Chapter XIV

IN WHICH WILLIE SAUNDERS PASSES FROM DESPAIR TO AMAZEMENT, AND FROM AMAZEMENT TO ANGER.

The news of the return of a woman whose corpse a thousand persons had seen, caused an emotion difficult to describe. At first the event seemed so impossible that no one would believe it; and the lawyers were accused of conniving with the police to save the life of the condemned. But when the papers published special supplements describing in detail the scene that had taken place at the Tombs, the most incredulous were obliged to accept the evidence. The few defenders that James Gobson had among the people had the best of the matter, and the excitement increased so rapidly that the minister of justice, the justice of the criminal court, Mr. Kelly, and the sheriff and coroner thought it prudent to release the prisoner on bail without further delay.

For political reasons they set the sum, without further consideration, at the insignificant figure of one hundred dollars. They knew, moreover, that if they had asked ten thousand dollars, a hundred individuals, to gain a little popularity, would have come to offer it themselves. Having come to this decision, Mr. Mortimer ran at once to the Tombs to erase the prisoner’s name from the jail register.

James was about to play a game of chess with the good Mr. Midler. When the magistrate had apprised him of what had been done, he quietly made his preparations, went down to the clerk’s office, counted out the one hundred dollars for the keeper of the prison, Mr. Peters, and after shaking hands with the worthy Methodist, whose eyes filled with tears, he went out by the door through which Mr. Kelly and Davis had passed a few hours before, in order to avoid the crowd.

“Where are you going to put up?” asked the sheriff, who was accompanying James Gobson.

“To the ‘United States,’ where I am unknown, sir,” he answered; “but I think it polite to devote my first moments of liberty to Miss Ada Ricard. Although she came near arriving too late, I nevertheless owe her a visit of thanks.”

And, hailing a passing hack, James bowed to the sheriff, then entered the carriage, giving orders to drive to No. 17 East Twenty-third Street.

At the same moment William Dow reached the central police office. Learning through public rumor of the return of the drowned woman, he did not wait for Mr. Kelly to send for him.

“Well,” said the latter, “what do you think of this foolish event?”

“I think, Mr. Kelly,” he answered, “that it is a foolish mistake, and that it is very fortunate that it did not become an irreparable error.”

“You are, in a measure, the cause of it.”

“I! Was it I who recognized Miss Ada in the dead woman, whom I had never seen?”

“No; but it was you who had James Gobson arrested.”

“I arrested him only a little sooner, perhaps, than you would have ordered the arrest yourself. Confess that the body, really being that of Mrs. Gobson, the guilt of her husband could be doubted by none.”

“Evidently. The lawyer for the State proved it as plain as daylight. O’Brien never was so eloquent.”

“To Mr. Davis especially, who had the examination, the blow is heavy.”

“That is the least of my troubles. What disturbs me is that my reputation and position are jeopardized. But was there ever such a resemblance even in the slightest details? One would think some political enemy chose the corpse particularly to defeat me. There are not only the same features, but the tooth is gone and the ear cut as in the drowned woman. It is enough to make one lose one’s head.”

“It is certainly inexplicable, and this coincidence of circumstances confuses the mind.”

“Here I am with this corpse on my hands. It is not enough to find this roving woman whom the devil ought to have carried off, and not to have hung this Gobson, whom the devil would gladly have taken, I am convinced, but we must now discover the name of the drowned woman and that of her murderer.”

“We will find out all that.”

“If we fail, my dear Dow, I am a lost man.”

“We shall succeed. Let me study this mystery a little. Meanwhile face the storm bravely.” And clasping the hand of Mr. Kelly, who hardly knew what saint to call on, William Dow went home, more anxious than he appeared. He knew that the chief of police was right, and that public sentiment, doubly excited, exacted double satisfaction for the revising of James Gobson’s case and the explanation of the mystery that surrounded the death of the strange body found near Wharf 43.

During this time the crowd thronged Twenty-third Street, and the reporters literally besieged Miss Ada Ricard’s house. She had received several of her former servants, who, through personal interest or curiosity, had hastened to visit her at the first news of her return. After generously rewarding them for their sympathy, she dismissed them, saying that she would not reorganize her house for several days. Then the tradesmen came one after the other, protesting the sorrow they had felt and their present delight at seeing her again; and this procession had already lasted two hours, when formidable hurrahs were suddenly heard in the street.

“Go see what it is, Mary,” said Miss Ada, becoming somewhat pale.

Mary sprang to the window, and immediately answered laughingly:

“It is Mr. Gobson, madam, whom the crowd has recognized and is following with cheers.”

At the same moment the bell was rung. Mary ran to open the door; and Gobson, after giving three ringing cheers by way of thanks, crossed the threshold of the house. But that was not enough for the curious, and the cry a thousand times repeated of “Miss Ada! Miss Ada!” immediately rang out.

“You must show yourself, madam,” said one of the journalists who was present.

At the same instant James Gobson entered the parlor and held out his hand to his former wife.

“And show yourself with Mr. Gobson,” added the reporter.

“The gentleman is right,” said the released prisoner, “otherwise these people might push in your door.”

Then taking the young woman’s arm, who did not seem much inclined to exhibit herself thus, he went with her out on to the balcony. There was then an indescribable enthusiasm, and a racket enough to drive one crazy. The cries of “Miss Ada, Gobson forever!” were mingled with complaints and epithets not very flattering to Mr. Kelly. This lasted half an hour, and the crowd did not become quiet until Gobson made a sign that he was going to make a speech.

“Citizens,” he said, in a stentorian voice, “Miss Ada and I thank you sincerely for this sympathetic demonstration.”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” repeated the crowd in delirium. James Gobson, after bowing a last time, gallantly offered his arm to Ada Ricard and entered the house.

A person who was no less moved at the reappearance of the drowned woman than those of whom we have just spoken, was Mr. Robertson, Jr., whom one of his agents had informed of the event at the very first. He, too, had been deceived like a mere police officer. His vanity was greatly piqued, whatever joy his elder brother might manifest, for he, it is remembered, had been the rival of Mr. Kelly in the last elections.

The chief of the agency saw in the error of the chief of police the surety of a brilliant political revenge, and he congratulated himself; but Mr. Robertson, Jr., who was more of an artist, could not forgive himself for having made what he, at the time, thought, the skilful deductions which we have already placed before our readers. What consoled him a little was, that in order to avoid being called upon as a witness, and not to compromise his establishment, he had confided in none, not even in Saunders, who, however, was not in a condition to understand him, pursued as the unhappy man was by the fixed idea of being Miss Ada’s murderer. However, thinking it wise to get credit with the cracker-merchant for having prevented him from denouncing himself, Mr. Robertson, Jr., resolved to go and see him immediately.

Mr. Saunders was calmer than when we met him a few weeks before. He had finally persuaded himself that if Miss Ada had fallen into the water near Staten Island, that she was not drowned in that spot, but had been the victim of a crime, of which Colonel Forster, perhaps, might be guilty. Later, when James Gobson’s guilt was so convincingly shown at the trial, the worthy merchant did not try to explain how it could be that Miss Ada had fallen from the colonel’s yacht into the hands of her former husband; he adopted the conclusions of the State lawyer and silenced his conscience, to listen only to the voice of his heart, or to give himself wholly up to the sorrow caused by the death of his loved one.

His friends urged him to interest himself in business, but he could not bring his mind to it; he passed almost all his days at home, drinking, eating, and sighing. It was at this last occupation that Mr. Robertson, Jr., surprised him. He had not heard a word about the young woman’s return.

“You are a very welcome visitor,” he said to the agent; “tell me how that infamous murderer went to the gallows.”

“Dear sir,” answered the young man, “the execution has been postponed until to-morrow, on account of Meyer having broken his leg, the accident saved the prisoner.”

“Saved, how?” repeated Saunders, without understanding.

“Yes, saved; for Miss Ada Ricard, the victim, has returned.”

The stout man leaped from his chair and opened his eyes, gasping:

“Miss Ada returned! Miss Ada!”

“Yes, Miss Ada,” resumed Robertson, Jr.

“The devil!”

“Do be calm. You see I was right to advise you to be silent in regard to the adventure at Staten Island. We should have uselessly compromised ourselves. Yes, Miss Ada has returned; she was merely on a voyage.”

“In company with that d----d Foster, but what of that other, that other?”

“The drowned woman. Who she is no person knows.”

“Have you seen Miss Ada?”

“No; but one of my agents who was at the Tombs when she arrived followed her to her door.”

“Did she return to her house?”

“Two hours ago, at least.”

“And Mary, the wretch, did not notify me.”

“Who is Mary?”

“Her maid.”

On saying this, Saunders had taken his hat and run out of the room.

“Where are you going, pray?” asked Mr. Robertson, running after him.

“Where am I going? Why, to Miss Ada’s house.”

“I wish to tell the wretch what I think of her conduct.”

“Or to fall at her feet.”

The unhappy cracker-merchant suddenly stopped still. The secret agent had aimed a true blow. It was more love than anger that led the inflammable Yankee to the unfaithful one.

“Well, yes,” he said, “I still love her; and I wish to see her,” he added, with a deep sigh.

“Then I will accompany you,” proposed Robertson.

“If you wish.”

The young man was delighted to profit by the opportunity to see alive the woman whom he had known only through the corpse at the morgue. They sprang into a carriage, and soon reached No. 17 East Twenty-third Street.

Satisfied by the speech James Gobson had made them, the crowd had dispersed, and only a few groups remained around the house.

Mr. Robertson helped his companion to alight, and rang the bell. Mary answered it, but at the sight of Saunders’ flushed face, and not feeling very easy in her conscience, she uttered a cry and ran away to warn her mistress. The latter was having a private talk with James Gobson.

“Bah! receive him,” advised the former husband, complacently, “and try to get rid of him if you can, and especially if you wish to do so.”

The young woman left her room, closed the door behind her and passed into the parlor.

It was time. The stout Saunders, who had climbed the stairs with an agility quite juvenile, was crossing the threshold of this room.

“Ada, my dear Ada!” he cried, rushing toward her.

The poor man had forgotten his anger, and remembered only his love. With arms held out, he thought only of forgiving. But, to his amazement, the ungrateful woman withdrew from his embrace, and merely held out her hand, saying:

“My dear Saunders, you, too, thought me dead, and I will never forgive you such an error. However, I am none the less delighted to see you.”

All this was said in so calm and chilling a tone that the unfortunate cracker-merchant, already exhausted and breathless, felt his limbs give way beneath him. Fortunately, Mr. Robertson supported him to a lounge, on which he sank heavily, with his great, tearful eyes fixed on her for whom he had wept so much, and who had received him thus, he was really pitiable to behold.

Miss Ada seated herself near him and took his hand.

“Come, my good Saunders,” she said, “have a little courage. I still love you very much, but I am going to leave New York.”

“To return with Colonel Forster. Oh! I will kill him,” murmured the merchant.

“With Colonel Forster? I do not know what you mean.”

“Is it possible? But, Robertson, tell her that we know all.”

“I know nothing,” answered the agent, who wished merely to play the part of a looker-on in this call.

It was too much for the unhappy man, whose head was not yet steady. Ada repulsed him, and his friend Robertson denied him. Exasperated and furious, he suddenly arose, and casting a scornful look at the young woman, he left the parlor with something like an air of dignity.

Robertson, Jr., who had nothing more to do in the house, bowed to Miss Ada and followed Saunders, to whom he said, when he had joined him on the door-step:

“Pardon me for having given you the lie, dear sir; but it is useless for us to both appear in the revision which is to be opened. Do you wish any advice? Remain quietly at home and forget Miss Ada; she is not worthy of your love.”

“She is a cheat,” he gasped, in the manner of a peroration, and as if speaking to himself more than to his companion.

A few moments later he saw William Dow on the threshold of his door, and he gave a cry of joy. “Oh, my only friend,” he said to the detective, falling almost into his arms. “She is living; I have just come from her house. What a wretch she is! You must do me the service to find that cursed Colonel Forster; I wish to fight with him. If he refuses, I will kill him.”

“Be calm, dear Mr. Saunders,” answered William, helping the poor man to ascend his steps. “In the first place I will not go to Forster, because he is not in New York. If it is he who carried off Miss Ada, she did not return with him. We know that his yacht is now in the harbor, and that she returned to the city by the Harlem Railroad. You understand that Mr. Edward Forster, who must now be acquainted with all this scandal, does not care to give explanations that are compromising to him.”

“That is true, dear Mr. Dow,” murmured Saunders, sinking back in an arm-chair, for while exchanging these words, the friends had reached the merchant’s parlor. “Besides, of what use would it be for you, a peaceful citizen, to fight with that officer?” continued the detective. “A duel would not restore you Miss Ada; and that thief of a Robertson, after taking I don’t know how many thousand dollars from me for absurd information, seems to think this girl’s conduct very natural.”

“What, Robertson; one of the firm of the agency of Robertson & Co.?”

“Yes, Robertson, Jr. Upon my word, it is even worse. I would like to tell you all that passed between him and me.”

And the good Saunders, whose heart overflowed, told William Dow all that our readers know about the secret agent; then he concluded by giving him the famous report that had caused the expedition to Staten Island.

“All this is truly extraordinary,” said the police officer, shaking his head, after having carefully read the document. “Trust this report to me.”

“Willingly,” answered the cracker-merchant. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Oh, nothing against the Robertson agency, but it contains details which may be useful to me some day or another. I would like also a photograph of Miss Ada. You must have one.”

“Only one, dear sir; here it is. And see, here is the letter that unhappy woman wrote to her maid to tell her not to be anxious in her absence. The wretch!”

The poor lover had drawn from his pocket-book the photograph of the woman, which was inclosed in the note which Mary had given him a few moments after having received it from her mistress. He handed the whole to the detective, giving a sigh.

William Dow passed more than an hour with Saunders, and when he left it was with a smile on his lips, and he said, to the amazement of the simple Mr. Saunders: “Have patience; I think I am beginning to understand.”