CHAPTER III. A CRY IN THE NIGHT

“Help!”

The loud cry of a single word was not repeated, but repetition was
unnecessary, for the sound rang through the old Van Norman house, and
carried its message of fear and horror to all, awake or sleeping, within
its walls.

It was about half-past eleven that same night, and Cicely Dupuy, still
fully dressed, flew from her bedroom out into the hall.

Seeing a light downstairs, and hearing the servants’ bells, one after
another, as if rung by a frantic hand, she hesitated a moment only, and
then ran downstairs.

In the lower hall Schuyler Carleton, with a dazed expression on his
white, drawn face, was uncertainly pushing various electric buttons
which, in turn, flashed lights on or off, or rang bells in distant parts
of the house.

For a moment Cicely stared straight at the man. Their eyes met, their
gaze seemed to concentrate, and they stood motionless, as if spellbound.

This crisis was broken in upon by Marie, Madeleine’s French maid, who
came running downstairs in a hastily donned negligée.

“_Mon Dieu!_” she cried. “_Ou est Mademoiselle?_”

With a start, Carleton turned from Cicely, and still with that dazed
look on his face, he motioned Marie toward the wide doorway of the
library. The girl took a step toward the threshold, and then, with a
shriek, paused, and ventured no further.

Cicely, as if impelled by an unseen force, slowly turned and followed
Marie’s movements, and as the girl screamed, Cicely grasped her tightly
by the arm, and the two stood staring in at the library door.

What they saw was Madeleine Van Norman, seated in a chair at the library
table. Her right arm was on the table, and her head, which had fallen to
one side, was supported by her right shoulder. Her eyes were partly
closed, and her lips were parted, and the position of the rigid figure
left no need for further evidence that this was not a natural sleep.

But further evidence there was. Miss Van Norman still wore her yellow
satin gown, but the beautiful embroidered bodice was stained a dull red,
and a crimson stream was even then spreading its way down the shimmering
breadths of the trailing skirt.

On the table, near the outstretched white hand, lay a Venetian dagger.

This dagger was well known to the onlookers. It had lain on the library
table for many years, and though ostensibly for the purpose of a
paper-cutter, it was rarely used as such. Its edges were too sharp to
cut paper satisfactorily, and, moreover, it was a wicked-looking affair,
and many people had shuddered as they touched it. It had a history, too,
and Richard Van Norman used to tell his guests of dark deeds in which
the dagger had taken part while it was still in Italy.

Madeleine herself had had a horror of the weapon, though she had often
admitted the fascination of its marvellous workmanship, and had said
upon several occasions that the thing fairly hypnotized her, and some
day she should kill herself or somebody else with it.

From an instinctive sense of duty, Marie started forward, as if to help
her mistress, then with a convulsive shudder she screamed again and
clasped her hands before her eyes to shut out the awful sight.

Cicely, too, moved slowly toward the silent figure, then turned and
again gazed steadfastly at Schuyler Carleton.

There must have been interrogation in her eyes, for the man pointed
toward the table, and Cicely looked again, to notice there a bit of
paper with writing on it.

She made no motion toward it, but the expression on her face changed to
one of bewildered surprise. Before she had time to speak, however, the
other people of the house all at once began to gather in the hall.

Mrs. Markham came first, and though when she saw Madeleine she turned
very white and seemed about to faint, she bravely went at once toward
the girl, and gently tried to raise the fallen head.

She felt a firm grasp on her shoulder, and turned to see Miss Morton,
with a stern, set face, at her side.

“Don’t touch her,” said Miss Morton, in a whisper. “Telephone for a
doctor quickly.”

“But she’s dead,” declared Mrs. Markham, at the same time bursting into
violent sobs.

“We do not know; we hope not,” went on Miss Morton, and without another
word she led Mrs. Markham to a sofa, and sat her down rather suddenly,
and then went herself straight to the telephone.

As she reached it she paused only to inquire the name of the family
physician.

Harris, the butler, with difficulty articulated the name of Doctor Hills
and his telephone number, and without further inquiry Miss Morton called
for him.

“Is this Doctor Hills?” she said when her call was answered. “Yes; this
is the Van Norman house. Come here at once. . . . No matter; you must
come at once—it is very important—a matter of life and death. . . . I
am Miss Morton. I am in charge here. Yes, come immediately! Good-by.”

Miss Morton hung up the receiver and turned to the frightened group of
servants.

“You can do nothing,” she said, “and you may as well return to your
rooms. Harris may stay, and one of the parlor maids.”

Miss Morton had an imperious air, and instinctively the servants obeyed
her.

But Cicely Dupuy was not so ready to accept the dictum of a stranger.

She stepped forward and, facing Miss Morton, said quietly, “Mrs. Markham
is housekeeper, as well as Miss Van Norman’s chaperon. The servants are
accustomed to take their orders from her.”

Miss Morton returned Cicely’s direct gaze. “You see Mrs. Markham,” she
said, pointing to the sofa, where that lady had entirely collapsed, and,
with her head in a pillow, was shaking with convulsive sobs. “She is for
the moment quite incapable of giving orders. As the oldest person
present, and as a life-long friend of Mr. Richard Van Norman, I shall
take the liberty of directing affairs in the present crisis.” Then, in a
softer tone and with a glance toward Madeleine, Miss Morton continued,
“I trust in view of the awfulness of the occasion you will give me your
sympathy and co-operation, that we may work in harmony.”

Cicely gave Miss Morton a curious glance that might have meant almost
anything, but with a slight inclination of her head she said only, “Yes,
madam.”

Then Kitty French and Molly Gardner came downstairs and stood trembling
on the threshold.

“What is it?” whispered Kitty. “What’s the matter with Madeleine?”

“Something dreadful has happened,” said Miss Morton, meeting them at the
door. “I have telephoned for Doctor Hills and he will be here soon.

Until then we can do nothing.”

“But we can try to help Maddy,” exclaimed Kitty, starting toward the
still figure by the table. “Oh, is she hurt? I thought she had fainted!”

As the two girls saw the dread sight, Miss Gardner fainted herself, and
Miss Morton bade Marie, who stood shivering in the hall, take care of
her.

Relieved at having something to do, Marie shook the girl and dashed
water in her face until she regained consciousness, the others,
meanwhile, paying little attention.

Schuyler Carleton stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed on
Madeleine’s tragic figure, while Kitty French, who had dropped into a
chair, sat with her hands tightly clasped, also gazing at the sad
picture.

Although it seemed hours to those who awaited him, it was but a few
moments before the doctor came.

Doctor Hills was a clean-cut, alert-looking young man, and his quick
eyes seemed to take in every detail of the scene at a glance.

He went straight to the girl at the table and bent over her. Only the
briefest examination was necessary before he said gently, “She is quite
dead. She has been stabbed with this dagger. It entered a large blood
vessel just over her heart, and she bled to death. Who killed her?”

Even as he spoke his eye fell on the written paper which lay on the
table. With one of his habitually quick gestures he snatched it up and
read it to himself, while a look of great surprise dawned on his face.

Immediately he read it aloud:

I am wholly miserable, and unless the clouds lift I must end my
life. I love S., but he does not love me.

After he finished reading, Doctor Hills stood staring at the paper, and
looked utterly perplexed.

“I should have said it was not a suicide,” he declared, “but this
message seems to indicate that it is. Is this written in Miss Van
Norman’s hand?”

Miss Morton, who stood at the doctor’s side, took the paper and
scrutinized it.

“It is,” she said. “Yes, certainly that is Miss Van Norman’s writing. I
had a letter from her only a few days ago, and I recognize it
perfectly.”

“Let me see it,” said Mrs. Markham, in a determined, though rather timid
way. “I am more familiar with Madeleine’s writing than a stranger can
possibly be.”

Miss Morton handed the paper to the housekeeper without a word, while
the doctor, waiting, wondered why these two women seemed so out of
sympathy with each other.

“Yes, it is surely Madeleine’s writing,” agreed Mrs. Markham, her
glasses dropping off as her eyes filled with tears.

“Then I suppose she killed herself, poor girl,” said the doctor. “She
must have been desperate, indeed, for it was a strong blow that drove
the steel in so deeply. Who first discovered her here?”

“I did,” said Schuyler Carleton, stepping forward. His face was almost
as white as the dead girl’s, and he was scarcely able to make his voice
heard. “I came in with a latch-key, and found her here, just as you see
her now.”

As Carleton spoke Cicely Dupuy stared at him with that curious
expression that seemed to show something more than grief and horror. Her
emotional bewilderment was not surprising in view of the awful
situation, but her look was a strange one, and for some reason it
greatly disconcerted the man.

None of this escaped the notice of Doctor Hills. Looking straight at
Carleton, but with a kindly expression replacing the stern look on his
face, he went on:

“And when you came in, was Miss Van Norman just as we see her now?”

“Practically,” said Carleton. “I couldn’t believe her dead. And I tried
to rouse her. Then I saw the dagger on the floor at her feet——”

“On the floor?” interrupted Doctor Hills.

“Yes,” replied Carleton, whose agitation was increasing, and who had
sunk into a chair because of sheer inability to stand. “It was on the
floor at her feet—right at her feet. I picked it up, and there was
blood on it—there is blood on it—and I laid it on the table. And then
I saw the paper—the paper that says she killed herself. And then—and
then I turned on the lights and rang the servants’ bells, and
Cicely—Miss Dupuy—came, and the others, and—that’s all.”

Schuyler Carleton had with difficulty concluded his narration, and he
sat clenching his hands and biting his lips as if at the very limit of
his powers of endurance.

Doctor Hills again glanced round the assembly in that quick way of his,
and said:

“Did any of you have reason to think Miss Van Norman had any thought of
taking her own life?”

For a moment no one spoke, and then Kitty French, who, in a despairing,
miserable way, was huddled in the depths of a great arm-chair, said:

“I have heard Madeleine say that some time she would kill herself with
that horrid old dagger. I wish I had stolen it and buried it long ago!”

Doctor Hills turned to Mrs. Markham. “Did you have any reason to fear
this?” he inquired.

“No,” she replied; “and I do not think Madeleine meant she would
voluntarily use that dagger. She only meant she had a superstitious
dread of the thing.”

“Do you understand her reference to her own unhappiness in this bit of
writing?” went on the doctor.

“Yes, I think I do,” said Mrs. Markham in a low voice.

“That is enough for the present,” said the doctor, as if to interrupt
further confidences. “Although it is difficult to believe a stab of that
nature could be self-inflicted, it is possible, and this communication
seems to leave no room for doubt. Now, the law of New Jersey requires
that in case of a death not by natural means the county physician shall
be summoned, and further proceedings are entirely at his discretion. I
shall therefore be obliged to send for Doctor Leonard before disturbing
the body in any way. He will probably not arrive in less than an hour or
so, and I would advise that you ladies retire. You can of course do
nothing to help, and as I shall remain in charge, you may as well get
what rest you can during the night.”

“I thank you for your consideration, Doctor Hills,” said Mrs. Markham,
who seemed to have recovered her calmness, “but I prefer to stay here. I
could not rest after this awful shock, and I cannot stay away from
Madeleine.”

Kitty French and Molly Gardner, who, clasped in each other’s arms, were
shivering with excitement and grief, begged to be allowed to stay, too,
but Doctor Hills peremptorily ordered them to go to their rooms. Cicely
Dupuy was allowed to stay, as in her position of social secretary she
might know much of Madeleine’s private affairs. For the same reason
Marie was detained, while Doctor Hills asked her a few questions.

Schuyler Carleton sat rigidly in his chair, as immovable as a statue.

This man puzzled Doctor Hills. And yet it was surely shock enough almost
to unhinge a man’s brain thus to find his intended bride the night
before his wedding.

But Carleton seemed absorbed in emotions other than those of grief.

Though his face was impassive, his eyes darted about the room looking at
one after another of the shocked and terrified group, returning always
to the still figure at the table, and as quickly turning his gaze away,
as if the sight were unbearable, as indeed it was.

He seemed like a man stunned with the awfulness of the tragedy, and yet
conscious of a care, a responsibility, which he could not shake off.

If, inadvertently, his eyes met those of Miss Dupuy, he shifted his gaze
immediately. If by chance he encountered Mrs. Markham’s sad glance, he
turned away, unable to bear it. In a word, he was like a man at the
limit of his endurance, and seemed veritably on the verge of collapse.