Part 15

And then The Reverend Maiworm juryman spoke up-- This Mary Black had left the witness chair-- And asked if Gregory Wenner went to France. The coroner thought not, but would inquire.

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Jane Fisher was a friend of Elenor Murray's And held the secret of a pack of letters Which Elenor Murray left. And on a day She talks with Susan Hamilton, a friend. Jane Fisher has composed a letter to A lawyer in New York, who has the letters-- At least it seems so--and to get the letters, And so fulfill the trust which Elenor Had left to Jane. Meantime the coroner Had heard somehow about the letters, or That Jane knows something--she is anxious now, And in a flurry, does not wish to go Down to LeRoy and tell her story. So She talks with Susan Hamilton like this:

JANE FISHER

Jane Fisher says to Susan Hamilton, That Coroner has no excuse to bring You, me before him. There are many too Who could throw light on Elenor Murray's life Besides the witnesses he calls to tell The cause of death: could he call us and hear About the traits we know, he should have us. What do we know of Elenor Murray's death? Why, not a thing, unless her death began With Simeon Strong and Gregory Wenner--then I could say something, for she told me much About her plan to marry Simeon Strong, And could have done so but for Gregory Wenner, Whose fault of life combined with fault of hers To break the faith of Simeon Strong in her. And so what have we? Gregory Wenner's love Poisons the love of Simeon Strong, from that Poor Elenor Murray falls into decline; From that, re-acts to nursing and religion, Which leads her to the war; and from the war Some other causes come, I know not what; I wish I knew. And Elenor Murray dies, Is killed or has a normal end of life.

But, Susan, Elenor Murray feasted richly While life was with her, spite of all the pain. If you could choose, be Elenor Murray or Our schoolmate, Mary Marsh, which would you be? Elenor Murray had imagination, And courage to sustain it; Mary Marsh Had no imagination, was afraid, Could not envision life in Europe, married And living there in England, threw her chance Away to live in England, was content, And otherwise not happy but to lift Her habitation from the west of town And settle on the south side, wed a man Whose steadiness and business sense made sure A prosperous uniformity of life. Life does not enter at your door and seek you, And pour her gifts into your lap. She drops The chances and the riches here and there. They find them who fly forth, as faring birds Know northern marshes, rice fields in the south; While the dull turtle waddles in his mud. The bird is slain perhaps, the turtle lives, But which has known the thrills?

Well, on a time Elenor Murray, Janet Stearns, myself Thought we would see Seattle and Vancouver, We had saved money teaching school that year-- The plan was Elenor Murray's. So we sailed To 'Frisco from Los Angeles, saw 'Frisco By daylight, but to see the town by night Was Elenor Murray's wish, and up to now We had no men, had found none. Elenor said, "Let's go to Palo Alto, find some men." We landed in a blinding sun, and walked About the desolate campus, but no men. And Janet and myself were tired and hot; But Elenor, who never knew fatigue, Went searching here and there, and left us sitting Under a palm tree waiting. Hours went by, Two hours, I think, when she came down the walk A man on either side. She brought them up And introduced them. They were gay and young, Students with money. Then the fun began: We wished to see the place, must hurry back To keep engagements in the city--whew! How Elenor Murray baited hooks for us With words about the city and our plans; What fun we three had had already there! Until at last these fellows begged to come, Return with us to 'Frisco, be allowed To join our party. "Could we manage it?" Asked Elenor Murray, "do you think we can?" We fell into the play and talked it over, Considered this and that, resolved the thing, And said at last to come, and come they did.... Well, such a time in 'Frisco. For you see Our money had been figured down to cents For what we planned to do. These fellows helped, We scarcely had seen 'Frisco but for them. They bought our dinners, paid our way about Through China Town and so forth, but we kept Our staterooms on the boat, slept on the boat. And after three days' feasting sailed away With bouquets for each one of us.

But this girl Could never get enough, must on and on See more, have more sensations, never tired. And when we saw Vancouver then the dream Of going to Alaska entered her. I had no money, Janet had no money To help her out, and Elenor was short. We begged her not to try it--what a will! She set her jaw and said she meant to go. And when we missed her for a day, behold We find her, she's a cashier in a store, And earning money there to take the trip. Our boat was going back, we left her there. I see her next when school commences, ruling Her room of pupils at Los Angeles. The summer after this she wandered east, Was now engaged to Simeon Strong, but writing To Gregory Wenner, saw him in Chicago. She traveled to New York, he followed her. She was a girl who had to live her life, Could not live through another, found no man Whose life sufficed for hers, must live herself, Be individual.

And en route for France She wrote me from New York, was seeing much Of Margery, an aunt--I never knew her, But sensed an evil in her, and a mind That used the will of Elenor Murray--how Or why, I knew not. But she wrote to me This Margery had brought her lawyer in, There in New York to draw a document, And put some letters in a safety box. Whose letters? Gregory Wenner's? I don't know. She told me much of secrets, but of letters That needed for their preciousness a box, A lawyer to arrange the matter, nothing. For if there was another man, she felt Too shamed, no doubt, to tell me:--"This is he, The love I sought, the great reality," When she had said as much of Gregory Wenner. But now a deeper matter: with this letter She sent a formal writing giving me Charge of these letters, if she died to give The letters to the writer. I'm to know The identity of the writer, so she planned When I obtain them. How about this lawyer, And Margery the aunt? What shall I do? Write to this lawyer what my duty is Appointed me of her, go to New York?

I must do something, for this lawyer has, As I believe, no knowledge of my place In this affair. Who has the box's key? This lawyer, or the aunt--I have no key-- And if they have the key, or one of them, And enter, take the letters, look! our friend Gets stains upon her memory; or the man Who wrote the letters finds embarrassment. Somehow, I think, these letters hold a secret, The deepest of her life and cruelest, And figured in her death. My dearest friend, What if they brought me to the coroner, If I should get these letters, and they learned I had them, this relation to our Elenor! Yet how can I neglect to write this lawyer And tell him Elenor Murray gave to me This power of disposition?

Come what may I must write to this lawyer. Here I write To get the letters, and obey the wish Of our dear friend. Our friend who never could Carry her ventures to success, but always Just at the prosperous moment wrecked her hope. She really wished to marry Simeon Strong. Then why imperil such a wish by keeping This Gregory Wenner friendship living, go About with Gregory Wenner, fill the heart Of Simeon Strong with doubt?

Oh well, my friend, We wonder at each other, I at you, And you at me, for doing this or that. And yet I think no man or woman acts Without a certain logic in the act Of nature or of circumstance.

Look here, This letter to the lawyer. Will it do? I think so. If it brings the letters--well! If not, I'll get them somehow, it must be, I loved her, faults and all, and so did you....

So while Jane Fisher pondered on her duty, But didn't write the letter to the lawyer, Who had the charge of Elenor Murray's letters, The lawyer, Henry Baker, in New York Finds great perplexity. Sometimes a case Walks in a lawyer's office, makes his future, Or wrecks his health, or brings him face to face With some one rising from the mass of things, Faces and circumstance, that ends his life. So Henry Baker took such chances, taking The custody of these letters.

James Rex Hunter Is partner of this Baker, sees at last Merival and tells him how it was With Baker at the last; he died because Of Elenor Murray's letters, Hunter told The coroner at the Waldorf. Dramatized His talk with Lawyer Baker in these words:--

HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK

One partner may consult another--James, Here is a matter you must help me with, It's coming to a head.

Well, to be plain, And to begin at the beginning first, I knew a woman up on Sixty-third, Have known her since I got her a divorce, Married, divorced, before--last night we quarreled, I must do something, hear me and advise.

She is a woman notable for eyes Bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem Like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light Shows spectrally almost in squares and circles. Her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh, A feaster and a liver, thinks and plans Of money, how to get it. And this husband Whom she divorced last summer went away, And left her to get on as best she could. All legal matters settled, we went driving-- This story can be skipped.

Last night we dined, Afterward went to her apartment. First She told me at the dinner that her niece Named Elenor Murray died some days ago. I sensed what she was after--here's the point:-- She followed up the theme when we returned To her apartment, where we quarreled. You see I would not do her bidding, left her mad, In silent wrath after some bitter words. I managed her divorce as I have said, Then I stepped in as lover, months had passed. When Elenor Murray came here to New York, I met her at the apartment of the aunt Whose name is Margery Camp. Before, she said Her niece was here, was happy and in love But sorrowful for leaving, just the talk That has no meaning till you see the subject Or afterwards, perhaps; it passes in One ear and out the other. Then at last One afternoon I met this Elenor Murray When I go up to call on Margery Camp. The staging of the matter is like this: The niece looks fagged, is sitting on the couch, Has loosed her collar for her throat to feel The air about it, for the day is hot. And Margery Camp goes out, brings in a pitcher Of absinthe cocktails, so we drink. I sit, Begin to study what is done, and look This Elenor Murray over, get the thought That somehow Margery Camp has taken Elenor In her control for something, has begun To use her, manage her, is coiling her With dominant will or cunning. Then I look, See Margery Camp observing Elenor Murray, Who drinks the absinthe, and in Margery's eyes I see these parallelograms of light Just like a vase of crockery, there she stands, Her face like ivory, and laughs and shows Her marvelous teeth, smooths with her shapely hands The skirt upon her hips. Somehow I feel She is a soul who watches passion work. Then Elenor Murray rouses, gets her spirits Out of the absinthe, rises and exclaims: "I'm better now;" and Margery Camp speaks up, Poor child, in intonation like a doll That speaks from reeds of steel, no sympathy Or meaning in the words. The interview Seems spooky to me, cold and sinister. We drink again and then we drink again. And what with her fatigue and lowered spirits, This Elenor Murray drifts in talk and mood With so much drink. At last this Margery Camp Says suddenly: "You'll have to help my niece, There is a matter you must manage for her, We've talked it over; in a day or two Before she goes away, we'll come to you." I took them out to dinner, after dinner Drove Margery Camp to her apartment, then Went down with Elenor Murray to her place.

Then in a day or two, one afternoon Margery Camp and Elenor Murray came Here to my office with a bundle, which This Margery Camp was carrying, rather large. And Margery Camp was bright and keen as winter. But Elenor Murray seemed a little dull, Abstracted as of drink, or thought perhaps. After the greeting and preliminaries, Margery said to Elenor: "Better tell What we have come for, get it done and go." Then Elenor Murray said: "Here are some letters, I've tied them in this package, and I wish To put them in a safety box, give you One key and keep the other, leave with you A sealed instruction, which, in case I die, While over-seas, you may break open, read And follow, if you will." She handed me A writing signed by her which merely read What I have told you--here it is--you see: "When legal proof is furnished I am dead, Break open the sealed letter which will give Instruction for you." So I took the trust, Went with these women to a vault and placed The letters in the box, gave her a key, Kept one myself. They left. At dinner time I joined them, saw more evidence of the will Of Margery Camp controlling Elenor's. Which seemed in part an older woman's power Against a younger woman's, and in part Something less innocent. We ate and drank, I took them to their places as before, And didn't see this Elenor again.

But now last night when I see Margery She says at once, "My niece is dead;" goes on To say, no other than herself has care Or interest in her, was estranged from father, And mother too, herself the closest heart In all the world, and therefore she must look After the memory of the niece, and adds: "She came to you through me, I picked you out To do this business." So she went along With this and that, advancing and retreating To catch me, bind me. Well, I saw her game, Sat non-committal, sipping wine, but keeping The wits she hoped I'd lose, as I could see.

After the dinner we went to her place And there she said these letters might contain Something to smudge the memory of her niece, She wished she had insisted on the plan Of having one of the keys, the sealed instruction Made out and left with her; being her aunt, The closest heart in the world to Elenor Murray, That would have been the right way. But she said Her niece was willful and secretive, too, Not over wise, but now that she was dead It was her duty to reform the plan, Do what was best, and take control herself.

So working to the point by devious ways She said at last: "You must give me the key, The sealed instruction: I'll go to the box, And get the letters, do with them as Elenor Directed in the letter; for I think, Cannot believe it different, that my niece Has left these letters with me, so directs In that sealed letter." "Then if that be true, Why give the key to me, the letter?--no This is a trust, a lawyer would betray, A sacred trust to do what you request." I saw her growing angry. Then I added: "I have no proof your niece is dead:" "My word Is good enough," she answered, "we are friends, You are my lover, as I thought; my word Should be sufficient." And she kept at me Until I said: "I can't give you the key, And if I did they would not let you in, You are not registered as a deputy To use the key." She did not understand, Did not believe me, but she tacked about, And said: "You can do this, take me along When you go to the vault and open the box, And break the letter open which she gave." I only answered: "If I find your niece Has given these letters to you, you shall have The letters, but I think the letters go Back to the writer, and if that's the case, I'll send them to the writer."

Here at last She lost control, took off her mask and stormed: "We'll see about it. You will scarcely care To have the matter aired in court. I'll see A lawyer, bring a suit and try it out, And see if I, the aunt, am not entitled To have my niece's letters and effects, Whatever's in the package. I am tired And cannot see you longer. Take five days To think the matter over. If you come And do what I request, no suit, but if You still refuse, the courts can settle it." And so I left her.

In a day or two I read of Elenor Murray's death. It seems The coroner investigates her death. She died mysteriously. Well, then I break The sealed instruction, look! I am to send The package to Jane Fisher, in Chicago. We know, of course, Jane Fisher did not write The letters, that the letters are a man's. What is the inference? Why, that Elenor Murray Pretended to comply, obey her aunt, Yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish The aunt or me to know who wrote the letters. Feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt, Yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt Beyond her finding out, if I observe The trust imposed, keep hands of Margery Camp From getting at the letters.

Now two things: Suppose the writer of the letters killed This Elenor Murray, is somehow involved In Elenor Murray's death? If that's the case, Should not these letters reach the coroner? To help enforce the law is higher trust Than doing what a client has commanded. And secondly, if Margery Camp should sue, My wife will learn the secret, bring divorce. Three days remain before the woman's threat Is ripe to execute. Think over this. We'll talk again--I really need advice....

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So Hunter told the coroner. Then resumed The matter was a simple thing: I said To telegraph the coroner. You are right: Those letters give a clue perhaps, your trust Is first to see the law enforced. And yet I saw he was confused and drinking too, For fear his wife would learn of Margery Camp. I added, for that matter open the box, Take out the letters, find who wrote them, send A telegram to the coroner giving the name Of the writer of the letters. Well, he nodded, Seemed to consent to anything I said. And Hunter left me, leaving me in doubt What he would do. And what is next? Next day He's in the hospital and has pneumonia. I take a cab to see him, but I find He is too sick to see, is out of mind. In three days he is dead. His wife comes in And tells me worry killed him--knows the truth About this Margery Camp, oh, so she said. Had sent a lawyer to her husband asking For certain letters of an Elenor Murray. And that her husband stood between the fire Of some exposure by this Margery Camp, Or suffering these letters to be used By Margery Camp against the writer for A bit of money. This was Mrs. Hunter's Interpretation. Well, the fact is clear That Hunter feared this Margery Camp--was scared About his wife who in some way had learned just at this time of Margery Camp--I think Was called up, written to. Between it all Poor Hunter's worry, far too fast a life, He broke and died. And now you know it all. I've learned no client enters at your door And nothing casual happens in the day That may not change your life, or bring you death. And Hunter in a liaison with Margery Is brought within the scope of Elenor's Life and takes his mortal hurt and dies.

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So much for riffles in New York. We turn Back to LeRoy and see the riffles there, See all of them together. Loveridge Chase Receives a letter from a New York friend, A secret service man who trails and spies On Henry Baker, knows about the letters, And writes to Loveridge Chase and says to him: "That Elenor Murray dying near LeRoy Left letters in New York. I trailed the aunt Of Elenor Murray, Margery Camp. Also A lawyer, Henry Baker, who controls A box with letters left by Elenor Murray-- So for the story. Why not join with me And get these letters? There is money in it, Perhaps, who knows? I work for Mrs. Hunter-- She wants the letters placed where they belong, And wants the man who killed this Elenor Murray Punished as he should be. Go see the coroner And get the work of bringing back the letters." And Chase came to the coroner and spoke:

LOVERIDGE CHASE

Here is the secret of the death of Elenor, From what I learn of her, from what I know In living, knowing women, I am clear About this Elenor Murray. Give me power To get the letters, power to give a bond To indemnify the company, for you know Letters belong to him who writes the letters; And if the company is given bond It will surrender them, and then you'll know What man she loved, this Gregory Wenner or Some other man, and if some other man, Whether he caused her death.

The coroner And Loveridge Chase sat in the coroner's office And talked the matter over. And the coroner, Who knew this Loveridge Chase, was wondering Why Loveridge Chase had taken up the work Of secret service, followed it, and asked, "How did you come to give your brains to this, Who could do other things?" And Loveridge said: "A woman made me, I went round the world As jackie once, was brought into this world By a mother good and wise, but took from her, My father, someone, sense of chivalry Too noble for this world, a pity too, Abused too much by women. I came back, Was hired in a bank; had I gone on By this time had been up in banking circles, But something happened. You can guess, I think It was a woman, was my wife Leone. It matters nothing here, except I knew This Elenor Murray through my wife. These two Were schoolmates, even chums. I'll get these letters If you commission me. The fact is this: I think this Elenor Murray and Leone Were kindred spirits, and it does me good Now that I'm living thus without a wife To ferret out this matter of Elenor Murray, Perhaps this way, or somewhere on the way, Find news of my Leone; what life she lives, And where she is. I'm curious still, you see." Then Coroner Merival, who had not heard Of Elenor Murray's letters in New York Before this talk of Loveridge Chase, who heard This story and analysis of Leone Mixed in with other talk, and got a light On Elenor Murray, said: "I know your work, Know you as well, have confidence in you, Make ready to go, and bring the letters back."

And on the day that Loveridge Chase departs To get the letters in New York, Bernard, A veteran of Belleau, married that day To Amy Whidden, on a lofty dune At Millers, Indiana, with his bride-- Long quiet, tells her something of the war. These soldiers cannot speak what they have lived. But Elenor Murray helps him; for the talk Of Elenor Murray runs the rounds, so many Stations whence the talk is sent:--the men Or women who had known her, came in touch Somehow with her. These newly wedded two Go out to see blue water, yellow sand, And watch the white caps pat the sky, and hear The intermittent whispers of the waves. And here Bernard, the soldier, tells his bride Of Elenor Murray and their days at Nice:

AT NICE