Part 33 (1/2)
”That crack is wide open yet,” said Calvin Van de Lear.
”Begorra,” returned the Irishman, facing placidly around until he found the owner of the voice, ”Mr. Calvin Van de Lear, it would take many such a blow, sur, to fracture your heart!”
”Go on now, Donovan, and finish your tale. You were carried off to Trieste?” spoke Duff Salter.
”I was, sir. At Wilmington no news had been recaved of any tragedy in Philadelphia, and when I told my story there to a gentleman he concluded I was ravin' and a seein' delusions. The Austrian was short av a crew, and the docthor said if they could get away to sea he could make me effective very soon. I was too helpless to go on deck or make resistance. Says I, 'It's the will av G.o.d.'”
A round of applause greeted this story as it was ended, and cheerful hands were extended to the witness and the prisoner. Calvin Van de Lear, however, exclaimed:
”Alderman, what has all this to do with the prisoner's ignominious flight for months from his home and from persons he abandoned to suspicion and shame? This man is an impostor.”
”Will you take the stand, Mr. Andrew Zane?” asked Duff Salter.
”No,” replied the late fugitive. ”I have been hunted and slandered like a wolf. I will give no evidence in Kensington, where I have been so shamefully treated. Let me be sent to a higher court, and there I will speak.”
”Alas!” Duff Salter said, with grave emphasis, ”it is you father's old and obstinate spirit which is speaking. You are the ghost I thought was his at the door of my chamber. Mr. Magistrate, swear me!”
Duff Salter gravely kissed the Testament and stood ready to depose, when Calvin Van de Lear again interrupted.
”Are you not deaf?” asked the divinity student. ”Where are your tablets that you carry every day? You seem to hear too well, I consider.”
”You are right,” cried Duff Salter, turning on his interrogator like a lion. ”I am wholly cured of deafness, and my memory is as acute as my hearing.”
Calvin Van de Lear turned pale to the roots of his dry, yellow whiskers.
”Devil!” he muttered.
”My testimony covers only a single point,” resumed the strong, direct, and imposing witness. ”I saw the face of this prisoner for the first time since his babyhood in his father's house not many weeks ago. It resembled his father's youthful countenance, as I knew it, so greatly that I really believed his parent haunted the streets of Kensington, according to the rumor. The supposed apparition drove me to investigate the mysterious death of William Zane. I believed that Agnes knew the story, but was under this prisoner's command of secrecy. Seeking an a.s.sistant, the witness, Donovan, forced himself upon me. In a short time I was confounded by the contradictions of his behavior. Looking deeper into it, I suspected that in his suit of clothing resided at different times two men: the one an agent, the other a princ.i.p.al; the one a reality, the other a disguise. I armed myself and had the duller and less observant of these doubles row me out upon the Delaware on such a night as marked the tragedy he witnessed. When we reached the middle of the river I forced the story of the coincidence from him by reasoning and threats.”
”Ha! ha!” exclaimed Calvin Van de Lear. ”Is this an Arkansas snake story?”
”The young Zane had gratified a wilful pa.s.sion to penetrate the residence of his father, and look at its inmates and the situation from safe harborage there. He found that Donovan in his roving sailor's life had played the crippled sea beggar in the streets of British cities, tying up his natural leg and fitting a wooden leg to the knee--a trick well known to British ballad singers. That leg was in Donovan's sea-chest, as it had been left in this city, and also the crutch necessary to walk with it. Mr. Zane and Donovan had exchanged the leg and crutch, and the former matched his fellow with a wig and patches.
Thus convertible, they had for a little while deceived everybody, but for further convenience Mr. Zane ensconced himself as a tenant in a neighboring house, and when the apparatus was in request by Donovan, he crossed on the roofs between the trap-doors, and still was master of his residence.”
”What does all this disclose but the intrigue of despairing guilt?”
exclaimed young Van de Lear. ”He had destroyed the purity of a lady and abandoned her, and was afraid to show his real face in Kensington.”
”We will see as to that,” replied Duff Salter. ”I had hoped to respect the lady's privacy, but Mr. Zane has refused to testify. Call Agnes Wilt.”
All in the magistrate's office rose at the mention of this name, only Andrew Zane keeping his seat amid the crowd. Calvin Van de Lear officiously sought to a.s.sist the witness in, but Duff Salter pressed him back and gave the sad and beautiful woman his arm. She was sworn, and stood there blus.h.i.+ng and pale by turns.
”What is your name?” asked Duff Salter gently. ”Speak very plain, so that all these good friends of yours may make no mistake.”
”My name,” replied the lady, ”is Agnes Zane. I am the wife of Mr. Andrew Zane.”
”Very good,” said Duff Salter soothingly. ”You are the wife of Andrew Zane; wedded how long ago, madam?”
”Eight months.”