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Alexandre Dumas - "The Count of Monte Cristo"

Richard Harding Davis - "Soldiers of Fortune"

Edith Wharton - "The Age of Innocence"

Charles Dickens - "Master Humphrey's Clock"

The Filigree Ball

A >> Anna Katherine Green >> The Filigree Ball



THE FILIGREE BALL

by Anna Katherine Green




CONTENTS

BOOK I

CHAPTER

I "THE MOORE HOUSE?"
II I ENTER
III I REMAIN
IV SIGNED, VERONICA
V MASTER AND DOG
VI GOSSIP
VII SLY WORK
VIII SLYER WORK
IX JINNY
X FRANCIS JEFFREY

BOOK II

XI DETAILS
XII THRUST AND PARRY
X1II CHIEFLY THRUST
XIV "LET US HAVE TALLMAN!"
XV WHITE BOW AND PINK
XVI AN EGOTIST OF THE FIRST WATER
XVII A FRESH START
XVIII IN THE GRASS

BOOK III

XIX IN TAMPA
XX "THE COLONEL'S OWN"
XXI THE HEART OF THE PUZZLE
XXII A THREAD IN HAND
XXIII WORDS IN THE NIGHT
XXIV TANTALIZING TACTICS
XXV "WHO WILL TELL THE MAN!"
XXVI RUDGE
XXVII "YOU HAVE COME!"






BOOK I

THE FORBIDDEN ROOM




THE FILIGREE BALL


I

"THE MOORE HOUSE? ARE YOU SPEAKING OF THE MOORE HOUSE?"


For a detective whose talents, had not been recognized at
headquarters, I possessed an ambition which, fortunately for my
standing with the lieutenant of the precinct, had not yet been
expressed in words. Though I had small reason for expecting great
things of myself, I had always cherished the hope that if a big
case came my way I should be found able to do something with it
something more, that is, than I had seen accomplished by the
police of the District of Columbia since I had had the honor of
being one of their number. Therefore, when I found myself plunged,
almost without my own volition, into the Jeffrey Moore affair, I
believed that the opportunity had come whereby I might distinguish
myself.

It had complications, this Jeffrey-Moore affair; greater ones than
the public ever knew, keen as the interest in it ran both in and
out of Washington. This is why I propose to tell the story of this
great tragedy from my own standpoint, even if in so doing I risk
the charge of attempting to exploit my own connection with this
celebrated case. In its course I encountered as many disappointments
as triumphs, and brought out of the affair a heart as sore as it was
satisfied; for I am a lover of women and -

But I am keeping you from the story itself.

I was at the station-house the night Uncle David came in. He was
always called Uncle David, even by the urchins who followed him in
the street; so I am showing him no disrespect, gentleman though he
is, by giving him a title which as completely characterized him in
those days, as did his moody ways, his quaint attire and the
persistence with which he kept at his side his great mastiff, Rudge.
I had long since heard of the old gentleman as one of the most
interesting residents of the precinct. I had even seen him more
than once on the avenue, but I had never before been brought face
to face with him, and consequently had much too superficial a
knowledge of his countenance to determine offhand whether the
uneasy light in his small gray eyes was natural to them, or simply
the result of present excitement. But when he began to talk I
detected an unmistakable tremor in his tones, and decided that he
was in a state of suppressed agitation; though he appeared to have
nothing more alarming to impart than the fact that he had seen a
light burning in some house presumably empty.

It was all so trivial that I gave him but scant attention till he
let a name fall which caused me to prick up my ears and even to
put in a word. "The Moore house," he had said.

"The Moore house?" I repeated in amazement. "Are you speaking of
the Moore house?"

A thousand recollections came with the name.

"What other?" he grumbled, directing toward me a look as keen as it
was impatient. "Do you think that I would bother myself long about
a house I had no interest in, or drag Rudge from his warm rug to
save some ungrateful neighbor from a possible burglary? No, it is
my house which some rogue has chosen to enter. That is," he suavely
corrected, as he saw surprise in every eye, "the house which the law
will give me, if anything ever happens to that chit of a girl whom
my brother left behind him."

Growling some words at the dog, who showed a decided inclination to
lie down where he was, the old man made for the door and in another
moment would have been in the street, if I had not stepped after him.

"You are a Moore and live in or near that old house?" I asked.

The surprise with which he met this question daunted me a little.

"How long have you been in Washington, I should like to ask?" was
his acrid retort.

"0h, some five months."

His good nature, or what passed for such in this irascible old man,
returned in an instant; and he curtly but not unkindly remarked:

"You haven't learned much in that time." Then, with a nod more
ceremonious than many another man's bow, he added, with sudden
dignity: "I am of the elder branch an live in the cottage fronting
the old place. I am the only resident on the block. When you have
lived here longer you will know why that especial neighborhood is
not a favorite one with those who can not boast of the Moore blood.
For the present, let us attribute the bad name that it holds to
- malaria." And with a significant hitch of his lean shoulders
which set in undulating motion every fold of the old-fashioned
cloak he wore, he started again for the door.

But my curiosity was by this time roused to fever heat. I knew
more about this house than he gave me credit for. No one who had
read the papers of late, much less a man connected with the police,
could help being well informed in all the details of its remarkable
history. What I had failed to know was his close relationship to
the family whose name for the last two weeks had been in every mouth.

"Wait!" I called out. "You say that you live opposite the Moore
house. You can then tell me -"

But he had no mind to stop for any gossip.

"It was all in the papers," he called back. "Read them. But first
be sure to find out who has struck a light in the house that we all
know has not even a caretaker in it."

It was good advice. My duty and my curiosity both led me to follow
it.

Perhaps you have heard of the distinguishing feature of this house;
if so, you do not need my explanations. But if, for any reason,
you are ignorant of the facts which within a very short time have
set a final seal of horror upon this old, historic dwelling, then
you will be glad to read what has made and will continue to make the
Moore house in Washington one to be pointed at in daylight and
shunned after dark, not only by superstitious colored folk, but by
all who are susceptible to the most ordinary emotions of fear and
dread.

It was standing when Washington was a village. It antedates the
Capitol and the White House. Built by a man of wealth, it bears to
this day the impress of the large ideas and quiet elegance of
colonial times; but the shadow which speedily fell across it made
it a marked place even in those early days. While it has always
escaped the hackneyed epithet of "haunted," families that have moved
in have as quickly moved out, giving as their excuse that no
happiness was to be found there and that sleep was impossible under
its roof. That there was some reason for this lack of rest within
walls which were not without their tragic reminiscences, all must
acknowledge. Death had often occurred there, and while this fact
can be stated in regard to most old houses, it is not often that
one can say, as in this case, that it was invariably sudden and
invariably of one character. A lifeless man, lying outstretched on
a certain hearthstone, might be found once in a house and awaken no
special comment; but when this same discovery has been made twice,
if not thrice, during the history of a single dwelling, one might
surely be pardoned a distrust of its seemingly home-like
appointments, and discern in its slowly darkening walls the
presence of an evil which if left to itself might perish in the
natural decay of the e place, but which, if met and challenged,
might strike again and make another blot on its thrice-crimsoned
hearthstone.

But these are old fables which I should hardly, presume to mention,
had it not been for the recent occurrence which has recalled them
to all men's minds and given to this long empty and slowly crumbling
building an importance which has spread its fame from one end of
the country to the other. I refer to the tragedy attending the
wedding lately celebrated there.

Veronica Moore, rich, pretty and wilful, had long cherished a
strange liking for this frowning old home of her ancestors, and,
at the most critical time of her life, conceived the idea of proving
to herself and to society at large that no real ban lay upon it save
in the imagination of the superstitious. So, being about to marry
the choice of her young heart, she caused this house to be opened
for the wedding ceremony; with what result, you know.

Though the occasion was a joyous one and accompanied by all that
could give cheer to such a function, it had not escaped the
old-time shadow. One of the guests straying into the room of
ancient and unhallowed memory, the one room which had not been
thrown open to the crowd, had been found within five minutes of
the ceremony lying on its dolorous hearthstone, dead; and though
the bride was spared a knowledge of the dreadful fact till the
holy words were said, a panic had seized the guests and emptied
the houses suddenly and completely as though the plague had been
discovered there.

This is why I hastened to follow Uncle David when he told me that
all was not right in this house of tragic memories.




II

I ENTER


Though past seventy, Uncle David was a brisk walker, and on this
night in particular he sped along so fast that he was half-way down
H Street by the time I had turned the corner at New Hampshire Avenue.

His gaunt but not ungraceful figure, merged in that of the dog
trotting closely at his heels, was the only moving object in the
dreary vista of this the most desolate block in Washington. As I
neared the building, I was so impressed by the surrounding stillness
that I was ready to vow that the shadows were denser here than
elsewhere and that the few gas lamps, which flickered at intervals
down the street, shone with a more feeble ray than in any other equal
length of street in Washington.

Meanwhile, the shadow of Uncle David had vanished from the pavement.
He had paused beside a fence which, hung with vines, surrounded and
nearly hid from sight the little cottage he had mentioned as the
only house on the block with the exception of the great Moore place;
in other words, his own home.

As I came abreast of him I heard him muttering, not to his dog as
was his custom, but to himself. In fact, the dog was not to be seen,
and this desertion on the part of his constant companion seemed to
add to his disturbance and affect him beyond all reason. I could
distinguish these words amongst the many he directed toward the
unseen animal:

"You're a knowing one, too knowing! You see that loosened shutter
over the way as plainly as I do; but you're a coward to slink away
from it. I don't. I face the thing, and what's more, I'll show
you yet what I think of a dog that can't stand his ground and help
his old master out with some show of courage. Creaks, does it?
Well, let it creak! I don't mind its creaking, glad as I should be
to know whose hand - Halloo! You've come, have you?" This to me.
I had just stepped up to him.

"Yes, I've come. Now what is the matter with the Moore house?"

He must have expected the question, yet his answer was a long time
coming. His voice, too, sounded strained, and was pitched quite
too high to be natural. But he evidently did not expect me to show
surprise at his manner.

"Look at that window over there!" he cried at last. "That one with
the slightly open shutter! Watch and you will see that shutter move.
There! it creaked; didn't you hear it?"

A growl - it was more like a moan - came from the porch behind us.
Instantly the old gentleman turned and with a gesture as fierce as
it was instinctive, shouted out:

"Be still there! If you haven't the courage to face a blowing
shutter, keep your jaws shut and don't let every fellow who happens
along know what a fool you are. I declare," he maundered on, half
to himself and half to me, "that dog is getting old. He can't be
trusted any more. He forsakes his master just when -" The rest was
lost in his throat which rattled with something more than impatient
anger.

Meanwhile I had been attentively scrutinizing the house thus
pointedly brought to my notice.

I had seen it many times before, but, as it happened, had never
stopped to look at it when the huge trees surrounding it were
shrouded in darkness. The black hollow of its disused portal looked
out from shadows which acquired some of their somberness from the
tragic memories connected with its empty void.

Its aspect was scarcely reassuring. Not that superstition lent its
terrors to the lonely scene, but that through the blank panes of the
window, alternately appearing and disappearing from view as the
shutter pointed out by Uncle David blew to and fro in the wind, I
saw, or was persuaded that I saw, a beam of light which argued an
unknown presence within walls which had so lately been declared
unfit for any man's habitation.

"You are right," I now remarked to the uneasy figure at my side.
"Some one is prowling through the house yonder. Can it possibly be
Mrs. Jeffrey or her husband?"

"At night and with no gas in the house? Hardly."

The words were natural, but the voice was not. Neither was his
manner quite suited to the occasion. Giving him another sly glance,
and marking how uneasily he edged away from me in the darkness, I
cried out more cheerily than he possibly expected:

"I will summon another officer and we three will just slip across
and investigate."

"Not I!" was his violent rejoinder, as he swung open a gate concealed
in the vines behind him. "The Jeffreys would resent my intrusion if
they ever happened to hear of it."

"Indeed!" I laughed, sounding my whistle; then, soberly enough, for
I was more than a little struck by the oddity of his behavior and
thought him as well worth investigation as the house in which he
showed such an interest: "You shouldn't let that count. Come and
see what's up in the house you are so ready to call yours."

But he only drew farther into the shade.

"I have no business over there," he objected. "Veronica and I have
never been on good terms. I was not even invited to her wedding
though I live within a stone's throw of the door. No; I have done
my duty in calling attention to that light, and whether it's the
bull's-eye of a burglar - perhaps you don't know that there are
rare treasures on the book shelves of the great library - or whether
it is the fantastic illumination which frightens fool-folks and some
fool-dogs, I'm done with it and done with you, too, for to-night."

As he said this, he mounted to his door and disappeared under the
vines, hanging like a shroud over the front of the house. In another
moment the rich peal of an organ sounded from within, followed by
the prolonged howling of Rudge, who, either from a too keen
appreciation of his master's music or in utter disapproval of it,
- no one, I believe, has ever been able to make out which, - was
accustomed to add this undesirable accompaniment to every strain
from the old man's hand. The playing did not cease because of these
outrageous discords. On the contrary, it increased in force and
volume, causing Rudge's expression of pain or pleasure to increase
also. The result can be imagined. As I listened to the intolerable
howls of the dog cutting clean through the exquisite harmonies of
his master, I wondered if the shadows cast by the frowning structure
of the great Moore house were alone to blame for Uncle David's lack
of neighbors.

Meantime, Hibbard, who was the first to hear my signal, came running
down the block. As he joined me, the light, or what we chose to
call a light, appeared again in the window toward which my attention
had been directed.

"Some one's in the Moore house!" I declared, in as matter of-fact
tones as I could command.

Hibbard is a big fellow, the biggest fellow on the force, and so far
as my own experience with him had gone, as stolid and imperturbable
as the best of us. But after a quick glance at the towering walls
of the lonely building, he showed decided embarrassment and seemed
in no haste to cross the street.

With difficulty I concealed my disgust.

"Come," I cried, stepping down from the curb, "let's go over and
investigate. The property is valuable, the furnishings handsome,
and there is no end of costly books on the library shelves. You
have matches and a revolver?"

He nodded, quietly showing me first the one, then the other; then
with a sheepish air which he endeavored to carry of with a laugh, he
cried:

"Have you use for 'em? If so, I'm quite willing, to part with 'em
for a half-hour."

I was more than amazed at this evidence of weakness in one I had
always considered as tough and impenetrable as flint rock. Thrusting
back the hand with which he had half drawn into view the weapon I
had mentioned, I put on my sternest sir and led the way across the
street. As I did so, tossed back the words:

"We may come upon a gang. You do not wish me to face some half-dozen
men alone?"

"You won't find any half-dozen men there," was his muttered reply.
Nevertheless he followed me, though with less spirit than I liked,
considering that my own manner was in a measure assumed and that I
was not without sympathy - well, let me, say, for a dog who
preferred howling a dismal accompaniment to his master's music, to
keeping open watch over a neighborhood dominated by the unhallowed
structure I now propose to enter.

The house is too well known for me to attempt a minute description
of it. The illustrations which have appeared in all the papers have
already acquainted the general public with its simple facade and rows
upon rows of shuttered windows. Even the great square porch with
its bench for negro attendants has been photographed for the million.
Those who have seen the picture in which the wedding-guests are
shown flying from its yawning doorway, will not be especially
interested in the quiet, almost solemn aspect it presented as I
passed up the low steps and laid my hand upon the knob of the
old-fashioned front door.

Not that I expected to win an entrance thereby, but because it is
my nature to approach everything in a common-sense way. Conceive
then my astonishment when at the first touch the door yielded. It
was not even latched.

"So! so!" thought I. "This is no fool's job; some one is in the
house."

I had provided myself with an ordinary pocket-lantern, and, when I
had convinced Hibbard that I fully meant to enter the house and
discover for myself who had taken advantage of the popular prejudice
against it to make a secret refuge or rendezvous of its decayed old
rooms, I took out this lantern and held it in readiness.

"We may strike a hornets' nest," I explained to Hibbard, whose feet
seemed very heavy even for a man of his size. "But I'm going in and
so are you. Only, let me suggest that we first take off our shoes.
We can hide them in these bushes."

"I always catch cold when I walk barefooted," mumbled my brave
companion; but receiving no reply he drew off his shoes and dropped
them beside mine in the cluster of stark bushes which figure so
prominently in the illustrations that I have just mentioned. Then
he took out his revolver, and cocking it, stood waiting, while I
gave a cautious push to the door.

Darkness! silence!

Rather had I confronted a light and heard some noise, even if it
had been the ominous click to which eve are so well accustomed.
Hibbard seemed to share my feelings, though from an entirely
different cause.

"Pistols and lanterns are no good here," he grumbled. "What we want
at this blessed minute is a priest with a sprinkling of holy water;
and I for one -"

He was actually sliding off.

With a smothered oath I drew him back.

"See here!" I cried, "you're not a babe in arms. Come on or - Well,
what now?"

He had clenched my arm and was pointing to the door which was slowly
swaying to behind us.

"Notice that," he whispered. "No key in the lock! Men use keys but -"

My patience could stand no more. With a shake I rid myself of his
clutch, muttering:

"There, go! You're too much of a fool for me. I'm in for it alone."
And in proof of my determination, I turned the slide of the lantern
and flashed the light through the house.

The effect was ghostly; but while the fellow at my side breathed hard
he did not take advantage of my words to make his escape, as I half
expected him to. Perhaps, like myself, he was fascinated by the
dreary spectacle of long shadowy walls and an equally shadowy
staircase emerging from a darkness which a minute before had seemed
impenetrable. Perhaps he was simply ashamed. At all events he stood
his ground, scrutinizing with rolling eyes that portion of the hall
where two columns, with gilded Corinthian capitals, marked the door
of the room which no man entered without purpose or passed without
dread. Doubtless he was thinking of that which had so frequently
been carried out between those columns. I know that I was; and when,
in the sudden draft made by the open door, some open draperies
hanging near those columns blew out with a sudden swoop and shiver,
I was not at all astonished to see him lose what little courage had
remained in him. The truth is, I was startled myself, but I was
able to hide the fact and to whisper back to him, fiercely:

"Don't be an idiot. That curtain hides nothing worse than some
sneaking political refugee or a gang of counterfeiters."

"Maybe. I'd just like to put my hand on Upson and -"

"Hush!"

I had just heard something.

For a moment we stood breathless, but as the sound was not repeated
I concluded that it was the creaking of that far-away shutter.
Certainly there was nothing moving near us.

"Shall we go upstairs?" whispered Hibbard.

"Not till we have made sure that all is right down here"

A door stood slightly ajar on our left.

Pushing it open, we looked in. A well furnished parlor was before
us.

"Here's where the wedding took place," remarked Hibbard, straining
his head over my shoulder.

There were signs of this wedding on every side. Walls and ceilings
had been hung with garlands, and these still clung to the mantelpiece
and over and around the various doorways. Torn-off branches and the
remnants of old bouquets, dropped from the hands of flying guests,
littered the carpet, adding to the general confusion of overturned
chairs and tables. Everywhere were evidences of the haste with which
the place had been vacated as well as the superstitious dread which
had prevented it being re-entered for the commonplace purpose of
cleaning. Even the piano had not been shut, and under it lay some
scattered sheets of music which had been left where they fell, to
the probable loss of some poor musician. The clock occupying the
center of the mantelpiece alone gave evidence of life. It had been
wound for the wedding and had not yet run down. Its tick-tick came
faint enough, however, through the darkness, as if it too had lost
heart and would soon lapse into the deadly quiet of its ghostly
surroundings.

"It's it's funeral-like," chattered Hibbard.

He was right; I felt as if I were shutting the lid of a coffin when
I finally closed the door.

Our next steps took us into the rear where we found little to detain
us, and then, with a certain dread fully justified by the event, we
made for the door defined by the two Corinthian columns.

It was ajar like the rest, and, call me coward or call me fool - I
have called Hibbard both, you will remember - I found that it cost me
an effort to lay my hand on its mahogany panels. Danger, if danger
there was, lurked here; and while I had never known myself to quail
before any ordinary antagonist, I, like others of my kind, have no
especial fondness for unseen and mysterious perils.

Hibbard, who up to this point had followed me almost too closely,
now accorded me all the room that was necessary. It was with a sense
of entering alone upon the scene that I finally thrust wide the door
and crossed the threshold of this redoubtable room where, but two
short weeks before, a fresh victim had been added to the list of
those who had by some unheard-of, unimaginable means found their
death within its recesses.

My first glance showed me little save the ponderous outlines of an
old settle, which jutted from the corner of the fireplace half way
out into the room. As it was seemingly from this seat that the men,
who at various times had been found lying here, had fallen to their
doom, a thrill passed over me as I noted its unwieldy bulk and the
deep shadow it threw on the ancient and dishonored hearthstone. To
escape the ghastly memories it evoked and also to satisfy myself
that the room was really as empty as it seemed, I took another step
forward. This caused the light from the lantern I carried to spread
beyond the point on which it had hitherto been so effectively
concentrated; but the result was to emphasize rather than detract
from the extreme desolation of the great room. The settle was a
fixture, as I afterwards found, and was almost the only article of
furniture to be seen on the wide expanse of uncarpeted floor. There
was a table or two in hiding somewhere amid the shadows at the other
end from where I stood, and possibly some kind of stool or settee;
but the general impression made upon me was that of a completely
dismantled place given over to moth and rust.

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