a private interview with me on Malabar Hill to-morrow

night. As there is a bare possibility he may let fall something

which may shed some light upon the accomplice hypothesis, I have

agreed to meet him at the entrance to the little cave at nine

o’clock. He has requested that I come (alone and I shall do so,

but, lest you fear for my safety, let me assure you that I know

very well the unscrupulous nature of the man with whom I am to

deal and that I shall take good care not to afford him any

opportunity to catch me unawares. You will hear from me again

after I meet Ragobah.

Remember me kindly to Miss Darrow. The failure of my enterprise

will, I know, be a bitter disappointment to her, and you must temper

this acknowledgment of it with such a hope of ultimate success as

you may enjoy. Tell her I shall never cease my efforts to solve

this mystery so long as I am able to find a clue, however slight,

to follow. At present I am all at sea, and it looks as if I should

have to go clear back and start all over again. Ragobah, as a

point of departure, has not proved a success. With my kind regards

to you all,

I remain, cordially yours,

GEORGE MAITLAND.

I read this through aloud, despite the fact that I knew some parts

of it were intended only for my perusal. Gwen did not speak until

some minutes after I had finished, and then only to express a fear

that, despite his caution, harm might come to Maitland at his

interview with Ragobah. She seemed to be far less disappointed at

Maitland’s failure to convict Ragobah than she was fearful for her

friend’s personal safety. She was restless and ill at ease for the

next two or three days - in fact, until the arrival of Maitland’s

next letter. This came during my absence on a professional call,

and when I returned home she met me with it at the door with an

expression of relief upon her countenance so plain as not to be

misconstrued. We went into the sitting-room, where my sister was

awaiting the news, and I read as follows:

MY DEAR DOCTOR:

I kept my appointment last night with Rama Ragobah and, although

nothing transpired at all likely to assist me in locating Mr.

Darrow’s assassin, yet the interview, though short, was interesting

and worth narrating. Promptly at nine o’clock I was at my post by

the little cave. I am still staying with Herr Blaschek and, as I

had but a few rods to travel, I did not quit the house until within

five minutes of the time appointed for our meeting. As I stepped

out into the darkness I noticed a tall form glide behind a tree,

about a rod away from the door. I could not be sure it was Ragobah,

yet I had little doubt of it. I was a trifle taken aback at the

moment, and instinctively placed my hand upon my revolver and

grasped my cane more firmly. Should occasion require it, I counted

upon this cane quite as much as upon my revolver, for, innocent and

inoffensive as it looked, it was capable of most deadly execution.

I had chosen it in preference to many other more pretentious weapons

which had suggested themselves to me. It consisted of a small,

flexible steel wire hardly bigger than the blade of a foil,

surmounted by a good-sized lead ball, and the whole covered with a

closely woven fabric. By grasping the cane by its lower end a

tremendously heavy blow could be struck with the ball, and, if an

attempt were made to shield the head by throwing up the arm, it

was almost certain to fail of its object since the flexibility of

the wire permitted it to bend about an obstruction until its loaded

end was brought home. You will perhaps think that, since I did not

make use of this weapon, I need not have troubled myself to describe

it. Perhaps that is so, but, let me assure you, when I saw Ragobah,

for it was he, glide behind that tree, and reflected how capable he

was of every kind of treachery, I wouldn’t have parted with that

cane for its weight in gold. The Indian had pledged me to come

alone and had promised to do likewise, but I felt any tree might

conceal one of his minions, hired to assassinate me while he engaged

my attention. All this, of course, did not in the least affect my

decision. I had promised to go alone, and Miss Darrow’s interests

required - that I should keep my covenant. I should have done so,

even though I had known Ragobah meant to betray me. I may as well,

however, tell you at once that my suspicions wronged the fellow.

He had evidently taken his station behind a tree to satisfy himself,

without exposure, that I meant to keep my promise and come alone.

When I reached the cave I found him awaiting me. How he was able

to get there before me passes my comprehension, but there he was.

He did not waste time, but addressed me at once, and, as my memory

is excellent and our interview was short, I am able to give you an

accurate report of what passed between us. I copy it here just as

I entered it in my notebook, immediately upon my return to the house.

“You naturally wish to know,” Ragobah began, “why I have sought this

interview. That is easily explained. You have done me the honour,

Sahib, for I feel it is such, to suspect me of the murder of John

Darrow. You have come here from America to fasten the crime upon

me, and, from the bottom of my heart, I regret your failure to do

so. I would give everything I possess on earth, and would gladly

suffer a life of torment, to be able truthfully to say: ‘I, Rama

Ragobah, killed John Darrow.’ But despite all my efforts, I, wretch

that I am, am innocent! For more than twenty years I have had but

one purpose, - one thought, - and that was to track down and slay

John Darrow. This desire consumed me. It led me all over India

in vain search for him. For nineteen years-I laboured incessantly,

without discovering so