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

listen to a song by Miss Darrow. The house, as you are perhaps

aware, overlooks Dorchester Bay. The afternoon had been very hot,

but at dusk a cold east wind had sprung up, which, as it was still

early in the season, was not altogether agreeable to our host,

sitting as he was, back to, though fully eight feet from, an open

window looking to the east. Maitland, with his usual quick

observation, noticed his discomfort and asked if he should not

close the window. The old gentleman did not seem to hear the

question until it was repeated, when, starting as if from a reverie,

he said: “If it will not be too warm for the rest of you, I would

like to have it partly closed, say to within six inches, for the

wind is cold”; and he seemed to relapse again into his reverie.

Maitland was obliged to use considerable strength to force the

window down, as it stuck in the casing, and when it finally gave

way it closed with a loud shrieking sound ending in the bang of

the counterweights. At the noise Darrow sprang to his feet,

exclaiming: “Again! The same sound! I knew I could not mistake

it!” but by this time Gwen was at his side, pressing him gently back

into his seat, as she said to him in an undertone audible to all of

us: “What is it, father?” The old gentleman only pressed her

closer by way of reply, while he said to us apologetically: “You

must excuse me, gentlemen. I have a certain dream which haunts

me, - the dream of someone striking me out of the darkness. Last

night I had the same dream for the seventh time and awoke to hear

that window opened. There is no mistaking the sound I heard just

now; it is identical with that I heard last night. I sprang out

of bed, took a light, and rushed down here, for I am not afraid

to meet anything I can see, but the window was closed and locked,

as I had left it! What do you think, Doctor,” he said, turning to

me, “are dreams ever prophetic?”

“I have never,” I replied, anxious to quiet him, “had any

personal experience justifying such a conclusion.” I did not tell

him of certain things which had happened to friends of mine, and

so my reply reassured him.

Maitland, who had been startled by the old gentleman’s conduct,

now returned to the window and opened it about six inches. There

was no other window open in the room, and yet so fresh was the air

that we were not uncomfortable. Darrow, with ill-concealed pride,

then asked his daughter to sing, and she left him and went to the

piano. “Shall I not light the lamp?” I asked. “I think we shall

not need it,” the old gentleman replied, “music is always better

in the gloaming.”

In order that you may understand what follows, it will be necessary

for me to describe to you our several positions in the room. The

apartment is large, nearly square, and occupies the southeast corner

of the house. The eastern side of the room has one window, that

which had been left open about six inches, and on the southern side

of the room there were two windows, both of which were securely

fastened and the blinds of which had been closed by the painters who,

that morning, had primed the eastern and southern sides of the house,

preparatory to giving it a thorough repainting. On the north side of

the room, but much nearer to the western than the eastern end, are

folding doors. These on this occasion were closed and fastened. On

the western side of the room is the piano, and to the left of it,

near the southwest corner, is a door leading to the hallway. This

door was closed. As I have already told you, Darrow sat in a

high-backed easy-chair facing the piano and almost in the centre of

the room. The partly opened window on the east side was directly

behind him and fully eight feet away. Herne and Browne sat upon

Darrow’s right and a little in front of him against the folding

doors, while Maitland and I were upon his left, between him and the

hall door. Gwen was at the piano. There are no closets, draperies,

or niches in the room. I think you will now be able to understand

the situation fully.

Whether the gloom of the scene suggested it to her, or whether it

was merely a coincidence, I do not know, but Miss Darrow began to

sing “In the Gloaming” in a deep, rich contralto voice which seemed

fraught with a weird, melancholy power. When I say that her voice

was ineffably sympathetic I would not have you confound this quality

either with the sepulchral or the aspirated tone which usually is

made to do duty for sympathy, especially in contralto voices. Every

note was as distinct, as brilliantly resonant, as a cello in a

master’s hand. So clear, so full the notes rang out that I could

plainly feel the chair vibrate beneath me.

“In the gloaming, 0 my darling!

When the lights are dim and low,

And the quiet shadows falling

Softly come and softly go.

When the winds are sobbing faintly

With a gentle unknown woe,

Will you think of me and love me

As you did once, long ago?

“In the gloaming, 0 my darling!

Think not bitterly of me,

Though I passed away in silence,

Left you lonely, set you free.

For my heart was crushed with longing.

What had been could never be:

It was best to leave you thus, dear,

Best for you and best”

But the line was never finished. With a wild cry, more of fear than

of pain, Darrow sprang from his chair. “Gentlemen, I have been

stabbed!” was all he said, and fell back heavily into his seat. Gwen

was kneeling before him in an instant, even before I could assist

him. His right hand was pressed to his throat and his eyes seemed

starting from their sockets as he shouted hoarsely: “A light, a

light! For God’s sake, don’t let him strike me again in the dark!”

Maitland was already lighting the gas and Herne and Browne, so Browne

afterward told me, were preparing to seize the assailant. I

remembered, after it all was over, a quick movement Browne had made

toward the darkest corner of the room.

The apartment was now flooded with light, and I looked for the

assassin. He was not to be found! The room contained only Gwen,

Darrow, and his four invited guests! The doors were closed; the

windows had not been touched. No one could possibly have entered

or left the room, and yet the assassin was not there. But one

solution remained; Darrow was labouring under a delusion, and

Gwen’s voice would restore him. As she was about to speak I

stepped back to note the effect of her words upon him. “Do not

fear, father,” she said in a low voice as she laid her face against

his cheek, “there is nothing here to hurt you. You are ill, - I

will get you a glass of cordial and you will be yourself again in

a moment.” She was about to rise when her father seized her

frantically by the arm, exclaiming in a hoarse whisper: “Don’t

leave me! Can’t you see? Don’t leave me!” and for the first time

he removed his hand from his throat, and taking her head between

his palms, gazed wistfully into her face. He tried to speak again,

but could not, and glanced up at us with=20a helpless expression

which I shall never forget. Maitland, his eyes riveted upon the

old gentleman, whose thoughts he seemed to divine, hurriedly

produced a pencil and notebook and held them toward him, but

he did not see them, for he had drawn Gwen’s face down to him and

was kissing her passionately. The next instant he was on his feet

and from the swollen veins that stood out like cords upon his neck

and forehead, we could see the terrible effort he was making to

speak. At last the words came, - came as if they were torn hissing

from his throat, for he took a full breath between each one of them.

“Gwen - I - knew - it! Goodbye! Remember - your - promise!”

- and he fell a limp mass into his chair, overcome, I felt sure,

by the fearful struggle he had made. Maitland seized a glass of

water and threw it in his face. I loosened the clothing about his

neck and, in doing so, his head fell backward and his face was

turned upward toward me. The features were drawn, - the eyes were

glazed and set. I felt of his heart; he was dead!