The Law and the Lady

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With that explanation, he laid the keys before me on the table.

"Thus far," he said, "I have rigidly respected the promise which
I made to your husband. I shall continue to be faithful to my
promise, whatever may be the result of your examination of the
room. I am bound in honor not to assist you by word or deed. I am
not even at liberty to offer you the slightest hint. Is that
understood?"

"Certainly!"

"Very good. I have now a last word of warning to give you--and
then I have done. If you do by any chance succeed in laying your
hand on the clew, remember this--_the discovery which follows
will be a terrible one._ If you have any doubt about your
capacity to sustain a shock which will strike you to the soul,
for God's sake give up the idea of finding out your husband's
secret at once and forever!"

"I thank you for your warning, Major. I must face the
consequences of making the discovery, whatever they may be."

"You are positively resolved?"

"Positively."

"Very well. Take any time you please. The house, and every person
in it, are at your disposal. Ring the bell once if you want the
man-servant. Ring twice if you wish the housemaid to wait on you.
From time to time I shall just look in myself to see how you are
going on. I am responsible for your comfort and security, you
know, while you honor me by remaining under my roof."

He lifted my hand to his lips, and fixed a last attentive look on
me.

"I hope I am not running too great a risk," he said--more to
himself than to me. "The women have led me into many a rash
action in my time. Have _you_ led me, I wonder, into the rashest
action of all?"

With those ominous last words he bowed gravely and left me alone
in the room.

CHAPTER X.

THE SEARCH.

THE fire burning in the grate was not a very large one; and the
outer air (as I had noticed on my way to the house) had something
of a wintry sharpness in it that day.

Still, my first feeling, when Major Fitz-David left me, was a
feeling of heat and oppression, with its natural result, a
difficulty in breathing freely. The nervous agitation of the time
was, I suppose, answerable for these sensations. I took off my
bonnet and mantle and gloves, and opened the window for a little
while. Nothing was to be seen outside but a paved courtyard, with
a skylight in the middle, closed at the further end by the wall
of the Major's stables. A few minutes at the window cooled and
refreshed me. I shut it down again, and took my first step on the
way of discovery. In other words, I began my first examination of
the four walls around me, and of all that they inclosed.

I was amazed at my own calmness. My interview with Major
Fitz-David had, perhaps, exhausted my capacity for feeling any
strong emotion, for the time at least. It was a relief to me to
be alone; it was a relief to me to begin the search. Those were
my only sensations so far.

The shape of the room was oblong. Of the two shorter walls, one
contained the door in grooves which I have already mentioned as
communicating with the front room; the other was almost entirely
occupied by the broad window which looked out on the courtyard.

Taking the doorway wall first, what was there, in the shape of
furniture, on either side of it? There was a card-table on either
side. Above each card-table stood a magnificent china bowl placed
on a gilt and carved bracket fixed to the wall.

I opened the card-tables. The drawers beneath contained nothing
but cards, and the usual counters and markers. With the exception
of one pack, the cards in both tables were still wrapped in their
paper covers exactly as they had come from the shop. I examined
the loose pack, card by card. No writing, no mark of any kind,
was visible on any one of them. Assisted by a library ladder
which stood against the book-case, I looked next into the two
china bowls. Both were perfectly empty. Was there anything more
to examine on that side of the room? In the two corners there
were two little chairs of inlaid wood, with red silk cushions. I
turned them up and looked under the cushions, and still I made no
discoveries. When I had put the chairs back in their places my
search on one side of the room was complete. So far I had found
nothing.

I crossed to the opposite wall, the wall which contained the
window.

The window (occupying, as I have said, almost the entire length
and height of the wall) was divided into three compartments, and
was adorned at their extremity by handsome curtains of dark red
velvet. The ample heavy folds of the velvet left just room at the
two corners of the wall for two little upright cabinets in buhl,
containing rows of drawers, and supporting two fine bronze
productions (reduced in size) of the Venus Milo and the Venus
Callipyge. I had Major Fitz-David's permission to do just what I
pleased. I opened the si x drawers in each cabinet, and examined
their contents without hesitation.

Beginning with the cabinet in the right-hand corner, my
investigations were soon completed. All the six drawers were
alike occupied by a collection of fossils, which (judging by the
curious paper inscriptions fixed on some of them) were associated
with a past period of the Major's life when he had speculated,
not very successfully in mines. After satisfying myself that the
drawers contained nothing but the fossils and their inscriptions,
I turned to the cabinet in the left-hand corner next.

Here a variety of objects was revealed to view, and the
examination accordingly occupied a much longer time.

The top drawer contained a complete collection of carpenter's
tools in miniature, relics probably of the far-distant time when
the Major was a boy, and when parents or friends had made him a
present of a set of toy tools. The second drawer was filled with
toys of another sort--presents made to Major Fitz-David by his
fair friends. Embroidered braces, smart smoking-caps, quaint
pincushions, gorgeous slippers, glittering purses, all bore
witness to the popularity of the friend of the women. The
contents of the third drawer were of a less interesting sort: the
entire space was filled with old account-books, ranging over a
period of many years. After looking into each book, and opening
and shaking it uselessly, in search of any loose papers which
might be hidden between the leaves, I came to the fourth drawer,
and found more relics of past pecuniary transactions in the shape
of receipted bills, neatly tied together, and each inscribed at
the back. Among the bills I found nearly a dozen loose papers,
all equally unimportant. The fifth drawer was in sad confusion. I
took out first a loose bundle of ornamental cards, each
containing the list of dishes at past banquets given or attended
by the Major in London or Paris; next, a box full of delicately
tinted quill pens (evidently a lady's gift); next, a quantity of
old invitation cards; next, some dog's-eared French plays and
books of the opera; next, a pocket-corkscrew, a bundle of
cigarettes, and a bunch of rusty keys; lastly, a passport, a set
of luggage labels, a broken silver snuff-box, two cigar-cases,
and a torn map of Rome. "Nothing anywhere to interest me," I
thought, as I closed the fifth, and opened the sixth and last
drawer.

The sixth drawer was at once a surprise and a disappointment. It
literally contained nothing but the fragments of a broken vase.

I was sitting, at the time, opposite to the cabinet, in a low
chair. In the momentary irritation caused by my discovery of the
emptiness of the last drawer, I had just lifted my foot to push
it back into its place, when the door communicating with the hall
opened, and Major Fitz-David stood before me.

His eyes, after first meeting mine, traveled downward to my foot.
The instant he noticed the open drawer I saw a change in his
face. It was only for a moment; but in that moment he looked at
me with a sudden suspicion and surprise--looked as if he had
caught me with my hand on the clew.

"Pray don't let me disturb you," said Major Fitz-David. "I have
only come here to ask you a question."

"What is it, Major?"

"Have you met with any letters of mine in the course of your
investigations?"

"I have found none yet," I answered. "If I do discover any
letters, I shall, of course, not take the liberty of examining
them."

"I wanted to speak to you about that," he rejoined. "It only
struck me a moment since, upstairs, that my letters might
embarrass you. In your place I should feel some distrust of
anything which I was not at liberty to examine. I think I can set
this matter right, however, with very little trouble to either of
us. It is no violation of any promises or pledges on my part if I
simply tell you that my letters will not assist the discovery
which you are trying to make. You can safely pass them over as
objects that are not worth examining from your point of view. You
understand me, I am sure?"

"I am much obliged to you, Major--I quite understand."

"Are you feeling any fatigue?"

"None whatever, thank you."

"And you still hope to succeed? You are not beginning to be
discouraged already?"

"I am not in the least discouraged. With your kind leave, I mean
to persevere for some time yet."

I had not closed the drawer of the cabinet while we were talking,
and I glanced carelessly, as I answered him, at the fragments of
the broken vase. By this time he had got his feelings under
perfect command. He, too, glanced at the fragments of the vase
with an appearance of perfect indifference. I remembered the look
of suspicion and surprise that had escaped him on entering the
room, and I thought his indifference a little overacted.

"_That_ doesn't look very encouraging," he said, with a smile,
pointing to the shattered pieces of china in the drawer.

"Appearances are not always to be trusted," I replied. "The
wisest thing I can do in my present situation is to suspect
everything, even down to a broken vase."

I looked hard at him as I spoke. He changed the subject.

"Does the music upstairs annoy you?" he asked.

"Not in the least, Major."

"It will soon be over now. The singing-master is going, and the
Italian master has just arrived. I am sparing no pains to make my
young prima donna a most accomplished person. In learning to sing
she must also learn the language which is especially the language
of music. I shall perfect her in the accent when I take her to
Italy. It is the height of my ambition to have her mistaken for
an Italian when she sings in public. Is there anything I can do
before I leave you again? May I send you some more champagne?
Please say yes!"

"A thousand thanks, Major. No more champagne for the present."

He turned at the door to kiss his hand to me at parting. At the
same moment I saw his eyes wander slyly toward the book-case. It
was only for an instant. I had barely detected him before he was
out of the room.

Left by myself again, I looked at the book-case--looked at it
attentively for the first time.

It was a handsome piece of furniture in ancient carved oak, and
it stood against the wall which ran parallel with the hall of the
house. Excepting the space occupied in the upper corner of the
room by the second door, which opened into the hall, the
book-case filled the whole length of the wall down to the window.
The top was ornamented by vases, candelabra, and statuettes, in
pairs, placed in a row. Looking along the row, I noticed a vacant
space on the top of the bookcase at the extremity of it which was
nearest to the window. The opposite extremity, nearest to the
door, was occupied by a handsome painted vase of a very peculiar
pattern. Where was the corresponding vase, which ought to have
been placed at the corresponding extremity of the book-case? I
returned to the open sixth drawer of the cabinet, and looked in
again. There was no mistaking the pattern on the fragments when I
examined them now. The vase which had been broken was the vase
which had stood in the place now vacant on the top of the
book-case at the end nearest to the window.

Making this discovery, I took out the fragments, down to the
smallest morsel of the shattered china, and examined them
carefully one after another.

I was too ignorant of the subject to be able to estimate the
value of the vase or the antiquity of the vase, or even to know
whether it were of British or of foreign manufacture. The ground
was of a delicate cream-color. The ornaments traced on this were
wreaths of flowers and Cupids surrounding a medallion on either
side of the vase. Upon the space within one of the medallions was
painted with exquisite delicacy a woman's head, representing a
nymph or a goddess, or perhaps a portrait of some celebrated
person--I was not learned enough to say which. The other
medallion inclosed the head of a man, also treated in the
classical style. Reclining shepherds and shepherdesses in Watteau
costume, with their dogs and their sheep, formed the adornments
of the pedestal. Such had the vase been in the days of its
prosperity, when it stood on the top of the book-case. By what a
ccident had it become broken? And why had Major Fitz-David's face
changed when he found that I had discovered the remains of his
shattered work of art in the cabinet drawer?

The remains left those serious questions unanswered--the remains
told me absolutely nothing. And yet, if my own observation of the
Major were to be trusted, the way to the clew of which I was in
search lay, directly or indirectly, through the broken vase.

It was useless to pursue the question, knowing no more than I
knew now. I returned to the book-case.

Thus far I had assumed (without any sufficient reason) that the
clew of which I was in search must necessarily reveal itself
through a written paper of some sort. It now occurred to
me--after the movement which I had detected on the part of the
Major--that the clew might quite as probably present itself in
the form of a book.

I looked along the lower rows of shelves, standing just near
enough to them to read the titles on the backs of the volumes. I
saw Voltaire in red morocco, Shakespeare in blue, Walter Scott in
green, the "History of England" in brown, the "Annual Register"
in yellow calf. There I paused, wearied and discouraged already
by the long rows of volumes. How (I thought to myself) am I to
examine all these books? And what am I to look for, even if I do
examine them all?

Major Fitz-David had spoken of a terrible misfortune which had
darkened my husband's past life. In what possible way could any
trace of that misfortune, or any suggestive hint of something
resembling it, exist in the archives of the "Annual Register" or
in the pages of Voltaire? The bare idea of such a thing seemed
absurd The mere attempt to make a serious examination in this
direction was surely a wanton waste of time.

And yet the Major had certainly stolen a look at the book-case.
And again, the broken vase had once stood on the book-case. Did
these circumstances justify me in connecting the vase and the
book-case as twin landmarks on the way that led to discovery? The
question was not an easy one to decide on the spur of the moment.

I looked up at the higher shelves.

Here the collection of books exhibited a greater variety. The
volumes were smaller, and were not so carefully arranged as on
the lower shelves. Some were bound in cloth, some were only
protected by paper covers; one or two had fallen, and lay flat on
the shelves. Here and there I saw empty spaces from which books
had been removed and not replaced. In short, there was no
discouraging uniformity in these higher regions of the book-case.
The untidy top shelves looked suggestive of some lucky accident
which might unexpectedly lead the way to success. I decided, if I
did examine the book-case at all, to begin at the top.

Where was the library ladder?

I had left it against the partition wall which divided the back
room from the room in front. Looking that way, I necessarily
looked also toward the door that ran in grooves--the imperfectly
closed door through which I heard Major Fitz-David question his
servant on the subject of my personal appearance when I first
entered the house. No one had moved this door during the time of
my visit. Everybody entering or leaving the room had used the
other door, which led into the hall.

At the moment when I looked round something stirred in the front
room. The movement let the light in suddenly through the small
open space left by the partially closed door. Had somebody been
watching me through the chink? I stepped softly to the door, and
pushed it back until it was wide open. There was the Major,
discovered in the front room! I saw it in his face--he had been
watching me at the book-case!

His hat was in his hand. He was evidently going out; and he
dexterously took advantage of that circumstance to give a
plausible reason for being so near the door.

"I hope I didn't frighten you," he said.

"You startled me a little, Major."

"I am so sorry, and so ashamed! I was just going to open the
door, and tell you that I am obliged to go out. I have received a
pressing message from a lady. A charming person--I should so like
you to know her. She is in sad trouble, poor thing. Little bills,
you know, and nasty tradespeople who want their money, and a
husband--oh, dear me, a husband who is quite unworthy of her! A
most interesting creature. You remind me of her a little; you
both have the same carriage of the head. I shall not be more than
half an hour gone. Can I do anything for you? You are looking
fatigued. Pray let me send for some more champagne. No? Promise
to ring when you want it. That's right! _Au revoir_, my charming
friend--_au revoir!_"

I pulled the door to again the moment his back was turned, and
sat down for a while to compose myself.

He had been watching me at the book-case! The man who was in my
husband's confidence, the man who knew where the clew was to be
found, had been watching me at the book-case! There was no doubt
of it now. Major Fitz-David had shown me the hiding-place of the
secret in spite of himself!

I looked with indifference at the other pieces of furniture,
ranged against the fourth wall, which I had not examined yet. I
surveyed, without the slightest feeling of curiosity, all the
little elegant trifles scattered on the tables and on the
chimney-piece, each one of which might have been an object of
suspicion to me under other circumstances. Even the water-color
drawings failed to interest me in my present frame of mind. I
observed languidly that they were most of them portraits of
ladies--fair idols, no doubt, of the Major's facile
adoration--and I cared to notice no more. _My_ business in that
room (I was certain of it now!) began and ended with the
book-case. I left my seat to fetch the library ladder,
determining to begin the work of investigation on the top
shelves.

On my way to the ladder I passed one of the tables, and saw the
keys lying on it which Major Fitz-David had left at my disposal.

The smaller of the two keys instantly reminded me of the
cupboards under the bookcase. I had strangely overlooked these. A
vague distrust of the locked doors a vague doubt of what they
might be hiding from me, stole into my mind. I left the ladder in
its place against the wall, and set myself to examine the
contents of the cupboards first.

The cupboards were three in number. As I opened the first of them
the singing upstairs ceased. For a moment there was something
almost oppressive in the sudden change from noise to silence. I
suppose my nerves must have been overwrought. The next sound in
the house--nothing more remarkable than the creaking of a man's
boots descending the stairs--made me shudder all over. The man
was no doubt the singing-master, going away after giving his
lesson. I heard the house door close on him, and started at the
familiar sound as if it were something terrible which I had never
heard before. Then there was silence again. I roused myself as
well as I could, and began my examination of the first cupboard.

It was divided into two compartments.

The top compartment contained nothing but boxes of cigars, ranged
in rows, one on another. The under compartment was devoted to a
collection of shells. They were all huddled together anyhow, the
Major evidently setting a far higher value on his cigars than on
his shells. I searched this lower compartment carefully for any
object interesting to me which might be hidden in it. Nothing was
to be found in any part of it besides the shells.

As I opened the second cupboard it struck me that the light was
beginning to fail.

I looked at the window: it was hardly evening yet. The darkening
of the light was produced by gathering clouds. Rain-drops
pattered against the glass; the autumn wind whistled mournfully
in the corners of the courtyard. I mended the fire before I
renewed my search. My nerves were in fault again, I suppose. I
shivered when I went back to the book-case. My hands trembled: I
wondered what was the matter with me.

The second cupboard revealed (in the upper division of it) some
really beautiful cameos--not mounted, but laid on cotton-wool in
neat cardboard trays. In one corner, half hidden under one of the
trays, there peeped out the whit e leaves of a little manuscript.
I pounced on it eagerly, only to meet with a new disappointment:
the manuscript proved to be a descriptive catalogue of the
cameos--nothing more!

Turning to the lower division of the cupboard, I found more
costly curiosities in the shape of ivory carvings from Japan and
specimens of rare silk from China. I began to feel weary of
disinterring the Major's treasures. The longer I searched, the
farther I seemed to remove myself from the one object that I had
it at heart to attain. After closing the door of the second
cupboard, I almost doubted whether it would be worth my while to
proceed farther and open the third and last door.

A little reflection convinced me that it would be as well, now
that I had begun my examination of the lower regions of the
book-case, to go on with it to the end. I opened the last
cupboard.

On the upper shelf there appeared, in solitary grandeur, one
object only--a gorgeously bound book.

It was of a larger size than usual, judging of it by comparison
with the dimensions of modern volumes. The binding was of blue
velvet, with clasps of silver worked in beautiful arabesque
patterns, and with a lock of the same precious metal to protect
the book from prying eyes. When I took it up, I found that the
lock was not closed.

Had I any right to take advantage of this accident, and open the
book? I have put the question since to some of my friends of both
sexes. The women all agree that I was perfectly justified,
considering the serious interests that I had at stake, in taking
any advantage of any book in the Major's house. The men differ
from this view, and declare that I ought to have put back the
volume in blue velvet unopened, carefully guarding myself from
any after-temptation to look at it again by locking the cupboard
door. I dare say the men are right.

Being a woman, however, I opened the book without a moment's
hesitation.

The leaves were of the finest vellum, with tastefully designed
illuminations all round them. And what did these highly
ornamental pages contain? To my unutterable amazement and
disgust, they contained locks of hair, let neatly into the center
of each page, with inscriptions beneath, which proved them to be
love-tokens from various ladies who had touched the Major's
susceptible heart at different periods of his life. The
inscriptions were written in other languages besides English, but
they appeared to be all equally devoted to the same curious
purpose, namely, to reminding the Major of the dates at which his
various attachments had come to an untimely end. Thus the first
page exhibited a lock of the lightest flaxen hair, with these
lines beneath: "My adored Madeline. Eternal constancy. Alas, July
22, 1839!" The next page was adorned by a darker shade of hair,
with a French inscription under it: "Clemence. Idole de mon âme.
Toujours fidele. Helas, 2me Avril, 1840." A lock of red hair
followed, with a lamentation in Latin under it, a note being
attached to the date of dissolution of partnership in this case,
stating that the lady was descended from the ancient Romans, and
was therefore mourned appropriately in Latin by her devoted
Fitz-David. More shades of hair and more inscriptions followed,
until I was weary of looking at them. I put down the book,
disgusted with the creatures who had assisted in filling it, and
then took it up again, by an afterthought. Thus far I had
thoroughly searched everything that had presented itself to my
notice. Agreeable or not agreeable, it was plainly of serious
importance to my own interests to go on as I had begun, and
thoroughly to search the book.

I turned over the pages until I came to the first blank leaf.
Seeing that they were all blank leaves from this place to the
end, I lifted the volume by the back, and, as a last measure of
precaution, shook it so as to dislodge any loose papers or cards
which might have escaped my notice between the leaves.

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