Our Neighbours in the Corner House CHAPTER 25.
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"Edith is there!" said Aunt Mary, as we read with undoubting clearness, the initials and figures "E C, 542." In the ardor of examination she had remained singularly composed, but now she was trembling all over, and beads of sweat stood on her pale face.
"She is there, without question," I said! in response.
"Mr. Congreve has, in order to baffle our search, placed her in a private house."
"What will you do?" asked Aunt Mary. "How can you get her from this prison? If you fail in the first attempt, she may be taken beyond our reach."
"I do not mean to fail," was my encouraging answer. "When I return to that neighborhood, it will be in the name of civil authority, and with civil power at my right hand."
"Can you secure this?" she inquired anxiously.
"Without doubt!" I spoke in the most assured manner. "The Chief of Police is interested in the case, and when he learns that Mrs. Congreve is in all probability confined in the house I will point out to him, I can answer for his prompt action. She will be restored to us, I trust, in less than an hour from this time."
"Oh, sir, do not delay a moment!" said Aunt Mary, laying her hand on my arm. "Go — go — and quickly! Even now, suspicion awaken, they may be removing her."
I said what assuring words I could find, and was going downstairs, when my wife, whom I had not seen since morning, pushed open the street door, and came in quickly. She had a partly folded newspaper in her hand. On seeing me, she cried out in a voice full of excitement —
"Oh, husband! Have you heard of it?"
"Heard of what, Alice?" I saw something in her face that I did not understand.
"About Mr. Congreve!"
"No, what of him?"
"What of him?" echoed the voice of Aunt Mary behind me.
"Edgar saw it in the paper a little while ago."
"Saw what, Alice?" I spoke almost impatiently.
"He is hurt badly, and the paper says cannot live! There was an accident in the cars."
"Where?"
"Near Baltimore. But here it is."
I took the newspaper from the hand of my wife and read aloud:
"Fatal Accident. — This morning, as the train from Washington was within half a mile of Elk Ridge Landing, an axle of the last car broke, and the car becoming uncoupled, was thrown from the track. One man, Mr. Dyke, of Missouri, was killed, and two others so badly injured that they cannot possibly survive. Of the wounded men, we could learn the name of only one. That was Congreve, a gentleman of wealth, formerly residing in the West. One of the passengers fully recognized him. His injuries are of an internal character, and it is said that he cannot possibly recover."
"Can it be," said I, turning to Aunt Mary, "that this is the husband of your niece?"
"Heaven knows," she answered, through blanched lips, tremulously.
"Edgar will know of a certainty," said my wife, "for he is already on his way to Baltimore; or at least on his way to the cars that will take him there today."
When, a little while afterwards, I parted from my wife and Aunt Mary to visit the Chief of Police, and get his efficient aid in the work of recovering Mrs. Congreve, I felt that the knotted skein of her unhappy life was about to be untangled. The concurrence of events seemed too remarkable for any other anticipation. And yet, while all lay still in darkness and uncertainty, a heavy weight rested on my feelings. It was only conjecture that Mrs. Congreve was in the house number 542. The evidence, at first sight, was conclusive — but so much was at stake, that my heart from hope, went down into anxious doubt, and from doubt went up to confidence again, so alternating at every step of the way in which I was passing forward.
After I had related to the Chief of Police all that the reader knows, and showed him the bits of paper I had picked up, he called one of his deputies, and asked him who lived in the house number 542 Hathaway street. The prompt answer was —
"Dr. Thompson."
"I thought so," replied the Chief.
"You know him, then?" I said.
"Yes, I know the man very well. He's a physician of some previous reputation, but not much in practice now; at least not in an active city practice. He receives patients into his house more frequently from a distance. They are usually treated for some form of insanity."
"Judiciously treated?" I asked.
"I cannot say anything to the contrary," was replied. "Nothing that demanded our intervention has before occurred; and now there is no evidence of bad treatment. The lady is only detained against her will."
"Against justice and humanity as well!" I declared warmly.
The Chief only bowed.
"You say," he remarked, "that this lady's aunt, with whom she was living at the time of her forcible removal, is not only anxious for her restoration, but ready to attest the cruel wrong that the act of removal involves."
"Yes, yes," I answered.
"Then it will be well for me to see her, and best, perhaps, that she accompany us to the house."
"Shall I call a carriage?" I asked.
The Chief assented. The deputy entered with us, and we drove to Mr. Congreve's house. There a brief interview was held with Aunt Mary, and the Chief of Police being entirely satisfied, requested her to accompany us, which she did.
Half an hour brought us to the locality before described. I suggested that we should leave the carriage, when in the neighborhood, and approach the house on foot. But the officer understood his own business better than I did, and let the driver rattle up to the very door, which opened almost as soon as we reached the pavement — that is, three of us. The deputy had orders to remain in the carriage.
With the air of a man on business, the officer ascended the steps, we following.
"Is Doctor Thompson in?" he asked of a woman who held the door partly open, putting his hand upon it as he spoke, and pushing it back.
I heard an affirmative answer. The officer then passed in, Aunt Mary and I close after him. The woman showed us into a parlor that was well furnished and apparently well kept. A few choice pictures hung on the walls.
"What name?" asked the woman.
I gave my name, knowing it would be an unfamiliar one to the doctor.
We sat for three or four minutes, when a short, stout, firm-looking man entered. His complexion was fair, and the heavy beard that covered his mouth and chin, a little mixed with grey. His eyes were small, dark, and full of quick intelligence. The expression of his face was pleasing rather than repulsive. He bowed and smiled on meeting us.
"You have a lady under your care," said the officer, speaking at once, and in a quiet but self-possessed way, "that we wish to see. Her name is Mrs. Congreve."
My eyes were fixed upon the doctor's face. A kind of pleasant surprise came into it.
"Are you not mistaken?" he returned, with a smile.
I felt my heart sink heavily. We had been deceived in our conjectures! It was plain to me that Mrs. Congreve was not there.
"I believe not," replied the officer. "The lady may not be here as Mrs. Congreve; still the one we seek is in your house. A pale lady in black. Her aunt wishes to see her."
The smile went out of the doctor's face. I saw that, and took hope again. He did not answer immediately. I waited for his words, holding my breath — so did Aunt Mary.
"You speak in a positive way, sir."
The officer bowed. His eyes were upon the Doctor, whose manner lost just a shade of self-possession. It was recovered again immediately.
"If I had a lady patient under my charge answering to your description, I would require, for her production, something more than the simple demand of a stranger."
"Of course," said the officer, quietly taking from his pocket a small badge of authority and attached it to his coat.
The doctor's manner changed instantly.
"The lady was taken from her home, forcibly abducted, in other words — and you, in becoming a party to the matter, have incurred a serious responsibility."
"I had the certificate of her family physician as to the state of her mind, and the necessity for treatment," the doctor replied, thus admitting the important fact that Mrs. Congreve was in the house. He spoke in an assured way.
"Who was her physician?" I asked.
"I do not now remember the name. But the certificate is in my possession. I'm particular in regard to all these matters."
"Can we see the paper?" said the police officer.
The Doctor went to a secretaire in the back parlor, and taking from a drawer a small bundle of papers, selected one and brought it forward. The officer examined it for a moment and then handed it to me. I saw that the name of Mrs. Edith Congreve was in the document. The signature, with an M.D. attached, I did not know. Silently, I passed it to Aunt Mary.
"It is a forgery!" she said, promptly. "No such physician is known to us — no such physician was ever in our family!"
"This has a bad aspect," said the officer, as he took the paper from Aunt Mary's hand, and reached it to the Doctor. "Such things cannot be done with impunity in this city, while I stand at the head of its police. Let us see the lady at once."
He spoke the last sentence in a tone of authority not to be misunderstood.
"Come, madam," he added, looking towards Aunt Mary, who rose to her feet instantly.
"Show us to the lady's room." The officer was moving towards the door. Doctor Thomson made no further opposition, but led the way upstairs, we following. On reaching the third story, he called a female attendant, who sat in a small room sewing, and directed her to show Aunt Mary into the front chamber. The woman drew a bunch of keys from her pocket, and unlocked the door, opening it only part of the way. Aunt Mary passed in, while we stood waiting on the outside.
I heard a quick, glad exclamation in a well known voice. Yes, Mrs. Congreve was there. In three or four minutes, the two ladies came out, both in tears and strongly agitated. I grasped the hand of Mrs. Congreve, and looked earnestly into her face. She uttered my name, adding:
"Oh, sir, I am your debtor more than tongue can tell!"
There was no wildness in her manner, nor other evidence that her reason had been seriously disturbed by the outrage she had suffered at the hands of her husband. My heart beat lighter as I saw this.
We did not linger on the way downstairs, but passed out quickly, and in less than half an hour, Mrs. Congreve was safely in her own home, nothing the worse, as far as we could see, for the excitement, fear, and painful suspense of the last few days.
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