IN THE ROUND OF THE STAIRCASE.
The next morning Mr. Gryce received a small communication from Miss
Butterworth at or near the very time she received one from him. Hers
ran:
You were quite correct. So far as appears, I was the only person to
lean over Mr. Adams's study table after his unfortunate death. I
have had to clip the ends of my boa.
His was equally laconic:
My compliments, madam! Mr. Adams's jaws have been forced apart. A
small piece of paper was found clinched between his teeth. This
paper has been recovered, and will be read at the inquest. Perhaps
a few favored persons may be granted the opportunity of reading it
before then, notably yourself.
Of the two letters the latter naturally occasioned the greater
excitement in the recipient. The complacency of Miss Butterworth was
superb, and being the result of something that could not be communicated
to those about her, occasioned in the household much speculation as to
its cause.
At Police Headquarters more than one man was kept busy listening to the
idle tales of a crowd of would-be informers. The results which had
failed to follow the first day's publication of the crime came rapidly
in during the second. There were innumerable persons of all ages and
conditions who were ready to tell how they had seen this and that one
issue from Mr. Adams's house on the afternoon of his death, but when
asked to give a description of these persons, lost themselves in
generalities as tedious as they were unprofitable. One garrulous old
woman had observed a lady of genteel appearance open the door to an
elderly gentleman in a great-coat; and a fashionably dressed young woman
came in all breathless to relate how a young man with a very pale young
lady on his arm ran against her as she was going by this house at the
very hour Mr. Adams was said to have been murdered. She could not be
sure of knowing the young man again, and could not say if the young lady
was blonde or brunette, only that she was awfully pale and had a
beautiful gray feather in her hat.
Others were ready with similar stories, which confirmed, without adding
to, the facts already known, and night came on without much progress
having been made toward the unravelling of this formidable mystery.
On the next day Mr. Adams's funeral took place. No relatives or intimate
friends having come forward, his landlord attended to these rites and
his banker acted the part of chief mourner. As his body was carried out
of the house, a half-dozen detectives mingled with the crowd blocking
the thoroughfare in front, but nothing came of their surveillance here
or at the cemetery to which the remains were speedily carried. The
problem which had been presented to the police had to be worked out from
such material as had already come to hand; and, in forcible recognition
of this fact, Mr. Gryce excused himself one evening at Headquarters and
proceeded quite alone and on foot to the dark and apparently closed
house in which the tragedy had occurred.
He entered with a key, and once inside, proceeded to light up the whole
house. This done, he took a look at the study, saw that the cross had
been replaced on the wall, the bird-cage rehung on its hook under the
ceiling, and everything put in its wonted order, with the exception of
the broken casings, which still yawned in a state of disrepair on either
side of the doorway leading into the study. The steel plate had been
shoved back into the place prepared for it by Mr. Adams, but the
glimpses still to be seen of its blue surface through the hole made in
the wall of the antechamber formed anything but an attractive feature
in the scene, and Mr. Gryce, with something of the instinct and much of
the deftness of a housewife, proceeded to pull up a couple of rugs from
the parlor floor and string them over these openings. Then he consulted
his watch, and finding that it was within an hour of nine o'clock, took
up his stand behind the curtains of the parlor window. Soon, for the
person expected was as prompt as himself, he saw a carriage stop and a
lady alight, and he hastened to the front door to receive her. It was
Miss Butterworth.
"Madam, your punctuality is equal to my own," said he. "Have you ordered
your coachman to drive away?"
"Only as far as the corner," she returned, as she followed him down the
hall. "There he will await the call of your whistle."
"Nothing could be better. Are you afraid to remain for a moment alone,
while I watch from the window the arrival of the other persons we
expect? At present there is no one in the house but ourselves."
"If I was subject to fear in a matter of this kind, I should not be here
at all. Besides, the house is very cheerfully lighted. I see you have
chosen a crimson light for illuminating the study."
"Because a crimson light was burning when Mr. Adams died."
"Remember Evelyn!" called out a voice.
"Oh, you have brought back the bird!" exclaimed Miss Butterworth. "That
is not the cry with which it greeted me before. It was 'Eva! Lovely
Eva!' Do you suppose Eva and Evelyn are the same?"
"Madam, we have so many riddles before us that we will let this one go
for the present. I expect Mr. Adams's valet here in a moment."
"Sir, you relieve me of an immense weight. I was afraid that the
privilege of being present at the test you propose to make was not to be
accorded me."
"Miss Butterworth, you have earned a seat at this experiment. Bartow has
been given a key, and will enter as of old in entire freedom to do as he
wills. We have simply to watch his movements."
"In this room, sir? I do not think I shall like that. I had rather not
meet this madman face to face."
"You will not be called upon to do so. We do not wish him to be startled
by encountering any watchful eye. Irresponsible as he is, he must be
allowed to move about without anything to distract his attention.
Nothing must stand in the way of his following those impulses which may
yield us a clew to his habits and the ways of this peculiar household. I
propose to place you where the chances are least in favor of your being
seen by him--in this parlor, madam, which we have every reason to
believe was seldom opened during Mr. Adams's lifetime."
"You must put out the gas, then, or the unaccustomed light will attract
his attention."
"I will not only put out the gas, but I will draw the portières close,
making this little hole for your eye and this one for mine. A common
expedient, madam; but serviceable, madam, serviceable."
The snort which Miss Butterworth gave as she thus found herself drawn up
in darkness before a curtain, in company with this plausible old man,
but feebly conveyed her sensations, which were naturally complex and a
little puzzling to herself. Had she been the possessor of a lively
curiosity (but we know from her own lips that she was not), she might
have found some enjoyment in the situation. But being where she was
solely from a sense of duty, she probably blushed behind her screen at
the position in which she found herself, in the cause of truth and
justice; or would have done so if the opening of the front door at that
moment had not told her that the critical moment had arrived and that
the deaf-and-dumb valet had just been introduced into the house.
The faintest "Hush!" from Mr. Gryce warned her that her surmise was
correct, and, bending her every energy to listen, she watched for the
expected appearance of this man in the antechamber of Mr. Adams's former
study.
He came even sooner than she was prepared to see him, and laying down
his hat on a table near the doorway, advanced with a busy air toward the
portière he had doubtless been in the habit of lifting twenty times a
day. But he barely touched it this time. Something seen, or unseen,
prevented him from entering. Was it the memory of what he had last
beheld there? Or had he noticed the rugs hanging in an unaccustomed way
on either side of the damaged casings? Neither, apparently, for he
simply turned away with a meek look, wholly mechanical, and taking up
his hat again, left the antechamber and proceeded softly upstairs.
"I will follow him," whispered Mr. Gryce. "Don't be afraid, ma'am. This
whistle will bring a man in from the street at once."
"I am not afraid. I would be ashamed----"
But it was useless for her to finish this disclaimer. Mr. Gryce was
already in the hall. He returned speedily, and saying that the
experiment was likely to be a failure, as the old man had gone to his
own room and was preparing himself for bed, he led the way into the
study, and with purpose, or without a purpose--who knows?--idly touched
a button on the table top, thus throwing a new light on the scene. It
was Miss Butterworth's first experience of this change of light, and she
was observing the effect made by the violet glow now thrown over the
picture and the other rich articles in the room when her admiration was
cut short, and Mr. Gryce's half-uttered remark also, by the faint sound
of the valet's descending steps.
Indeed, they had barely time to regain their old position behind the
parlor portières when Bartow was seen hurrying in from the hall with his
former busy air, which this time remained unchecked.
Crossing to his master's study, he paused for an infinitesimal length of
time on the threshold, as if conscious of something being amiss, then
went into the room beyond, and, without a glance in the direction of the
rug, which had been carefully relaid on the spot where his master had
fallen, began to make such arrangements for the night as he was in the
habit of making at this hour. He brought a bottle of wine from the
cupboard and set it on the table, and then a glass, which he first wiped
scrupulously clean. Then he took out his master's dressing gown and
slippers, and, placing them to hand, went into the bedroom.
By this time the two watchers had crept from their concealment near
enough to note what he was doing in the bedroom. He was stooping over
the comb which Mr. Gryce had left lying on the floor. This small object
in such a place seemed to surprise him. He took it up, shook his head,
and put it back on the dresser. Then he turned down his master's bed.
"Poor fool!" murmured Miss Butterworth as she and her companion crept
back to their old place behind the parlor curtains, "he has forgotten
everything but his old routine duties. We shall get nothing from this
man."
But she stopped suddenly; they both stopped. Bartow was in the middle of
the study, with his eyes fixed on his master's empty chair in an
inquiring way that spoke volumes. Then he turned, and gazed earnestly at
the rug where he had last seen that master lying outstretched and
breathless; and awakening to a realization of what had happened, fell
into his most violent self and proceeded to go through the series of
actions which they were now bound to consider a reproduction of what he
had previously seen take place there. Then he went softly out, and crept
away upstairs.
Mr. Gryce and Miss Butterworth stepped at once into the light, and
surveyed each other with a look of marked discouragement. Then the
latter, with a sudden gleam of enthusiasm, cried quickly:
"Turn on another color, and let us see what will happen. I have an idea
it will fetch the old man down again."
Mr. Gryce's brows went up.
"Do you think he can see through the floor?"
But he touched a button, and a rich blue took the place of the violet.
Nothing happened.
Miss Butterworth looked disturbed.
"I have confidence in your theories," began Mr. Gryce, "but when they
imply the possibility of this man seeing through blank walls and obeying
signals which can have no signification to any one on the floor
above----"
"Hark!" she cried, holding up one finger with a triumphant air. The old
man's steps could be heard descending.
This time he approached with considerable feebleness, passed slowly into
the study, advanced to the table, and reached out his hands as if to
lift something which he expected to find there. Seeing nothing, he
glanced in astonishment up at the book shelves and then back to the
table, shook his head, and suddenly collapsing, sank in a doze on the
nearest chair.
Miss Butterworth drew a long breath, eyed Mr. Gryce with some curiosity,
and then triumphantly exclaimed:
"Can you read the meaning of all that? I think I can. Don't you see that
he came expecting to find a pile of books on the table which it was
probably his business to restore to their shelves?"
"But how can he know what light is burning here? You can see for
yourself that there is no possible communication between this room and
the one in which he has always been found by any one going above."
Miss Butterworth's manner showed a hesitation that was almost naive. She
smiled, and there was apology in her smile, though none in her voice, as
she remarked with odd breaks:
"When I went upstairs--you know I went upstairs when I was here
before--I saw a little thing--a very little thing--which you doubtless
observed yourself and which may explain, though I do not know how, why
Bartow can perceive these lights from the floor above."
"I shall be very glad to hear about it, madam. I thought I had
thoroughly searched those rooms----"
"And the halls?"
"And the halls; and that nothing in them could have escaped my eyes. But
if you have a more patient vision than myself----"
"Or make it my business to look lower----"
"How?"
"To look lower; to look on the floor, say."
"On the floor?"
"The floor sometimes reveals much: shows where a person steps the
oftenest, and, therefore, where he has the most business. You must have
noticed how marred the woodwork is at the edge of the carpeting on that
little landing above."
"In the round of the staircase?"
"Yes."
Mr. Gryce did not think it worth his while to answer. Perhaps he had not
time; for leaving the valet where he was, and Miss Butterworth where she
was (only she would not be left, but followed him), he made his way
upstairs, and paused at the place she had mentioned, with a curious look
at the floor.
"You see, it has been much trodden here," she said; at which gentle
reminder of her presence he gave a start; possibly he had not heard her
behind him, and after sixty years of hard service even a detective may
be excused a slight nervousness. "Now, why should it be trodden here?
There is no apparent reason why any one should shuffle to and fro in
this corner. The stair is wide, especially here, and there is no
window----"
Mr. Gryce, whose eye had been travelling over the wall, reached over her
shoulder to one of the dozen pictures hanging at intervals from the
bottom to the top of the staircase, and pulling it away from the wall,
on which it hung decidedly askew, revealed a round opening through which
poured a ray of blue light which could only proceed from the vault of
the adjoining study.
"No window," he repeated. "No, but an opening into the study wall which
answers the same purpose. Miss Butterworth, your eye is to be trusted
every time. I only wonder you did not pull this picture aside yourself."
"It was not hanging crooked then. Besides I was in a hurry. I had just
come from my encounter with this demented man. I had noticed the marks
on the landing, and the worn edges of the carpet, on my way upstairs. I
was in no condition to observe them on my way down."
"I see."
Miss Butterworth ran her foot to and fro over the flooring they were
examining.
"Bartow was evidently in the habit of coming here constantly," said she,
"probably to learn whether his master had need of him. Ingenious in Mr.
Adams to contrive signals for communication with this man! He certainly
had great use for his deaf-and-dumb servant. So one mystery is solved!"
"And if I am not mistaken, we can by a glance through this loophole
obtain the answer to another. You are wondering, I believe, how Bartow,
if he followed the movements of the assailant from the doorway, came to
thrust with his left hand, instead of with his right. Now if he saw the
tragedy from this point, he saw it over the assailant's shoulder,
instead of face to face. What follows? He would imitate literally the
movements of the man he saw, turn in the same direction and strike with
the same hand."
"Mr. Gryce, we are beginning to untangle the threads that looked so
complicated. Ah, what is that? Why, it's that bird! His cage must be
very nearly under this hole."
"A little to one side, madam, but near enough to give you a start. What
was it he cried then?"
"Oh, those sympathetic words about Eva! 'Poor Eva!'"
"Well, give a glance to Bartow. You can see him very well from here."
Miss Butterworth put her eye again to the opening, and gave a grunt, a
very decided grunt. With her a grunt was significant of surprise.
"He is shaking his fist; he is all alive with passion. He looks as if he
would like to kill the bird."
"Perhaps that is why the creature was strung up so high. You may be sure
Mr. Adams had some basis for his idiosyncrasies."
"I begin to think so. I don't know that I care to go back where that man
is. He has a very murderous look."
"And a very feeble arm, Miss Butterworth. You are safe under my
protection. My arm is not feeble."
[Illustration: A-Table. B-Small Stand. C-Door to Bedroom. D-Evelyn's
Picture E-Loophole on Stair Landing. F-Entrance to Study.] [1]
[Footnote 1: Since my readers may not understand how an opening above
the stairway might communicate with Mr. Adams's study, I here submit a
diagram of the same. The study walls were very high, forming a rounded
extension at the back of the house.]