The Last Tenant

"Yes, a little," she replied, trembling in every limb. "Do not hurt me-I am an old woman; I have no money."

"You speak English very well," said Rivers. "We will not harm you. It is only that we wish to have a word with you. We do not want money; we have money to give, if you would like to earn it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand that you will not hurt an old woman, and that you have money to give."

I ought here to explain that the English Mme. Bernstein spoke was by no means so clear and grammatical as I set it down, but I find myself unable to reproduce her peculiar method and idioms, and consider it best, therefore, to put what she said plainly before the reader. We understood each other, and that was the main point.

"But it must be earned. Do not tremble so; we are not robbers; we are officers of the law. What have you under that cloth? A basin, empty. You took it from the house full. You can be punished for that, Mme. Bernstein. The master did not give you the food, he did not give you the wine. You stole them, Mme. Bernstein."

Overcome with terror she fell upon her knees, and implored us to spare her; she had taken the food to save a little child from starvation; she had never done it before-

Rivers interrupted her. "You do it every night, madame." Which plunged her into deeper despair.

Still keeping her sensible that she was in our power, and that we would have her punished if she did not do as we bade her, Rivers succeeded in pacifying her to some extent.

"There are four of us," he said, when she rose from the ground; "two are here, two are with your brother and his child, who without our aid will starve if you are put in prison or can no longer rob your master of food. It is with you, madame; you can save or ruin them, you can save or ruin yourself."

"What is it that I shall do?" she quavered. "Tell me, and I will do it."

"That is as it should be," said Rivers, "and you shall be rewarded. We must know everything about the master you serve. We are here from England for that purpose, and he must not be told that you have spoken with us. You will swear it by the cross which is hanging from your neck."

She lifted the black wooden cross to her lips, and kissed it. "I swear it, sir," she said. "He shall not be told; he shall not know. But if you keep me here now he will discover it without being told. He will be waiting for supper, and I shall not be there to serve it. He will come and look for me, and then it will be ruin for me and you. He is a hard man, a bad man, a wicked man, and I hate him."

"That pleases me," said Rivers blithely. "Why do you remain in his service?"

"Should I not starve if I went away? I get my food, and I save it and give it to my dying brother and the little child. That is something. Do not keep me here too long. Englishmen are rich; you have a watch. What hour is it?"

"Half past ten," said Rivers.

"At eleven they have supper. If I am not in the house-"

"You shall be there. Let us walk on, Mme. Bernstein. In ten minutes we shall reach the gate, and he will not know. Does he go to bed late?"

"Sometimes at twelve, sometimes at one; it is not certain."

"At what hour last night?"

"At twelve."

"Keep watch, madame, to-night, and when he goes to his room and the house is quiet, you will come out to us, and we will talk."

"Yes, I will come."

"By the back gate, madame; we shall be on the hill. Do not forget-you shall be rewarded, And do not forget that you have sworn upon the cross. Here, to commence with, are two francs, to prove that we are in earnest, and are men of our word."

She clutched the coins eagerly, and said in a whisper: "We are near the house-do not speak loud, or he will hear us. There is something strange and terrible. You shall be told of it. I will come when they sleep."

We did not accompany her to the gate. She glided forward, opened it quietly, and disappeared.

"Now, Mr. Emery," said Rivers, "can you find your way alone to the hut?"

"Yes, it is a straight road."

"Go, and bring your friends here. There is strength in numbers. Something strange and terrible, she said. We have not come a moment too soon. Hurry back quickly."

I wasted no time, and soon reached the hut. Ronald and Bob were within; I heard them talking to the little girl. When I tapped at the door and called to them, they joined me immediately, and hearing that they were to return with me they spoke a few parting words to the child, and promised to call and see her again. I briefly related what had passed between ourselves and Mme. Bernstein, and asked if they had obtained any information.

"None," replied Bob, "that is likely to assist us. Some general expressions of dislike toward Mme. Bernstein's employer, of whom they seem to stand in some sort of fear-that is all. Neither the man nor the child has ever been inside the house. But we made friends with them, and that might have served us with Mme. Bernstein if you had not already enlisted her. Everything seems to depend upon what will occur during the next twenty-four hours."

We found Rivers lying on his back on the hill, with his hands clasped behind his head.

"I have been watching the windows," he said, "and making a mental map of the house. All the bedrooms seem to be situated at the back; the ordinary living rooms are in front. See-there is a light in only one of the rooms; there was a light in that room last night. It burns steadily, and without flickering; the room is occupied, but no shadow has appeared on the blind, nor has the light been shifted. Someone is sleeping there, and sleeping undisturbed. If we stopped here till daylight we should probably find that light still burning. Afraid to sleep in the dark, denoting a nervous organization. Ah, observe. Two rooms have just been entered; each person, entering, carried in a candle with him; the lights shift and waver; there are shadows on the blinds. One is the shadow of Mr. Nisbet, the other the shadow of Dr. Cooper; their bedrooms adjoin. Rather restless those shadows. We have the advantage of them; we can see them, they cannot see us lying here in black darkness. I am in my element, and can work out theories. I have done the same in country places in England, and the theories I have worked out there have led to very useful conclusions. Isn't there a German or French story of a man who sold his shadow to the devil? I can imagine occasions when our friend Mr. Nisbet would gladly sell his, for shadows are sometimes criminating witnesses. Those men do not seem in a hurry to get to bed. One has gone into the other's room; the flaring of the candle shows that he has left his door open. The shadows of the two men are now in one room. They walk up and down in their slippers-of that you may be sure. There is something so secret and mysterious going on in the house-which might be a prison or a private lunatic asylum-that the principal conspirators are careful to make no noise. They have no wish to disturb the sleeper in the third room, which, by a stretch of the fancy, we might suppose to be occupied by a dead person. By the way, did Dr. Cooper have time to bring his slippers with him from London? I should say not; therefore he is wearing a pair of Mr. Nisbet's or is walking in his stocking feet. Now they stop, now they walk about again, and now-yes, now they go into the room which the first man left. Science has been busily at work of late years, but it has not yet discovered a means of bringing sound to our ears as this glass which I am holding brings the figures of those men near to my eyes. There is the telephone, but you cannot carry a telephone about with you in a little pocket case. I dare say the discovery will be made one of these days. Mr. Nisbet is a couple of inches taller than Dr. Cooper, and as they are now standing quite still I know which is one, and which the other; therefore I shall presently know which is Mr. Nisbet's bedroom, and which Dr. Cooper's. If we could only hear what they are saying to each other! Speaking in whispers, of course-again for the reason that they do not wish to disturb the sleeper in the third room. Mme. Bernstein will inform us who it is who sleeps there. What do you say-a man or a woman?"

The question was addressed to us, and we expressed our inability to answer it.

"I say a woman," continued Rivers, who was certainly in his element, as he had declared, "and until Mme. Bernstein favors us with her company we remain in ignorance as to who the woman is. Our little Barbara's sister? Perhaps. But Barbara describes her sister as being a lively young person, and no lively young person lies sleeping there. How do I arrive at that conclusion? Impossible to say. Mental cerebration, if you like. We work out plots as novelists do, or rather, they work out themselves. Concentration is the agent. The same process leads me to the conclusion that the conspirators yonder are walking and talking noiselessly because of their fear of being overheard. The same process leads me to the conclusion that they are quietly discussing an important and dangerous matter. How did Mr. Nisbet's stepdaughter meet her death? Asphyxiation caused by an escape of gas while sleeping in a bedroom almost hermetically sealed. But there is no gas in these parts, and their light is supplied by oil and candle. Therefore they are deprived of that means of causing death. What are they doing now? The shorter of the two, Dr. Cooper, holds something up to the light. The object is too small to be discerned at this distance, but I take it to be a vial. Not a wine bottle, nor a bottle containing brandy or whisky. A small vial. And now Mr. Nisbet hands his co-conspirator a wineglass; he holds that up also; the shadow is reflected on the blind, and you can see by the shape that it is not a tumbler. The vial in one hand, the wineglass-it may be a medicine glass-in the other, Dr. Cooper is pouring a few drops from the vial into the glass. He counts the drops; I can't see his lips move, but unless I am dreaming he is counting the drops. He puts down the vial, and Mr. Nisbet takes the glass from him. To drink? No. He dips his finger into the liquid, and puts that finger to his lips. He stands still a while; he is deliberating. Is it satisfactory, Mr. Nisbet? If it is, and you need a sleeping draught, drink it off, and wish your companion good-night. You do nothing of the kind. You come to the window; you draw aside the blind; you open the window."

"We shall be seen," whispered Bob, in great alarm.

"We are as safe," said Rivers calmly, "as if we wore caps that rendered us invisible, as in the fairy tale. As they stand side by side at the window, the position of the light enables me to see them clearly. They are Mr. Nisbet and Dr. Cooper. Provoking! What is it that Mr. Nisbet has just done? Why did you move, you fool of a doctor? But I guess what he did. He emptied the glass out of the window. Of course, of course; that was it. They have been making a chemical experiment, testing a liquid-to what end? Mr. Nisbet peers into the dark grounds, he stares straight at the hill upon which we are lying. Don't stir a finger. It is curious that criminals almost invariably overlook some slight circumstance which supplies the clew to their conviction. It has been so in thousands of cases. The window is closed, the blind is pulled down. See the shadows of the men as they approach and retreat, growing to monstrous proportions, dwindling to nearly natural size. The shadows of Fate. I suppose by this time the conference is at an end. It is. They separate. Each is in his own room. Ah, I see which room is occupied by Mr. Nisbet, and which by Dr. Cooper. The doctor gets into bed first. Out goes his light. Sleep the sleep of the just, doctor, if you can. Mr. Nisbet lingers; his is the greater stake. He is the principal, his companion is the tool. Take care, the pair of you; the dogs are on your track. Mr. Nisbet puts out his light; all the windows are masked except the window of the third room. Good-night, good-night."

These ingenious theories filled me with wonder, and I accepted them as if they were proved testimony; and I am positive, from the remarks made by Bob and Ronald, that they also accepted them as I did. Rivers chuckled, and said:

"It is a fine art, and we become masters only by long study. Now for Mme. Bernstein. She will not keep us waiting long."

She did not. In a few minutes the gate was opened, and the old woman appeared.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

MME. BERNSTEIN REVEALS

Rivers went forward to meet her, and taking her hand, led her to where we were standing. Dark as it was I saw that she was greatly agitated, and the increase of our party did not lessen her agitation.

"You perceive," Rivers commenced, "that it is as I said. There are four of us, and we are determined to know the truth about your master and what is going on in that gloomy house, which, as I just remarked to my friends, resembles a prison."

"I will tell you everything," said Mme. Bernstein, her voice shaking with fear. "Why should I not, when you have promised to reward me? I have done nothing wrong."

"Do not speak so sharply to her," said Ronald to Rivers; "you frighten her." Then he turned to the old woman, and spoke to her in French, and his manner was so kind and his voice so gentle that she soon forgot her fears. "You shall be well rewarded," he said to her; "I promise you on the honor of a gentleman. We have left a little money with your brother and his pretty little girl, and to-morrow we will send a doctor to see him. If it were day instead of night you would know that I am blind, and you would trust me."

"I trust you now, sir," said Mme. Bernstein. "But this gentleman" – indicating Rivers-"speaks to me as if I had committed a crime. I will answer you anything. It is because I am poor that I have served M. Nisbet, and if I have taken a little bit of food for my dying brother and the child I hope you will protect me from the anger of M. Nisbet. He is a hard man; he would have no mercy."

"We will protect and befriend you," said Ronald. "Have no fear. My friends here do not understand French very well, so we will converse now in English. Express yourself as well as you can; we all wish to hear what you have to say, and we all are kindly disposed toward you. Mr. Rivers, you are so much more experienced than ourselves that the command must be left in your hands, but I beg you to moderate your tone when you address madame."

"With all the pleasure in life," said Rivers cheerfully. "Bless your heart, madame, you need not be frightened of me; if I speak sharp it's only a way I've got. Don't you take any notice of it, but begin at the beginning, and go straight on. How long have you been in service here?"

"Ever since M. Nisbet first came," replied Mme. Bernstein. "It is years ago-I don't know how many-and he bought the house, and wanted a woman to look after it. When he goes away to England or France I attend to everything." She stopped here, as if at a loss how to proceed.

"We shall get to the bottom of things all the quicker," said Rivers, "if I ask you questions. Has there been any other person besides yourself in Mr. Nisbet's service?"

"No one else-it is I alone who have served him."

"Does he live here alone?"

"Oh, no. When he first came he brought a lady with him."

"And she is still in the house?"

"Oh, yes; she is still in the house, poor lady!"

Instinctively we all turned our eyes to the window which Rivers had declared to be the window of the room occupied by a lady-even Ronald's sightless eyes were turned in that direction.

"That is her bedroom?" Rivers asked.

"Yes, it is there she sleeps."

"Hold hard a bit," he cried. "She is awake."

The occupant of the room had moved the light, and we saw her shadow on the blind. We looked up in silence, expecting that something strange would occur. I cannot explain the cause of this impression, but in subsequent conversation with my companions they confessed that they had experienced the same feeling of expectation as myself. What did occur was this: The blind was pulled up, and the window opened, and by the window stood a female figure in a white nightdress, stretching out her arms toward us. It was not possible that she could see us, but her imploring attitude seemed like an appeal to us to save her from some terrible danger, and it powerfully affected me.

I put my finger to my lips, to warn Bob and Rivers against uttering any exclamation of surprise, and I placed myself in such a position that Mme. Bernstein could not see what we saw. Presently the female's arms dropped to her side, and she sank upon a chair by the window, and sat there while Rivers continued his examination.

"Why do you say 'poor lady'?" asked Rivers. "Is she suffering in any way?"

"She is much to be pitied," replied Mme. Bernstein. "So young and beautiful as she is!"

"But explain, madame. You speak in enigmas. Does your master oppress her? Is he cruel to her?"

"I do not know. She does not complain, but I would not trust him with a child of mine."

"Is she his child, then?"

"Oh, no; but he has authority over her. He has never struck her, he has never spoken a harsh word to her; still I would not trust him."

"We shall get at it presently, I suppose," said Rivers impatiently. "What is the lady's name?"

"Mlle. Mersac."

"Her Christian name?"

"I have not heard it, all the years I have been in the house. There was no reason why I should hear it. Mlle. Mersac-is not that a sufficient name?"

"It must content us for the present. If she is not his daughter she is doubtless some relation?"

"It cannot be-he has himself declared that she is not. I ventured one day-it is now a long time ago-to ask him, and he answered me angrily, and bade me attend to my duties, and nothing more. He repented a little while afterward; and came to me and inquired why I had put the question to him. 'It was a thought, sir,' I said. 'Can you see any likeness between us?' he asked. I answered no, and there is no likeness. She is fair, he is dark; there is not the least resemblance between them."

"May we say that she is afflicted?"

"Sorely afflicted. She has no memory, she seems to have no mind. From one day to another she cannot recollect. Each day is new to her; she has no memory. Even her own name is strange to her. When my master is here I see her only in his presence, and am not allowed to speak to her. When he is absent I see more of her; it is necessary; she has no one else to attend to her. But even then she utters but a very few words. Once only did we have a conversation while the master was away. It was against his commands, but I could not help it. He gives his orders what I shall do during his absence, and I am to do those things, and nothing more. To give her her meals, to give her her medicine, not to allow her to pass the gates. For years she has not been outside those walls."

"You are wandering, madame. Once you had a conversation with her. Inform us what was said."

"I pitied her, and asked her whether she had no friends she wished to see. 'Friends!' she said, and looked at me wonderingly. 'The world is dead!' I could have shed tears, there was such misery in her voice. I addressed her by her name. 'Mersac!' she exclaimed. 'Who is Mlle. Mersac?' 'But, mademoiselle,' I said, 'it is yourself.' 'Are you sure of that?' she asked. 'Why, yes,' I answered, 'it is certain.' She shuddered and said, 'I had dreams, I think, when I was a child, but I am an old woman now.' 'Mademoiselle,' I cried, 'you are young, you are beautiful!' 'It is you who are dreaming,' she said, 'I am an old woman. The world is dead. This house is my tomb!' That is all that passed; she would not speak another word. If I had dared, if I had not been poor and had known what to do and how it was to be done, I would have tried to find her friends, for what hope of recovery is there for her in such a place as this? For me who have not long to live-I am seventy-five-it does not matter. I have lived here all my life, and I shall die here; there is no other place for me to die in, and I am content that it should be so. But even I had my bright years when I was a young woman. I had a lover, I had a husband, I had children; they are all dead now, and but for my dying brother and his little girl I am alone. I was not so beautiful as mademoiselle; I was not a lady as she is. That is plainly to be seen. At her time of life she should be bright and happy; she should have a lover; she should have friends, companions. They might wake her up, for though she is not dead she might as well be."

The old woman spoke very feelingly, and I patted her on the shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, as though I had bestowed a gift upon her.

"She is a French lady?" questioned Rivers.

"Oh, no; she is English."

"English! But her name is French."

"It may not be hers. She is perhaps sent here to be forgotten. It is sad, very sad!"

"Apart from this loss of memory, from this forgetfulness of herself, is she in health?"

"She is strong, she is well otherwise. It is only her mind that is gone. She gripped my hand once; it was the grip of a strong young girl. She is lithe, she is well formed. If I had been like her when I was her age I should have been proud. I brought some flowers to the house one day. 'Who are these for?' my master asked. 'I thought mademoiselle would like them,' I answered. He frowned, and taking them in his hands crushed them and threw them to the ground. 'That is not part of your duties,' he said. I brought no more flowers. There are some strange things, some things I cannot understand. Do you come to help the poor lady? Are you related to her?"

"We are not related to her, but we will help her if it is in our power."

"Heaven will reward you for it."

"What do you mean by saying there are strange things, things you cannot understand?"

"For one-why does the master say she will not live, when, but for her loss of memory, she is strong and well?"

"Oh, he says that, does he?"

"Yes, and he has brought a friend with him now, a celebrated doctor, because, as I heard him say, she is sinking. What does that mean?"

"Ah," said Rivers, in a significant tone which we understood, "what does that mean, indeed? It means mischief, Mme. Bernstein."

"It is what I think. Now I have opened my heart I do not care what happens to me. This celebrated doctor that he has brought from England with him is no better than my master is. They are a pair. But what can she do against them alone?"

"She is no longer alone, madame," said Ronald, with a strange earnestness in his voice. "The lady is beautiful, you say. Very fair?"

"As fair as a lily, sir."

"You can tell me the color of her eyes."

"They are blue as a summer sky, and there is sometimes a light as sweet in them."

"What would be her age, in your opinion, madame?"

"Not more than twenty-four, and though she suffers so, she sometimes looks like a maid of eighteen."

"When your master is absent he leaves medicine for her to take? He places this medicine in your charge? Is it a liquid?"

"It is a liquid."

"And its color, madame?"

"White."

"Is it clear? Has it a sediment?"

"It is perfectly clear, like water?"

"How often does she take it?"

"Once every day, in the evening."

"Does she take it willingly?"

"Quite willingly."

There was a brief silence here, and I observed Ronald pass his hands across his eyes. It was he who was asking these questions, and Rivers did not interpose.

"Mme. Bernstein, did you ever taste this medicine?"

"Ah, sir, you make me remember what I had forgotten. I am old; forgive me. It was this, also, that was in my mind when I said there were strange things I could not understand. It happened two years ago. Mademoiselle had left nearly half the dose in the glass, and had gone to bed. I took it up and tasted it; it was as water in my mouth, and-I do not know why-I drank what remained. 'It is not likely to harm me,' I thought, 'for it does not harm mademoiselle.' I went to bed and slept soundly. In the morning when I awoke it was with a strange feeling. I had some things to do; I could not remember what they were. I dressed myself and sat in my chair as helpless as a babe. The clock struck more than once, and still I sat there, trying to think what it was I had to do. At last the clock struck twelve, and I started to my feet, as though I had just woke out of a waking sleep, and went about my work as usual."