The Doomdorf Mystery

by Melville Davisson Post

　　THE PIONEER was not the only man in the great mountains behind Virginia.Strange aliens drifted in after the Colonial wars. All foreign armiesare sprinkled with a cockle of adventurers that take root and remain.They were with Braddock and La Salle, and they rode north out of Mexicoafter her many empires went to pieces.

　　I think Doomdorf crossed the seas with Iturbide when that ill-starredadventurer returned to be shot against a wall; but there was no Southernblood in him. He came from some European race remote and barbaric. Theevidences were all about him. He was a huge figure of a man, with ablack spade beard, broad, thick hands, and square, flat fingers.

　　He had found a wedge of land between the Crown's grant to DanielDavisson and a Washington survey. It was an uncovered triangle not worththe running of the lines; and so, no doubt, was left out, a sheer rockstanding up out of the river for a base, and a peak of the mountainrising northward behind it for an apex.

　　Doomdorf squatted on the rock. He must have brought a belt of goldpieces when he took to his horse, for he hired old Robert Steuart'sslaves and built a stone house on the rock, and he brought thefurnishings overland from a frigate in the Chesapeake; and then in thehandfuls of earth, wherever a root would hold, he planted the mountainbehind his house with peach trees. The gold gave out; but the devil isfertile in resources. Doomdorf built a log still and turned the firstfruits of the garden into a hell-brew. The idle and the vicious camewith their stone jugs, and violence and riot flowed out.

　　The government of Virginia was remote and its arm short and feeble; butthe men who held the lands west of the mountains against the savagesunder grants from George, and after that held them against Georgehimself, were efficient and expeditious. They had long patience, butwhen that failed they went up from their fields and drove the thingbefore them out of the land, like a scourge of God.

　　There came a day, then, when my Uncle Abner and Squire Randolph rodethrough the gap of the mountains to have the thing out with Doomdorf.The work of this brew, which had the odors of Eden and the impulses ofthe devil in it, could be borne no longer. The drunken Negroes had shotold Duncan's cattle and burned his haystacks, and the land was on itsfeet.

　　They rode alone, but they were worth an army of little men. Randolph wasvain and pompous and given over to extravagance of words, but he was agentleman beneath it, and fear was an alien and a stranger to him. AndAbner was the right hand of the land.

　　It was a day in early summer and the sun lay hot. They crossed throughthe broken spine of the mountains and trailed along the river in theshade of the great chestnut trees. The road was only a path and thehorses went one before the other. It left the river when the rock beganto rise and, making a detour through the grove of peach trees, reachedthe house on the mountain side. Randolph and Abner got down, unsaddledtheir horses and turned them out to graze, for their business withDoomdorf would not be over in an hour. Then they took a steep path thatbrought them out on the mountain side of the house.

　　A man sat on a big red-roan horse in the paved court before the door. Hewas a gaunt old man. He sat bare-headed, the palms of his hands restingon the pommel of his saddle, his chin sunk in his black stock, his facein retrospection, the wind moving gently his great shock of voluminouswhite hair. Under him the huge red horse stood with his legs spread outlike a horse of stone.

　　There was no sound. The door to the house was closed; insects moved inthe sun; a shadow crept out from the motionless figure, and swarms ofyellow butterflies maneuvered like an army.

　　Abner and Randolph stopped. They knew the tragic figure--a circuitrider of the hills who preached the invective of Isaiah as though hewere the mouthpiece of a militant and avenging overlord; as though thegovernment of Virginia were the awful theocracy of the Book of Kings.The horse was dripping with sweat and the man bore the dust and theevidences of a journey on him.

　　"Bronson," said Abner, "where is Doomdorf?" The old man lifted his headand looked down at Abner over the pommel of the saddle.

　　"'Surely,'" he said, "'he covereth his feet in his summer chamber.'"

　　Abner went over and knocked on the closed door, and presently the white,frightened face of a woman looked out at him. She was a little, fadedwoman, with fair hair, a broad foreign face, but with the delicateevidences of gentle blood. Abner repeated his question. "Where isDoomdorf?"

　　"Oh, sir," she answered with a queer lisping accent, "he went to liedown in his south room after his midday meal, as his custom is; and Iwent to the orchard to gather any fruit that might be ripened." Shehesitated and her voice lisped into a whisper: "He is not come out and Icannot wake him."

　　The two men followed her through the hall and up the stairway to thedoor.

　　"It is always bolted," she said, "when he goes to lie down." And sheknocked feebly with the tips of her fingers.

　　There was no answer and Randolph rattled the doorknob. "Come out,Doomdorf!" he called in his big, bellowing voice.

　　There was only silence and the echoes of the words among the rafters.Then Randolph set his shoulder to the door and burst it open.

　　They went in. The room was flooded with sun from the tall south windows.Doomdorf lay on a couch in a little offset of the room, a great scarletpatch on his bosom and a pool of scarlet on the floor.

　　The woman stood for a moment staring; then she cried out: "At last Ihave killed him!" And she ran like a frightened hare.

　　The two men closed the door and went over to the couch. Doomdorf hadbeen shot to death. There was a great ragged hole in his waistcoat. Theybegan to look about for the weapon with which the deed had beenaccomplished, and in a moment found it-a fowling piece lying in twodogwood forks against the wall. The gun had just been fired; there was afreshly exploded paper cap under the hammer.

　　There was little else in the room-a loom-woven rag carpet on the floor;wooden shutters flung back from the windows; a great oak table, and onit a big, round, glass water bottle, filled to its glass stopper withraw liquor from the still. The stuff was limpid and clear as springwater; and, but for its pungent odor, one would have taken it for God'sbrew instead of Doomdorf's. The sun lay on it and against the wall wherehung the weapon that had ejected the dead man out of life.

　　"Abner," said Randolph, "this is murder! The woman took that gun downfrom the wall and shot Doomdorf while he slept."

　　Abner was standing by the table, his fingers round his chin.

　　"Randolph," he replied, "what brought Bronson here?"

　　"The same outrages that brought us," said Randolph. "The mad old circuitrider has been preaching a crusade against Doomdorf far and wide in thehills."

　　Abner answered, without taking his fingers from about his chin:

　　"You think this woman killed Doomdorf? Well, let us go and ask Bronsonwho killed him."

　　They closed the door, leaving the dead man on his couch, and went downinto the court.

　　The old circuit rider had put away his horse and got an ax. He had takenoff his coat and pushed his shirtsleeves up over his long elbows. He wason his way to the still to destroy the barrels of liquor. He stoppedwhen the two men came out, and Abner called to him.

　　"Bronson," he said, "who killed Doomdorf?"

　　"I killed him," replied the old man, and went on toward the still.

　　Randolph swore under his breath. "By the Almighty," he said, "everybodycouldn't kill him!"

　　"Who can tell how many had a hand in it?" replied Abner.

　　"Two have confessed!" cried Randolph. "Was there perhaps a third? Didyou kill him, Abner? And I too? Man, the thing is impossible!"

　　"The impossible," replied Abner, "looks here like the truth. Come withme, Randolph, and I will show you a thing more impossible than this."

　　They returned through the house and up the stairs to the room. Abnerclosed the door behind them.

　　"Look at this bolt," he said; "it is on the inside and not connectedwith the lock. How did the one who killed Doomdorf get into this room,since the door was bolted?"

　　"Through the windows," replied Randolph.

　　There were but two windows, facing the south, through which the sunentered. Abner led Randolph to them.

　　"Look!" he said. "The wall of the house is plumb with the sheer face ofthe rock. It is a hundred feet to the river and the rock is as smooth asa sheet of glass. But that is not all. Look at these window frames; theyare cemented into their casement with dust and they are bound alongtheir edges with cobwebs. These windows have not been opened. How didthe assassin enter?" "The answer is evident," said Randolph: "The onewho killed Doomdorf hid in the room until he was asleep; then he shothim and went out."

　　"The explanation is excellent but for one thing," replied Abner: "Howdid the assassin bolt the door behind him on the inside of this roomafter he had gone out?"

　　Randolph flung out his arms with a hopeless gesture. "Who knows?" hecried. "Maybe Doomdorf killed himself."

　　Abner laughed. "And after firing a handful of shot into his heart he gotup and put the gun back carefully into the forks against the wall!""Well," cried Randolph, "there is one open road out of this mystery.Bronson and this woman say they killed Doomdorf, and if they killed himthey surely know how they did it. Let us go down and ask them."

　　"In the law court," replied Abner, "that procedure would be consideredsound sense; but we are in God's court and things are managed there in asomewhat stranger way. Before we go let us find out, if we can, at whathour it was that Doomdorf died."

　　He went over and took a big silver watch out of the dead man's pocket.It was broken by a shot and the hands lay at one hour after noon. Hestood for a moment fingering his chin.

　　"At one o'clock," he said. "Bronson, I think, was on the road to thisplace, and the woman was on the mountain among the peach trees."

　　Randolph threw back his shoulders.

　　"Why waste time in a speculation about it, Abner?" he said. "We know whodid this thing. Let us go and get the story of it out of their ownmouths. Doomdorf died by the hands of either Bronson or this woman."

　　"I could better believe it," replied Abner, "but for the running of acertain awful law."

　　"What law?" said Randolph. "Is it a statute of Virginia?"

　　"It is a statute," replied Abner, "of an authority somewhat higher. Markthe language of it: 'He that killeth with the sword must be killed withthe sword.'"

　　He came over and took Randolph by the arm. "Must! Randolph, did you markparticularly the word 'must'? It is a mandatory law. There is no room init for the Vicissitudes of chance or fortune. There is no way round thatword. Thus, we reap what we sow and nothing else; thus, we receive whatwe give and nothing else. It is the weapon in our own hands that finallydestroys us. You are looking at it now." And he turned him about so thatthe table and the weapon and the dead man were before him. "'He thatkilleth with the sword must be killed with the sword'. And now," hesaid, "let us go and try the method of the law courts. Your faith is inthe wisdom of their ways."

　　They found the old circuit rider at work in the still, staving inDoomdorf's liquor casks, splitting the oak heads with his ax. "Bronson,"said Randolph, "how did you kill Doomdorf?" The old man stopped andstood leaning on his ax. "I killed him," replied the old man, "as Elijahkilled the captains of Ahaziah and their fifties. But not by the hand ofany man did I pray the Lord God to destroy Doomdorf, but with fire fromheaven to destroy him."

　　He stood up and extended his arms.

　　"His hands were full of blood," he said. "With his abomination fromthese groves of Baal he stirred up the people to contention, to strifeand murder. The widow and the orphan cried to heaven against him. 'Iwill surely hear their cry,' is the promise written in the Book. Theland was weary of him; and I prayed the Lord God to destroy him withfire from heaven, as he destroyed the Princes of Gomorrah in theirpalaces!"

　　Randolph made a gesture as of one who dismisses the impossible, butAbner's face took on a deep, strange look.

　　"With fire from heaven!" he repeated slowly to himself. Then he asked aquestion. "A little while ago," he said, "when we came, I asked youwhere Doomdorf was, and you answered me in the language of the thirdchapter of the Book of Judges. Why did you answer me like that,Bronson?-'Surely he covereth his feet in his summer chamber.'"

　　"The woman told me that he had not come down from the room where he hadgone up to sleep," replied the old man, "and that the door was locked.And then I knew that he was dead in his summer chamber like Eglon, Kingof Moab."

　　He extended his arm toward the south.

　　"I came here from the Great Valley," he said, "to cut down these grovesof Baal and to empty out this abomination; but I did not know that theLord had heard my prayer and visited His wrath on Doomdorf until I wascome up into these mountains to his door. When the woman spoke I knewit." And he went away to his horse, leaving the ax among the ruinedbarrels.

　　Randolph interrupted.

　　"Come, Abner," he said; "this is wasted time. Bronson did not killDoomdorf."

　　Abner answered slowly in his deep, level voice:

　　"Do you realize, Randolph, how Doomdorf died?"

　　"Not by fire from heaven, at any rate," said Randolph.

　　"Randolph," replied Abner, "are you sure?"

　　"Abner," cried Randolph, "you are pleased to jest, but I am in deadlyearnest. A crime has been done here against the state. I am an officerof justice and I propose to discover the assassin if I can."

　　He walked away toward the house and Abner followed, his hands behind himand his great shoulders thrown loosely forward, with a grim smile abouthis mouth.

　　"It is no use to talk with the mad old preacher," Randolph went on. "Lethim empty out the liquor and ride away. I won't issue a warrant againsthim. Prayer may be a handy implement to do a murder with, Abner, but itis not a deadly weapon under the statutes of Virginia. Doomdorf was deadwhen old Bronson got here with his Scriptural jargon. This woman killedDoomdorf. I shall put her to an inquisition."

　　"As you like," replied Abner. "Your faith remains in the methods of thelaw courts."

　　"Do you know of any better methods?" said Randolph.

　　"Perhaps," replied Abner, "when you have finished."

　　Night had entered the valley. The two men went into the house and setabout preparing the corpse for burial. They got candles, and made acoffin, and put Doomdorf in it, and straightened out his limbs, andfolded his arms across his shot-out heart. Then they set the coffin onbenches in the hall.

　　They kindled a fire in the dining room and sat down before it, with thedoor open and the red firelight shining through on the dead man'snarrow, everlasting house. The woman had put some cold meat, a goldencheese and a loaf on the table. They did not see her, but they heard hermoving about the house; and finally, on the gravel court outside, herstep and the whinny of a horse. Then she came in, dressed as for ajourney. Randolph sprang up.

　　"Where are you going?" he said.

　　"To the sea and a ship," replied the woman. Then she indicated the hallwith a gesture. "He is dead and I am free."

　　There was a sudden illumination in her face. Randolph took a step towardher. His voice was big and harsh.

　　"Who killed Doomdorf?" he cried.

　　"I killed him," replied the woman. "It was fair!"

　　"Fair!" echoed the justice. "What do you mean by that?"

　　The woman shrugged her shoulders and put out her hands with a foreigngesture.

　　"I remember an old, old man sitting against a sunny wall, and a littlegirl, and one who came and talked a long time with the old man, whilethe little girl plucked yellow flowers out of the grass and put theminto her hair. Then finally the stranger gave the old man a gold chainand took the little girl away." She flung out her hands. "Oh, it wasfair to kill him!" She looked up with a queer, pathetic smile.

　　"The old man will be gone by now," she said; "but I shall perhaps findthe wall there, with the sun on it, and the yellow flowers in the grass.And now, may I go?"

　　It is a law of the story-teller's art that he does not tell a story. Itis the listener who tells it. The story-teller does but provide him withthe stimuli.

　　Randolph got up and walked about the floor. He was a justice of thepeace in a day when that office was filled only by the landed gentry,after the English fashion; and the obligations of the law were strong onhim. If he should take liberties with the letter of it, how could theweak and the evil be made to hold it in respect? Here was this womanbefore him a confessed assassin. Could he let her go?

　　Abner sat unmoving by the hearth, his elbow on the arm of his chair, hispalm propping up his jaw, his face clouded in deep lines. Randolph wasconsumed with vanity and the weakness of ostentation, but he shoulderedhis duties for himself. Presently he stopped and looked at the woman,wan, faded like some prisoner of legend escaped out of fabled dungeonsinto the sun.

　　The firelight flickered past her to the box on the benches in the hall,and the vast, inscrutable justice of heaven entered and overcame him.

　　"Yes," he said. "Go! There is no jury in Virginia that would hold awoman for shooting a beast like that." And he thrust out his arm, withthe fingers extended toward the dead man.

　　The woman made a little awkward curtsy.

　　"I thank you, sir." Then she hesitated and lisped, "But I have not shoothim."

　　"Not shoot him!" cried Randolph. "Why, the man's heart is riddled!"

　　"Yes, sir," she said simply, like a child. "I kill him, but have notshoot him."

　　Randolph took two long strides toward the woman.

　　"Not shoot him!" he repeated. "How then, in the name of heaven, did youkill Doomdorf?" And his big voice filled the empty places of the room.

　　"I will show you, sir," she said.

　　She turned and went away into the house. Presently she returned withsomething folded up in a linen towel. She put it on the table betweenthe loaf of bread and the yellow cheese.

　　Randolph stood over the table, and the woman's deft fingers undid thetowel from round its deadly contents; and presently the thing lay thereuncovered.

　　It was a little crude model of a human figure done in wax with a needlethrust through the bosom.

　　Randolph stood up with a great intake of the breath.

　　"Magic! By the eternal!"

　　"Yes, sir," the woman explained, in her voice and manner of a child. "Ihave try to kill him many times-oh, very many times!-with witch wordswhich I have remember; but always they fail. Then, at last, I make himin wax, and I put a needle through his heart; and I kill him veryquickly."

　　It was as clear as daylight, even to Randolph, that the woman wasinnocent. Her little harmless magic was the pathetic effort of a childto kill a dragon. He hesitated a moment before he spoke, and then hedecided like the gentleman he was. If it helped the child to believethat her enchanted straw had slain the monster-well, he would let herbelieve it.

　　"And now, sir, may I go?"

　　Randolph looked at the woman in a sort of wonder.

　　"Are you not afraid," he said, "of the night and the mountains, and thelong road?"

　　"Oh no, sir," she replied simply. "The good God will be everywhere now."

　　It was an awful commentary on the dead man-that this strange half-childbelieved that all the evil in the world had gone out with him; that nowthat he was dead, the sunlight of heaven would fill every nook andcorner.

　　It was not a faith that either of the two men wished to shatter, andthey let her go. It would be daylight presently and the road through themountains to the Chesapeake was open.

　　Randolph came back to the fireside after he had helped her into thesaddle, and sat down. He tapped on the hearth for some time idly withthe iron poker; and then finally he spoke.

　　"This is the strangest thing that ever happened," he said. "Here's a madold preacher who thinks that he killed Doomdorf with fire from Heaven,like Elijah the Tishbite; and here is a simple child of a woman whothinks she killed him with a piece of magic of the Middle Ages-each asinnocent of his death as I am. And, yet, by the eternal, the beast isdead!"

　　He drummed on the hearth with the poker, lifting it up and letting itdrop through the hollow of his fingers.

　　"Somebody shot Doomdorf. But who? And how did he get into and out ofthat shut-up room? The assassin that killed Doomdorf must have gotteninto the room to kill him. Now, how did he get in?" He spoke as tohimself; but my uncle sitting across the hearth replied:

　　"Through the window."

　　"Through the window!" echoed Randolph. "Why, man, you yourself showed methat the window had not been opened, and the precipice below it a flycould hardly climb. Do you tell me now that the window was opened?"

　　"No," said Abner, "it was never opened."

　　Randolph got on his feet.

　　"Abner," he cried, "are you saying that the one who killed Doomdorfclimbed the sheer wall and got in through a closed window, withoutdisturbing the dust or the cobwebs on the window frame?"

　　My uncle looked Randolph in the face.

　　"The murderer of Doomdorf did even more," he said. "That assassin notonly climbed the face of that precipice and got in through the closedwindow, but he shot Doomdorf to death and got out again through theclosed window without leaving a single track or trace behind, andwithout disturbing a grain of dust or a thread of a cobweb."

　　Randolph swore a great oath.

　　"The thing is impossible!" he cried. "Men are not killed today inVirginia by black art or a curse of God."

　　"By black art, no," replied Abner; "but by the curse of God, yes. Ithink they are."

　　Randolph drove his clenched right hand into the palm of his left. "Bythe eternal!" he cried. "I would like to see the assassin who could do amurder like this, whether he be an imp from the pit or an angel out ofHeaven."

　　"Very well," replied Abner, undisturbed. "When he comes back tomorrow Iwill show you the assassin who killed Doomdorf."

　　When day broke they dug a grave and buried the dead man against themountain among his peach trees. It was noon when that work was ended.Abner threw down his spade and looked up at the sun.

　　"Randolph," he said, "let us go and lay an ambush for this assassin. Heis on the way here."

　　And it was a strange ambush that he laid. When they were come again intothe chamber where Doomdorf died he bolted the door; then he loaded thefowling piece and put it carefully back on its rack against the wall.After that he did another curious thing: He took the blood-stained coat,which they had stripped off the dead man when they had prepared his bodyfor the earth, put a pillow in it and laid it on the couch preciselywhere Doomdorf had slept. And while he did these things Randolph stoodin wonder and Abner talked:

　　"Look you, Randolph...We will trick the murderer...We will catch himin the act."

　　Then he went over and took the puzzled justice by the arm.

　　"Watch!" he said. "The assassin is coming along the wall!"

　　But Randolph heard nothing, saw nothing. Only the sun entered. Abner'shand tightened on his arm.

　　"It is here! Look!" And he pointed to the wall.

　　Randolph, following the extended finger, saw a tiny brilliant disk oflight moving slowly up the wall toward the lock of the fowling piece.Abner's hand became a vise and his voice rang as over metal.

　　"'He that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword.' It isthe water bottle, full of Doomdorf's liquid, focusing the sun...Andlook, Randolph, how Bronson's prayer was answered!"

　　The tiny disk of light traveled on the plate of the lock.

　　"It is fire from heaven!"

　　The words rang above the roar of the fowling piece, and Randolph saw thedead man's coat leap up on the couch, riddled by the shot. The gun, inits natural position on the rack, pointed to the couch standing at theend of the chamber, beyond the offset of the wall, and the focused sunhad exploded the percussion cap.

　　Randolph made a great gesture, with his arm extended.

　　"It is a world," he said, "filled with the mysterious joinder ofaccident!"

　　"It is a world," replied Abner, "filled with the mysterious justice ofGod!"