Part 27 (2/2)

Somehow, he could not bear the sight of that ap.r.o.n. With the expectation now forming in his mind, of leaving this home and leaving this mother, this symbol of humble toil became an intolerable grief to him. Jumping up, he turned in another direction; but now another group of objects equally eloquent came under his eye. It was his mother's work-basket he saw, with a piece of sewing in it intended for him, and as if this were not enough, the table set for two, and at his place a little covered dish which held the one sweetmeat he craved for breakfast. The spectacles lying beside her plate told him how old she was, and as he thought of her failing strength and enfeebled ways, he jumped up again and sought another corner. But here his glances fell on his violin, and a new series of emotions awakened within him. He loved the instrument and played as much from natural intuition as acquired knowledge, but in the plan of action he had laid out for himself his violin could have no part. He would have to leave it behind. Feeling that his regrets were fast becoming too much for him, he left the humble kitchen and went up-stairs. But not to sleep. Locking the door (something he never remembered doing before in all his life), he began to handle over his clothes and other trivial belongings. Choosing out a certain strong suit, he laid it out on the bed and then went to a bureau drawer and drew out an old-fas.h.i.+oned wallet. This he opened, but after he had counted the few bills it contained he shook his head and put them all back, only retaining a little silver, which he slipped into one of the pockets of the suit he had chosen. Then he searched for and found a little Bible which his mother had once given him. He was about to thrust that into another pocket, but he seemed to think better of this, too, for he ended by putting it back into the drawer and taking instead a bit from one of his mother's old ap.r.o.ns which he had chanced upon on the stairway. This he placed as carefully in his watch pocket as if it had been the picture of a girl he loved. Then he undressed and went to bed.

Mrs. Sweet.w.a.ter said afterwards that she never knew Caleb to talk so much and eat so little as he did that next morning at breakfast. Such plans as he detailed for unmasking the murderer of Mrs. Webb! Such business for the day! So many people to see! It made her quite dizzy, she said. And, indeed, Sweet.w.a.ter was more than usually voluble that morning,--perhaps because he could not bear his mother's satisfied smile; and when he went out of the house it was with a laugh and a cheery ”Good-bye, mamsie” that was in spiking contrast to the irrepressible exclamation of grief which escaped him when the door was closed between them. Ah, when should he enter those four walls again, and when should he see the old mother?

He proceeded immediately to town. A s.h.i.+p was preparing to sail that morning for the Brazils, and the wharves were alive with bustle. He stopped a moment to contemplate the great hulk rising and falling at her moorings, then he pa.s.sed on and entered the building where he had every reason to expect to find Dr. Talbot and Knapp in discussion. It was very important to him that morning to learn just how they felt concerning the great matter absorbing him, for if suspicion was taking the direction of Frederick, or if he saw it was at all likely to do so, then would his struggle be cut short and all necessity for leaving town be at an end.

It was to save Frederick from this danger that he was prepared to cut all the ties binding him to this place, and nothing short of the prospect of accomplis.h.i.+ng this would make him willing to undergo such a sacrifice.

”Well, Sweet.w.a.ter, any news, eh?” was the half-jeering, half-condescending greeting he received from the coroner.

Sweet.w.a.ter, who had regained entire control over his feelings as soon as he found himself under the eye of this man and the supercilious detective he had attempted to rival, gave a careless shrug and pa.s.sed the question on to Knapp. ”Have you any news?” he asked.

Knapp, who would probably not have acknowledged it if he had, smiled the indulgent smile of a self-satisfied superior and uttered a few equivocal sentences. This was gall and wormwood to Sweet.w.a.ter, but he kept his temper admirably and, with an air of bravado entirely a.s.sumed for the occasion, said to Dr. Talbot:

”I think I shall have something to tell you soon which will materially aid you in your search for witnesses. By to-morrow, at least, I shall know whether I am right or wrong in thinking I have discovered an important witness in quite an unexpected quarter.”

Sweet.w.a.ter knew of no new witness, but it was necessary for him not only to have a pretext for the move he contemplated, but to so impress these men with an idea of his extreme interest in the approaching proceedings, that no suspicion should ever arise of his having premeditated an escape from them. He wished to appear the victim of accident; and this is why he took nothing from his home which would betray any intention of leaving it.

”Ha! indeed!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the coroner with growing interest. ”And may I ask----”

”Please,” urged Sweet.w.a.ter, with a side look at Knapp, ”do not ask me anything just yet. This afternoon, say, after I have had a certain interview with--What, are they setting sails on the Hesper already?” he burst out, with a quick glance from the window at the great s.h.i.+p riding at anchor a little distance from them in the harbour. ”There is a man on her I must see. Excuse me--Oh, Mr. Sutherland!”

He fell back in confusion. That gentleman had just entered the room in company with Frederick.

XXIII

A SINISTER PAIR

”I beg your pardon,” stammered Sweet.w.a.ter, starting aside and losing on the instant all further disposition to leave the room.

Indeed, he had not the courage to do so, even if he had had the will.

The joint appearance of these two men in this place, and at an hour so far in advance of that which usually saw Mr. Sutherland enter the town, was far too significant in his eyes for him to ignore it. Had any explanation taken place between them, and had Mr. Sutherland's integrity triumphed over personal considerations to the point of his bringing Frederick here to confess?

Meanwhile Dr. Talbot had risen with a full and hearty greeting which proved to Sweet.w.a.ter's uneasy mind that notwithstanding Knapp's disquieting reticence no direct suspicion had as yet fallen on the unhappy Frederick. Then he waited for what Mr. Sutherland had to say, for it was evident he had come there to say something. Sweet.w.a.ter waited, too, frozen almost into immobility by the fear that it would be something injudicious, for never had he seen any man so changed as Mr.

Sutherland in these last twelve hours, nor did it need a highly penetrating eye to detect that the relations between him and Frederick were strained to a point that made it almost impossible for them to more than a.s.sume their old confidential att.i.tude. Knapp, knowing them but superficially, did not perceive this, but Dr. Talbot was not blind to it, as was shown by the inquiring look he directed towards them both while waiting.

Mr. Sutherland spoke at last.

”Pardon me for interrupting you so early,” said he, with a certain tremble in his voice which Sweet.w.a.ter quaked to hear. ”For certain reasons, I should be very glad to know, WE should be very glad to know, if during your investigations into the cause and manner of Agatha Webb's death, you have come upon a copy of her will.”

”No.”

Talbot was at once interested, so was Knapp, while Sweet.w.a.ter withdrew further into his corner in anxious endeavour to hide his blanching cheek. ”We have found nothing. We do not even know that she has made a will.”

”I ask,” pursued Mr. Sutherland, with a slight glance toward Frederick, who seemed, at least in Sweet.w.a.ter's judgment, to have braced himself up to bear this interview unmoved, ”because I have not only received intimation that she made such a will, but have even been entrusted with a copy of it as chief executor of the same. It came to me in a letter from Boston yesterday. Its contents were a surprise to me. Frederick, hand me a chair. These acc.u.mulated misfortunes--for we all suffer under the afflictions which have beset this town--have made me feel my years.”

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