The Chief Legatee | Page 3

as I am. He could tell me nothing, absolutely nothing."
"Indeed! and the man, the one who whispered to her during the reception, couldn't you learn anything about him?"
Mr. Ransom's face took on an expression almost ferocious.
"No. He's a stranger to Mr. Fulton; yet Mr. Fulton's niece introduced him to me as a relative."
"A relative? When was that?"
"At the reception. He was introduced as Mr. Hazen (my wife's maiden name, you know), and when I saw how his presence disturbed her, I said to her, 'A cousin of yours?' and she answered with very evident embarrassment, 'A relative';--which you must acknowledge didn't locate him very definitely. Mr. Fulton doesn't know of any such relative. And I don't believe he is a relative. He didn't sit with the rest of the family in the church."
"Ah! you saw him in the church."
"Yes. I noticed him for two reasons. First, because he occupied an end seat and so came directly under my eye in our passage down the aisle. Secondly, because his face of all those which confronted me when I looked for the cause of her sudden agitation, was the only one not turned towards her in curiosity or interest. His eyes were fixed and vacant; his only. That made him conspicuous and when I saw him again I knew him."
"Describe the man."
Mr. Ransom's face lightened up with an expression of strong satisfaction.
"I am going to astonish you," said he. "The fellow is so plain that children must cry at him. He has suffered some injury and his mouth and jaw have such a twist in them that the whole face is thrown out of shape. So you see," continued the unhappy bridegroom, as his eyes flashed from the detective's face to that of the manager's, "that the influence he exerts over my wife is not that of love. No one could love him. The secret's of another kind. What kind, what, what, what? Find out and I'll pay you any amount you ask. She is too dear and of too sensitive a temperament to be subject to a wretch of his appearance. I cannot bear the thought. It stifles, it chokes me; and yet for three hours I've had to endure it. Three hours! and with no prospect of release unless you--"
"Oh, I'll do something," was Gerridge's bland reply. "But first I must have a few more facts. A man such as you describe should be easy to find; easier than the lady. Is he a tall man?"
"Unusually so."
"Dark or light?"
"Dark."
"Any beard?"
"None. That's why the injury to his jaw shows so plainly."
"I see. Is he what you would call a gentleman?"
"Yes, I must acknowledge that. He shows the manners of good society, if he did whisper words into my wife's ear which were not meant for mine."
"And Mr. Fulton knows nothing of him?"
"Nothing."
"Well, we'll drop him for the present. You have a photograph of your wife?"
"Her picture was in all the papers to-night."
"I noticed. But can we go by it? Does it resemble her?"
"Only fairly. She is far prettier. My wife is something uncommon. No picture ever does her justice."
"She looks like a dark beauty. Is her hair black or brown?"
"Black. So black it has purple shades in it."
"And her eyes? Black too?"
"No, gray. A deep gray, which look black owing to her long lashes."
"Very good. Now about her dress. Describe it as minutely as you can. It was a bride's traveling costume, I suppose."
"Yes. That is, I presume so. I know that it was all right and suitable to the occasion, but I don't remember much about it. I was thinking too much of the woman in the gown to notice the gown itself."
"Cannot you tell the color?"
"It was a dark one. I'm sure it was a dark one, but colors are not much in my line. I know she looked well--they can tell you about it at the house. All that I distinctly remember is the veil she had wound so tightly around her face and hat to keep the rice out of her hair that I could not get one glimpse of her features. All nonsense that veil, especially when I had promised not to address her or even to touch her in the cab. And she wore it into the office. If it had not been for that I might have foreseen her intention in time to prevent it."
"Perhaps she knew that."
"It looks as if she did."
"Which means that she was meditating flight from the first."
"From the time she saw that man," Mr. Ransom corrected.
"Just so; from the time she left her uncle's house. Your wife is a woman of means, I believe."
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately?"
"It makes her independent and offers a lure to irresponsible wretches like him."
"Her fortune is large, then?"
"Very large; larger than my own."
Every one knew