The Millbank Case: A Maine Mystery of To-day — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Millbank Case: A Maine Mystery of To-day
John Stuart Mill · en
“It is what I am not certain of,” he said frankly. “It is the murder
that has revealed this--misfortune. I can find no motive that can
account for her connection with the affair.”
“I am of the opinion she had nothing to do with it,” she said, quite
positively. “If all this is true, she would naturally have no love for
the child of her mistake; but you surely cannot think on that account
that she was guilty of murder--the cruelest murder one could imagine
under the circumstances! Certainly, if there was anything to tempt to
murder, anything that would have advantaged her, it passed long ago.”
“I have thought of that,” he said, “but is it not possible that
something may have occurred recently that alarmed her--something that
made her feel it necessary to go to extremes to which, naturally, she
would be unwilling to resort, excepting under the direst necessity?”
“I do not think,” she said, lifting her head with some imperiousness,
“that such a woman is likely to be alarmed. She would have lived that
down long since. More than that, she would have brains enough to see
that a crime, more than all else, would endanger her secret. This woman
could not have been brainless.”
“Far from it,” he assured her. “I am inclined to rate her as the ablest
woman I have ever met.”
She bowed as recognising a personal compliment.
“You have met her, then?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have met her.”
“Would you mind telling me the impression she made on you--that is,
as regards her possible connection with this crime? My curiosity is
roused.”
“I think she is now incapable of it,” he said. “That she might not have
been at one time, I am less certain; but if there was such a time, it
has passed. Success had mollified resentment and increased the feeling
of safety. Still, if she believed herself in danger, I do not think she
would hesitate at any extreme. It would, however, take much to arouse a
conviction of danger.”
“I am inclined to think your judgment sound,” she said. “What can you
tell me of the man who now shares with her the knowledge of the facts
in the case?”
“That he would not assert such knowledge unless he possessed every
detail and was absolutely able to identify every person connected
with the affair and verify every date and place. You may take his
assertion that he knows, as absolute evidence of this. His only object
in searching this matter out was the unravelling of the mystery of
a crime. If he thought for one instant that the revelation of the
facts would aid in unravelling that crime, he would not hesitate at
the revelation. Convinced that it would not aid, the secret is as safe
with him as if it did not exist. At present the secret, as far as he is
concerned, does not exist.”