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

his belongings went inland, so I was told. I believed the story

and felt sure I should one day find him on Indian soil. Years

passed and I did not find him. It was but a few months ago that

I discovered his ruse and learned his whereabouts. I could scarcely

contain myself for joy. My life-work was at last to be completed.

Nothing now remained but to plan his destruction. This, however,

was not so easy a thing to do, since, in order to make my revenge

complete, I must disclose my identity before killing him. At

length I decided upon a plan. I would come upon him at night, when

asleep, gag him and bind him to his bed. Then he should learn the

name of his doomsman, and the horrible nature of the death that

awaited him.”

Ragobah paused here as if overcome by his disappointment, and I

said, “And how did you intend to kill him?” He gave a throaty

chuckle, as he replied: “It was all so very pretty! I had only to

saturate the bedclothes with oil and set fire to them. I should

have lighted them at his feet and watched the flames creep upward

toward his head till safety compelled my retreat. It was for this

purpose I went to New York. You already know the fatal delay I

incurred. When I landed I made all haste to the home of Darrow

Sahib, in Dorchester, only to learn that he had killed himself a

few days before my arrival. The morsel for which I had striven and

hungered for twenty long years was whipped from my hand, even as I

raised it to my mouth. My enemy was dead, beyond the power of

injury, and my hands were unstained by his blood.

“I then determined to kill his daughter. It was the night of my

enemy’s burial. The Sahibah was alone in the house and was intending

to leave it that night. I knew she would see that everything was

securely fastened before she went away, and so, when I opened one

of the windows, I was sure she would come to close it. Crouching

down outside I awaited her approach, intending to spring up and stab

her while she was pulling the window down. Everything happened as

I planned - what ails the Sahib? I did not kill her! No, at the

last moment something - never mind what - stayed my arm! The death

of an innocent girl did not promise me any lasting satisfaction and

I gave up the idea, returned to New York, and re-embarked for Bombay

as innocent in act as when I left it. My life had been a failure

and I had no desire to prolong it. When you arrested me on the

charge of murder, nothing would have given me greater pleasure than

to have been able to plead guilty.

“You already know why I so hated Darrow. He robbed me of the only

woman I ever loved. Maddened by jealousy, I told her I had thrown

him into the well in the cave here. It was a lie, but she believed

it, and fled from me, and in a few minutes had thrown herself into

that bottomless hole. See, Sahib,” he said, entering the cave and

pointing down the dark shaft, - “that is the road she took in order

that her bones might rest with his, and, after all, they are

thousands of miles apart. It’s not the triumph I planned, but it’s

all I have! And this is why I brought you here; that you may take

back to my enemy’s family the knowledge that in death I am triumphant.

Tell them,” he said, rising to his full height, “that while the

carcass of the English cur rots in a foreign land, Rama Ragobah’s

bones lie mingled with those of his beautiful Lona!” - My blood

was up, and I rushed fiercely at him. With the quickness of a cat

he dodged me, spat in my face as I turned, and, with a horrible

laugh, sprang headlong into the well. Down deeper and deeper sank

the laugh - then it died away - then a faint plash - and all was

silent. Rama Ragobah was gone! For fully ten minutes I stood

dazed and irresolute and then returned mechanically to the house.

I at first thought of informing the authorities of the whole

affair, but, when I realised how hard it would be for me to prove

my innocence were I charged with Ragobah’s murder, I decided to keep

the secret of the well.

I shudder when I think of Miss Darrow’s narrow escape. Did you

suspect who her assailant really was? I wonder you have written me

nothing about it, but suppose you thought it would only needlessly

alarm me. If you had known it was our friend Ragobah, you would

doubtless have felt it imperative that I should know of it, - so I

conclude from your silence that you did not discover his identity.

I need not, of course, tell you, my dear Doctor, that we have

reached the end of our Indian clue, and that I deem it wise, all

things considered, for me to get out of India just as soon as

possible. If this letter is in any way delayed, you need not be

surprised if I have the pleasure of relating its contents in person.

Remember me to Miss Darrow and tell her how sorry I am that, thus

far, I have been unable to be of any real service to her. As I

shall see you so soon I need write nothing further. Kind regards

to Miss Alice.

Ever yours,

GEORGE MAITLAND.

When I had finished reading this letter I looked up at Gwen,

expecting to see that its news had depressed her. I must confess,

however, that I could not detect any such effect. On the contrary,

she seemed to be in much better spirits than when I began reading.

“According to this letter, then,” she said, addressing me somewhat

excitedly, “we may - ” but she let fall her eyes and did not complete

her sentence. My sister bestowed upon her one of those glances

described in the vernacular of woman as “knowing” and then said to

me: “We may expect Mr. Maitland at any time, it seems.” “Yes,” I

replied; “he will lose no time in getting here. He undoubtedly feels

much chagrined at his failure and will now be more than ever

determined to see the affair through to a successful conclusion. He

is in the position of a hound that has lost its scent, and is eager

to return to its point of departure for a fresh start. I fancy it

will be no easy task to discover a new clue, and I shall watch

Maitland’s work in this direction with a great deal of curiosity.”

Gwen did not speak, but she listened to our conversation with a

nearer approach to a healthy interest than I had known her to display

on any other occasion since her father’s death. I regarded this as

a good omen. Her condition, since that sad occurrence, had worried

me a good deal. She seemed to have lost her hold on life and to

exist in a state of wearied listlessness. Nothing seemed to impress

her and she would at times forget, in the midst of a sentence, what

she had intended to say when she began it! Her elasticity was gone

and every effort a visible burden to her. I knew the consciousness

of her loss was as a dull, heavy weight bearing her down, and I knew,

too, that she could not marshal her will to resist it, - that, in

fact, she really didn’t care, so tired was she of it all. Experience

had taught me how the dull, heavy ache of a great loss will press

upon the consciousness with the regular, persistent, relentless

throb of a loaded wheel and eat out one’s life with the slow

certainty of a cancer. This I knew to have been Gwen’s state since

her father’s death, and all my attempts to bring about a healthful

reaction had hitherto been futile. It is not to be wondered at,

therefore, that even the transient interest she had evinced was

hailed by me with delight as the beginning of that healthful

reaction for which I had so long sought. When a human bark in the

full tide of life is suddenly dashed upon the rocks of despair the

wreckage is strewn far and wide, and it is with no little difficulty

that enough can be rescued to serve in the rebuilding of even the

smallest of craft. The thought, therefore, that Gwen’s intellectual

flotsam was beginning at length to swirl about a definite object in

a way to facilitate the rescue of her faculties was to me a

decidedly reassuring one, and I noted with pleasure that the state

of excited expectancy which she had tried in vain to conceal did not

wane, but waxed stronger as the days went by.

THE EPISODE OF THE PARALLEL READERS