a superficial observer at least, in all respects my usual self when
Hannah came to my door to ask what she could do for me. As there was
nothing I wanted but to get out of this house, which had become
unbearable to me, I replied with the utmost cheerfulness that my wants
were all supplied and that I would soon be down, at which she answered
that in that case she must bestir herself or the breakfast would not be
ready, and hurried away.
There was no one in the dining-room when I entered, and judging from
appearances that several minutes must elapse before breakfast would be
ready, I took occasion to stroll through the grounds and glance up at
the window of William's room. The knot of crape was gone.
I would have gone farther, but just then I heard a great rushing and
scampering, and, looking up, saw an enormous dog approaching at full
gallop from the stables. Saracen was loose.
I did not scream or give way to other feminine expressions of fear, but
I did return as quickly as possible to the house, where I now saw I must
remain till William chose to take me into town.
This I was determined should take place as soon after breakfast as
practicable. The knowledge which I now possessed warranted, nay,
demanded, instant consultation with the police, and as this could best
be effected by following out the orders I had received from Mr. Gryce, I
did not consider any other plan than that of meeting the man on duty in
Room No. 3 at the hotel.
Loreen, Lucetta, and William were awaiting me in the hall, and made no
apology for the flurry into which I had been thrown by my rapid escape
from Saracen. Indeed I doubt if they noticed it, for with all the
attempt they made to seem gay and at ease, the anxieties and fatigue of
the foregoing nights were telling upon them, and from Miss Knollys down,
they looked physically exhausted. But they also looked mentally
relieved. In the clear depths of Lucetta's eye there was now no
wavering, and the head which was always turning in anxious anticipation
over her shoulder rested firm, though not as erect as her sister's, who
had less cause perhaps for regret and sorrow.
William was joyful to a degree, but it was a forced joviality which only
became real when he heard a sudden, quick bark under the window and the
sound of scraping paws against the mastic coating of the wall outside.
Then he broke out into a loud laugh of unrestrained pleasure, crying out
thoughtlessly:
"There's Saracen. How quick he knows----"
A warning look from Lucetta stopped him.
"I mean," he stammered, "it's a dull dog that cannot find his master.
Miss Butterworth, you will have to overcome your fear of dogs if you
stay with us long. Saracen is unbound this morning, and"--he used a
great oath--"he's going to remain so."
By which I came to understand that it was not out of consideration for
me he had been tied up in the court till now, but for reasons connected
with their own safety and the preservation of the secret which they so
evidently believed had been buried with the body, which I did not like
to remember lay at that very minute too nearly under our feet for my own
individual comfort.
However, this has nothing to do with the reply I made to William.
"I hope he does not run with the buggy," I objected. "I want to take a
ride very much this morning and could get small pleasure out of it if
that dog must be our companion."
"I cannot go out this morning," William began, but changed his sentence,
possibly at the touch of his sister's foot under the table, into: "But
if you say I must, why, I must. You women folks are so plagued
unreasonable."
Had he been ten years younger I would have boxed his ears; had he been
that much older I would have taken cue and packed my trunk before he
could have finished the cup of coffee he was drinking. But he was just
too old to reprimand in the way just mentioned, and not old enough to
appreciate any display of personal dignity or self-respect on the part
of the person he had offended. Besides, he was a knave; so I just let
his impertinence pass with the remark:
"I have purchases to make in the village": and so that matter ended,
manifestly to the two girls' relief, who naturally did not like to see
me insulted, even if they did not possess sufficient power over their
brother to prevent it.
One other small episode and then I will take you with me to the village.
As we were leaving the table, where I ate less than common,
notwithstanding all my efforts to seem perfectly unconcerned, Lucetta,
who had waited for her brother to go out, took me gently by the arm,
and, eying me closely, said:
"Did you have any dreams last night, Miss Butterworth? You know I
promised you some."
The question disconcerted me, and for a moment I felt like taking the
two girls into my confidence and bidding them fly from the shame and
doom so soon to fall upon their brother; but the real principle
underlying all such momentary impulses on my part deterred me, and in as
light a tone as I could command and not be an absolute hypocrite, I
replied that I was sorry to disappoint her, but I had had no dreams,
which seemed to please her more than it should, for if I had had no
dreams I certainly had suffered from the most frightful realities.
I will not describe our ride into town. Saracen did go with us, and
indignation not only rendered me speechless, but gave to my thoughts a
turn which made that half-hour of very little value to me. Mother Jane's
burly figure crouching in her doorway might otherwise have given me
opportunity for remark, and so might the dubious looks of people we met
on the highroad--looks to which I am so wholly unaccustomed that I had
difficulty in recognizing myself as the butt of so much doubt and
possibly dislike. I attributed this, however, all to the ill repute
under which William so deservedly labored, and did not allow myself to
more than notice it. Indeed, I could only be sorry for people who did
not know in what consideration I was held at home, and who, either
through ignorance or prejudice, allowed themselves privileges they would
be the first to regret did they know the heart and mind of Amelia
Butterworth.
Once in the village, I took the direction of affairs.
"Set me down at the hotel," I commanded, "and then go about such
business as you may have here in town. I am not going to allow myself to
be tracked all over by that dog."
"I have no business," was the surly reply.
"Then make some," was my sharp retort. "I want to see the
locksmith--that locksmith who wouldn't come to do an honest piece of
work for me in your house; and I want to buy dimities and wools and
sewing silks at the dry-goods store over there. Indeed I have a thousand
things to do, and expect to spend half the morning before the counters.
Why, man, I haven't done any shopping for a week."
He gaped at me perfectly aghast (as I meant he should), and, having but
little experience of city ladies, took me at my word and prepared to
beat an honorable retreat. As a result, I found myself ten minutes later
standing on the top step of the hotel porch, watching William driving
away with Saracen perched on the seat beside him. Then I realized that
the village held no companions for him, and did not know whether I felt
glad or sorry.
To the clerk who came to meet me, I said quietly, "Room No. 3, if you
please," at which he gave a nod of intelligence and led me as
unostentatiously as possible into a small hall, at the end of which I
saw a door with the aforesaid number on it.
"If you will take a seat inside," said he, "I will send you whatever you
may desire for your comfort."
"I think you know what that is," I rejoined, at which he nodded again
and left me, closing the door carefully behind him as he went.
The few minutes which elapsed before my quiet was disturbed were spent
by me in thinking. There were many little questions to settle in my own
mind, for which a spell of uninterrupted contemplation was necessary.
One of these was whether, in the event of finding the police amenable, I
should reveal or hide from these children of my old friend, the fact
that it was through my instrumentality that their nefarious secret had
been discovered. I wished--nay, I hoped--that the affair might be so
concluded, but the possibility of doing so seemed so problematical,
especially since Mr. Gryce was not on hand to direct matters, that I
spent very little time on the subject, deep and important as it was to
all concerned.
What most occupied me was the necessity of telling my story in such a
way as to exonerate the girls as much as possible. They were mistaken in
their devotion and most unhappy in the exercise of it, but they were not
innately wicked and should not be made to appear so. Perhaps the one
thing for which I should yet have the best cause to congratulate myself,
would be the opportunity I had gained of giving to their connection with
this affair its true and proper coloring.
I was still dwelling on this thought when there came a knock at my door
which advised me that the visitor I expected had arrived. To open and
admit him was the work of a moment, but it took more than a moment for
me to overcome my surprise at seeing in my visitor no lesser person than
Mr. Gryce himself, who in our parting interview had assured me he was
too old and too feeble for further detective work and must therefore
delegate it to me.
"Ah!" I ejaculated slowly. "It is you, is it? Well, I am not surprised."
(I shouldn't have been.) "When you say you are old, you mean old enough
to pull the wool over other people's eyes, and when you say you are
lame, you mean that you only halt long enough to let others get far
enough ahead for them not to see how fast you hobble up behind them. But
do not think I am not happy to see you. I am, Mr. Gryce, for I have
discovered the secret of Lost Man's Lane, and find it somewhat too heavy
a one for my own handling."
To my surprise he showed this was more than he expected.
"You have?" he asked, with just that shade of incredulity which it is so
tantalizing to encounter. "Then I suppose congratulations are in order.
But are you sure, Miss Butterworth, that you really have obtained a clue
to the many strange and fearful disappearances which have given to this
lane its name?"
"Quite sure," I returned, nettled. "Why do you doubt it? Because I have
kept so quiet and not sounded one note of alarm from my whistle?"
"No," said he. "Knowing your self-restraint so well, I cannot say that
that is my reason."
"What is it, then?" I urged.
"Well," said he, "my real reason for doubting if you have been quite as
successful as you think, is that we ourselves have come upon a clue
about which there can be no question. Can you say the same of yours?"
You will expect my answer to have been a decided "Yes," uttered with all
the positiveness of which you know me capable. But for some reason,
perhaps because of the strange influence this man's personality
exercises upon all--yes, all--who do not absolutely steel themselves
against him, I faltered just long enough for him to cry:
"I thought not. The clue is outside the Knollys house, not in it, Miss
Butterworth, for which, of course, you are not to be blamed or your
services scorned. I have no doubt they have been invaluable in
unearthing _a_ secret, if not _the_ secret."
"Thank you," was my quiet retort. I thought his presumption beyond all
bounds, and would at that moment have felt justified in snapping my
fingers at the clue he boasted of, had it not been for one thing. What
that thing is I am not ready yet to state.
"You and I have come to issue over such matters before," said he, "and
therefore need not take too much account of the feelings it is likely to
engender. I will merely state that my clue points to Mother Jane, and
ask if you have found in the visit she paid at the house last night
anything which would go to strengthen the suspicion against her."
"Perhaps," said I, in a state of disdain that was more or less
unpardonable, considering that my own suspicions previous to my
discovery of the real tragedy enacted under my eyes at the Knollys
mansion had played more or less about this old crone.
"Only perhaps?" He smiled, with a playful forbearance for which I should
have been truly grateful to him.
"She was there for no good purpose," said I, "and yet if you had not
characterized her as the person most responsible for the crimes we are
here to investigate, I should have said from all that I then saw of her
conduct that she acted as a supernumerary rather than principal, and
that it is to me you should look for the correct clue to the criminal,
notwithstanding your confidence in your own theories and my momentary
hesitation to assert that there was no possible defect in mine."
"Miss Butterworth,"--I thought he looked a trifle shaken,--"what did
Mother Jane do in that closely shuttered house last night?"
Mother Jane? Well! Did he think I was going to introduce my tragic story
by telling what Mother Jane did? I must have looked irritated, and
indeed I think I had cause.
"Mother Jane ate her supper," I snapped out angrily. "Miss Knollys gave
it to her. Then she helped a little with a piece of work they had on
hand. It will not interest you to know what. It has nothing to do with
your clue, I warrant."
He did not get angry. He has an admirable temper, has Mr. Gryce, but he
did stop a minute to consider.
"Miss Butterworth," he said at last, "most detectives would have held
their peace and let you go on with what you have to tell without a hint
that it was either unwelcome or unnecessary, but I have consideration
for persons' feelings and for persons' secrets so long as they do not
come in collision with the law, and my opinion is, or was when I entered
this room, that such discoveries as you have made at your old friend's
house" (Why need he emphasize friend--did he think I forgot for a moment
that Althea was my friend?) "were connected rather with some family
difficulty than with the dreadful affair we are considering. That is why
I hastened to tell you that we had found a clue to the disappearances in
Mother Jane's cottage. I wished to save the Misses Knollys."
If he had thought to mollify me by this assertion, he did not succeed.
He saw it and made haste to say:
"Not that I doubt your consideration for them, only the justness of your
conclusions."
"You have doubted those before and with more reason," I replied, "yet
they were not altogether false."
"That I am willing to acknowledge, so willing that if you still think
after I have told my story that yours is _apropos_, then I will listen
to it only too eagerly. My object is to find the real criminal in this
matter. I say at the present moment it is Mother Jane."
"God grant you are right," I said, influenced in spite of myself by the
calm assurance of his manner. "If she was at the house night before last
between eleven and twelve, then perhaps she is all you think her. But I
see no reason to believe it--not yet, Mr. Gryce. Supposing you give me
one. It would be better than all this controversy. One small reason, Mr.
Gryce, as good as"--I did not say what, but the fillip it gave to his
intention stood me in good stead, for he launched immediately into the
matter with no further play upon my curiosity, which was now, as you can
believe, thoroughly aroused, though I could not believe that anything he
had to bring up against Mother Jane could for a moment stand against the
death and the burial I had witnessed in Miss Knollys' house during the
two previous nights.
XXIV
THE ENIGMA OF NUMBERS
"When in our first conversation on this topic I told you that Mother
Jane was not to be considered in this matter, I meant she was not to be
considered by you. She was a subject to be handled by the police, and we
have handled her. Yesterday afternoon I made a search of her cabin."
Here Mr. Gryce paused and eyed me quizzically. He sometimes does eye me,
which same I cannot regard as a compliment, considering how fond he is
of concentrating all his wisdom upon small and insignificant objects.
"I wonder," said he, "what you would have done in such a search as that.
It was no common one, I assure you. There are not many hiding-places
between Mother Jane's four walls."
I felt myself begin to tremble, with eagerness, of course.
"I wish I had been given the opportunity," said I--"that is, if anything
was to be found there."
He seemed to be in a sympathetic mood toward me, or perhaps--and this is
the likelier supposition--he had a minute of leisure and thought he
could afford to give himself a little quiet amusement. However that was,
he answered me by saying:
"The opportunity is not lost. You have been in her cabin and have noted,
I have no doubt, its extreme simplicity. Yet it contains, or rather did
contain up till last night, distinct evidences of more than one of the
crimes which have been perpetrated in this lane."
"Good! And you want me to guess where you found them? Well, it's not
fair."
"Ah, and why not?"
"Because you probably did not find them on your first attempt. You had
time to look about. I am asked to guess at once and without second trial
what I warrant it took you several trials to determine."
He could not help but laugh. "And why do you think it took me several
trials?"
"Because there is more than one thing in that room made up of parts."
"Parts?" He attempted to look puzzled, but I would not have it.
"You know what I mean," I declared; "seventy parts, twenty-eight, or
whatever the numbers are she so constantly mutters."
His admiration was unqualified and sincere.
"Miss Butterworth," said he, "you are a woman after my own heart. How
came you to think that her mutterings had anything to do with a
hiding-place?"
"Because it did not have anything to do with the amount of money I gave
her. When I handed her twenty-five cents, she cried, 'Seventy,
twenty-eight, and now ten!' Ten what? Not ten cents or ten dollars, but
ten----"
"Why do you stop?"
"I do not want to risk my reputation on a guess. There is a quilt on the
bed made up of innumerable pieces. There is a floor of neatly laid
brick----"
"And there is a Bible on the stand whose leaves number many over
seventy."
"Ah, it was in the Bible you found----"
His smile put mine quite to shame.
"I must acknowledge," he cried, "that I looked in the Bible, but I found
nothing there beyond what we all seek when we open its sacred covers.
Shall I tell my story?"
He was evidently bursting with pride. You would think that after a
half-century of just such successes, a man would take his honors more
quietly. But pshaw! Human nature is just the same in the old as in the
young. He was no more tired of compliment or of awakening the
astonishment of those he confided in, than when he aroused the
admiration of the force by his triumphant handling of the Leavenworth
Case. Of course in presence of such weakness I could do nothing less
than give him a sympathetic ear. I may be old myself some day. Besides,
his story was likely to prove more or less interesting.
"Tell your story?" I repeated. "Don't you see that I am"--I was going to
say "on pins and needles till I hear it," but the expression is too
vulgar for a woman of my breeding; so I altered the words, happily
before they were spoken, into "that I am in a state of the liveliest
curiosity concerning the whole matter? Tell your story, of course."
"Well, Miss Butterworth, if I do, it is because I know you will
appreciate it. You, like myself, placed weight upon the numbers she is
forever running over, and you, like myself, have conceived the
possibility of these numbers having reference to something in the one
room she inhabits. At first glance the extreme bareness of the spot
seemed to promise nothing to my curiosity. I looked at the floor and
detected no signs of any disturbance having taken place in its
symmetrically laid bricks for years. Yet I counted up to seventy one way
and twenty-eight the other, and marking the brick thus selected, began
to pry it out. It came with difficulty and showed me nothing underneath
but green mold and innumerable frightened insects. Then I counted the
bricks the other way, but nothing came of it. The floor does not appear
to have been disturbed for years. Turning my attention away from the
floor, I began upon the quilt. This was a worse job than the other, and
it took me an hour to rip apart the block I settled upon as the
suspicious one, but my labor was entirely wasted. There was no hidden
treasure in the quilt. Then I searched the walls, using the measurements
seventy by twenty-eight, but no result followed these endeavors,
and--well, what do you think I did then?"
"You will tell me," I said, "if I give you one more minute to do it in."
"Very well," said he. "I see you do not know, madam. Having searched
below and around me, I next turned my attention overhead. Do you
remember the strings and strings of dried vegetables that decorate the
beams above?"
"I do," I replied, not stinting any of the astonishment I really felt.
"Well, I began to count them next, and when I reached the seventieth
onion from the open doorway, I crushed it between my fingers and--these
fell out, madam--worthless trinkets, as you will immediately see,
but----"
"Well, well," I urged.
"They have been identified as belonging to the peddler who was one of
the victims in whose fate we are interested."
"Ah, ah!" I ejaculated, somewhat amazed, I own. "And number
twenty-eight?"
"That was a carrot, and it held a really valuable ring--a ruby
surrounded by diamonds. If you remember, I once spoke to you of this
ring. It was the property of young Mr. Chittenden and worn by him while
he was in this village. He disappeared on his way to the railway
station, having taken, as many can vouch, the short detour by Lost Man's
Lane, which would lead him directly by Mother Jane's cottage."
"You thrill me," said I, keeping down with admirable self-possession my
own thoughts in regard to this matter. "And what of No. ten, beyond
which she said she could not count?"
"In ten was your twenty-five-cent piece, and in various other
vegetables, small coins, whose value taken collectively would not amount
to a dollar. The only numbers which seemed to make any impression on her
mind were those connected with these crimes. Very good evidence, Miss
Butterworth, that Mother Jane holds the clue to this matter, even if she
is not responsible for the death of the individuals represented by this
property."
"Certainly," I acquiesced, "and if you examined her after her return
from the Knollys mansion last night you would probably have found upon
her some similar evidence of her complicity in the last crime of this
terrible series. It would needs have been small, as Silly Rufus neither
indulged in the brass trinkets sold by the old peddler nor the real
jewelry of a well-to-do man like Mr. Chittenden."
"Silly Rufus?"
"He was the last to disappear from these parts, was he not?"
"Yes, madam."
"And as such, should have left some clue to his fate in the hands of
this old crone, if her motive in removing him was, as you seem to think,
entirely that of gain."
"I did not say it was entirely so. Silly Rufus would be the last person
any one, even such a _non compos mentis_ as Mother Jane, would destroy
for hope of gain."
"But what other motive could she have? And, Mr. Gryce, where could she
bestow the bodies of so many unfortunate victims, even if by her great
strength she could succeed in killing them?"
"There you have me," said he. "We have not been able as yet to unearth
any bodies. Have you?"
"No," said I, with some little show of triumph showing through my
disdain, "but I can show _you_ where to unearth one."
He should have been startled, profoundly startled. Why wasn't he? I
asked this of myself over and over in the one instant he weighed his
words before answering.
"You have made some definite discoveries, then," he declared. "You have
come across a grave or a mound which you have taken for a grave."
I shook my head.
"No mound," said I. Why should I not play for an instant or more with
his curiosity? He had with mine.
"Ah, then, why do you talk of unearthing? No one has told you where you
can lay hand on Silly Rufus' body, I take it."
"No," said I. "The Knollys house is not inclined to give up its
secrets."
He started, glancing almost remorsefully first at the tip, then at the
head of the cane he was balancing in his hand.
"It's too bad," he muttered, "but you've been led astray, Miss
Butterworth,--excusably, I acknowledge, quite excusably, but yet in a
way to give you quite wrong conclusions. The secret of the Knollys
house--But wait a moment. Then you were not locked up in your room last
night?"
"Scarcely," I returned, wavering between the doubts he had awakened by
his first sentence and the surprise which his last could not fail to
give me.