Chapter IV: Some Loose Ends

As may be imagined, Captain John Converse, in the steady, unostentatious performance of his duty, was not the only one to whom success signified a reward as large as the twenty thousand dollars offered by the De Sanchez estate. About the time of his quiet leave taking there was a great gathering of soi-disant specialists, investigators, and detectives, like corbies to a feast. But they only created, for a time, a distracting tumult, and were soon forgotten--with a single exception. The man Adams, also working quietly and unostentatiously, is still to be heard from.

In the early part of January three incidents happened, bearing more or less directly upon the two tragedies, each of them attended by circumstances that caused more than one individual to regard a probable clearing up of the mysteries with the gloomiest doubt. We may not know how they impressed Mr. Converse, for he had not yet returned, but Mr. Mountjoy, and Miss Charlotte especially, viewed the outlook with dark forebodings.

First of all, after hovering between life and death for many weeks, Joyce one morning quite suddenly looked again upon the world with eyes in which shone the light of intelligence. Doctor Westbrook chanced to be present, and the mother heard them whisper a while together; and presently the Doctor came to her, his face pinched with worry.

It was characteristic that she did not question him; but as he left the room, she immediately followed him into the hall, closed the door noiselessly behind her, and placing her back to it, waited.

"We must be extremely careful," said he. "Any sudden shock may kill her.... Mother, she has forgotten--all."

The woman seemed to shrink; but she said nothing.

"It may be only temporary," the Doctor hastily added. So far he had talked quite as if he were discussing the condition of some chance patient with a member of that patient's family; but now a groan burst from him. "God grant it!" he cried tensely, under his breath. "God grant that the past may come to her gradually as she grows strong to bear it. But up to the moment of her waking her memory is a complete blank; it is like a slate sponged clean."

The mother tried to whisper a question: 'You--you don't think her mind--' The Doctor showed that he had been thinking of it, by the quickness with which he read his mother's thoughts, and hastened to deny.

"No, no," he insisted vigorously. "The condition is common enough in such debilitating diseases. Were I not so upset myself--were I free of any personal interest--I should say it was a benefit for the time being. But I can't bear any abnormal conditions in Joyce. Merely be careful not to shock her. Please speak to the servants."

Mrs. Westbrook simply bowed her head, and did not raise it again until her son had departed.

But if the Doctor's words were reassuring, he was by no means so sanguine himself: it was also not uncommon that memories so lost were never recovered.

During a black night of tempest and pounding sleet without, of high-leaping fires assaulted by gelid gusts within, Mrs. Elinor Fairchild's spirit winged its flight from the poor earthly frame that had enchained it. So imperceptible was the transition, that Charlotte, star-eyed and sibylline, brooding by the glowing hearth, marked it not.

Some hours later, when bestirring herself to retire, she laid her slim fingers for a moment upon her mother's forehead, withdrawing her hand with a suddenness that marked the swift quickening of questioning dread. But after all, if the Spectre be really confronting us, how certain is his presence! Instantly her intelligence was submerged by conviction.

With a thought of Mr. Converse flitting incongruously through her mind, it occurred to her that the closed door was locked for ever.