"From Mr. Bainbridge, Q. C., to Archibald Laing, Esq.
"Dear Sir,--Last night I received your cable from Pittsburg, and sent you a message in reply, accepting the commission with which you have been pleased to intrust me. This morning I called upon Messrs. Morgan & Co., Bankers, Threadneedle Street, and learned from them that they were prepared to advance me the ten thousand dollars of which you advised me. I drew upon them for that amount, and received from them a notification that they would honor my further drafts upon them the moment they were drawn. I asked them whether, in the event of my desiring to draw say five thousand pounds, I was at liberty to do so. They said yes, for even a larger amount if I required it. I did not explain to them the reason of my asking the question, but I will do so to you. It has happened, in difficult cases, that information has had to be purchased, and that a bribe more or less tempting has had to be held out to some person or persons to unlock their tongues. I have no reason to suppose that anything of the sort will be necessary in this case, but I wish to feel myself perfectly free in the matter. I am satisfied with your bankers' replies, and I shall spare neither money nor exertion in the endeavor to unravel the mystery which surrounds the death of Mrs. Edward Layton.
"It is scarcely possible you can be aware of it, but it is nevertheless a fact that, apart from my professional position in this matter, I take in it an interest which is purely personal, and that my sympathies are in unison with your own. Were it not that I have had some knowledge of Mr. Layton, and that I esteem him, and were it not that I firmly believe in his innocence, I should, perhaps, have hesitated to engage myself in his case, and you will excuse my saying that your liberal views upon the subject of funds might have failed to impress me. It is, therefore, a matter of congratulation that I enlist myself on Mr. Layton's side as much upon personal as upon professional grounds. The time has been too short for anything yet to be done, but it will be a satisfaction to you to learn that I have a slight clew to work upon. It is very slight, very frail, but it may lead to something important. Your desire for a full and complete recital of my movements shall be complied with, and I propose, to this end, and for the purpose of coherence and explicitness, to forward the particulars to you from time to time, not in the form of letters, but in narrative shape. This mode of giving you information will keep me more strictly to the subject-matter, and will be the means of avoiding digression. After the receipt, therefore, of this letter, what I have to say will go forth under numbered headings, not in my own writing, but in that of a short-hand reporter, whom I shall specially employ. I could not myself undertake such a detailed and circumstantial account as I understand it is your desire to obtain. Besides, it will save time, which may be of great value in the elucidation of this mystery.
"I am, dear sir, faithfully yours,
"HORACE BAINBRIDGE."
What struck me particularly in your cable message was that portion of it in which you made reference to a Mr. James Rutland. It happens, singularly enough, that this Mr. James Rutland was on the jury, and that he was the one juryman who held out in Mr. Layton's favor, and through whose unconquerable determination not to bring him in guilty has arisen the necessity for a new trial. Eleven of the jury were for a conviction, one only for an acquittal--this one, Mr. Rutland.
The first thing to ascertain was his address, which you could not give me. However, we have engines at our hand whereby such small matters are easily arrived at, and on the evening of the day after the arrival of your cable message I was put in possession of the fact that Mr. Rutland lives in Wimpole Street. I drove there immediately, and sent up my card.
"I have called upon you, Mr. Rutland," I said, "with respect to Mr. Edward Layton's case, in the hope that you may be able to give me some information by which he may be benefited."
Mr. Rutland is a gentleman of about sixty years of age. He has a benevolent face, and I judged him, and I think judged him correctly, to be a man of a kindly nature. Looking upon him, there was no indication in his appearance of a dogged disposition, and I lost sight for a moment of the invincible tenacity with which he had adhered to his opinion when he was engaged upon the trial with his fellow-jurymen. However, his conduct during this interview brought it to my mind.
"It is a thousand pities," he said, in response to my opening words, "that Mr. Layton refused to accept professional assistance and advice. I was not the only one upon the jury who failed to understand his reason for so doing."
"It is indeed," I observed, "inexplicable, and I am in hopes that you may be able to throw some light upon it. I have come to you for assistance."
"I can give you no information," was his reply; "I cannot assist you."
"May I speak to you in confidence?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, "although I have nothing to tell. To any but a gentleman of position I should refuse to enter into conversation upon this lamentable affair; and, indeed, it will be useless for us to converse upon it. As I have already said, I have nothing to tell you."
This iteration of having nothing to say and nothing to tell was to me suspicions, not so much from the words in which the determination was conveyed as from the tone in which they were spoken. It was flurried, anxious, uneasy; a plain indication that Mr. James Rutland could say something if he chose.
"Speaking in confidence," I said, taking no outward notice of his evident reluctance to assist me, "I think I am right in my conjecture that you believe in Mr. Layton's innocence."
"I decline to say anything upon the matter," was his rejoinder to this remark.
"We live in an age of publicity," I observed, without irritation; "it is difficult to keep even one's private affairs to one's self. What used to be hidden from public gaze and knowledge is now exposed and freely discussed by strangers. You are doubtless aware that it is known that there were eleven of the jury who pronounced Mr. Layton guilty, and only one who pronounced him innocent."
"I was not," he said, "and am not aware that it is known."
"It is nevertheless a fact," I said, "and it is also known that you, Mr. Rutland, are the juryman who held out in Mr. Layton's favor."
"These matters should not be revealed," he muttered.
"Perhaps not," I said, "but we must go with the age in which we live. Mr. Layton's case has excited the greatest interest. The singular methods he adopted during so momentous a crisis in his life, and the unusual termination of the judicial inquiry, have intensified that interest, and I have not the slightest doubt that there will be a great deal said and written upon the subject."
"Which should not be said and written," muttered Mr. Rutland.
"Neither have I the slightest doubt," I continued, "that your name will be freely used, and your motives for not waiving your opinion when eleven men were against you freely discussed. We are speaking here, if you will allow me to say so, as friends of the unfortunate man, and I have no hesitation in declaring to you that I myself believe in his innocence."
He interrupted me.
"Then, if you had been on the jury, you would not have yielded to the opinions of eleven, or of eleven hundred men?"
He spoke eagerly, and I saw that it would be a satisfaction to him to obtain support in his view of the case.
"I am not so sure," I said "our private opinion of a man when he is placed before his country charged with a crime has nothing whatever to do with the evidence brought against him. Let us suppose, for instance, that you have been at some time or other, under more fortunate circumstances, acquainted with Mr. Layton."
"Who asserts that?" he cried, much disturbed.
"No person that I am aware of," I replied. "I am merely putting a case, and I will prove to you presently that I have a reason for doing so. Say, I repeat, that under more fortunate circumstances you were acquainted with Mr. Layton, and that you had grown to esteem him. What has that purely personal view to do with your functions as a juryman?"
"Mr. Bainbridge," he said, "I do not wish to be discourteous, but I cannot continue this conversation."
"Nay," I urged, "a gentleman's life and honor are at stake, and I am endeavoring to befriend him. I am not the only one who is interested in him. There are others, thousands of miles away across the seas, who are desirous and anxious to make a sacrifice, if by that sacrifice they can clear the honor of a friend. See, Mr. Rutland, I will place implicit confidence in you. Last night I received a cable from America, from Mr. Archibald Laing."
"Mr. Archibald Laing!" he cried, taken by surprise. "Why, he and Mr. Layton were--"
But he suddenly stopped, as though fearful of committing himself.
"Were once friends," I said, finishing the sentence for him, and, I was certain, finishing it aright. "Yes, I should certainly say so. Read the cable I received." And I handed it to him.
At first he seemed as if he were disinclined, but he could not master his curiosity, and after a slight hesitation he read the message but he handed it back to me without remark.
"Mr. Archibald Laing," I said, "as I dare say you have heard or read, is one of fortune's favorites. He left this country three or four years ago, and settled in America--where, I believe, he has taken out letters of naturalization--and plunged into speculation which has made him a millionaire. No further evidence than his cable message is needed to prove that he is a man of vast means. Why does he ask me to apply to you for information concerning Mr. Layton which I may probably turn to that unhappy gentleman's advantage?"
"I was but slightly acquainted with Mr. Laing," said Mr. Rutland. "He and I were never friends. I repeat once more that I have nothing to tell you."
I recognized then that I was in the presence of a man who, whether rightly or wrongly, was not to be moved from any decision at which he had arrived, and I understood thoroughly the impossible task set before eleven jurymen to win him over to their convictions.
"Can I urge nothing," I said, "to induce you to speak freely to me
"Nothing," he replied.
I spent quite another quarter of an hour endeavoring to prevail upon him, but in the result I left his house no wiser than I had entered it, except that I was convinced he knew something which he was doggedly concealing from me. I did not think it was anything of very great importance, but it might at least be a clew that I could work upon, and I was both discouraged and annoyed by his determined attitude.
On the following morning, having paved the way to further access to Mr. Edward Layton, I visited the unhappy man in his prison. He was unaffectedly glad to see me, and he took the opportunity of expressing his cordial thanks for the friendliness I had evinced towards him. I felt it necessary to be on my guard with him, and I did not, thus early, make any endeavor to prevail upon him to accept me as his counsel in the new trial which awaited him. There were one or two points upon which I wished to assure myself, and I approached them gradually and cautiously.
"Are you aware," I said, "of the extent of the disagreement among the jury?"
"Well," he replied, "we hear something even within these stone walls. I am told that eleven were against me and one for me."
"Yes," I said, "that is so."
"A bad lookout for me when I am tried again. Mr. Bainbridge," he said, "it is very kind of you to visit me here, and I think you do so with friendly intent."
"Indeed," I said, "itiswith friendly intent."
"Is it of any use," he then said, "for me to declare to you that I am innocent of the horrible charge brought against me?"
"I don't know," I said, "whether it is of any use or not, because of the stand you have taken, and seem determined to take."
"Yes," he said, "upon my next trial I shall defend myself, as I did on my last. I will accept no legal assistance whatever. Still, as a matter of interest and curiosity--looking upon myself as if I were somebody else--tell me frankly your own opinion."
"Frankly and honestly," I replied, "I believe you to be an innocent man."
"Thank you," he said, and I saw the tears rising in his eyes.
"Do you happen," I said, presently, "to know the name of the juryman who was in your favor?"
"No," he replied, "I am quite ignorant of the names of the jurymen."
"But they were called over before the trial commenced."
"Yes, that is the usual course, I believe, but I did not hear their names. Indeed, I paid no heed to them. Of what interest would they have been to me? Twelve strangers were twelve strangers; one was no different from the other."
"They were all strangers to you?" I asked, assuming a purposed carelessness of tone.
"Yes, every one of them."
"And you to them?"
"I suppose so. How could it have been otherwise?"
"But when they finally came back into court, and the foreman of the jury stated that they could not agree, you seemed surprised."
"Were you watching me?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Do you not think it natural," I said, in reply, "that every person's eyes at that moment should be turned upon you?"
"Of course," he said, recovering himself--"quite natural. I should have done the same myself had I been in a better place than the dock. Well, Iwassurprised; I fully anticipated a verdict of guilty."
"And," I continued, "although you may not remember it, you leaned forward and gazed at the jury with an appearance of eagerness."
"I remember that I did so," he said; "it was an impulsive movement on my part."
"Did you recognize any among them whose face was familiar to you?"
"No; to tell you the truth, I could not distinguish their faces, I am so short-sighted."
"But you had your glasses hanging round your neck. Why did you not use them?"
It amazed me to hear him laugh at this question. It was a gentle, kindly laugh, but none the less was I astonished at it.
"You lawyers are so sharp," he said, "that there is scarcely hiding anything from you. Be careful what questions you ask me, or I shall be compelled"--and here his voice grew sad--"to beg of you not to come again."
I held myself well within control, although his admonition startled me, for I had it in my mind to ask him something concerning the surprise he had evinced when the Nine of Hearts was produced from the pocket of his ulster; and I had it also in my mind to ask him whether he was acquainted, either directly or indirectly, with Mr. James Rutland. His caution made me cautious; his wariness made me wary; I seemed to be pitted against him in a friendly contest in which I was engaged in his interests and he was engaged against them.
"I will be careful," I said; "you must not close your door against me, although it is, unhappily, a prison door. I am here truly as a sympathizing friend. Look upon me in that light, and not in the light of a professional man."
"You comfort me," he said. "Although I may appear to you careless and indifferent, you know well enough it is impossible that I can be so; you know that I must be tearing my heart out in the terrible position in which I have been forced by ruthless circumstance. Make no mistake I am myself greatly to blame for what has occurred. It has been folioed upon me by my sense of honor and right and truth. Why, life once spread itself before me with a prospect so glad, so beautiful, that it almost awed me! But, after all, if a man bears within him the assurance that he is doing what he is in honor bound to do, surely that should be something! There--you see what you have forced from me. Yes, Ididlook eagerly forward when I heard that the jury could not agree. At least there was one man there who believed me to be innocent, and without the slightest knowledge of him I blessed him for the belief."
He gazed round with the air of a man who was fearful that every movement he made was watched and observed by enemies, and then he said, in a low tone,
"I need a friend."
I replied, instantly, following the tone that he had used, "I am here; I will be your friend."
"It is a simple service I require," he said; "I have a letter about me which I wish to be posted. What it contains concerns no one whom you know. It is my affair and mine only, and rather than make it another man's I would be burned at the stake, though we don't live in such barbarous times;" and then he added, with a sigh, "But they are barbarous enough."
"I will post the letter for you," I said. He looked me in the face, a long, searching, wistful look, and as he gazed, I saw in his eyes a nobility of spirit which drew me as close to him in sympathy and admiration as I had sever been drawn in my life to any man.
"Dare I trust you?" he said, still preserving his low tone. "But if not you, whom can I trust?"
"You may trust me," I said; "I will post the letter for you faithfully."
"Not close to the prison," he said. "Not in this district. Put it into a pillar-box at some distance from this spot."
"I will do as you desire."
"Honestly and honorably?" he said.
"Honestly," I responded, "and honorably, as between man and man."
"You are a good fellow," he said, "I will trust you. I can never hope to repay yon, but one day, perhaps, you may live to be glad that you did me even this slight service." And he slipped the letter into my hand, which I as secretly slipped into my pocket. Then I said,
"May I come to see you again?"
"Do. You have lightened the day for me--and many a day in addition to this!"
Soon afterwards I left him. I was honorably careful in the carrying out of his directions. I did not take the letter from my pocket until I was quite three miles from the prison, and then I put it into a pillar-box but before I deposited it there, I looked at the address. Layton had not extracted a promise from me that I should not do so, and I will not say, therefore, whether, if he had, I should have violated it. I was engaged, against his will and wish, in his vital interests, and I might have broken such a promise however that may be, my surprise was overwhelming when I saw that his letter was addressed to "Miss Mabel Rutland, 32 Lavender Terrace, South Kensington."
Rutland! Why, that was the name of the one juryman who had held out upon Layton's trial, and from whom I had vainly endeavored to obtain some useful information! Of all the cases I have been engaged in, this promised to be not only the most momentous, but the most pregnant and interesting. Rutland! Rutland! Had it been a common name, such as Smith or Jones, I might not have been so stirred. It was no chance coincidence. I was on the track, and with all the powers of my intellect I determined to carry it to a successful issue.
Cable message from Mr. Bainbridge, London, to Mr. Archibald Laing, U. S.
"Who is Miss Mabel Rutland, and is there any relationship between her and Mr. James Rutland? Also, in what relation does she stand to Edward Layton? Can you give me any information respecting the Nine of Hearts?"
Cable message from Mr. Archibald Laing, U S., to Mr. Bainbridge, London.
"Miss Mabel Rutland is the niece of Mr. James Rutland. She and Mr. Edward Layton were once engaged to be married. The breaking off of the engagement caused great surprise, as they were deeply in love with each other. I do not understand your reference to the Nine of Hearts."
Cable message from Mr. Bainbridge to Mr. Archibald Laing.
"The Nine of Hearts I refer to is a playing-card. I have reasons for asking."
Cable message from Mr. Archibald Laing to Mr. Bainbridge.
"I know nothing whatever concerning the Nine of Hearts."
The information you give me in your cable that Miss Mabel Rutland and Edward Layton were once engaged to be married is of the utmost interest to me. You will doubtless in your letters explain more fully what you know, but I do not wait for letters from you. Time is too precious for me to lose an hour, a moment. I feel confident, before you enlighten me upon this point, that I shall ferret out something of importance which may lead to the end we both desire. I may confess to you at once that the case has taken complete hold of me, and that, without any prospect of monetary compensation, I should devote myself to it. That Edward Layton is bent upon sacrificing himself in some person's interests seems to me to be certain. It would take something in the shape of a miracle to convince me that he is guilty of the crime of which he is charged. I have elected myself his champion, and if it be in the power of man to bring him out of his desperate strait with honor, I resolve, with all the earnestness of my heart and with all the strength of my intellect, to accomplish it. The intelligence that Mr. James Rutland is uncle to the young lady to whom Edward Layton was engaged may be of use to me. I do not yet despair of obtaining useful information from him.
My inquiry respecting the Nine of Hearts was not idly made. This particular playing-card, which was found in the pocket of Layton's ulster, and of which he had no knowledge, is, I am convinced, an important feature in the case.
I have already enlisted the services of three or four agents, and as I intend to spare no expense, it may be that I shall call upon your bankers for a further sum of money, which I feel assured you will not begrudge.
Certain events are working in my favor. Of those that do not immediately bear upon the matter I shall make no mention, but those that do shall find a record here.
For some portion of the day after my interview with Edward Layton in prison, I was, apart from my practical work, engaged upon the consideration of the question whether I should call upon Miss Mabel Rutland, at 32 Lavender Terrace, South Kensington. I went there in a cab, and reconnoitred the house outside, but I did not venture to enter it. It is one of a terrace of fourteen mansions, built in the Elizabethan style. No person could afford to reside there who was not in a position to spend a couple of thousand a year. The natural conclusion, therefore, is that Miss Rutland's people are wealthy.
That in the absence of some distinct guide or clew or information I should have been compelled to present myself at the address, for the purpose of seeking an interview with the young lady to whom Edward Layton's letter was addressed, was certain; but chance or destiny came here to my assistance.
Dr. Daincourt called upon me at between ten and eleven o'clock in the night.
"I make no apology for this late visit," he said; "I have something of importance to communicate.
"When you spoke to me last night about the jury, you gave me the list of names to look over. I glanced at them casually, and gathered nothing from them, until Mr. Laing's cable message arrived from America. That incident, of course, impressed upon my mind the name of Mr. James Rutland. It was strange to me; I was not acquainted with any person hearing it. But it is most singular that this afternoon I was unexpectedly called into consultation upon a serious case--a young lady, Miss Mabel Rutland, who has been for some time in a bad state. The diagnosis presents features sufficiently familiar to a specialist, and also sufficiently perplexing. Her nerves are shattered; she is suffering mentally, and there is decided danger."
"Miss Mabel Rutland," I said, mechanically, "living at 32 Lavender Terrace, South Kensington."
"You know her?" exclaimed Dr. Daincourt, in astonishment.
"I have never seen her," I said, "but I know where she lives."
"Is she related," inquired Dr. Daincourt, "to the one juryman who held out upon Edward Layton's trial?"
"There is no need for secrets between us," I replied; "but it will be as well to keep certain matters to ourselves."
"Certainly. I will not speak of them to any one. It is agreed that what passes between us is in confidence."
"Miss Mabel Rutland is niece to the Mr. James Rutland who was on the jury."
"That is strange," exclaimed Dr. Daincourt.
"Very strange," I said; "but I shall be surprised if, before we come to the end of this affair, we do not meet with even stranger circumstances than that. Proceed, I beg, with what you have to tell me concerning Miss Rutland."
"Well," said Dr. Daincourt, "her parents are in great distress about her. I saw and examined her, and I am much puzzled. There is nothing radically wrong with her. There is no confirmed disease; her lungs are sufficiently strong; she is not in a consumption, and yet it may be that she will die. It is not her body that is suffering, it is her mind. Of course I was very particular in making the fullest inquiries, and indeed she interested me. Although her features are wasted, she is very beautiful, and thererestsupon her face an expression of suffering exaltation and self-sacrifice which deeply impressed me. In saying that this expression rests upon her face, I am speaking with exactness. It is not transient; it does not come and go. It is always there, and to my experienced eyes it appears to denote some strong trouble which has oppressed her for a considerable time, and under the pressure of which she has at length broken down. I could readily believe what her parents told me, that there were times when she was delirious for many hours."
"Has she been long ill?" I inquired.
"She has been confined to her bed," replied Dr. Daincourt, "since the 26th of March."
"The 26th of March," I repeated; "the day on which Mrs. Edward Layton was found dead."
Dr. Daincourt started. "I did not give that a thought," he said.
"Why should you?" I remarked. "I may confess to you, doctor, that I apply almost everything I hear to the case upon which I am engaged. I shall surprise you even more when I ask you whether, during the time you were in 32 Lavender Terrace, you heard the name of Edward Layton mentioned?"
"No," replied Dr. Daincourt; "his name was not mentioned. Bainbridge, I know that you are not given to idle talk; there is always some meaning in what you say."
"Assuredly," I said, "I am not in the mood for idle talk just now. Events are marching on, doctor, and I am inclined to think that we are on the brink of a discovery. You have not yet told me all I wish to know concerning Miss Mabel Rutland. What members of the family did you see?"
"Her mother, her father, and herself," replied Dr. Daincourt.
"Do those comprise the whole of the family?"
"I do not know; I did not inquire."
"Give me some description of her parents."
"Her father," said Dr. Daincourt, "is a gentleman of about sixty years of age."
"Is there any doubt in your mind that he is a gentleman?"
"Not the slightest."
"Attached to his daughter--entertaining an affection for her?"
"I should certainly say so, but at the same time not given to sentimental demonstration."
"As to character, now?" I asked. "What impression did he leave upon you?"
"That he was stern, self-willed, unbending. Hard to turn, I suspect, when once he is resolved."
"Like his brother," I observed, "Mr. James Rutland, who was on Layton's trial. Those traits evidently run in the family. Now, as to his wife?"
"A gentle and amiable lady," said Dr. Daincourt, "some eight or ten years younger than her husband; but her hair is already grayer than his; it is almost white."
"She and her daughter resemble each other," I remarked.
"Yes; and there is also on the mother's face an expression of devotion and self-sacrifice. Her eyes continually overflowed when we were speaking of her daughter."
"Not so the father's eyes?"
"No; but he showed no want of feeling."
"Still, doctor," I said, "you gather from your one visit to the house that he is the master of it--in every sense, I mean."
"Most certainly the master."
"Ruling," I remarked, "with a rod of iron."
"You put ideas into my head," said Dr. Daincourt, in a somewhat helpless tone.
"If they clash with your own, say so."
"They do not clash with my own, but I am not prone so suddenly to take such decided views. I should say you are right, Bainbridge, and that in his house Mr. Rutland's will is law."
"Would that be likely," I asked, "to account in any way for the expression of self-sacrifice you observed on the faces of mother and daughter?"
"It might be so," said Dr. Daincourt, thoughtfully.
"Proceed, now," I said, "and tell me all that passed."
"But little remains to tell," said Dr. Daincourt. "I informed the parents that their daughter was suffering more from mental than from physical causes; that it was clear to me that there was a heavy trouble upon her mind, and that, until her trouble was removed, there was but faint hope of her getting well and strong. 'I am speaking in the dark,' I said to the parents, 'and while I remain in ignorance of the cause, it is almost impossible for me to prescribe salutary remedies.' 'Can you do nothing for her?' asked the father. 'Can you not give her some medicine?' 'Yes, I can give her medicine,' I replied, 'but nothing that would be likely to be of benefit to her. Indeed, the medicine already in her room is such as would be ordinarily prescribed by a medical man who had not reached the core of the patient's disease.' 'If she goes on as she is going on now,' said the father, what will be the result?' 'Her strength is failing fast,' I replied; 'what little reserve she has to draw upon will soon be exhausted. If she goes on as she is going on now, I am afraid there will be but one result.' The mother burst into tears; the father fixed his steady gaze upon me, but I saw his lips quiver. 'We have called you in, Dr. Daincourt,' he said, 'because we have heard of wonderful cures you have effected in patients who have suffered from weak nerves.' 'I have been happily successful,' I said, in effecting cures, but I have never yet succeeded where a secret has been hidden from me.' At these words the mother raised her hands imploringly to her husband. 'Do you think that a secret is being hidden from you in this case?' asked the father. 'It is not for me to say,' I replied; 'it is simply my duty to acquaint you with the fact that your daughter's disease is mental, and that her condition is critical. Until I learn the cause of her grief, I am powerless to aid her.' 'Will you oblige me by calling to-morrow?' asked the father, after a slight pause. 'Yes,' I said, preparing to depart, 'I will call in the afternoon, and, if you wish, will see your daughter again.' He expressed his thanks in courteous terms, and I took my leave. I should have come here earlier, Bainbridge, to relate this to you, but I have had other serious cases to attend to. A doctor's time is not his own, you know."
"I have something to tell you, doctor," I said, "with reference to your new patient, which will interest you. Mabel Rutland was once engaged to be married to Edward Layton, and I believe there was a deep and profound attachment between them."
"You startle me," he said, "and have given me food for thought."
When he bade me good-night, it was with the determination to extract, if possible, from Mabel Rutland's parents some information respecting her mental condition which might be used to her benefit. For my part, I must confess to the hope, unreasonable as it may appear, that he may also be successful in obtaining some information which will assist me in the elucidation of the mystery upon which I am employed.
Cable message from Mr. Bainbridge, London, to Archibald Laing, U. S.
"Give me what particulars you can of Miss Mabel Rutland and her parents, and of her brothers and sisters, if she has any."
Cable message from Air. Archibald Laing, U. S to Mr. Bainbridge, London.
"Miss Mabel Rutland has no sisters. She has only a twin-brother, Eustace, to whom she was passionately attached and devoted. This brother and sister and their parents comprise the family. Mr. Rutland is of an implacable and relentless disposition, impatient of contradiction, and obstinate to a degree. These qualities were exercised in my favor some years ago, when I paid court to Miss Rutland, in the hope of making her my wife. Her father would have forced her into a marriage with me, but when I could no longer doubt that she loved Edward Layton, I preferred to retire rather than render her unhappy. By so doing, I think I won her esteem, and it is for her sake I wish Layton to be cleared of the charge brought against him. It is my belief that she still loves him, and she must be suffering terribly. If Layton is convicted, it will break her heart. I know very little of her brother Eustace. He was at Oxford when I was in London, and I met him only once or twice. Mrs. Rutland is a sweet lady, gentle-mannered, kindly-hearted, and I fear domineered over by her husband."
I thank you for the information contained in your last cable. It gives me an insight into the generous motives which have prompted you to step forward on Edward Layton's behalf, and I am gratified in being associated with you in the cause. When a counsel finds himselfen rapportwith his client, it is generally of assistance to him he works with a better spirit.
Three days have passed since I wrote and despatched to you the second portion of the narrative of my proceedings and progress. I was waiting anxiously for something to occur--I could not exactly say what--which would serve as an absolute stepping-stone. Somethinghasoccurred which, although I have not yet discovered the key to it, will, I believe, prove to be of the utmost importance. You will understand later on what I mean by my use of the word "key;" and when I tell you that this which I call the stepping-stone is nothing more or less than the Nine of Hearts, you will give me credit for my prescience on the first production of that card in the Criminal Court. I felt convinced that it would be no insignificant factor in the elucidation of the Layton mystery.
I may say here that the progress we have made is entirely due to Dr. Daincourt. What I should have done had he not been unexpectedly called in to our assistance, it is difficult to say. I should not have been idle, but it is scarcely likely that, within so short a time, my actions would have led to the point we have now reached. Dr. Daincourt has allowed himself to be prompted by me to a certain extent, and his interest in his beautiful patient has been intensified by the friendship existing between us, and by the esteem we both entertain for Edward Layton.
In accordance with the promise Dr. Daincourt gave to Mr. Rutland, he called upon, that gentleman on the day following his first visit to the house. During the interval Miss Rutland's condition had not improved; it had, indeed, grown worse. There was an aggravation of the feverish symptoms, and her speech was wild and incoherent. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that it was wild and incoherent to those who were assembled at her bedside. I hold to the theory that there is a method in dreams, and I also hold to the theory that there is a method in the wildest utterances produced by the wildest delirium. I speak, of course, as a lawyer. Dr. Daincourt's position with respect to Miss Rutland was that of a physician. HadIheard the words uttered by Miss Rutland in her fevered state, I do not doubt that my legal training would have enabled me to detect what was hidden from Dr. Daincourt and the young lady's parents.
During this second visit to Miss Rutland, her father requested Dr. Daincourt to give him a private interview, in the course of which he elicited from the doctor an accentuation of the views which Dr. Daincourt had expressed on the previous day. Mr. Rutland made a vain attempt to combat these views. He would have been glad to be assured that his daughter was suffering from a physical, and not from a mental malady; but Dr. Daincourt was positive, and was not to be moved from his conviction. He emphasized his inability to treat the case with any hope of success, and he repeated his belief, if Miss Rutland were allowed to continue in her present condition without any effort being made to arrive at the cause of her mental suffering, that there could be but one result--death before the end of the year.
At the commencement of this interview between Mr. Rutland and Dr. Daincourt, Mrs. Rutland was not present; but after it had lasted some twenty minutes or so, her anxiety became so overpowering that she knocked at the door of the room in which the conversation was taking place, and begged to be admitted. The issue at stake was so grave that Mr. Rutland could not refuse, and thus it was that she was present when Dr. Daincourt spoke in plain terms of the serious condition of his beautiful patient. The mother's distress was pitiable, but it appeared to produce no impression upon her husband.
"And yet," said Dr. Daincourt, in narrating the affair to me, "I am sure that Mr. Rutland was inwardly suffering, and I am also sure that he has a sincere affection for his daughter."
The interview terminated by Mr. Rutland requesting Dr. Daincourt to call again the next day, to which request the doctor gave a reluctant assent.
He called on the following day, with the same result. Again he saw the patient; again he had an interview with Mr. Rutland, at which Mrs. Rutland was present; again he emphasized his view of the young lady's condition; and again Mr. Rutland requested him to pay another visit upon his daughter. Dr. Daincourt objected. He told Mr. Rutland that, as matters stood, his visits were useless, and that in the absence of necessary information it was his distinct wish to be relieved from them.
"And I feel it my duty," he said to the father, "to inform you that if you intend to do nothing further than it seems to me is your present intention, you are playing with your daughter's life."
These were grave words to use, but Dr. Daincourt is no ordinary man. His knowledge and experience lead him intuitively to correct conclusions, and in his professional capacity be will not be trifled with.
"In these circumstances," he said to Mr. Rutland, "I must beg of you to summon some other physician in whom you have greater confidence."
"I have the fullest confidence in you," said Mr. Rutland.
"You have not shown it," was Dr. Daincourt's rejoinder. "It is as though you have determined that you, and not I, shall be your daughter's physician."
However, he allowed himself to be prevailed upon to pay Miss Rutland yet another visit. But he gave his consent only upon the express stipulation that it should be his last, unless Mr. Rutland placed him in possession of information which would enable him to fully understand the case.
I come now to this fourth interview, which was pregnant with results.
Upon presenting himself at the house he was received by Mrs. Rutland, who said to him,
"My husband has consented that I should tell you all you desire to know with respect to our dear child."
"You have prevailed upon him to consent," said Dr. Daincourt.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Rutland, "I have, thank God! prevailed upon him to consent. Dear doctor, you will save my child, will you not?"
"I will do all that lies in my power," said Dr. Daincourt.
"What is it you wish to know?" asked Mrs. Rutland.
"Everything that concerns your daughter," said Dr. Daincourt, "with respect to her disposition, habits, likings, and affections. She has a terrible weight upon her mind, and you must certainly have some suspicion of the cause. You may have more than a suspicion, you may have a positive knowledge. You must hide nothing from me. Unless you are prepared to be absolutely and entirely frank in your disclosures, I cannot undertake to continue my visits. You are her mother--you love her tenderly?"
"I love her with all my heart and soul," said Mrs. Rutland, weeping. "If my daughter is taken from me, I shall not care to live!"
"In deep sincerity, then," said Dr. Daincourt, "I declare to you that you may be acting as your daughter's enemy instead of her friend if you do not open your heart and mind to me freely and without restraint. Relate as briefly as you can, without omitting important points, the story of her life."
It was a simple, touching story which Mrs. Rutland disclosed, fragrant with all that is sweetest in woman. The Rutlands have but two children, Mabel and Eustace, who came into the world within a few minutes of each other. Between these children existed a most profound and devoted love, and to tear Eustace away from Mabel was like tearing the girl's heartstrings. The lad's love was the weaker of the two, as is usually the case, but he nevertheless adored his sister, who repaid him tenfold for all the affection he lavished upon her. They grew up together, shared each other's pleasures, had secret and innocent methods of communicating with each other which afforded them intense delight, and were inseparable until they reached the age of eighteen, when Eustace went to college. Hitherto his studies had been conducted at home, a home of peace and harmony and love; for, stern and implacable as Mr. Rutland was, he loved his children and his wife; but he loved something else equally well--his honor and his good name. While Eustace was absent at college, he and Mabel corresponded regularly.
"But," said the mother, "neither my husband nor myself was ever able to understand Eustace's letters to his sister. They were always written in the form of mystery-letters. It had been their favorite amusement when they were children to discover and invent new methods of corresponding with each other, of which only they possessed the secret. 'There, mamma,' Mabel would say, with a laugh, giving me one of my dear Eustace's letters from college, 'read that!' But it might as well have been written in Greek for anything that I could make of it. Words and figures were jumbled together, without any meaning in them that I could discover, and the entire page was a perfect puzzle. Then Mabel would take the letter from me, and read it off as easily as possible; and I remember her saying once, 'If Eustace and I ever have any real secrets, mamma, we shall be able to tell them to each other through the post, without any person in the world being one bit the wiser.' Little did I think that the time would arrive when her words would bear a fatal meaning."
Eustace, then, being at college, and Mabel at home, it unfortunately happened that the lad fell into evil ways. He got mixed up with bad companions. The hours that should have been employed in study were wasted in gambling and dissipation, and his career at college was by no means creditable. His father had set his heart upon Eustace obtaining honors at Oxford, and he was sorely and bitterly disappointed when the reports of his son's proceedings reached him. Unfortunately these reports did not come to his ears until much mischief had been done, and it was at about this time that Eustace returned home, declaring that he would never go back to college.
At about this time, also, momentous events were occurring in Mabel's life. A beautiful girl, with an amiable and sweet disposition, with most winning ways, and with a wealthy father moving in a good social position, it was not to be wondered at that she had suitors for her hand; but there were only two whose affection for her was regarded seriously by the family. One of these was Mr. Edward Layton, the other Mr. Archibald Laing.
Mabel's father favored the suit of Archibald Laing; Mabel's uncle, the gentleman who was upon the jury in the trial, favored the suit of Edward Layton. He was never weary of sounding the young man's praises, and it may be that this rather strengthened Mabel's father against Edward Layton. However, the young lady had decided for herself. She had given her heart to Edward Layton, and there grew between them an absorbing and devoted attachment.
While these matters were in progress, both Archibald Laing and Edward Layton were admitted freely to the house, and thus they had equal chances. But when the lady whom two men are in love with makes up her mind, the chances are no longer equal. It was not without a struggle that Archibald Laing abandoned his pretensions. From what afterwards transpired, he could not have loved Mabel with less strength than Edward Layton did. It was no small sacrifice on his part to relinquish his hopes of winning Mabel for his wife, more especially when her father was on his side. There were interviews of an affecting nature between him and Mabel. There were interviews, also, between him and Edward Layton. The two men had been friends long before they came into association with Mabel Rutland, and it speaks well for the generosity and nobility of their natures that this affair of the heart--the like of which has been the cause of bitter feuds from time immemorial--did not turn their friendship into enmity. In the estimate of their characters at this period Archibald Laing showed the higher nobility, for the reason that it devolved upon him to make a voluntary and heart-rending sacrifice. He informed the young lady's parents that he gave up all hope of obtaining their daughter's hand, and at the same time he declared that if it ever lay in his power to render Mabel or Edward Layton a service, he would not hesitate to render it, whatever might be the cost. Nobly has he redeemed this pledge.
He suffered much--to such an extent, indeed, that he determined to leave the country, and find a home in another land. He bade the Rutlands farewell by letter, and sailed for America, where he settled, and realized an amazing fortune.
The field was thus left free for Mabel and Edward. Mr. Rutland was seriously displeased. He had been thwarted in a wish that was very dear to him, and he was not the kind of man to forget the defeat. Although Edward Layton was allowed to come to the house, Mr. Rutland received him without favor, and it was only upon the imploring and repeated solicitations of his wife and daughter that he consented to an engagement between the young people. It was a half-hearted consent, and caused them some unhappiness. More than once he declared in their presence, and in the presence of his wife, that if anything ever occurred which would cast the slightest shadow of doubt or dishonor upon Edward Layton, no power on earth should induce him to allow the marriage to take place. It was not necessary for him to impress upon them that, above everything else in the world, he was jealous of his good name. They knew this well enough, and were in a certain sense proud in the knowledge, because the stainless reputation he bore reflected honor upon themselves. But they did not see the cloud that was hanging above them. It gathered surely and steadily, and brought with it terrible events, in the whirlpool of which the happiness of Mabel and Edward was fated to be ingulfed.
The cause lay not in themselves. It lay in Eustace Rutland. It was he who was responsible for all.
He was in London, in partial disgrace with his father. He was without a career; he had already contracted vicious and idle habits; he was frequently from home; and although his father questioned him severely, he would give no truthful account of his movements and proceedings. Some accounts he did give, but his father knew instinctively that they were false or evasive. As he could obtain no satisfaction from his son, Mr. Rutland, aware of the perfect confidence which existed between Eustace and Mabel, applied to her for information; but she would not utter one word to her brother's hurt. Her father could extract nothing from her, and there gradually grew within him an idea that there was a conspiracy against him in his own home, a conspiracy in which Edward Layton was the principal agent. It was natural, perhaps, that he should think more hardly of this stranger than of his own children.
Had he set a watch upon his son, he might have made discoveries which would have been of service to all, and which might have averted terrible consequences. But proud and self-willed as he was, it did not occur to him to do anything which in his view savored of meanness. His son Eustace went his way, therefore, to sure and certain ruin. When he was absent from home he corresponded regularly with his sister, and Mr. Rutland sometimes demanded to see this correspondence.
"You can make nothing of it, papa," said Mabel. "Eustace and I do not correspond like other people."
He insisted, nevertheless, upon seeing these letters, and Mabel showed them to him. As he could not understand them, he demanded that she should read them intelligibly to him; but it being a fact that there was always something in Eustace's correspondence which would deepen his father's anger against him, the young girl refused to read them. This, as may be supposed, did not tend to pacify Mr. Rutland. It intensified the bitterness of his heart towards those whom he believed were conspiring against him. He applied to Edward Layton.
"You are in my daughter's confidence," he said to the young man, "and as you have wrung from me a reluctant consent to an engagement with her, I must ask you to give me the information which she withholds from me."
He met with another rebuff. Edward Layton declared that he would it violate the confidence which Mabel had reposed in him. At one time Mr. Rutland said to Edward Layton,
"My son has been absent from home for several days. Have you seen him?"
"Yes, sir," replied Edward, "I have seen him."
But he would say nothing further.
He was in a most painful position. Mabel had extracted from him a solemn promise that he would reveal nothing without her consent, and he was steadfastly loyal to her. He had another reason for his silence, and, in the light of that reason, and of the feelings which Mr. Rutland harbored towards him, he felt that the happiness he hoped would be his was slipping from him.
The explanation of this other reason, which unhappily was a personal one, brings upon the scene a person who played a brief but pregnant part in this drama of real life, and who is now in his grave. This person was Edward Layton's father.
"What was the nature of the relations," said Mrs. Rutland, "between this gentleman and my dear son Eustace I do not know. All that I do know is that they were in association with each other, and, I am afraid, not to a good end. It came, also, by some strange means, to the knowledge of my husband, and a frightful scene occurred between him and Edward Layton, in which Mabel's lover was dismissed from the house. My husband withdrew the consent he had given to the engagement, and used words which, often since when I have thought of them, have made me shudder, they were so unnecessarily cruel and severe. 'If from this day,' my husband said to the young gentleman, 'you pursue my daughter with your attentions, you will be playing a base and dishonorable part. If you wish me to turn my daughter from my house, you can by your actions bring about this result. But bear in mind, should it come to pass, that she will go from my presence with my curse upon her--a beggar! I am not ignorant my duties with respect to my children. I have not been sparing of love towards them. Hard I may be when my feelings are strongly roused, but I am ever just. In the secrets that are being hidden from me there is, I am convinced, some degrading and shameful element otherwise, it is not possible that you should conspire to keep them from me. If the matter upon which you are engaged were honorable, there would be no occasion to keep it from my knowledge. Do not forget that you have it in your power to wreck not only my daughter's happiness, but her mother's and mine, if that consideration will have any weight with you.' There was much more than this, to which Mr. Edward Layton listened with a sad patience, which deepened my pity for him. He bore, without remonstrance, all the obloquies that were heaped upon him by my unhappy husband, who soon afterwards left the room with the injunction that Mr. Layton was on no account to be allowed an interview with my daughter. Then Mr. Layton said to me, 'I must bear it. If the happiness of my life is lost it will be through the deep, the sacred love I bear for your child. I devote not only the dearest hopes of my life, but my life itself, to her cause. Fate is against us. A man can do no more than his duty.'"
From that day to this Mabel's mother has never seen Edward Layton. When she heard of his marriage into a family whose position in society was to say the least equivocal, she was in great distress, fearing the effect the news would have upon her dear daughter. Mabel Rutland suffered deeply, but during that time of anguish she appeared to summon to her aid a certain fortitude and resignation which served her in good stead. It astonished her mother, one day, to hear her say,
"Do not blame Edward, mamma he is all that is good and noble. Although he is another lady's husband, and although our lives can never be united, as we had once hoped, I shall ever love and honor him."
"Time will bring comfort to you, my darling," said the mother, "and it may be that there is still a happy fate in store for you. You may meet with another man, around whom no mystery hangs, to whom your heart will be drawn."
"Never, mamma," replied Mabel. "I shall never marry now."
What most grievously disturbed Mrs. Rutland was the circumstance that, even within a few weeks of Edward Layton's marriage, he corresponded with her daughter. Her father was not aware of this. He usually rose late in the morning, and it devolved upon Mrs. Rutland to receive the correspondence which came by the first post. The letters that Edward Layton wrote to Mabel were invariably posted at night, from which it would appear that the young man was aware that they would fall into the hands of Mabel's mother, and that Mr. Rutland, unless he were made acquainted with the fact, was not likely otherwise to discover it. When Mrs. Rutland gave her daughter the first letter from Mr. Layton, Mabel said to her,
"Do not be alarmed, mamma. This letter is in reply to one I wrote to Mr. Layton. I may have other letters from him which I beg you to give me without papa's knowing. It may appear wrong to you, but it is really not so. Everything is being done for the best, as perhaps you will one day learn."
Sad at heart as Mrs. Rutland was, she had too firm a trust in her daughter's innate purity and sense of self-respect not to believe what she said, both in its letter and in its spirit, and thus it was that the secret of this correspondence was also kept from Mr. Rutland. By pursuing the course she did, Mrs. Rutland preserved, to some extent, peace in the household.
Thus matters went on for two years, until Eustace Rutland's wild conduct produced a terrible disturbance. His absences from home had grown more frequent and prolonged; he became dreadfully involved, and Mr. Rutland received letters and visits from money-lenders (a class of men that he abhorred) in connection with his son's proceedings. Incensed beyond endurance, he banished Eustace from the house, and forbade him ever again to enter his doors.
"It seemed to be fated," said Mrs. Rutland, "that there should be always something in our family that it was necessary to conceal from my husband's knowledge. He banished Eustace from home, but that did not weaken my love for our dear lad. Three times during the past year I have seen Eustace, and I have not made my husband acquainted with the fact. What could I do? Had I asked his permission he would have sternly refused it, and had I told him that I could not resist the impulse of my heart to fold my dear boy in my arms, it would only have made matters worse for all of us."
She related to Dr. Daincourt a circumstance which had deeply angered her husband. Among the presents the father had given to his daughter was a very costly one, a diamond bracelet of great value, for which Mr. Rutland had paid no less than five hundred guineas. One evening a dinner-party was given at the house, and Mr. Rutland particularly desired that Mabel should look her best on the occasion. He said as much to his daughter, and expressed a desire that she should wear certain articles of jewellery, and most especially her diamond bracelet. He noticed at the dinner-table that this bracelet was not upon Mabel's arm; he made no remark before his guests, but when they had departed he asked Mabel why she had not worn it.
"I have so many other things, papa," she replied, "that you have given me. It was not necessary."
"But," said her father, "I desired you particularly to wear the bracelet. Is it broken? If so, it can be easily repaired. Let me see it."
Then the mother saw trouble in her daughter's face. Mabel endeavored, to evade her father's request, and strove to turn the conversation into another channel. But he insisted so determinedly upon seeing the bracelet that she was at length compelled to confess that it was not in her possession. Upon this Mr. Rutland questioned her more closely, but he could obtain from her no satisfactory information as to what had become of it. Suddenly he inquired if her purse was in her room. She answered yes, and he desired her to bring it down to him. She obeyed; and when he opened the purse he found only three or four shillings in it.
"Is this all you have?" he inquired.
"Yes, papa," she said, "this is all."
"But it was only yesterday," said Mr. Rutland, "that you asked me for twenty pounds, and I gave it to you. What have you done with the money?"
Upon this point, also, he could obtain no satisfactory information. He was greatly angered.
"I thought," he said "when Mr. Layton married into the family of a professional sharp--a fit connection for him--that the conspiracy in my house against my peace of mind, and, it seems to me, against my honor, would come to an end. It was not so. I perceive that I am regarded here as an enemy by my own family, not as a man who has endeavored all through life to perform his duties in an honorable and straightforward way. Go to your room, and let me see the diamond bracelet before this month is ended, or let me know what you have done with it. If you have lost it," he added, gazing sternly upon his daughter, "find it."
Before the month was ended Mabel showed him the diamond bracelet; but her mother was aware that there were other articles missing from among her daughter's jewellery.
Mrs. Rutland having come to the end of her narrative, Dr. Daincourt began to question her.
"Your daughter," he said, "was taken ill on the 26th of March, and I understand that she has been confined to her bed since that day. Were there any premonitory symptoms of a serious illness, or was the seizure a sudden one?"
"It was quite sudden," replied Mrs. Rutland. "I went into her room early in the morning, and found her in a high state of fever."
"Has she been sensible at all since that time?"
"No."
"Not sufficiently sensible to recognize any one who attended her?"
"No; she does not even know me, her own mother."
"What did the physician whom you first called in say about the case?"
"He said that she had brain-fever, and that it had been accelerated by her having caught a violent cold through wearing damp clothing."
"Do you think she wore that clothing in the house?"
"No."
(Dr. Daincourt has certain ways and methods of his own. He is in the habit of keeping in his pocket-book a tablet of the weather from day to day.)
"If your daughter did not wear damp clothes in the house," he said, "she must have worn them out of the house."
He took his pocket-book from his pocket and consulted his weather-tablet. "I see," he said to Mrs. Rutland, "that from the 12th till the 25th of March there was no rain. The weather was mild and unusually warm during those days, but on the evening of the 25th of March it began to rain, and rained during the night. Your daughter must have been out during those hours in the bad weather. What were her movements on that evening? Remember, you must keep nothing from me if you wish me to do my best to restore your child to health."
Still, it was with some difficulty that he extracted from Mrs. Rutland the information he desired to obtain. Obtain it, however, he did. Mrs. Rutland informed him that Mabel had gone out on the evening of the 25th of March, and did not return home until nearly one o'clock in the morning. Mr. Rutland was not aware of this. Mrs. Rutland had stopped up for her daughter, and had let her in quietly and secretly. The young girl was pale and greatly agitated, but she said nothing to her mother. She kissed her hurriedly, went to her bedroom, and was found the next morning in the condition Mrs. Rutland had described.
"Being in a fever from that day," said Dr. Daincourt to the mother, "your daughter has seen no newspapers?"
"No."
"And she is ignorant of the peril through which her former lover, Edward Layton, has passed, and in which he still stands?"
"She is ignorant of it," said Mrs. Rutland.
"Have any letters arrived for her during her illness?"
"Yes, two. One in the handwriting of Mr. Layton, the other from my dear boy Eustace."
"Have you those letters?"
"Yes."
"Have you opened them?"
"No. My daughter made me give her a solemn promise that I would never open one of her letters, and I have not done so."
"But," said Dr. Daincourt, "this is a matter of life and death. I must ask you to give me those letters, and I will take upon myself the responsibility of opening them. I must ask you for something more. Your daughter has a desk?"
"Yes."
"The key of which is in her room?"
"Yes."
"Bring down the desk and the key. Ask me no questions concerning my motives. I am in hopes that I shall be able to discover the true cause of your daughter's illness, and that will enable me to adopt towards her the only treatment by which it is possible she can recover."
Mrs. Rutland brought down the desk and the key. In the mother's presence Dr. Daincourt opened the desk. There were in it no letters from Edward Layton, but it contained two of what Mrs. Rutland called the mystery-letters which Eustace was in the habit of writing to his sister. These letters were in their envelopes, the post-marks upon which indicated their order of delivery.
Dr. Daincourt could make nothing of them, and Mrs. Rutland could not assist him. They were written upon small single sheets of note-paper, and appeared to be a perfect jumble of incomprehensible words; around the margin of these words were a number of figures and alphabetical letters as incomprehensible as themselves. Searching further in the desk, he made a startling discovery--three playing-cards, each of them being the Nine of Hearts. He asked Mrs. Rutland--who appeared to be almost as startled as he was himself by the discovery--whether she could give him any explanation of the cards, and she said that she could not. Then Dr. Daincourt said that he would take the playing-cards and the letters away with him.
"At the same time," he observed to Mrs. Rutland, "if it is any consolation to you, I undertake your daughter's case, and will do the best for her that lies within my skill and power."