Jamail Center for Legal Research
Tarlton Law Library

          "True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain
Begot of nothing but vain phantasy."
                                --Romeo and Juliet.

     His face flushed. "That would have been convenient," he repeated.
"Also, if I had been informed where Hannah was, and why a stranger and a
gentleman should have stooped to the committal of such a crime."
     Seeing that he was nettled, I dropped my bantering vein. "Why do
you say a stranger?" I asked; "are you so well acquainted with all
who visit that house as to be able to say who are and who are not
strangers to the family?
     "I am well acquainted with the faces of their friends, and Henry
Clavering is not amongst the number; but—"
     "Were you ever with Mr. Leavenworth," I interrupted, "when he has
been away from home; in the country, for instance, or upon his travels?"
     "No." But the negative came with some constraint.
     "Yet I suppose he was in the habit of absenting himself from home?"
     "Certainly."
     "Can you tell me where he was last July, he and the ladies?"
     "Yes, sir; they went to R—. The famous watering-place, you know.
Ah," he cried, seeing a change in my face, "do you think he could have
met them there?"
     I looked at him for a moment, then, rising in my turn, stood level
with him, and exclaimed:
     "You are keeping something back, Mr. Harwell; you have more
knowledge of this man than you have hitherto given me to understand.
What is it?"
     He seemed astonished at my penetration, but replied: "I know no
more of the man than I have already informed you; but" — and a burning
flush crossed his face, 

"if you are determined to pursue this matter—" and he paused, with an 
inquiring look.
     "I am resolved to find out all I can about Henry Clavering," was my
decided answer
     "Then," said he, "I can tell you this much. Henry Clavering
wrote a letter to Mr. Leavenworth a few days before the murder, which I
have some reason to believe produced a marked effect upon the
household." And, folding his arms, the secretary stood quietly awaiting
my next question.
     "How do you know?" I asked.
     "I opened it by mistake. I was in the habit of reading Mr. Leaven-
worth's business letters, and this, being from one unaccustomed to
write to him, lacked the mark which usually distinguished those of a
private nature."
     "And you saw the name of Clavering?"
     "I did; Henry Ritchie Clavering."
     "Did you read the letter?" I was trembling now.
     The secretary did not reply.
     "Mr. Harwell," I reiterated, "this is no time for false delicacy.
Did you read that letter?"
     "I did; but hastily, and with an agitated conscience."
     "You can, however, recall its general drift?"
     "It was some complaint in regard to the treatment received by him
at the hand of one of Mr. Leavenworth's nieces. I remember nothing
more."
     "Which niece?"
     "There were no names mentioned."
     "But you inferred—"
     "No, sir; that is just what I did not do. I forced myself to forget
the whole thing."
     "And yet you say it produced an effect upon the family?"

     "I can see now that it did. None of them have ever appeared quite
the same as before."
     "Mr. Harwell," I gravely continued; "when you were questioned as
to the receipt of any letter by Mr. Leavenworth, which might seem in
any manner to be connected with this tragedy, you denied having seen
any such; how was that?"
     "Mr. Raymond, you are a gentleman; have a chivalrous regard for
the ladies; do you think you could have brought yourself (even if in
your secret heart you considered some such result possible, which I am
not ready to say I did) to mention, at such a time as that, the receipt
of a letter complaining of the treatment received from one of Mr.
Leavenworth's nieces, as a suspicious circumstance worthy to be taken
into account by a coroner's jury?"
     I shook my head. I could not but acknowledge the impossibility.
     "What reason had I for thinking that letter was one of importance?
I knew of no Henry Ritchie Clavering."
     "And yet you seemed to think it was. I remember you hesitated
before replying."
     "It is true; but not as I should hesitate now, if the question were
put to me again."
     Silence followed these words, during which I took two or three turns
up and down the room.
     "This is all very fanciful," I remarked, laughing in the vain
endeavor to throw off the superstitious horror his words had awakened.
     He bent his head in assent. "I know it," said he. "I am practical
myself in broad daylight, and recognize the nimsiness of an accusation
based upon a poor, hardworking secretary's dream, as plainly as you do.
This is the reason I desired to keep from speaking at all; but, Mr.

Raymond," and his long, thin hand fell upon my arm with a nervous
intensity which gave me almost the sensation of an electrical shock,
"if the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth is ever brought to confess his deed,
mark my words, he will prove to be the man of my dream."
     I drew a long breath. For a moment his belief was mine; and a
mingled sensation of relief and exquisite pain swept over me as I
thought of the possibility of Eleanore being exonerated from crime only
to be plunged into fresh humiliation and deeper abysses of suffering.
     "He stalks the streets in freedom now," the secretary went on, as
if to himself; "even dares to enter the house he has so wofully
desecrated; but justice is justice and, sooner or later, something will
transpire which will prove to you that a premonition so wonderful as
that I received had its significance; that the voice calling 'Trueman,
Trueman,' was something more than the empty utterances of an excited
brain; that it was Justice itself, calling attention to the guilty."
     I looked at him in wonder. Did he know that the officers of justice
were already upon the track of this same Clavering? I judged not from
his look, but felt an inclination to make an effort and see.
     "You speak with strange conviction," I said; "but in all
probability you are doomed to be disappointed. So far as we know, Mr.
Clavering is a respectable man."
     He lifted his hat from the table. "I do not propose to denounce him;
I do not even propose to speak his name again. I am not a fool, Mr.
Raymond. I have spoken thus plainly to you only in explanation of last
night's most unfortunate betrayal; and while I trust you will regard
what I have told you as confidential, I 

also hope you will give me credit for behaving, on the whole, as well as 
could be expected under the circumstances." And he held out his hand.
     "Certainly," I replied as I took it. Then, with a sudden impulse to
test the accuracy of this story of his, inquired if he had any means of
verifying his statement of having had this dream at the time spoken of:
that is, before the murder and not afterwards.
     "No, sir; I know myself that I had it the night previous to that of
Mr. Leavenworth's death; but I cannot prove the fact."
     "Did not speak of it next morning to any one?"
     "O no, sir; I was scarcely in a position to do so."
     "Yet it must have had a great effect upon you, unfitting you for
work—"
     "Nothing unfits me for work," was his bitter reply.
     "I believe you," I returned, remembering his diligence for the last
few days. "But you must at least have shown some traces of having
passed an uncomfortable night. Have you no recollection of any one
speaking to you in regard to your appearance the next morning?"
     "Mr. Leavenworth may have done so; no one else would be likely to
notice." There was sadness in the tone, and my own voice softened as I
said:
     "I shall not be at the house to-night, Mr. Harwell; nor do I know
when I shall return there. Personal considerations keep me from Miss
Leavenworth's presence for a time, and I look to you to carry on the
work we have undertaken without my assistance, unless you can bring it
here—"
     "I can do that."
     "I shall expect you, then, to-morrow evening."
     "Very well, sir "; and he was going, when a sudden thought seemed

to strike him. "Sir," he said, "as we do not wish to return to this
subject again, and as I have a natural curiosity in regard to this man,
would you object to telling me what you know of him? You believe him
to be a respectable man; are you acquainted with him, Mr. Raymond?"
     "I know his name, and where he resides."
     "And where is that?"
     "In London; he is an Englishman."
     "Ah!" he murmured, with a strange intonation.
     "Why do you say that?"
     He bit his lip, looked down, then up, finally fixed his eyes on
mine, and returned, with marked emphasis: "I used an exclamation,
sir, because I was startled."
     "Startled?"
     "Yes; you say he is an Englishman. Mr. Leavenworth had the most
bitter antagonism to the English. It was one of his marked
peculiarities. He would never be introduced to one if he could help it."
     It was my turn to look thoughtful.
     "You know," continued the secretary, "that Mr. Leavenworth was a
man who carried his prejudices to the extreme. He had a hatred for the
English race amounting to mania. If he had known the letter I have
mentioned was from an Englishman, I doubt if he would have read it. He
used to say he would sooner see a daughter of his dead before him than
married to an Englishman."
     I turned hastily aside to hide the effect which this announcement
made upon me.
     "You think I am exaggerating," he said. "Ask Mr. Veeley."
     "No," I replied. "I have no reason for thinking so."

     "He had doubtless some cause for hating the English with which we
are unacquainted," pursued the secretary. "He spent some time in
Liverpool when young, and had, of course, many opportunities for
studying their manners and character." And the secretary made another
movement, as if to leave.
     But it was my turn to detain him now. "Mr. Harwell, you must excuse
me. You have been on familiar terms with Mr. Leavenworth for so long.
Do you think that, in the case of one of his nieces, say, desiring to
marry a gentleman of that nationality, his prejudice was sufficient to
cause him to absolutely forbid the match?"
     "I do."
     I moved back. I had learned what I wished, and saw no further reason
for prolonging the interview.