Love, had I ever felt this holy passion for her, had no longer a place in my breast; but awe, terror and commiseration for her, for him, and also perhaps for myself, were still active passions within me, and at this decided statement of the case, I laughed in the excitement of the moment, and the relief I felt at knowing just what there was to dread in the adventure.
“Absurd!” I cried. “With Madame’s address in my mind and the Baltimore police at my command, this man is as safe from assault as you or I are. Give me five minutes’ talk with Chief–”
Her hand on my arm stopped me; the look in her eye made me dumb.
“What could you do without me?” she said; “and my evidence you cannot have. For what would give it weight can never pass my lips. The lives that have fallen with my connivance stand between me and confession. I do not wish to subject myself to the law.”
This placed her in another light before me, and I started back.
“You have–” I stammered.
“Placed that ring three times on the hand in Dr. Merriam’s office.”
“And each time?”
“A man somewhere in this nation has died suddenly. I do not know by what means or by whose hand, but he died.”
This beautiful creature guilty of– I tried not to show my horror.
“It is, then, a question of choice between you and him?” said I. “Either you or he must perish. Both cannot be saved.”
She recoiled, turning very pale, and for several minutes stood surveying me with a fixed gaze as if overcome by an idea which threw so immense a responsibility upon her. As she stood thus, I seemed not only to look into her nature, but her life. I saw the fanaticism that that had once held every good impulse in check, the mistaken devotion, the unreasoning hatred, and, underneath all, a spirit of truth and rectitude which brightened and brightened as I watched her, till it dominated every evil passion and made her next words come easily, and with a natural burst of conviction which showed the innate generosity of her soul.
“You have shown me my duty, sir. There can be no question as to where the choice should fall, I am not worth one hair of his noble head. Save him, sir; I will help you by every means in my power.”
Seizing the opportunity she thus gave me, I asked her the name of the man who was threatened.
In a low voice she told me.
I was astonished; dumfounded.
“Shameful!” I cried. “What motive, what reason can they have for denouncing him?”
“He is under suspicion—that is enough.”
“Great heaven!” I exclaimed. “Have we reached such a pass as that?”
“Don’t,” she uttered, hoarsely; “don’t reason; don’t talk; act.”
“I will,” I cried, and rushed from the room.
She fell back in a chair, almost fainting. I saw her lying quiet, inert and helpless as I rushed by her door on my way to the street, but I did not stop to aid her. I knew she would not suffer it.
The police are practical, and my tale was an odd one. I found it hard, therefore, to impress them with its importance, especially as in trying to save Miss Calhoun I was necessarily more or less incoherent. I did succeed, however, in awakening interest at last, and, a man being assigned me, I led the way to Madame’s door. But here a surprise awaited me. The doorplate, which had so attracted my attention, was gone, and in a few minutes we found that she had departed also, leaving no trace behind her.
This looked ominous, and with little delay we hastened to the office of Dr. Merriam. Knocking at the usual door brought no response, but when we tried the further one, by which his patients usually passed out, we found ourselves confronted by the gentleman we sought.
His face was calm and smiling, and though he made haste to tell us that we had come out of hours, he politely asked us in and inquired what he could do for us.
Not understanding how he could have forgotten me so soon, I looked at him inquiringly, at which his face lighted up, and he apologetically said:
“I remember you now. You were here this morning consulting me about a friend who is afflicted with a peculiar complaint. Have you anything further to state or ask in regard to it. I have just five minutes to spare.”
“Hear this gentleman first,” said I, pointing to the officer who accompanied me.
The doctor calmly bowed, and waited with the greatest self-possession for him to state his case.
The officer did so abruptly.
“There is a box in your ante-room which I feel it my duty to examine. I am Detective Hopkins, of the city police.”
The doctor, with a gentleness which seemed native rather than assumed, quietly replied:
“I am very sorry, but you are an hour too late.” And, throwing open the door of communication between the two rooms, he pointed to the table.
The box was gone!
V. DOCTOR MERRIAM
This second disappointment was more than I could endure. Turning upon the doctor with undisguised passion, I hotly asked:
“Who has taken it? Describe the person at once. Tell what you know about the box, I did not finish the threat; but my looks must have been very fierce, for he edged off a bit, and cast a curious glance at the officer before he answered:
“You have, then, no ailing friend? Well, well; I expended some very good advice upon you. But you paid me, and so we are even.”
“The box!” I urged; “the box! Don’t waste words, for a man’s life is at stake.”
His surprise was marvelously assumed or very real.
“You are talking somewhat wildly, are you not?” he ventured, with a bland air. “A man’s life? I cannot believe that.”
“But you don’t answer me,” I urged.
He smiled; he evidently thought me out of my mind.
“That’s true; but there is so little I can tell you. I do not know what was in the box about which you express so much concern, and I do not know the names of its owners. It was brought here some six months ago and placed in the spot where you saw it this morning, upon conditions that were satisfactory to me, and not at all troublesome to my patients, whose convenience I was bound to consult. It has remained there till to-day, when–”
Here the officer interrupted him.
“What were these conditions? The matter calls for frankness.”