The Leavenworth Case. John Curran

Harwell himself, for some reason not given, was conscious of a suspicion which he was anxious to suppress even from his own mind.

      That a woman was in some way connected with it, a rustle as well as a footstep having been heard by him on the stairs.

      That a letter had arrived at the house, which if found would be likely to throw some light upon this subject.

      That Eleanore Leavenworth’s name came with difficulty from his lips; this evidently unimpressible man, manifesting more or less emotion whenever he was called upon to utter it.

       CHAPTER IV

       A CLUE

       ‘Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.’

      —HAMLET

      THE cook of the establishment being now called, that portly, ruddy-faced individual stepped forward with alacrity, displaying upon her good-humoured countenance such an expression of mingled eagerness and anxiety that more than one person present found it difficult to restrain a smile at her appearance. Observing this and taking it as a compliment, being a woman as well as a cook, she immediately dropped a curtsey, and opening her lips was about to speak, when the coroner, rising impatiently in his seat, took the word from her mouth by saying sternly:

      ‘Your name?’

      ‘Katherine Malone, sir.’

      ‘Well, Katherine, how long have you been in Mr Leavenworth’s service?’

      ‘Shure, it is a good twelvemonth now, sir, since I came, on Mrs Wilson’s ricommindation, to that very front door, and—’

      ‘Never mind the front door, but tell us why you left this Mrs Wilson?’

      ‘Shure, and it was she as left me, being as she went sailing to the ould country the same day when on her ricommindation I came to this very front door—’

      ‘Well, well; no matter about that. You have been in Mr Leavenworth’s family a year?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘And liked it? Found him a good master?’

      ‘Och, sir, niver have I found a better, worse luck to the villain as killed him. He was that free and ginerous, sir, that many’s the time I have said to Hannah—’ She stopped, with a sudden comical gasp of terror, looking at her fellow servants like one who had incautiously made a slip.

      The coroner, observing this, inquired hastily:

      ‘Hannah? Who is Hannah?’

      The cook, drawing her roly-poly figure up into some sort of shape in her efforts to appear unconcerned, exclaimed boldly: ‘She? Oh, only the ladies’ maid, sir.’

      ‘But I don’t see anyone here answering to that description. You didn’t speak of anyone by the name of Hannah, as belonging to the house,’ said he, turning to Thomas.

      ‘No, sir,’ the latter replied, with a bow and a sidelong look at the red-cheeked girl at his side. ‘You asked me who were in the house at the time the murder was discovered, and I told you.’

      ‘Oh,’ cried the coroner, satirically; ‘used to police courts, I see.’ Then, turning back to the cook, who had all this while been rolling her eyes in a vague fright about the room, inquired, ‘And where is this Hannah?’

      ‘Shure, sir, she’s gone.’

      ‘How long since?’

      The cook caught her breath hysterically. ‘Since last night.’

      ‘What time last night?’

      ‘Troth, sir, and I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it.’

      ‘Was she dismissed?’

      ‘Not as I knows on; her clothes is here.’

      ‘Oh, her clothes are here. At what hour did you miss her?’

      ‘I didn’t miss her. She was here last night, and she isn’t here this morning, and so I says she’s gone.’

      ‘Humph!’ cried the coroner, casting a slow glance down the room, while everyone present looked as if a door had suddenly opened in a closed wall.

      ‘Where did this girl sleep?’

      The cook, who had been fumbling uneasily with her apron, looked up.

      ‘Shure, we all sleeps at the top of the house, sir.’

      ‘In one room?’

      Slowly. ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Did she come up to the room last night?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘At what hour?’

      ‘Shure, it was ten when we all came up. I heard the clock a-striking.’

      ‘Did you observe anything unusual in her appearance?’

      ‘She had a toothache, sir.’

      ‘Oh, a toothache; what, then? Tell me all she did.’

      But at this the cook broke into tears and wails.

      ‘Shure, she didn’t do nothing, sir. It wasn’t her, sir, as did anything; don’t you believe it. Hannah is a good girl, and honest, sir, as ever you see. I am ready to swear on the Book as how she never put her hand to the lock of his door. What should she for? She only went down to Miss Eleanore for some toothache-drops, her face was paining her that awful; and oh, sir—’

      ‘There, there,’ interrupted the coroner, ‘I am not accusing Hannah of anything. I only asked you what she did after she reached your room. She went downstairs, you say. How long after you went up?’

      ‘Troth, sir, I couldn’t tell; but Molly says—’

      ‘Never mind what Molly says. You didn’t see her go down?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Nor see her come back?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Nor see her this morning?’

      ‘No, sir; how could I when she’s gone?’

      ‘But you did see, last night, that she seemed to be suffering with toothache?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Very well; now tell me how and when you first became acquainted with the fact of Mr Leavenworth’s death.’

      But her replies to this question, while over-garrulous, contained but little information; and seeing this, the coroner was on the point of dismissing her, when the little juror, remembering an admission she had made, of having seen Miss Eleanore Leavenworth coming out of the library door a few minutes after Mr Leavenworth’s body had been carried into the next room, asked if her mistress had anything in her hand at the time.

      ‘I don’t know, sir. Faith!’ she suddenly exclaimed, ‘I believe she did have a piece of paper. I recollect, now, seeing her put it in her pocket.’

      The next witness was Molly, the upstairs girl.

      Molly O’Flanagan, as she called herself, was a rosy-cheeked, black-haired, pert girl of about eighteen, who under ordinary circumstances would have found herself able to answer, with a due degree of smartness, any question which might have been addressed to her. But fright will sometimes cower the stoutest heart, and Molly, standing before the coroner at this juncture, presented anything but a reckless appearance, her naturally rosy cheeks blanching at the first word addressed to her, and her head falling forward on her breast in a confusion too genuine to be dissembled and too transparent