What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 5.

As intimated by Doctor Hofland, there had been a separation between Justin Larobe and his wife; though not in legal form. In each mind, was a deathless impulse to rule, and the antagonisms born of this impulse, were too violent for the restraint of any mere external bond; and so they were driven asunder. The parting had been in such hot blood, that no recognition of mutual rights had taken place. As enemies they drew apart, each hating — yet fearing the other; for, they held between them a deadly secret. The household was not broken up. That remained with Mrs. Larobe; and as issue had failed in the marriage, no irritating questions in regard to the disposition of children were involved. Mr. Larobe, in separating from his wife, had taken a suite of rooms at the City Hotel, where he was living at the period of which we are now writing.

On the night after the interview between Edwin Guyton and Mr. Glastonberry, as described in the last chapter, Larobe sat alone in his chamber. He was a man rather below, than up to the medium stature, but stoutly and squarely built. The lower part of his face was narrow but the upper portion broad and high. A pair of small tawny gray eyes, looked at you, warily, from beneath heavy and projecting brows; and a peculiarity in them was, that their color came so near to that of the deep orbital cavity, that you did not, at first, detect their sinister expression. His head was thickly covered with short, coarse hair, that was beginning to turn grey. Mr. Larobe was reading, and sat very still, apparently absorbed in his book. The time wore on until nearly ten o'clock, when two knocks came upon the door; not by a servant's hand — his ear told him that. Rising, he crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Edwin Guyton!" Larobe uttered the name in no simulated surprise; his heavy brows falling, as he spoke.

"Mr. Larobe," said the young man, stepping into the apartment. The lawyer moved back, and Guyton advanced, shutting the door behind him. In the middle of the room, half way to the glowing grate, he faced around, and planted himself squarely before his visitor, who, naturally, stood still, confronting him. Both frowned — both looked defiant. Each recognized an enemy, who would inflict harm if possible.

"To what am I indebted for this visit?" asked Larobe, coldly.

"I have several things to say," replied Edwin, speaking with as much coolness as possible, and at the same time taking, though uninvited, a chair. It was plain, by the lawyer's manner, that something in his visitor puzzled him. He did not consent to this freedom of conduct in his own apartment, by taking a chair also — but stood even more erect and solid, with his arms thrown behind him.

"Say on." Larobe, in tone, at least, feigned indifference well.

"As you are aware, sir, I have never been satisfied with my father's will." Guyton looked at him, keenly, as he said this. It was a simple feeler. The only change noted, was a warier expression in the deep set, brownish gray eyes, that were fixed on him, snakily.

"And you are aware, sir, that I have no power to change it," was answered, evenly and coldly.

"I think its conditions will have to be changed," said Guyton.

There was a meaning in his voice, more than in his words, that caused Larobe to move from his solid balance, with just the slightest sign of uneasiness.

"All parties are bound by the terms of a legal instrument," said the lawyer, slowly, distinctly, and without apparent feeling. "A will, to an executor, is a letter of instructions, from which he cannot depart. In regard to your father's will, every provision has been carried out to the letter. If you question this, demand an investigation. You will be patiently heard in the Orphan's Court. But if, as I infer from your remark, it is against the will itself that your complaint lies, then you must go past the executor, and test its binding force in law."

"An insane man cannot make a will," remarked Edwin Guyton, in dead level tones, while he kept his eyes watchfully on Larobe's countenance.

"True; but your father's will bears date anterior to the loss of reason."

"I am not sure of that."

"You surprise me, Edwin! How long have you entertained this view?"

"For a long time."

"It can at least be said," remarked the lawyer, with manifest irony, "that you have been exceedingly patient under this impression of fraud and wrong. Had the case been mine, I would have seen to the bottom of it years ago."

"Some men act hastily, while others bide their time. I was only a boy when my father died, and ignorant of the dark things passing around me. The thought of crime and violencenever entered my young brain, and when, long ago, the suggestions were made, I turned away from them as too horrible for belief. But, one fact after another came to light, until the accumulated evidence forced an almost unwilling conviction. I did not act hastily; but went on searching, inquiring, pondering, willing to bide my time; and it has come, Mr. Larobe!"

Guyton threw a quick, strong emphasis into his voice, in closing this sentence, which gave the lawyer's nerves, self-poised as he was, a sudden startle. Turning himself, by an almost imperceptible movement, he withdrew in face from under the direct scrutiny of a pair of eyes that seemed looking right down into his heart. Before answering, he took a chair, placing it in a line parallel to the one in which Guyton was sitting, so that he might look towards, or away from his companion, as suited him best. He did not speak immediately. Guyton waited for him, struggling to repress the mounting excitement, which made every pulsation of his heart audible in his ears.

"If you know of anything wrong, Edwin," he said, at length, in the manner of one who offers unselfish advice, in the hope of serving another — bring it to the light. I was simplyexecutor under your father's will, the purpose of which I have carried out faithfully. You received, at my hands, on the day you were twenty-one years of age, all that it gave you. I could do no more. If there was anything wrong in the execution of this will; if, as you seem to think, dark and criminal things are involved; in Heaven's name, drag them forth to view! Count on me for giving you all aid which may lie in my power."

This, though understood by Edwin, was unexpected, and he pondered it, before answering. When he spoke, his words were —

"I have learned that my father was drugged before his removal to the Hospital."

"Drugged!" exclaimed Larobe, in feigned astonishment.

"Yes, sir, drugged!"

"By whom?"

"Ah, there's the pinch! The fact is ascertained beyond question. He was heavily under the influence of opium when received at the Hospital."

"That may be satisfactorily accounted for, I think," said Larobe. "Your father's derangement was preceded by days and nights of sleeplessness, and morphine was administered, under the advice of his physician, as the only means of tranquilizing his nerves; and he may have been more or less under its influence when taken to the Hospital. To my mind, this view is reasonable."

"If that fact stood solitary, your inference would be reasonable enough. Unhappily, it does not," replied the young man.

"What other facts have you learned?" asked Larobe.

"He was removed from home without the knowledge or consent, and against the judgment, of at least one of his attendant physicians, and in the absence of both."

"Is that so?" The lawyer did not turn his face towards his companion, but sat, with his chin drawn down, and his eyes looking inwards.

"Without question, that is so. And it further appears, that my step-mother, with a male accomplice — of whose identity I am not yet clearly advised — accompanied him to the Hospital, delivering him in person, to the officials of the Institution."

"That may all be satisfactorily explained," answered Mr. Larobe. "It is the same with actions as with natural objects; a different point of view, gives a different appearance. I don't see a case in this."

"And it still further appears," resumed Guyton, "that my father showed immediate signs of improvement; and these were so marked, that the Resident Physician consented, after a few days, to his being taken home again, and with that view permitted him to leave the Institution, in company with his wife and another person. Now, sir, in tracing the case thus far, judge of my surprise and horror, when I learned, that, instead of being taken home, a sane man as he was, his wife and her accomplice dragged him off to a private mad house on Long Island, where he met, not long after, with a violent death. Sir! there is a murder at the bottom of this dark transaction? Yes, sir! A murder! And by all the solemn obligations of a son to his father, I will drag the foul transgressors into open daylight, and have them punished!"

Starting to his feet, in excitement, the young man took a position in front of Larobe, and gazed upon him, with stern accusation in his eyes. The lawyer, cool and wary as he was, found himself, unexpectedly, in so perilous a strait, that entire self-composure was almost impossible. To betray weakness or fear, would be to give his enemy a power over him that might be used with terrible effect. So he waited, before answering, to collect himself. He then remarked, with a thoughtful air, as if pondering what Guyton had said —

"That has a dark look, certainly."

"A dark and devilish look!" ejaculated the young man, fiercely.

"From whom did you gain this information, Edwin?"

"I am not yet at liberty to give names; but witnesses ready to prove all, and more than all, I have said, will be forthcoming. Among these is a man who held the place of keeper in the mad-house where my father was taken. He has already given me some shocking particulars in regard to his treatment there."

"What?" The lawyer was off his guard, and gave a sign of alarm that Edwin Guyton did not fail to note.

"He was no more insane than you are now, when he came to our place!" These are the man's very words, Mr. Larobe. Just think of it! Do you wonder that I am excited and in earnest? That I have sworn to uncover this great iniquity?"

"What did he say about your father's death?" asked Larobe. Guyton perceived, by the lawyer's tone and manner — by the holding of his breath for an answer — that, in his reply to this question, he felt a deep and personal interest. And so, he withheld the answer until he could think for a little while.

"There was some mystery about that," he remarked, at length, as if unwilling to communicate what was in his thoughts.

"Mystery?"

"Yes. The man evidently knows more than he cares, just now, to communicate. But I understand the kind of influence needed, and shall bring it to bear!"

"In attempting to escape from a window, your father fell to the ground, and was killed. I never heard, or suspected, anything more," said Larobe.

"That was the story, I know. Beyond this simple casualty, as it was called, nothing reached the public. All the actors in this infernal business were cunning and secretive; but it happened, as it usually does in all hellish schemes — that Satan left one or two points unguarded, through means of which he might betray to ruin, the evil fools who trusted him. The devil, Mr. Larobe, is a false friend; and all who swear by him are equally false, and as ready to betray each other. Doctor Du Pontz, if I remember aright, is the name by which the keeper of the asylum on Long Island is known?"

"Something like that," replied the lawyer.

"A Frenchman?"

"Probably."

"You have seen him?"

"No, I believe not." Larobe seemed trying to recall the man's identity.

"Then I have been misinformed. I understood that you were, several times, on Long Island, during the time of my father's imprisonment.

Larobe shook his head, slowly, as he answered —

"I was never on Long Island in my life."

"A simple question of evidence," said Guyton, in an undertone, as if to himself.

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Larobe, forgetting himself.

"By what?" coolly asked Guyton.

"By your remark, that it was a simple question of evidence."

"Whether you were ever at Du Pontz's mad-house on Long Island, of not?"

Larobe was losing ground in this passage at arms with the young man, and he felt it bitterly. How would he regain the failing advantage? Not, surely, through any betrayal of passion; though he felt the intimations of Guyton as a biting insult. Fear, however, was stronger than anger, and admitted as the safer counselor.

"I think, Edwin," said he, after a hurried repression of feeling, facing around, and looking steadily at Guyton — his voice had now a velvety softness, and a friendship of tone not exhibited before — "that we had best clearly understand each other. You have come here with a certain purpose in your mind; and I am of opinion, that through a frank statement of that purpose, you will more readily attain to it, than by any covert movements. I cannot understand your drift in this apparent effort to involve me in transactions of a dozen years back to which I was in no way participant. You contemplate some legal action, I infer?"

"I do," was promptly answered.

"Before commencing, let me suggest a careful consideration of the question, whether, in this action, you will have me as a friend or an enemy."

"Thank you, for the suggestion," said Guyton, in a conciliatory manner. "Enemies are never to be desired. Of course, I desire to have you as a friend; but it may happen, that interest will come in the way of friendship. If, as appears from all I can learn, that you were an active abettor in my father's ruin of mind, and subsequent death — then I don't see how, in any legal or personal sense, you can stand to me in any other relation than that of an enemy. Understand me, Mr. Larobe. I am in possession of evidence in regard to my father's treatment that will astound the community when it comes to light, and I shall prosecute to conviction — all parties who were in the conspiracy against him."

"To what end?" calmly inquired the lawyer.

"That wrong may be punished, and justice established," said Guyton, in a firm voice.

"Justice?" queried Larobe, "To whom? Your father is dead, and no legal decision can affect him."

"It can affect his children, wrongfully despoiled of their interest in his estate."

"What was your interest?"

Edwin dropped his eyes and seemed to be thinking.

"Not above twenty thousand dollars, in equitable division under the law, if your father had died intestate. Are you aware of that?"

Edwin did not reply, and the lawyer added,

"Ten thousand were already paid. If you succeed to the utmost, you cannot get beyond an additional ten thousand, subject to fees and legal claims, which, under the law's delays and requirements, will amount to half that sum. I am speaking as your friend, and showing you the best that lies beyond."

"You forget interest," said Edwin. "Interest on ten thousand dollars from the date of my father's will. Six or seven thousand dollars must cover the most liberal estimate of expenses; and I can find half-a-dozen prominent lawyers in an hour, any one of whom will engage to conduct the suit for that fee in prospect."

He was watching Larobe closely, to see the effect of this last sentence. It went home. Some minutes passed in silence; a silence that Larobe felt to be telling against him more and more, the longer it was continued, for it showed his perplexity and indecision. Guyton could afford to wait his companion's response; and he did wait.

"You are aware," said the lawyer, in a deliberate way, breaking the pause, "that your step-mother and I are not on friendly terms."

"I have heard as much," answered the young man.

"I cannot, therefore, speak for her. Perhaps — "

But he left the sentence unfinished.

"There has been no divorce?" said Guyton.

"No — no; nothing of that kind."

Larobe understood the remark. As husband, under the State laws, he had control of his wife's property — nearly the whole of which was personal, and not freehold. And so he was still in perplexity of mind.

"Edwin," he said, after another period of silence, "this is too grave a matter to admit of hasty decision. Everything depends on your knowing where you stand. A false step may be ruinous. As intimated a little while ago, I can be your friend, and serve you — or, if you elect, I can be your enemy. It is for you to say in which attitude I am to stand."

As if deliberating on the lawyer's suggestion, Guyton walked the floor for some time, his hands behind him and his head bent down. Pausing at length, and lifting his eyes, he remarked —

"I think you understand the case, Mr. Larobe?"

"Perhaps I do," was answered.

"And you wish to be my friend?"

"I have said so."

"Turn the subject over in your mind. Look at it upon all sides, and determine for me, if you can, what course will be the wisest. I will see you again tomorrow evening."

"Whatever is done, Edwin, should be well considered in advance," said the lawyer, with cautious reserve.

"No one understands that better than I do, Mr. Larobe, and therefore I suggest twenty-four hours' deliberation. Tomorrow evening I will be here again. Good-night."

And he went out abruptly. There was a covert threat in his good night tone, which the lawyer's wary ear did not fail to notice. For nearly an hour after Guyton's departure, he sat so motionless before the fire, that an observer would have thought him sleeping. But sleep was a stranger to his pillow through all the watches of that troubled night.

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