Part 39 (1/2)
Enigmas
Editor's Note:False and concealed ident.i.ties abound in Alcott's thrillers, and in the short mystery ”Enigmas” th The room was deserted by all occupants but the librarian and one old gentleman, consulting a file of foreign newspapers. I slipped into an alcove, devoured my dinner behind a book, and then fell to brooding moodily over the desperate state of my finances and prospects, the first consisting of a single dollar, the last of slow starvation or manual labor, if I could bring myself to it. An abrupt exclamation from the old gentleman roused me, for it had a hopeful sound.
”Page, who copied this? I'd like to secure such a penman.”
”Don't know, I'm sure, sir,” responded Page. ”Among so many clerks it's impossible to tell. I'll inquire if you like.”
”No; I couldn't have him, if you did. But if you happen to hear of any good copyist who, for a moderate sum, would do a job for me, let me know, Page.”
”I will, sir.”
The old gentleman put down the list of newly arrived books which he had been examining, and drew on his gloves. As he approached my alcove a sudden impulse prompted me to step out and address him.
”Pardon me, sir, but necessarily overhearing your request, I venture to offer myself for trial.”
”Have you any references or recommendations to offer, eh?” asked the old gentleman, pausing.
I had an excellent one which I had vainly offered to many persons for the last month. He read the very flattering letter from a well-known scholar whom I had served as secretary for a year, and seemed inclined to try me.
”Hum-quite correct-very satisfactory. Give me a sample of your writing; here's pen and paper.”
I obeyed, and laying a sheet of paper upon the open book I had been reading, dashed off my signature in several different styles.
”Very good; the plainest suits me best. What's this? So you understand Italian, do you?”
”Yes, sir; perfectly, I believe.”
The old gentleman meditated, and while doing so scanned my face with a pair of keen eyes, in which I could discover nothing but curiosity. I gratified it by saying, briefly: ”Mine is the old story, sir. I am a gentleman's son, poor, proud and friendless now, in want of employment, and ready to do anything for my daily bread.”
”Anything, young man?” asked the old gentleman, almost startling me with the energy of his emphasis on that first word.
”Anything but crime, sir. I am in a strait where one does not hesitate long between almost any humiliation and absolute want.”
I spoke as forcibly as he had done; it seemed to please him, for the stony immobility of his face relaxed, and a curious expression of satisfaction crept over it.
”Come to me to-morrow at ten. There is my address.”
And, thrusting a card into my hand, the old gentleman walked away.
Precisely at ten o'clock on the morrow I presented myself at Mr. North's door, and was speedily set at work in his very comfortable office. The whole affair was rather peculiar, but I liked it the better for that, and the more eccentric the old lawyer appeared the more I desired to remain with him, though copying deeds was not exciting. He seemed to take a fancy to me, engaged me for a week, kept me busy till Sat.u.r.day evening, and then astonished me by informing me for what secret service I was next intended.
As the clock struck five Mr. North wiped his pen, wheeled about in his chair, and sat waiting till I finished my last page.
”Mr. Clyde, I have a proposition to make,” he began, as I looked up. ”It will surprise you, but I have no explanation to give, and you can easily refuse. I have not intended keeping you from the first, but desired to test your capabilities before offering you a better situation. A certain person wishes an amanuensis; I think you eminently fitted for the post. You wish independence, agreeable duties and the surroundings of a gentleman. This place will give you all of these, for the salary is liberal, the labor light, the society excellent. One condition, however, is annexed to your acceptance. If you will pledge me your word to keep that condition a secret, whether you accept it or not, I will mention it.”
”I do, sir.”
”For reasons, the justice and importance of which you would acknowledge if I were at liberty to divulge them, I desire a reli able report of what pa.s.ses in this person's house. I think you are fitted for that post also. A week ago you told me you were ready to do anything for your bread which was not a crime; this is none. Do you accept the place and the condition?”
”I am to play the spy, am I, sir?”
”Exactly, to any extent that your interest, ingenuity and courage prompt you. It is necessary that I should have a daily witness of the events that occur in that family for the next month at least, perhaps longer. I know the task I offer you is both a mysterious and somewhat difficult one, but if you will rely upon the word of an old man who has little more to expect of life, I a.s.sure you that no wrong is meditated, and that you will never have cause to regret your compliance. Let me add that at the end of your service, be it short or long, you will receive five hundred dollars, and be subjected to no questions, no detention, no danger or suspicion of any kind.”
”But, sir, am I to work utterly in the dark?”
”Utterly.”
”Am I never to know what mysterious purpose I am forwarding?”
”Never.”
”Can I, ought I to pledge myself to such blind obedience?”
”I believe you can and ought; it is for you to decide whether you will.”
Not a feature of the old man's face had varied from its usual colorless immobility; his keen eye searched me while he spoke, and when he paused he sat motionless, with no sign of impatience, as I rapidly considered the strange compact offered me. I rebelled a little at the dishonorable part of it, yet I was conscious of a secret interest and delight in the mysterious mission. The place seemed a tempting one, the bribe a fortune, the security reliable, for Mr. North was as much in my power as I in his. As if cognizant of the doubt and desire between which I was wavering, he said, abruptly: ”You are well-born, wellbred, comely, discreet and acute. Too proud to bear poverty, too poor to be overnice. A man exactly fitted to the place, though others may be found as competent, less scrupulous and more eager for both the enterprise and the reward.”
”Hardly, sir. I accept.”
The only sign of satisfaction which he gave was a closer pressure of the long thin hands loosely folded on his knee.
”Good! now listen, and bear these instructions carefully in mind. This place is ten miles out of the city; here is the address. On Monday evening go there, ask for Mr. Bernard Noel, and present your letter of recommendation. On no account mention my name or ever betray that you have any knowledge of me. Another thing remember, use your Italian as far as the comprehending of it when spoken by others, but deny that you possess that accomplishment if asked.”
”Am I sure of being accepted, sir?”
”Yes, I think so. You have only to say that you saw and have answered an advertis.e.m.e.nt in last week's Times. Such a one appeared-stay, put it in your letter. Now look at this and give me your attention.”
He turned to his table, produced a small locked portfolio and explained its purpose as I stood beside him. Several quires of peculiarly thin smooth paper lay within a package of envelopes directed in a strange hand to A. Z. Clyde, a seal with a skull for its device, and a stick of iron-gray sealing-wax completed the contents of the portfolio.
”You will record upon this paper the princ.i.p.al events, impressions or discoveries of each day, beginning with your first interview on Monday. Every Sat.u.r.day you will send me your weekly report in one of the envelopes directed to an imaginary relative of your own. Secure each carefully with this wax and seal, and post them as privately as possible, without attracting attention by too much precaution.”
”I shall remember, sir.”
”You are to ask no questions, show no especial interest in what pa.s.ses about you, and on no account betray that you keep this private record. You have wit, courage, great command of countenance, and will soon discover how to use these helps. Let nothing surprise, alarm or baffle you, and keep faith with me unless you desire ruin instead of reward. Now go, and let me hear from you on Sat.u.r.day.”
He rose, offered me a check, the portfolio and his hand. I accepted all three, and with our usual brief but courteous adieux we parted, the old man to brood doubtless over his strange secret, the young one to hope that in the unknown family he should find some solution of this first enigma.
JUNE 1ST.-Having received no directions as to the form into which I am to put my record, I choose the simple one of the diary as the easiest to myself, perhaps the most interesting to the eyes for which these pages are written.
According to agreement I came hither tonight at nine o'clock, being belated by an accident on the way. A grave, soldierly servant ushered me into a charming room, airy, softly lighted and exquisitely furnished, yet somewhat foreign in its elegant simplicity. It was empty, and wandering about it while waiting, I discovered a lady in an adjoining room. As she seemed unconscious of my presence, I began my surveillance by taking a careful survey. Leaning in a deep chair, I only caught the outline of her figure; for over her silvery gray dress she wore a large white cashmere, as if an invalid, and forced to guard herself even from the mild night air. Gray hair waved away on either side her pale cheeks, under a delicate lace cap, which fell in a point upon her forehead. A deep green shade concealed her eyes, leaving visible only the contour of a rounded chin and feminine mouth. She was knitting, and I observed that her little hands were covered nearly to the finger-tips with quaint black silk mits, such as ancient ladies wore. There was something melancholy yet attractive about this figure, so delicate, so womanly, so sadly afflicted, for I felt that she was blind.
Absorbed in watching her, I was rather startled by a rustling among the shrubs that grew about the open French window behind me, and turned to see a young man entering from the garden. Somewhat embarra.s.sed at being discovered peeping, I hastily inferred that the new-comer was a son of Mr. Bernard Noel, and introduced myself rather awkwardly.
”I came in answer to an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the Times, sir. I sent my name to Mr. Noel; but it is late; your father, perhaps, is not disengaged?”
What a singular look flashed upon me out of the dark eyes that were scrutinising my face, and what a singular smile accompanied the words: ”I am Bernard Noel.”
I murmured an apology, presented my letter, and while he read it sat examining my future patron, wondering the while that such a lad should need an amanuensis. I say lad, for at the first glance he looked eighteen; a second caused me to suspect that he was some years older. Every inch a gentleman, for high-breeding makes itself manifest at a glance. Of middle height, slender and boyish in figure, yet with no boyish awkwardness to mar the easy grace of his address or att.i.tude. The light shone full upon his face, and in that momentary pause I studied it. Dark curling hair framed a broad, harmoniously rounded forehead; black brows lay straight above those South ern eyes of his, now veiled by sweeping lashes; the nose was spirited and haughty; the mouth grave and strong, perhaps rendered more so by a slight moustache that shaded it. Even his dress interested me, as if I were a woman, though nothing could have been simpler or more becoming. A black velvet paletot, dark trousers, collar turned over a ribbon; an aristocratically small foot, perfectly shod, and a single ring on a handsome hand that held the letter. An almost instantaneous impression took possession of me that this youth was both older than he looked and wiser than his years. Whether some deep experience had matured him, or the presence of genius thus manifested itself, I could not so soon decide, but felt instinctively attracted and interested in the unconscious person whom I had been set to watch.