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 sent Lucille 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 spare expense. 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 at her 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 and _Suéde_ shoes 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 after the other, surveying each addition in the mirror
with little cries of delight. I laced her _Suéde_ shoes 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 considered
unusual. 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, which
Lucille 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 when you 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--_.