CHAPTER XVI.THE MYSTERY SOLVED.
The mockery of the thing amused me.I knew so well how it was to end, and when Lucille came cheerfully to me, never thinking but that she would return to her home that night, I laughed aloud.She wanted to talk about my promise of marriage, and I readily consented. In very few words I gave her to understand that it was impossible for me to marry her in her present condition, but if she would be guided by my judgment, and bought suitable clothing, we could then go away and be quietly married. To do this it was necessary that she remain with me.She was more than satisfied.She was elated over her brilliant prospects. Still she was stubbornly determined to notify her family, and only by threatening to abandon the whole affair if it became known did I keep her from doing so. I did, however, consent to her writing a note saying she had gone out of town for a few weeks, and on her return would have a joyful surprise for them. It satisfied her and did not hurt me.The letter was never mailed.Lucille’s presence was not unknown to some few. My servant, who slept at home, knew I had somebody with me, but as he had served many years in taking care of bachelor apartments, he was neither surprised nor inquisitive. The waiters who served our meals knew I was not alone, but to them, also, it was a story too old to merit comment. Still I took precautions that they should not see Lucille.In the garments I had bought her I sentLucille to a dressmakers to get her measurements. I also sent her to a dentist to have some decaying teeth filled, and so I started to work out my release from a woman of whom I had tired.You might say that I could have taken a more simple way. I don’t see how. I was afraid of losing my wealthy fiancée and so I would not risk the least chance of Lucille’s telling. Of course I could have claimed blackmail and been declared innocent, yet, knowing the nature of the woman I was hoping to marry, I would not risk the effect it would have on her.There seemed only one thing to do, and I did it. I had Lucille write an order for a dress, from my dictation, inclosing the measurements and stating that it would be called for on a certain date. Personally I went to different stores and bought the garments necessary to make a perfect outfit. I did not spareexpense. I brought everything home with me in the coupé. This relieved me of necessity of giving any address or name, which made me feel sure the articles could not be traced to their destination.During this time Lucille was very happy, notwithstanding her imprisonment. She was constantly planning what she would do when we were married. She dwelt in delight on the sensation her marriage would create among those who knew her. She discussed the localities most suitable for us to live in, and talked of things she intended to buy for her house and the dresses she meant to get.It is useless to try to describe the emotions I labored under during those days. I was conscious of a tiredness, underlaid with a stolid determination not to be balked in my purpose. I felt no sympathy for Lucille. I think I was absolutely without feeling one way or the other. I only felt a desire to laugh ather air castles as she told them to me. Not amused—no. I can’t say what the feeling was. Even when she lay awake some nights and I knew she was painting her future, I laughed aloud at the strangeness of it all.I counted the nights. Every one found my preparations nearer completion.Carefully I removed all trade marks and names from every garment I had bought her. The gloves andSuédeshoes only bore their size. I took the crown lining out of the hat, and before I brought her dress home I removed the inside belt, which was stamped with the name of the man who made it.The dress was the last article but one I brought to my apartment. I did not even show myself at the establishment where the gown was made. I drove near the place, and, hiring a messenger boy, sent him in for the garment. In this way I preserved the secret of my identity.The last thing I bought was a bottle of hair bleaching fluid. I told Lucille that if her hair was golden to match her eyes I thought her appearance would be much improved. She was quite anxious to make the test, always being ready to do anything she thought would increase her beauty. For two days, at different intervals, I brushed her hair with the fluid, and it turned the most perfect golden shade I had ever seen.It really transformed her. I have since then marvelled at the change and have felt an admiration for her perfect beauty. Then I felt nothing.I only had a desire to watch her. I watched her eat and wondered at her appetite. I listened to her light talk and marvelled at her happiness. I gazed at her while she slept, amazed, almost, at her evident sense of security.Why did nothing warn her? I waited and watched for some sign that would show that instinct felt the approaching end. There was no sign.The last night, I leaned on my elbow and watched her sleep. She looked so perfect! Her soft, dimpled arms thrown above her head, her pretty face in a nest of golden hair, her straight black brows, her long, black lashes resting lightly on her pink cheeks, and all to become nothing—nothing. To-morrow night it would be over; this was her last night. Impulsively I leaned over her and whispered “Lucille! Lucille!” but she merely opened her great blue eyes, and giving me a little smile, as innocent and sweet as a babies, moved with a sigh of perfect content close to my arm, which rested on the pillow, and so went to sleep again.I lay down and tried to still the heavy,painful beating of my heart. I was very weary, but I could not sleep.At breakfast something kept saying, “Her last! her last!” and it gratified me to see her eat. At luncheon she complained of no appetite, yet I almost compelled her to eat, while I ate nothing. During the day I told my servant to take a holiday, that I would be out of town and he could have several days to spend as he wished. Rid of him, I ordered a dinner fit for a wedding feast; still I could not eat. Lucille ate and I helped her joyfully. I had a desire to see her happy. I have thought the jailer who feasts the condemned prisoner an hour before the execution must feel as I felt this day.Late in the evening I laid her new garments, the finery that so delighted her, out on the bed. I laughed when I did it, and then I sat down and watched her dress. She was as happy as a child. She put on one thing afterthe other, surveying each addition in the mirror with little cries of delight. I laced herSuédeshoes and helped fasten her dress and buttoned her gloves. When all was done I wrapped her in a gray travelling cloak and hid her pretty face under a thick veil.I had told her we would take the midnight train for Buffalo, where we would be married, and remain at Niagara for a few days before our return to New York. She trusted me in everything, and asked me if she could increase her wardrobe before the time for our return. We were to start early enough to permit us to take a drive before going to the station. Lucille had been confined so long in the house that she welcomed this arrangement, and she was very eager and nervous to start.I had ordered my horse and dog-cart to be ready at a certain hour. I had a liking for late drives, so my orders were not consideredunusual. I walked out of the house, first telling Lucille to lock the door and walk around the corner on Fifth Avenue, where I would get her.Before starting, however, I asked Lucille to drink a glass of wine with me. I put in hers a sleeping potion, and she raised it to her lips, saying:“Here’s to our happiness.”I put my wine down untasted.Then she came to me in an affectionate way I had once admired, and raising her veil, said:“Tolman, kiss your little one.”I folded her in my arms. My heart beat quickly, my breath came painfully. I held her close to my breast, I kissed her soft, warm, lips regretfully.“Lucille,” I said, pleadingly, “will you go back to your home and forget you wanted to be my wife?”“I would rather die,” she answered me, angrily.I knew then it was too late. There was no way to retreat. Either I must accomplish my purpose, or renounce all claim to Miss Chamberlain and take Lucille as my wife.“We have been very happy these two weeks, haven’t we, Tolman?” she said, with her arms about my neck. “Kiss your little one good-by, for when she comes back here she will be your wife.”“Yes, when you come back,” I said, and I kissed her. With that there flitted through my mind a picture of a little quiet home with her as my wife. I thought of her beauty, but then came the thought that it would cost me what I most longed for—wealth—position. No, it was too late.I drove to the curb almost the instant she had reached there, and only stopped long enough to get her in. I had a valise, whichLucille thought contained a change of clothing, in the dog-cart. I drove off quickly to the Park.We had not more than entered the Park when Lucille yawned and complained of feeling drowsy. I drove on, listening intently for any sounds that would indicate the presence of any one. Reaching a bend in the road and finding everything still, I asked Lucille to hold the reins until I could get out to see if something was not amiss with the harness.Drowsily she took the reins.“Do you see anything coming, Lucille?” I asked, as I reached under the seat and, drawing out a sandbag which I had made ready in advance and concealed there, I rose to my feet as though to jump out of the buggy.“No, Tolman; the way looks clear,” she replied, slowly, as she leaned forward to look.With a swift motion I raised the sandbag and brought it down on her head.She never uttered a sound, but fell across the side of the cart. I caught her with one hand and, taking the reins from her limp fingers, steadied the horse.I took her in my arms to the nearest bench. I listened for her heart-beats. They were still. I removed the Connemara cloak and veil. I had some difficulty, but at last managed to place her in an upright position on the bench. Then I folded her hands in her lap, and as I could not make her parasol stay on her knee, I left it where it fell on the ground before her.I kissed her lips, still warm and soft, and closing her eyes, pulled her hat down so it would prevent their opening. Taking the wrap and veil and putting them and the sandbag in the valise I drove back to the stable.I returned to my rooms and spent the remainder of the night in destroying all the clothing which belonged to her. Early in the morning, just about daybreak, I went quietly out and to the Gilsey House, where I got a room and went to bed. I slept. It was afternoon when I awoke, and while eating my breakfast I read in the first edition of an evening paper an account of your finding Lucille’s body in Central Park.In the smaller envelope I enclose a photograph of Lucille taken before her hair was bleached. You will doubtless recognize it. I also inclose the letter she wrote to her mother.You can understand now why I was frightened at the sight of Maggie Williams’s tears; why I was horrified when I met in the Hoffman House the man who was suspected of being guilty of my crime. My guilty fears prevented my giving you my name, and whenyou came to my apartment, seeking Lucille, I knew that my hour had come.I might have given you a fight and warded off the end for a while. But what use. If the proof was not conclusive enough to hang me, it was enough to imprison me, for the waiters, my servant and the livery-man could have made out a case of circumstantial evidence. I prefer death.It is morning. The morning of the day which was to have been my wedding day. Oh God, I had some wild hope when I began this confession. It has gone now. This is all. If you have any charity in your soul, spare me all you can.TOLMAN BIKE.North Washington Square,June Seventh, 18—.
The mockery of the thing amused me.
I knew so well how it was to end, and when Lucille came cheerfully to me, never thinking but that she would return to her home that night, I laughed aloud.
She wanted to talk about my promise of marriage, and I readily consented. In very few words I gave her to understand that it was impossible for me to marry her in her present condition, but if she would be guided by my judgment, and bought suitable clothing, we could then go away and be quietly married. To do this it was necessary that she remain with me.
She was more than satisfied.
She was elated over her brilliant prospects. Still she was stubbornly determined to notify her family, and only by threatening to abandon the whole affair if it became known did I keep her from doing so. I did, however, consent to her writing a note saying she had gone out of town for a few weeks, and on her return would have a joyful surprise for them. It satisfied her and did not hurt me.
The letter was never mailed.
Lucille’s presence was not unknown to some few. My servant, who slept at home, knew I had somebody with me, but as he had served many years in taking care of bachelor apartments, he was neither surprised nor inquisitive. The waiters who served our meals knew I was not alone, but to them, also, it was a story too old to merit comment. Still I took precautions that they should not see Lucille.
In the garments I had bought her I sentLucille to a dressmakers to get her measurements. I also sent her to a dentist to have some decaying teeth filled, and so I started to work out my release from a woman of whom I had tired.
You might say that I could have taken a more simple way. I don’t see how. I was afraid of losing my wealthy fiancée and so I would not risk the least chance of Lucille’s telling. Of course I could have claimed blackmail and been declared innocent, yet, knowing the nature of the woman I was hoping to marry, I would not risk the effect it would have on her.
There seemed only one thing to do, and I did it. I had Lucille write an order for a dress, from my dictation, inclosing the measurements and stating that it would be called for on a certain date. Personally I went to different stores and bought the garments necessary to make a perfect outfit. I did not spareexpense. I brought everything home with me in the coupé. This relieved me of necessity of giving any address or name, which made me feel sure the articles could not be traced to their destination.
During this time Lucille was very happy, notwithstanding her imprisonment. She was constantly planning what she would do when we were married. She dwelt in delight on the sensation her marriage would create among those who knew her. She discussed the localities most suitable for us to live in, and talked of things she intended to buy for her house and the dresses she meant to get.
It is useless to try to describe the emotions I labored under during those days. I was conscious of a tiredness, underlaid with a stolid determination not to be balked in my purpose. I felt no sympathy for Lucille. I think I was absolutely without feeling one way or the other. I only felt a desire to laugh ather air castles as she told them to me. Not amused—no. I can’t say what the feeling was. Even when she lay awake some nights and I knew she was painting her future, I laughed aloud at the strangeness of it all.
I counted the nights. Every one found my preparations nearer completion.
Carefully I removed all trade marks and names from every garment I had bought her. The gloves andSuédeshoes only bore their size. I took the crown lining out of the hat, and before I brought her dress home I removed the inside belt, which was stamped with the name of the man who made it.
The dress was the last article but one I brought to my apartment. I did not even show myself at the establishment where the gown was made. I drove near the place, and, hiring a messenger boy, sent him in for the garment. In this way I preserved the secret of my identity.
The last thing I bought was a bottle of hair bleaching fluid. I told Lucille that if her hair was golden to match her eyes I thought her appearance would be much improved. She was quite anxious to make the test, always being ready to do anything she thought would increase her beauty. For two days, at different intervals, I brushed her hair with the fluid, and it turned the most perfect golden shade I had ever seen.
It really transformed her. I have since then marvelled at the change and have felt an admiration for her perfect beauty. Then I felt nothing.
I only had a desire to watch her. I watched her eat and wondered at her appetite. I listened to her light talk and marvelled at her happiness. I gazed at her while she slept, amazed, almost, at her evident sense of security.
Why did nothing warn her? I waited and watched for some sign that would show that instinct felt the approaching end. There was no sign.
The last night, I leaned on my elbow and watched her sleep. She looked so perfect! Her soft, dimpled arms thrown above her head, her pretty face in a nest of golden hair, her straight black brows, her long, black lashes resting lightly on her pink cheeks, and all to become nothing—nothing. To-morrow night it would be over; this was her last night. Impulsively I leaned over her and whispered “Lucille! Lucille!” but she merely opened her great blue eyes, and giving me a little smile, as innocent and sweet as a babies, moved with a sigh of perfect content close to my arm, which rested on the pillow, and so went to sleep again.
I lay down and tried to still the heavy,painful beating of my heart. I was very weary, but I could not sleep.
At breakfast something kept saying, “Her last! her last!” and it gratified me to see her eat. At luncheon she complained of no appetite, yet I almost compelled her to eat, while I ate nothing. During the day I told my servant to take a holiday, that I would be out of town and he could have several days to spend as he wished. Rid of him, I ordered a dinner fit for a wedding feast; still I could not eat. Lucille ate and I helped her joyfully. I had a desire to see her happy. I have thought the jailer who feasts the condemned prisoner an hour before the execution must feel as I felt this day.
Late in the evening I laid her new garments, the finery that so delighted her, out on the bed. I laughed when I did it, and then I sat down and watched her dress. She was as happy as a child. She put on one thing afterthe other, surveying each addition in the mirror with little cries of delight. I laced herSuédeshoes and helped fasten her dress and buttoned her gloves. When all was done I wrapped her in a gray travelling cloak and hid her pretty face under a thick veil.
I had told her we would take the midnight train for Buffalo, where we would be married, and remain at Niagara for a few days before our return to New York. She trusted me in everything, and asked me if she could increase her wardrobe before the time for our return. We were to start early enough to permit us to take a drive before going to the station. Lucille had been confined so long in the house that she welcomed this arrangement, and she was very eager and nervous to start.
I had ordered my horse and dog-cart to be ready at a certain hour. I had a liking for late drives, so my orders were not consideredunusual. I walked out of the house, first telling Lucille to lock the door and walk around the corner on Fifth Avenue, where I would get her.
Before starting, however, I asked Lucille to drink a glass of wine with me. I put in hers a sleeping potion, and she raised it to her lips, saying:
“Here’s to our happiness.”
I put my wine down untasted.
Then she came to me in an affectionate way I had once admired, and raising her veil, said:
“Tolman, kiss your little one.”
I folded her in my arms. My heart beat quickly, my breath came painfully. I held her close to my breast, I kissed her soft, warm, lips regretfully.
“Lucille,” I said, pleadingly, “will you go back to your home and forget you wanted to be my wife?”
“I would rather die,” she answered me, angrily.
I knew then it was too late. There was no way to retreat. Either I must accomplish my purpose, or renounce all claim to Miss Chamberlain and take Lucille as my wife.
“We have been very happy these two weeks, haven’t we, Tolman?” she said, with her arms about my neck. “Kiss your little one good-by, for when she comes back here she will be your wife.”
“Yes, when you come back,” I said, and I kissed her. With that there flitted through my mind a picture of a little quiet home with her as my wife. I thought of her beauty, but then came the thought that it would cost me what I most longed for—wealth—position. No, it was too late.
I drove to the curb almost the instant she had reached there, and only stopped long enough to get her in. I had a valise, whichLucille thought contained a change of clothing, in the dog-cart. I drove off quickly to the Park.
We had not more than entered the Park when Lucille yawned and complained of feeling drowsy. I drove on, listening intently for any sounds that would indicate the presence of any one. Reaching a bend in the road and finding everything still, I asked Lucille to hold the reins until I could get out to see if something was not amiss with the harness.
Drowsily she took the reins.
“Do you see anything coming, Lucille?” I asked, as I reached under the seat and, drawing out a sandbag which I had made ready in advance and concealed there, I rose to my feet as though to jump out of the buggy.
“No, Tolman; the way looks clear,” she replied, slowly, as she leaned forward to look.
With a swift motion I raised the sandbag and brought it down on her head.
She never uttered a sound, but fell across the side of the cart. I caught her with one hand and, taking the reins from her limp fingers, steadied the horse.
I took her in my arms to the nearest bench. I listened for her heart-beats. They were still. I removed the Connemara cloak and veil. I had some difficulty, but at last managed to place her in an upright position on the bench. Then I folded her hands in her lap, and as I could not make her parasol stay on her knee, I left it where it fell on the ground before her.
I kissed her lips, still warm and soft, and closing her eyes, pulled her hat down so it would prevent their opening. Taking the wrap and veil and putting them and the sandbag in the valise I drove back to the stable.
I returned to my rooms and spent the remainder of the night in destroying all the clothing which belonged to her. Early in the morning, just about daybreak, I went quietly out and to the Gilsey House, where I got a room and went to bed. I slept. It was afternoon when I awoke, and while eating my breakfast I read in the first edition of an evening paper an account of your finding Lucille’s body in Central Park.
In the smaller envelope I enclose a photograph of Lucille taken before her hair was bleached. You will doubtless recognize it. I also inclose the letter she wrote to her mother.
You can understand now why I was frightened at the sight of Maggie Williams’s tears; why I was horrified when I met in the Hoffman House the man who was suspected of being guilty of my crime. My guilty fears prevented my giving you my name, and whenyou came to my apartment, seeking Lucille, I knew that my hour had come.
I might have given you a fight and warded off the end for a while. But what use. If the proof was not conclusive enough to hang me, it was enough to imprison me, for the waiters, my servant and the livery-man could have made out a case of circumstantial evidence. I prefer death.
It is morning. The morning of the day which was to have been my wedding day. Oh God, I had some wild hope when I began this confession. It has gone now. This is all. If you have any charity in your soul, spare me all you can.
TOLMAN BIKE.
North Washington Square,
June Seventh, 18—.