The Leavenworth Case by Anna Katharine Green Read Free Book Online

from the library table.
    “The library table is in one room, and the stand in another. To reach the former from the latter, one would be obliged to cross Mr. Leavenworth’s bedroom in a diagonal direction, pass through the passageway separating that one apartment from the other, and—”
    “Wait a moment; how does this table stand in regard to the door which leads from the bedroom into the hall?”
    “One might enter that door, pass directly round the foot of the bed to the stand, procure the pistol, and cross half-way over to the passage-way, without being seen by any one sitting or standing in the library beyond.”
    “Holy Virgin!” exclaimed the horrified cook, throwing her apron over her head as if to shut out some dreadful vision. “Hannah niver would have the pluck for that; niver, niver!” But Mr. Gryce, laying a heavy hand on the woman, forced her back into her seat, reproving and calming her at the same time, with a dexterity marvellous to behold. “I beg your pardons,” she cried deprecatingly to those around; “but it niver was Hannah, niver!”
    The clerk from Bohn’s here being dismissed, those assembled took the opportunity of making some change in their position, after which, the name of Mr. Harwell was again called. That person rose with manifest reluctance. Evidently the preceding testimony had either upset some theory of his, or indubitably strengthened some unwelcome suspicion.
    “Mr. Harwell,” the coroner began, “we are told of the existence of a pistol belonging to Mr. Leavenworth, and upon searching, we discover it in his room. Did you know of his possessing such an instrument?”
    “I did.”
    “Was it a fact generally known in the house?”
    “So it would seem.”
    “How was that? Was he in the habit of leaving it around where any one could see it?”
    “I cannot say; I can only acquaint you with the manner in which I myself became aware of its existence.”
    “Very well, do so.”
    “We were once talking about firearms. I have some taste that way, and have always been anxious to possess a pocket-pistol. Saying something of the kind to him one day, he rose from his seat and, fetching me this, showed it to me.”
    “How long ago was this?”
    “Some few months since.”
    “He has owned this pistol, then, for some time?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Is that the only occasion upon which you have ever seen it?”
    “No, sir,”—the secretary blushed—“I have seen it once since.”
    “When?”
    “About three weeks ago.”
    “Under what circumstances?”
    The secretary dropped his head, a certain drawn look making itself suddenly visible on his countenance.
    “Will you not excuse me, gentlemen?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
    “It is impossible,” returned the coroner.
    His face grew even more pallid and deprecatory. “I am obliged to introduce the name of a lady,” he hesitatingly declared.
    “We are very sorry,” remarked the coroner.
    The young man turned fiercely upon him, and I could not help wondering that I had ever thought him commonplace. “Of Miss Eleanore Leavenworth!” he cried.
    At that name, so uttered, every one started but Mr. Gryce; he was engaged in holding a close and confidential confab with his finger-tips, and did not appear to notice.
    “Surely it is contrary to the rules of decorum and the respect we all feel for the lady herself to introduce her name into this discussion,” continued Mr. Harwell. But the coroner still insisting upon an answer, he refolded his arms (a movement indicative of resolution with him), and began in a low, forced tone to say:
    “It is only this, gentlemen. One afternoon, about three weeks since, I had occasion to go to the library at an unusual hour. Crossing over to the mantel-piece for the purpose of procuring a penknife which I had carelessly left there in the morning, I heard a noise in the adjoining room. Knowing that Mr. Leavenworth was out, and supposing the ladies to be out also, I took the