Anna Katharine Green - The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green

“For a moment everything swam before my eyes. ‘You will never make me so wretched!’ I entreated. ‘I will make you my heiress, if Mary persists in her present determination,’ he declared, and without further word sternly left the room. What could I do but fall on my knees and pray! Of all in this miserable house, I am the most wretched. To supplant her! But I shall not be called upon to do it; Mary will give up Mr. Clavering.”

“There!” exclaimed Mr. Gryce. “What do you think of that? Isn’t it becoming plain enough what was Mary’s motive for this murder? But go on; let us hear what followed.”

With sinking heart, I continued. The next entry is dated July 19, and runs thus:

“I was right. After a long struggle with Uncle’s invincible will, Mary has consented to dismiss Mr. Clavering. I was in the room when she made known her decision, and I shall never forget our Uncle’s look of gratified pride as he clasped her in his arms and called her his own True Heart. He has evidently been very much exercised over this matter, and I cannot but feel greatly relieved that affairs have terminated so satisfactorily. But Mary? What is there in her manner that vaguely disappoints me? I cannot say. I only know that I felt a powerful shrinking overwhelm me when she turned her face to me and asked if I were satisfied now. But I conquered my feelings and held out my hand. She did not take it.

“July 26. How long the days are! The shadow of our late trial is upon me yet; I cannot shake it off. I seem to see Mr. Clavering’s despairing face wherever I go. How is it that Mary preserves her cheerfulness? If she does not love him, I should think the respect which she must feel for his disappointment would keep her from levity at least.

“Uncle has gone away again. Nothing I could say sufficed to keep him.

“July 28. It has all come out. Mary has only nominally separated from Mr. Clavering; she still cherishes the idea of one day uniting herself to him in marriage. The fact was revealed to me in a strange way not necessary to mention here; and has since been confirmed by Mary herself. ‘I admire the man,’ she declares, ‘and have no intention of giving him up.’ ‘Then why not tell Uncle so?’ I asked. Her only answer was a bitter smile and a short,—‘I leave that for you to do.’

“July 30. Midnight. Worn completely out, but before my blood cools let me write. Mary is a wife. I have just returned from seeing her give her hand to Henry Clavering. Strange that I can write it without quivering when my whole soul is one flush of indignation and revolt. But let me state the facts. Having left my room for a few minutes this morning, I returned to find on my dressing-table a note from Mary in which she informed me that she was going to take Mrs. Belden for a drive and would not be back for some hours. Convinced, as I had every reason to be, that she was on her way to meet Mr. Clavering, I only stopped to put on my hat—”

There the Diary ceased.

“She was probably interrupted by Mary at this point,” explained Mr. Gryce. “But we have come upon the one thing we wanted to know. Mr. Leavenworth threatened to supplant Mary with Eleanore if she persisted in marrying contrary to his wishes. She did so marry, and to avoid the consequences of her act she——”

“Say no more,” I returned, convinced at last. “It is only too clear.”

Mr. Gryce rose.

“But the writer of these words is saved,” I went on, trying to grasp the one comfort left me. “No one who reads this Diary will ever dare to insinuate she is capable of committing a crime.”

“Assuredly not; the Diary settles that matter effectually.”

I tried to be man enough to think of that and nothing else. To rejoice in her deliverance, and let every other consideration go; but in this I did not succeed. “But Mary, her cousin, almost her sister, is lost,” I muttered.

Mr. Gryce thrust his hands into his pockets and, for the first time, showed some evidence of secret disturbance. “Yes, I am afraid she is; I really am afraid she is.” Then after a pause, during which I felt a certain thrill of vague hope: “Such an entrancing creature too! It is a pity, it positively is a pity! I declare, now that the thing is worked up, I begin to feel almost sorry we have succeeded so well. Strange, but true. If there was the least loophole out of it,” he muttered. “But there isn’t. The thing is clear as A, B, C.” Suddenly he rose, and began pacing the floor very thoughtfully, casting his glances here, there, and everywhere, except at me, though I believe now, as then, my face was all he saw.

“Would it be a very great grief to you, Mr. Raymond, if Miss Mary Leavenworth should be arrested on this charge of murder?” he asked, pausing before a sort of tank in which two or three disconsolate-looking fishes were slowly swimming about.

“Yes,” said I, “it would; a very great grief.”

“Yet it must be done,” said he, though with a strange lack of his usual decision. “As an honest official, trusted to bring the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth to the notice of the proper authorities, I have got to do it.”

Again that strange thrill of hope at my heart induced by his peculiar manner.

“Then my reputation as a detective! I ought surely to consider that. I am not so rich or so famous that I can afford to forget all that a success like this may bring me. No, lovely as she is, I have got to push it through.” But even as he said this, he became still more thoughtful, gazing down into the murky depths of the wretched tank before him with such an intentness I half expected the fascinated fishes to rise from the water and return his gaze. What was in his mind?

After a little while he turned, his indecision utterly gone. “Mr. Raymond, come here again at three. I shall then have my report ready for the Superintendent. I should like to show it to you first, so don’t fail me.”

There was something so repressed in his expression, I could not prevent myself from venturing one question. “Is your mind made up?” I asked.

“Yes,” he returned, but in a peculiar tone, and with a peculiar gesture.

“And you are going to make the arrest you speak of?”

“Come at three!”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.