ALL A MYSTERY.
"I beg your pardon, but does Mr. Vane live here?"
A man of small stature, smooth face and the keenest eyes Bordine had ever
seen in human head, stood before him. He lifted a broad-brimmed straw hat
and fanned himself as though heated, although the air was quite cool for
the season.
"Do you mean Ransom Vane?"
"Yes, sir."
"He lives here."
"Very good--"
"But, sir," interrupted Bordine, "he is in no mood to receive visitors
now."
"Indeed?"
"A terrible thing has happened."
Then glancing down, the small stranger caught sight of the blood. He did
not shrink, but an interested look at once came to his face.
"A tragedy?" he questioned, quickly.
"Yes. Victoria Vane is dead."
"How?"
"It seems to be either murder or suicide."
"This is bad. When did it happen?"
"Some time to-day."
"No witnesses to the deed?"
"None who have yet appeared."
Just then Ransom Vane appeared on the porch. The moment his gaze rested
on the face of the new-comer he uttered a glad cry and extended his hand.
"Of all men in the world you are the one I most desire to see," exclaimed
Vane. Then he turned to Bordine. "Mr. Bordine, this is my old friend from
Newport, Silas Keene. You may have heard me mention his name."
"Yes. I have read of him as well. I am happy to clasp the hand of the
most noted detective of Gotham."
This was no flattery.
Silas Keene was not a secondary man. He was first in everything
pertaining to matters criminal. He had traced down more crime perhaps
than any man of his age in Gotham, and he was verging on forty.
It was opportune indeed, the great detective coming at this time.
Ransom Vane had known the man for years, and the twain had been bosom
friends.
"I cannot remain with you, Ransom," said Bordine, "but I will come again
soon. If you require any help from me, you know, you have only to call on
me."
"Certainly."
A minute later the man in hunter's costume had disappeared.
Sile Keene went in to look at the dead girl, then he examined the ground
closely, the porch, the letters, and finally investigated the extent and
shape of the death-wound.
It proved to be narrow but deep, evidently made with a dirk or blade with
two edges.
Then, after the house was searched and it was discovered that a bureau
had been rifled of several hundred dollars left there by Ransom, the
young cottager placed the torn, blood-stained letter he had found in
Bordines' possession, in the hand of the detective.
"Where did you get this?" questioned Keene, after he had read the short
epistle.
"It was found near my poor sister, on the porch."
"You found it?"
"No, Bordine."
"By the way, who made the discovery of the tragedy first?"
"Mr. Bordine. He was standing over Victoria, with this letter in his
hand, when I arrived."
"He is your friend?"
"Well, yes, I have supposed him to be."
"What is his full name?"
"August Bordine."
The detective glanced at the letter, then gave vent to a low whistle.
This was natural with him at times, especially when he had made a
gratifying discovery.
"Now you must be frank with me," proceeded Keene. "Tell me truly, what
relation this man, Bordine, bore to your sister."
"They were friends."
"Nothing more?"
Detective Keene eyed his companion sharply.
"Well, I suppose it possible that they might have enjoyed a nearer
relation had Victoria lived," said Ransom Vane in an unsteady voice.
"You think they were lovers?"
"Yes."
"How did he seem to take this tragedy?"
"I cannot tell, I don't think he was unduly agitated, however."
"Hum."
Then the detective fell to thinking deeply. He folded the note carefully,
and placed it in an inner pocket.
"I will retain that," he said. "Of course the coroner must be notified.
This is indeed a sad case. I had no thought of such a thing when I left
the depot to visit you. This will astound the neighborhood. I came from
New York intending to visit Chicago, where it is thought a forger has
found a hiding place. I was not employed to run him down, but thought I
would place the case in the hands of the Pinkertons."
"You will not desert me in the hour of my trouble, Silas?"
"No, I will not."
"You will remain to hunt down the murderer of poor Vic?"
Emotion choked the young man's utterance then, and he turned his haggard
face away to hide his feelings.
"I hoped for a brief rest, and an enjoyable visit, old friend," returned
Keene.
"It seems that it is not to be. I seem destined to be forever on the
trail of some criminal. Poor little Victoria. When I saw her last she was
a pretty, playful child. I cannot conceive of a heart wicked enough to
take such an innocent life."
"It was done for plunder?"
"Do you think so?"
"I had two hundred dollars in the bureau. That was taken."
"Yes."
"That convinces me that my poor sister was murdered so that the villain
could rob the house."
"I am not sure of that."
"No?"
"This robbery may be only a blind."
"Do you think so?"
"I will not say that. It will never do to jump at conclusions. My
suspicions, if I have any, turn toward that man who just left us."
"August Bordine?"
"Yes. He evidently wrote that letter. In a fit of jealousy, he may have
struck the blow."
Ransom Vane was silent.
He had thought of this himself, and yet it did not seem possible that his
friend could be such a demon. The detective must be left to take his own
course, however.
"They seemed always on friendly terms," said Ransom, at length, "but of
course there may have been secrets kept from me."
"True, I will investigate thoroughly." The detective hastened away, and a
little later the coroner appeared. A jury was summoned and an examination
had. This was on the morning following the tragedy.
August Bordine had been summoned by telegraph, and was the most important
witness in the case.
When he told the story of the tramp the silence was oppressive.
"Did you know the fellow?"
"I did not; I believe, however, that Miss Vane stated that he had called
himself Perry Jounce."
At the mention of this name young Vane started.
He plucked at his blonde mustache and seemed exceedingly nervous.
Nothing of grave importance was elicited from Bordine, only some present
thought he had neglected his duty in leaving the girl so soon after the
departure of the tramp.
Ransom Vane was the next witness.
He testified to finding his sister dead, with August Bordine standing
over her.
"He was in hunting costume?"
"Yes."
"How armed?"
"I saw no arms. He had placed his gun against the end of the porch I
think."
"You saw no knife?"
"None whatever."
Evidently the coroner had sighted the suspicious circumstances connecting
August Bordine with the case.
"Did you have a knife that day?" said the coroner, turning abruptly to
young Bordine.
"Yes, sir, I had a small hunting knife, but not when I found Miss Vane."
"What do you mean?"
"I lost the knife in the woods."
"Yes."
A short silence fell.
Many suspicious glances were cast at the young engineer. He felt that he
occupied a delicate position, but remained calm under it.
The jury decided, after due deliberation, that Victoria Vane came to her
death at the hands of an unknown party, and so the inquest ended. Murder
was fully established, but the murderer was not found.
In the mean time Detective Keene had made some discoveries that he kept
to himself for the time.
No one in or about Ridgewood knew Sile Keene, and so he did not at the
outset deem it necessary to assume a disguise.
The bereaved brother did not live at the cottage after the murder, but
found a room at the village tavern. Oft times, however, he wandered to
the lonely cottage, and in silence brooded over the scene of the murder.
He stood thus one day when the sound of a step startled him. He raised
his eyes to peer into the face of a ragged tramp.