Rensselaer Journal, Volume 10, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 June 1901 — THE IVORY QUEEN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE IVORY QUEEN

A Detective Story Of a Gfaic*co SeborA The l Murder at The Qraage aad Hew ► Its Mystery Wic Solved by DirreaLtW Aaerlcae Lecoq.

BY NORMAN HURST.

CHAPTER VII. DARRENT MAKES A FRESH DISCOVERT. It was the morning after the great sensational trial, and Herbert Darrent sat at his breakfast in the dining room of the Palace hotel, Norcombe. The table he bad selected was a small one by the .window, and he sat there neglecting his breakfast and moodily staring out into the street. Then he began his meaL bnt his aDDetite seemed to have deserted him. “Theatrical, theatrical; that’s all,' he mattered to himself, as if in answer to his secret thoughts. “Done for effect. ” And he drank his coffee and picked np the morning paper, only to throw it down again impatiently as the displayed headlines caught his eye: MARSDEN MUST SWING.

A Speedy Conviction the Norcombe Murderer’s Fate.

DETECTIVE DAEBENTS TRIUMPH. Dramatic Scene In Co art—Condemned Man’s Sweetheart Declares Her Belief In His Innocence Would Marry Him If He Were Free. The headlines jarred upon him. Why? The detective’s triumph 1 It was a triumph—every one said so—and yet never had he succeeded in a case that had left behind such an unsettled feeling, such a degree of uncertainty and doubt as to whether he was really right after all He could not understand it himself. Everything had seemed to be as clear as daylight, and the judge and jury—aye, the very spectators—had shared the view that his deductions had led him to form long ago—that Astray Marsden was the culprit. “All for effect,” he muttered again to himself, his mind still on the final scene in the court, with the last ray of sunlight falling full on the woman’s face as she avowed before all her unalterable belief in the innocence of Astray Marsden “Theatrical: that was all' And yet somehow he could not shake off remembrance of that final scene. Whether it was acting or not, it had made a deep impression on Herbert Darrent.

“Shouldn’t wonder if it has a good result for him; rouses sensation and sympathy, and they may get up a petition for life imprisonment. It’s a clever dodge” He called it “a dodge” to shake his own doubts, and yet he could not help feeling that there was no collusion in that last scene of all. Still, it is best to try to delnde dhe’s conscience at such times as these. Dull it, stifle it if it wants to speak and disturb that supremely happy feeling of self satisfaction that is so pleasant v to experience To be emotional in Wis nineteenth century is to be weak, or, worse than anything, old fashioned, jlf something happens in the course of cine’s daily life that is koan and painful enough to wring one’s heart, the formula is—give sympathy a stunning blow and call the whole thing “a dodge” and then go on •with life exactly as before. Yes; that is the wiser, the better and very frequently the cheaper way. It’s only a dodge; that’s all. Pass on and forget it. Having stigmatized the dramatic denouement of the trial as “a dodge” in sufficiently stern a voice to frighten away, for the time being at any rate, all his inner promptings, Darrent picked up the paper again and began reading an editorial—the trial again, of course. It was headed “The American Lecoq, ” and it set forth with abundant praise the ability, the zeal, the acumen, of one Herbert Darrent, detective—set it forth in such a florid high flown style that the subject of these commendations would have flushed, except that his inner self had not yet recovered from the stunning blow that had been dealt it by modern cynicism. Then the article went on to refer to the emotional scene at the conclusion of the trial

“Astra nger scene,” it remarked, “it has never been our lot to witness. ” And Darrent, startled from his habitual composure, jumped to his feet, with an exclamation of surprise. Perhaps the compositor engaged upon setting up that editorial had been carried away by the sensationalism of the trial or perhaps by something else, but in setting that line he had made a peculiar mistake, which had been passed by the proofreader and now appeared in every issue of that day’s paper. He had misplaced the spacing which should have made the division between the words “A” and “stranger,” and the sentence which had so startled Herbert Darrent read, “Astra nger scene it has never been onr lot to witness. ” The second combination of letters, “nger,” might have been a portion of a cryptogram, it was so meaningless. The first, “Astra, ” had a meaning for Darrent that set his brain wildly at work and caused a heavy feeling at his heart. It was a strange coincidence that the editorial on the trial should contain such a glaring error. Emotional people would have called it “the finger of Providence, ’ ’ but of course it was not. It was simply the error of a compositor who perhaps had had too much to drink or at any rate was not at the instant thinking of what he was doing. Let ns account for all things natural-

ly lr we can. we abominate superstition in the nineteenth century and really never care to discuss “the finger of Providence” at all “A —s —t —r —*— A stranger, “ Darrent muttered. “Suppose .old Muryiap died before he could write what he intended tol Suppose another second of life wonld have altered all things l Why did not the defense think of that? Astray Marsden quarreled with Josiah and left him. A third person entered, and that person was the one who committed the deed. Josiah Marsden, dying afid alone, remembered. Something warned him that Astray would* be accused, and he wrote what he intended should prove his innocence. No (me can say what were the exact words he intended to write. ‘I am dying, murdered by a strange man, who forced hia way into the house ’ It might have been that, it might have been anything after the word 'strange.' the word in the writing of which and before he could complete it death overtook him, and his very handwriting condemned the man whom he had tried to save ” The more Darrent thought the mors moody became his reflections. Was it possible he had blundered ? Was it possible that the man now under sentence of death was only the victim of a series of circumstantial incidents that he had so cleverly put together? He turned ■ to finish the breakfast that he had neglected, but all inclination for food had vanished, and hp pushed his plate aside and stared out of the window again, and, as he gazed, there continually dinned in his ears one sentence: “Suppose you’ve been, mistaken! Snpposs you’ve been mistaken!” The repetition grew simply maddening. He could bear it no longer; ha would retest every theory; he would retrace his steps, go right back to the beginning, follow every clew from a different standpoint and see where it led him—see if there was anything, no matter how minute, that he had overlooked. He turned to the newspaper once more, and as he glanced down the columns a chess diagram caught his eye, the usual weekly problem, “White I to play and mate in two moves. ” In an instant Darrent's mind was alert on a new scent.

So easy had been the trail that he had followed, so clearly had it pointed to the guilt of Astray Marsden, that he had quite overlooked the robbery of the chessmen. They had seemed to have no real connection with the actual murder, and they had slipped from his memory. Now, and it came forcibly back to him, he had better try to trace them and find what bearing they had upon the case. He recalled how he had built up a theory that if he could only find those chessmen he would be very near achieving mate upon the murderer’s game What step should he take* now? He somehow could not disabuse his mind of the uneasy feeling that had possessed it—that perhaps he had put the hemp round an innocent man’s neck, and in a few weeks' time, unless he proved himself to have been wrong, to have followed a bad theory to a false end, the noose might be drawn and Astray Marsden gone beyond recalL He went up stairs to his room and took from his bag the odd pawn and the piece of tissue paper containing the chip of ivory, this new clews. It was a big, manly task Darrent was going to enter upon, because if he proved that the conclusions he had already arrived at were false and that all along he had followed a false scent he wrote for himself and his lauded ability an awful denunciation. If, on the other hand, he only confirmed his first theory, there was nothing further to go on working for beyond self satisfaction and contentment Was it worth while, after all? he pondered. Why not let things take their course ? He stepped out into the street and paused, irresolute, for a few moments. Then, suddenly making up his mind, he walked rapidly to the railway station and took the train for Bideford. He had decided that the first new step he must pursue was to ascertain from Ethel Kingston anything he conld as to the real relationship between Astray Marsden and the murdered man and, further, what were the grounds upon which old Marsden had forbidden the marriage of Astray with her. Perhaps in that very refusal of consent to the alliance there might be something that would lead him on a fresh scent, something that would dull or satisfy that aching that had taken possession of his mind, that would allay the haunting fear that perhaps, after au, he was-wrong. When Darrent reached Bideford, he experienced but little trouble in finding the abode of Ethel Kingston, for noon

a tiny burnished plate on a door in High street be read the name and underneath the word “Milliner.” How. wondered Darrent, as he stood awaiting an answer to his knock, would he find the woman who had taken that unrehearsed part in the dramatic scene at the trial? Would she hr prostrated with grief and refuse to see him. or would she upbraid and assail him for having so steadfastly pursued and convicted the man she loved, the man whom she believed to be innocent and whom, if he were bnt free, she had sworn before all men she would marry ? While Darrent turned these possibilities over in his mind the door was opened by the girl herself, who could ill conceal a start of astonishment as he raised his hat

“Yon have come from him?” she queried. “Yes,” answered Darrent as he accepted her invitation to enter. “I have come. Miss Kingston. ” he continued, “because today I do not feel quite so satisfied as I have been all along about the guilt of Astray Marsden. ” “And yet if is due to yon, and yon alone, that he is condemned.” “I only did what was my duty. 1 only pieced together facts, and the jury decided upon those facts. Today I come to you because I feel that one of those very facts is weakened, and its weakness weakens the whole chain. ” “Pray go on It is life and death to him—to me. ” Darrent took a seat beside her and drew from his pocket the paper that he had been reading that morning and said “Miss Kingston, when Astray Marsden asked you in court if yon believed bimkguilty and yon answered *N6;' when he asked yon if yon would marry him if he were free and you answered ‘Yes, ’ it for the moment lessened my belief in his guilt, but when I again reviewed all the facts that shadowy feeling of doubt vanished, and I was as sure as ever of that guilt I slept well last night, a sleep undisturbed by any dreams torturing me that I might have helped to condemn an innocent man.

He took from hit bag the odd pawn. but this morning I felt depressed, and when I opened this paper, out of your very words of yesterday, out of the very episode that had momentarily ahekart my confidence in his guilt, had grown another incident that, unsuperstitioua as 1 am, seemed nothing short of a miraculous coincidence. If you had not spoken yesterday, these words that I am going to show you now would never have been written, the mistake could not have occurred, and it. might never have entered my mind that justice had perhaps miscarried. ” He placed the paper on the table and pointed to the editorial with the misplaced space, “Astra nger scene it has never been our lot to witness. ” For some moments Ethel Kingston could scarcely master her emotion as she gazed at the printed lines, and, sinking back into her seat, she covered her face with her handa Darrent waited until she had in some measure regained her composure and then, speaking very quietly, said: “Miss Kingston, I have already told you I’m not a. superstitious man, and I don’t believe in signs and omens, but this accident or coincidence—call it what you will—has weakened my belief in myself and has determined me to retest this case in every detail, to follow again every clew, and see if I can find anywhere where the chain is faulty, &ny single instance where I have erred, where I have assumed too much or have allowed too little. ” A thankful look lightened her face for a moment as she answered: >'«•- “Oh, if it only is so—if you, who have no painstakingly followed the clews to this awful end, should find some other evidence that should prove him innocent I Oh, merciful heaven, it must be proved! He is innocent—he is innocent !’’ J (MR OOKTUiOItD. J