The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин
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was,” said he, and deliberately sat down again.
The face of the witness, which had been singularly free from expression since his last vehement outbreak, clouded over for an instant and his eye fell as if he felt himself engaged in an unequal struggle. But he recovered his courage speedily, and quietly observed:
“The register may have been closed by a passing foot. I have known of stranger coincidences than that.”
“Mr. Van Burnam,” asked the Coroner, as if weary of subterfuges and argument, “have you considered the effect which this highly contradictory evidence of yours is likely to have on your reputation?”
“I have.”
“And are you ready to accept the consequences?”
“If any especial consequences follow, I must accept them, sir.”
“When did you lose the keys which you say you have not now in your possession? This morning you asserted that you did not know; but perhaps this afternoon you may like to modify that statement.”
“I lost them after I left my wife shut up in my father’s house.”
“Soon?”
“Very soon.”
“How soon?”
“Within an hour, I should judge.”
“How do you know it was so soon?”
“I missed them at once.”
“Where were you when you missed them?”
“I don’t know; somewhere. I was walking the streets, as I have said. I don’t remember just where I was when I thrust my hands into my pocket and found the keys gone.”
“You do not?”
“No.”
“But it was within an hour after leaving the house?”
“Yes.”
“Very good; the keys have been found.”
The witness started, started so violently that his teeth came together with a click loud enough to be heard over the whole room.
“Have they?” said he, with an effort at nonchalance which, however, failed to deceive any one who noticed his change of color. “You can tell me, then, where I lost them.”
“They were found,” said the Coroner, “in their usual place above your brother’s desk in Duane Street.”
“Oh!” murmured the witness, utterly taken aback or appearing so. “I cannot account for their being found in the office. I was so sure I dropped them in the street.”
“I did not think you could account for it,” quietly observed the Coroner. And without another word he dismissed the witness, who staggered to a seat as remote as possible from the one where he had previously been sitting between his father and brother.
Chapter XV.
A Reluctant Witness
A pause of decided duration now followed; an exasperating pause which tried even me, much as I pride myself upon my patience. There seemed to be some hitch in regard to the next witness. The Coroner sent Mr. Gryce into the neighboring room more than once, and finally, when the general uneasiness seemed on the point of expressing itself by a loud murmur, a gentleman stepped forth, whose appearance, instead of allaying the excitement, renewed it in quite an unprecedented and remarkable way.
I did not know the person thus introduced.
He was a handsome man, a very handsome man, if the truth must be told, but it did not seem to be this fact which made half the people there crane their heads to catch a glimpse of him. Something else, something entirely disconnected with his appearance there as a witness, appeared to hold the people enthralled and waken a subdued enthusiasm which showed itself not only in smiles, but in whispers and significant nudges, chiefly among the women, though I noticed that the jurymen stared when somebody obliged them with the name of this new witness. At last it reached my ears, and though it awakened in me also a decided curiosity, I restrained all expression of it, being unwilling to add one jot to this ridiculous display of human weakness.
Randolph Stone, as the intended husband of the rich Miss Althorpe, was a figure of some importance in the city, and while I was very glad of this opportunity of seeing him, I did not propose to lose my head or forget, in the marked interest his person invoked, the very serious cause which had brought him before us. And yet I suppose no one in the room observed his figure more minutely.
He was elegantly made and possessed, as I have said, a face of peculiar beauty. But these were not his only claims to admiration. He was a man of undoubted intelligence and great distinction of manner. The intelligence did not surprise me, knowing, as I did, how he had raised himself to his present enviable position in society in the short space of five years. But the perfection of his manner astonished me, though how I could have expected anything less in a man honored by Miss Althorpe’s regard, I cannot say. He had that clear pallor of complexion which in a smooth-shaven face is so impressive, and his voice when he spoke had that music in it which only comes from great cultivation and a deliberate intent to please.
He was a friend of Howard’s, that I saw by the short look that passed between them when he first entered the room; but that it was not as a friend he stood there was apparent from the state of amazement with which the former recognized him, as well as from the regret to be seen underlying the polished manner of the witness himself. Though perfectly self-possessed and perfectly respectful, he showed by every means possible the pain he felt in adding one feather-weight to the evidence against a man with whom he was on terms of more or less intimacy.
But let me give his testimony. Having acknowledged that he knew the Van Burnam family well, and Howard in particular, he went on to state that on the night of the seventeenth he had been detained at his office by business of a more than usual pressing nature, and finding that he could expect no rest for that night, humored himself by getting off the cars at Twenty-first Street instead of proceeding on to Thirty-third Street, where his apartments were.
The smile which these words caused (Miss Althorpe lives in Twenty-first Street) woke no corresponding light on his face. Indeed, he frowned at it, as if he felt that the gravity of the situation admitted of nothing frivolous or humorsome. And this feeling was shared by Howard, for he started when the witness mentioned Twenty-first Street, and cast him a haggard look of dismay which happily no one saw but myself, for every one else was concerned with the witness. Or should I except Mr. Gryce?
“I had of course no intentions beyond a short stroll through this street previous to returning to my home,” continued the witness, gravely; “and am sorry to be obliged to mention this freak of mine, but find it necessary in order to account for my presence there at so unusual an hour.”
“You need make no apologies,” returned the Coroner. “Will you state on what line of cars you came from your office?”
“I came up Third Avenue.”
“Ah! and walked towards Broadway?”
“Yes.”
“So that you necessarily passed very near the Van Burnam mansion?”
“Yes.”
“At what time was this, can you say?”
“At four, or nearly four. It was half-past three when I left my office.”
“Was it light at that hour? Could you distinguish objects readily?”
“I had no difficulty in seeing.”
“And what did you see? Anything amiss at the Van Burnam mansion?”