American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

story well enough to say that – but what have you to tell me in proof that you should not lose your anticipated income as well? Something vital, I hope, else I cannot help you; something which you should have told the coroner’s jury – and did not.’

The flush which was the sole answer these words called forth did not take from the refinement of the young widow’s expression, but rather added to it; Violet watched it in its ebb and flow and, seriously affected by it (why, she did not know, for Mrs Hammond had made no other appeal either by look or gesture), pushed forward a chair and begged her visitor to be seated.

‘We can converse in perfect safety here,’ she said. ‘When you feel quite equal to it, let me hear what you have to communicate. It will never go any further. I could not do the work I do if I felt it necessary to have a confidant.’

‘But you are so young and so – so –’

‘So inexperienced you would say and so evidently a member of what New Yorkers call “society”. Do not let that trouble you. My inexperience is not likely to last long and my social pleasures are more apt to add to my efficiency than to detract from it.’

With this Violet’s face broke into a smile. It was not the brilliant one so often seen upon her lips, but there was something in its quality which carried encouragement to the widow and led her to say with obvious eagerness:

‘You know the facts?’

‘I have read all the papers.’

‘I was not believed on the stand.’

‘It was your manner –’

‘I could not help my manner. I was keeping something back, and, being unused to deceit, I could not act quite naturally.’

‘Why did you keep something back? When you saw the unfavourable impression made by your reticence, why did you not speak up and frankly tell your story?’

‘Because I was ashamed. Because I thought it would hurt me more to speak than to keep silent. I do not think so now; but I did then – and so made my great mistake. You must remember not only the awful shock of my double loss, but the sense of guilt accompanying it; for my husband and I had quarrelled that night, quarrelled bitterly – that was why I had run away into another room and not because I was feeling ill and impatient of the baby’s fretful cries.’

‘So people have thought.’ In saying this, Miss Strange was perhaps cruelly emphatic. ‘You wish to explain that quarrel? You think it will be doing any good to your cause to go into that matter with me now?’

‘I cannot say; but I must first clear my conscience and then try to convince you that quarrel or no quarrel, he never took his own life. He was not that kind. He had an abnormal fear of death. I do not like to say it but he was a physical coward. I have seen him turn pale at the least hint of danger. He could no more have turned that muzzle upon his own breast than he could have turned it upon his baby. Some other hand shot him, Miss Strange. Remember the open window, the shattered mirror; and I think I know that hand.’

Her head had fallen forward on her breast. The emotion she showed was not so eloquent of grief as of deep personal shame.

‘You think you know the man?’ In saying this, Violet’s voice sunk to a whisper. It was an accusation of murder she had just heard.

‘To my great distress, yes. When Mr Hammond and I were married,’ the widow now proceeded in a more determined tone, ‘there was another man – a very violent one – who vowed even at the church door that George and I should never live out two full years together. We have not. Our second anniversary would have been in November.’

‘But –’

‘Let me say this: the quarrel of which I speak was not serious enough to occasion any such act of despair on his part. A man would be mad to end his life on account of so slight a disagreement. It was not even on account of the person of whom I’ve just spoken, though that person had been mentioned between us earlier in the evening, Mr Hammond having come across him face to face that very afternoon in the subway. Up to this time neither of us had seen or heard of him since our wedding-day.’

‘And you think this person whom you barely mentioned, so mindful of his old grudge that he sought out your domicile, and, with the intention of murder, climbed the trellis leading to your room and turned his pistol upon the shadowy figure which was all he could see in the semi-obscurity of a much lowered gas-jet?’

‘A man in the dark does not need a bright light to see his enemy when he is intent upon revenge.’

Miss Strange altered her tone.

‘And your husband? You must acknowledge that he shot off his pistol whether the other did or not.’

‘It was in self-defence. He would shoot to save his own life – or the baby’s.’

‘Then he must have heard or seen –’

‘A man at the window.’

‘And would have shot there?’

‘Or tried to.’

‘Tried to?’

‘Yes; the other shot first – oh, I’ve thought it all out – causing my husband’s bullet to go wild. It was his which broke the mirror.’

Violet’s eyes, bright as stars, suddenly narrowed.

‘And what happened then?’ she asked. ‘Why cannot they find the bullet?’

‘Because it went out of the window – glanced off and went out of the window.’

Mrs Hammond’s tone was triumphant; her look spirited and intense.

Violet eyed her compassionately.

‘Would a bullet glancing off from a mirror, however hung, be apt to reach a window so far on the opposite side?’

‘I don’t know; I only know that it did,’ was the contradictory, almost absurd, reply.

‘What was the cause of the quarrel you speak of between