The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

you talk when you meet?”

      “Talk?”

      “Of other matters besides business, I mean. Are your relations friendly? Do you show the same spirit towards each other as you did three years ago, say?”

      “We are older; perhaps we are not quite so voluble.”

      “But do you feel the same?”

      “No. I see you will have it, and so I will no longer hold back the truth. We are not as brotherly in our intercourse as we used to be; but there is no animosity between us. I have a decided regard for my brother.”

      This was said quite nobly, and I liked him for it, but I began to feel that perhaps it had been for the best after all that I had never been intimate with the family. But I must not forestall either events or my opinions.

      “Is there any reason”—it is the Coroner, of course, who is speaking—“why there should be any falling off in your mutual confidence? Has your brother done anything to displease you?”

      “We did not like his marriage.”

      “Was it an unhappy one?”

      “It was not a suitable one.”

      “Did you know Mrs. Van Burnam well, that you say this?”

      “Yes, I knew her, but the rest of the family did not.”

      “Yet they shared in your disapprobation?”

      “They felt the marriage more than I did. The lady—excuse me, I never like to speak ill of the sex—was not lacking in good sense or virtue, but she was not the person we had a right to expect Howard to marry.”

      “And you let him see that you thought so?”

      “How could we do otherwise?”

      “Even after she had been his wife for some months?”

      “We could not like her.”

      “Did your brother—I am sorry to press this matter—ever show that he felt your change of conduct towards him?”

      “I find it equally hard to answer,” was the quick reply. “My brother is of an affectionate nature, and he has some, if not all, of the family’s pride. I think he did feel it, though he never said so. He is not without loyalty to his wife.”

      “Mr. Van Burnam, of whom does the firm doing business under the name of Van Burnam & Sons consist?”

      “Of the three persons mentioned.”

      “No others?”

      “No.”

      “Has there ever been in your hearing any threat made by the senior partner of dissolving this firm as it stands?”

      “I have heard”—I felt sorry for this strong but far from heartless man, but I would not have stopped the inquiry at this point if I could; I was far too curious—“I have heard my father say that he would withdraw if Howard did not. Whether he would have done so, I consider open to doubt. My father is a just man and never fails to do the right thing, though he sometimes speaks with unnecessary harshness.”

      “He made the threat, however?”

      “Yes.”

      “And Howard heard it?”

      “Or of it; I cannot say which.”

      “Mr. Van Burnam, have you noticed any change in your brother since this threat was uttered?”

      “How, sir; what change?”

      “In his treatment of his wife, or in his attitude towards yourself?”

      “I have not seen him in the company of his wife since they went to Haddam. As for his conduct towards myself, I can say no more than I have already. We have never forgotten that we are children of one mother.”

      “Mr. Van Burnam, how many times have you seen Mrs. Howard Van Burnam?”

      “Several. More frequently before they were married than since.”

      “You were in your brother’s confidence, then, at that time; knew he was contemplating marriage?”

      “It was in my endeavors to prevent the match that I saw so much of Miss Louise Stapleton.”

      “Ah! I am glad of the explanation! I was just going to inquire why you, of all members of the family, were the only one to know your brother’s wife by sight.”

      The witness, considering this question answered, made no reply. But the next suggestion could not be passed over.

      “If you saw Mrs. Van Burnam so often, you are acquainted with her personal appearance?”

      “Sufficiently so; as well as I know that of my ordinary calling-acquaintance.”

      “Was she light or dark?”

      “She had brown hair.”

      “Similar to this?”

      The lock held up was the one which had been cut from the head of the dead girl.

      “Yes, somewhat similar to that.” The tone was cold; but he could not hide his distress.

      “Mr. Van Burnam, have you looked well at the woman who was found murdered in your father’s house?”

      “I have, sir.”

      “Is there anything in her general outline or in such features as have escaped disfigurement to remind you of Mrs. Howard Van Burnam?”

      “I may have thought so—at first glance,” he replied, with decided effort.

      “And did you change your mind at the second?”

      He looked troubled, but answered firmly: “No, I cannot say that I did. But you must not regard my opinion as conclusive,” he hastily added. “My knowledge of the lady was comparatively slight.”

      “The jury will take that into account. All we want to know now is whether you can assert from any knowledge you have or from anything to be noted in the body itself, that it is not Mrs. Howard Van Burnam?”

      “I cannot.”

      And with this solemn assertion his examination closed.

      The remainder of the day was taken up in trying to prove a similarity between Mrs. Van Burnam’s handwriting and that of Mrs. James Pope as seen in the register of the Hotel D—— and on the order sent to Altman’s. But the only conclusion reached was that the latter might be the former disguised, and even on this point the experts differed.

Chapter XIII.

       Howard Van Burnam

       Table of Contents

      The gentleman who stepped from the carriage and entered Mr. Van Burnam’s house at twelve o’clock that night produced so little impression upon me that I went to bed satisfied that no result would follow these efforts at identification.

      And so I told Mr. Gryce when he arrived next morning. But he seemed by no means disconcerted, and merely requested that I would submit to one more trial. To which I gave my consent, and he departed.

      I could have asked him a string of questions, but his manner did not invite them, and for some reason I was too wary to show an interest in this tragedy superior to that felt by every right-thinking person connected with it.

      At ten o’clock I was in my old seat in the court-room. The same crowd with different faces confronted me, amid which the twelve stolid countenances of the jury looked like old friends. Howard Van Burnam was the witness called, and as he came forward and