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That Affair Next Door
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
Author of "The House Of The Whispering Pines," "Initials Only," "Dark
Hollow," Etc.
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
114-120 East Twenty-third Street New York
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
COPYRIGHT, 1897
BY
ANNA KATHARINE ROHLFS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
* * * * *
Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved
to end of chapter.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
_BOOK I._
MISS BUTTERWORTH'S WINDOW.
PAGE
I.--A DISCOVERY 1
II.--QUESTIONS 14
III.--AMELIA DISCOVERS HERSELF 23
IV.--SILAS VAN BURNAM 36
V.--THIS IS NO ONE I KNOW 41
VI.--NEW FACTS 51
VII.--MR. GRYCE DISCOVERS MISS AMELIA 55
VIII.--THE MISSES VAN BURNAM 68
IX.--DEVELOPMENTS 77
X.--IMPORTANT EVIDENCE 88
XI.--THE ORDER CLERK 98
XII.--THE KEYS 114
XIII.--HOWARD VAN BURNAM 126
XIV.--A SERIOUS ADMISSION 141
XV.--A RELUCTANT WITNESS 155
_BOOK II._
THE WINDINGS OF A LABYRINTH.
XVI.--COGITATIONS 163
XVII.--BUTTERWORTH VERSUS GRYCE 170
XVIII.--THE LITTLE PINCUSHION 176
XIX.--A DECIDED STEP FORWARD 187
XX.--MISS BUTTERWORTH'S THEORY 201
XXI.--A SHREWD CONJECTURE 208
XXII.--A BLANK CARD 217
XXIII.--RUTH OLIVER 229
XXIV.--A HOUSE OF CARDS 244
XXV.--"THE RINGS! WHERE ARE THE RINGS?" 255
XXVI.--A TILT WITH MR. GRYCE 260
XXVII.--FOUND 266
XXVIII.--TAKEN ABACK 272
_BOOK III._
THE GIRL IN GRAY.
XXIX.--AMELIA BECOMES PEREMPTORY 274
XXX.--THE MATTER AS STATED BY MR. GRYCE 283
XXXI.--SOME FINE WORK 296
XXXII.--ICONOCLASM 311
XXXIII.--"KNOWN, KNOWN, ALL KNOWN" 321
XXXIV.--EXACTLY HALF-PAST THREE 329
XXXV.--A RUSE 335
_BOOK IV._
THE END OF A GREAT MYSTERY.
XXXVI.--THE RESULT 341
XXXVII.--"TWO WEEKS!" 345
XXXVIII.--A WHITE SATIN GOWN 350
XXXIX.--THE WATCHFUL EYE 357
XL.--AS THE CLOCK STRUCK 364
XLI.--SECRET HISTORY 368
XLII.--WITH MISS BUTTERWORTH'S COMPLIMENTS 395
THAT AFFAIR NEXT DOOR.
_BOOK I._
MISS BUTTERWORTH'S WINDOW.
I.
A DISCOVERY.
I am not an inquisitive woman, but when, in the middle of a certain warm
night in September, I heard a carriage draw up at the adjoining house
and stop, I could not resist the temptation of leaving my bed and taking
a peep through the curtains of my window.
First: because the house was empty, or supposed to be so, the family
still being, as I had every reason to believe, in Europe; and secondly:
because, not being inquisitive, I often miss in my lonely and single
life much that it would be both interesting and profitable for me to
know.
Luckily I made no such mistake this evening. I rose and looked out, and
though I was far from realizing it at the time, took, by so doing, my
first step in a course of inquiry which has ended----
But it is too soon to speak of the end. Rather let me tell you what I
saw when I parted the curtains of my window in Gramercy Park, on the
night of September 17, 1895.
Not much at first glance, only a common hack drawn up at the neighboring
curb-stone. The lamp which is supposed to light our part of the block is
some rods away on the opposite side of the street, so that I obtained
but a shadowy glimpse of a young man and woman standing below me on the
pavement. I could see, however, that the woman--and not the man--was
putting money into the driver's hand. The next moment they were on the
stoop of this long-closed house, and the coach rolled off.
It was dark, as I have said, and I did not recognize the young
people,--at least their figures were not familiar to me; but when, in
another instant, I heard the click of a night-key, and saw them, after a
rather tedious fumbling at the lock, disappear from the stoop, I took it
for granted that the gentleman was Mr. Van Burnam's eldest son Franklin,
and the lady some relative of the family; though why this, its most
punctilious member, should bring a guest at so late an hour into a house
devoid of everything necessary to make the least exacting visitor
comfortable, was a mystery that I retired to bed to meditate upon.
I did not succeed in solving it, however, and after some ten minutes had
elapsed, I was settling myself again to sleep when I was re-aroused by a
fresh sound from the quarter mentioned. The door I had so lately heard
shut, opened again, and though I had to rush for it, I succeeded in
getting to my window in time to catch a glimpse of the departing figure
of the young man hurrying away towards Broadway. The young woman was not
with him, and as I realized that he had left her behind him in the
great, empty house, without apparent light and certainly without any
companion, I began to question if this was like Franklin Van Burnam. Was
it not more in keeping with the recklessness of his more easy-natured
and less reliable brother, Howard, who, some two or three years back,
had married a young wife of no very satisfactory antecedents, and who,
as I had heard, had been ostracized by the family in consequence?
Whichever of the two it was, he had certainly shown but little
consideration for his companion, and thus thinking, I fell off to sleep
just as the clock struck the half hour after midnight.
Next morning as soon as modesty would permit me to approach the window,
I surveyed the neighboring house minutely. Not a blind was open, nor a
shutter displaced. As I am an early riser, this did not disturb me at
the time, but when after breakfast I looked again and still failed to
detect any evidences of life in the great barren front beside me, I
began to feel uneasy. But I did nothing till noon, when going into my
rear garden and observing that the back windows of the Van Burnam house
were as closely shuttered as the front, I became so anxious that I
stopped the next policeman I saw going by, and telling him my
suspicions, urged him to ring the bell.
No answer followed the summons.
"There is no one here," said he.
"Ring again!" I begged.
And he rang again but with no better result.
"Don't you see that the house is shut up?" he grumbled. "We have had
orders to watch the place, but none to take the watch off."
"There is a young woman inside," I insisted. "The more I think over last
night's occurrence, the more I am convinced that the matter should be
looked into."
He shrugged his shoulders and was moving away when we both observed a
common-looking woman standing in front looking at us. She had a bundle
in her hand, and her face, unnaturally ruddy though it was, had a scared
look which was all the more remarkable from the fact that it was one of
those wooden-like countenances which under ordinary circumstances are
capable of but little expression. She was not a stranger to me; that is,
I had seen her before in or about the house in which we were at that
moment so interested; and not stopping to put any curb on my excitement,
I rushed down to the pavement and accosted her.
"Who are you?" I asked. "Do you work for the Van Burnams, and do you
know who the lady was who came here last night?"
The poor woman, either startled by my sudden address or by my manner
which may have been a little sharp, gave a quick bound backward, and was
only deterred by the near presence of the policeman from attempting
flight. As it was, she stood her ground, though the fiery flush, which
made her face so noticeable, deepened till her cheeks and brow were
scarlet.
"I am the scrub-woman," she protested. "I have come to open the windows
and air the house,"--ignoring my last question.
"Is the family coming home?" the policeman asked.
"I don't know; I think so," was her weak reply.
"Have you the keys?" I now demanded, seeing her fumbling in her pocket.
She did not answer; a sly look displaced the anxious one she had
hitherto displayed, and she turned away.
"I don't see what business it is of the neighbors," she muttered,
throwing me a dissatisfied scowl over her shoulder.
"If you've got the keys, we will go in and see that things are all
right," said the policeman, stopping her with a light touch.
She trembled; I saw that she trembled, and naturally became excited.
Something was wrong in the Van Burnam mansion, and I was going to be
present at its discovery. But her next words cut my hopes short.
"I have no objection to _your_ going in," she said to the policeman,
"but I will not give up my keys to _her_. What right has she in our
house any way." And I thought I heard her murmur something about a
meddlesome old maid.
The look which I received from the policeman convinced me that my ears
had not played me false.
"The lady's right," he declared; and pushing by me quite
disrespectfully, he led the way to the basement door, into which he and
the so-called cleaner presently disappeared.
I waited in front. I felt it to be my duty to do so. The various
passers-by stopped an instant to stare at me before proceeding on their
way, but I did not flinch from my post. Not till I had heard that the
young woman whom I had seen enter these doors at midnight was well, and
that her delay in opening the windows was entirely due to fashionable
laziness, would I feel justified in returning to my own home and its
affairs. But it took patience and some courage to remain there. Several
minutes elapsed before I perceived the shutters in the third story open,
and a still longer time before a window on the second floor flew up and
the policeman looked out, only to meet my inquiring gaze and rapidly
disappear again.
Meantime three or four persons had stopped on the walk near me, the
nucleus of a crowd which would not be long in collecting, and I was
beginning to feel I was paying dearly for my virtuous resolution, when
the front door burst violently open and we caught sight of the trembling
form and shocked face of the scrub-woman.
"She's dead!" she cried, "she's dead! Murder!" and would have said more
had not the policeman pulled her back, with a growl which sounded very
much like a suppressed oath.
He would have shut the door upon me had I not been quicker than
lightning. As it was, I got in before it slammed, and happily too; for
just at that moment the house-cleaner, who had grown paler every
instant, fell in a heap in the entry, and the policeman, who was not the
man I would want about me in any trouble, seemed somewhat embarrassed by
this new emergency, and let me lift the poor thing up and drag her
farther into the hall.
She had fainted, and should have had something done for her, but anxious
though I always am to be of help where help is needed, I had no sooner
got within range of the parlor door with my burden, than I beheld a
sight so terrifying that I involuntarily let the poor woman slip from my
arms to the floor.
In the darkness of a dim corner (for the room had no light save that
which came through the doorway where I stood) lay the form of a woman
under a fallen piece of furniture. Her skirts and distended arms alone
were visible; but no one who saw the rigid outlines of her limbs could
doubt for a moment that she was dead.
At a sight so dreadful, and, in spite of all my apprehensions, so
unexpected, I felt a sensation of sickness which in another moment might
have ended in my fainting also, if I had not realized that it would
never do for me to lose my wits in the presence of a man who had none
too many of his own. So I shook off my momentary weakness, and turning
to the policeman, who was hesitating between the unconscious figure of
the woman outside the door and the dead form of the one within I cried
sharply:
"Come, man, to business! The woman inside there is dead, but this one is
living. Fetch me a pitcher of water from below if you can, and then go
for whatever assistance you need. I'll wait here and bring this woman
to. She is a strong one, and it won't take long."
"You'll stay here alone with that----" he began.
But I stopped him with a look of disdain.
"Of course I will stay here; why not? Is there anything in the dead to
be afraid of? Save me from the living, and I undertake to save myself
from the dead."
But his face had grown very suspicious.
"You go for the water," he cried. "And see here! Just call out for some
one to telephone to Police Headquarters for the Coroner and a
detective. I don't quit this room till one or the other of them comes."
Smiling at a caution so very ill-timed, but abiding by my invariable
rule of never arguing with a man unless I see some way of getting the
better of him, I did what he bade me, though I hated dreadfully to leave
the spot and its woful mystery, even for so short a time as was
required.
"Run up to the second story," he called out, as I passed by the
prostrate figure of the cleaner. "Tell them what you want from the
window, or we will have the whole street in here."
So I ran up-stairs,--I had always wished to visit this house, but had
never been encouraged to do so by the Misses Van Burnam,--and making my
way into the front room, the door of which stood wide open, I rushed to
the window and hailed the crowd, which by this time extended far out
beyond the curb-stone.
"An officer!" I called out, "a police officer! An accident has occurred
and the man in charge here wants the Coroner and a detective from Police
Headquarters."
"Who's hurt?" "Is it a man?" "Is it a woman?" shouted up one or two; and
"Let us in!" shouted others; but the sight of a boy rushing off to meet
an advancing policeman satisfied me that help would soon be forthcoming,
so I drew in my head and looked about me for the next necessity--water.
I was in a lady's bed-chamber, probably that of the eldest Miss Van
Burnam; but it was a bed-chamber which had not been occupied for some
months, and naturally it lacked the very articles which would have been
of assistance to me in the present emergency. No _eau de Cologne_ on
the bureau, no camphor on the mantel-shelf. But there was water in the
pipes (something I had hardly hoped for), and a mug on the wash-stand;
so I filled the mug and ran with it to the door, stumbling, as I did so,
over some small object which I presently perceived to be a little round
pin-cushion. Picking it up, for I hate anything like disorder, I placed
it on a table near by, and continued on my way.
The woman was still lying at the foot of the stairs. I dashed the water
in her face and she immediately came to.
Sitting up, she was about to open her lips when she checked herself; a
fact which struck me as odd, though I did not allow my surprise to
become apparent.
Meantime I stole a glance into the parlor. The officer was standing
where I had left him, looking down on the prostrate figure before him.
There was no sign of feeling in his heavy countenance, and he had not
opened a shutter, nor, so far as I could see, disarranged an object in
the room.
The mysterious character of the whole affair fascinated me in spite of
myself, and leaving the now fully aroused woman in the hall, I was
half-way across the parlor floor when the latter stopped me with a
shrill cry:
"Don't leave me! I have never seen anything before so horrible. The poor
dear! The poor dear! Why don't he take those dreadful things off her?"
She alluded not only to the piece of furniture which had fallen upon the
prostrate woman, and which can best be described as a cabinet with
closets below and shelves above, but to the various articles of
_bric-à-brac_ which had tumbled from the shelves, and which now lay in
broken pieces about her.
"He will do so; they will do so very soon," I replied. "He is waiting
for some one with more authority than himself; for the Coroner, if you
know what that means."
"But what if she's alive! Those things will crush her. Let us take them
off. I'll help. I'm not too weak to help."
"Do you know who this person is?" I asked, for her voice had more
feeling in it than I thought natural to the occasion, dreadful as it
was.
"I?" she repeated, her weak eyelids quivering for a moment as she tried
to sustain my scrutiny. "How should I know? I came in with the policeman
and haven't been any nearer than I now be. What makes you think I know
anything about her? I'm only the scrub-woman, and don't even know the
names of the family."
"I thought you seemed so very anxious," I explained, suspicious of her
suspiciousness, which was of so sly and emphatic a character that it
changed her whole bearing from one of fear to one of cunning in a
moment.
"And who wouldn't feel the like of that for a poor creature lying
crushed under a heap of broken crockery!"
Crockery! those Japanese vases worth hundreds of dollars! that ormulu
clock and those Dresden figures which must have been more than a couple
of centuries old!
"It's a poor sense of duty that keeps a man standing dumb and staring
like that, when with a lift of his hand he could show us the like of
her pretty face, and if it's dead she be or alive."
As this burst of indignation was natural enough and not altogether
uncalled for from the standpoint of humanity, I gave the woman a nod of
approval, and wished I were a man myself that I might lift the heavy
cabinet or whatever it was that lay upon the poor creature before us.
But not being a man, and not judging it wise to irritate the one
representative of that sex then present, I made no remark, but only took
a few steps farther into the room, followed, as it afterwards appeared,
by the scrub-woman.
The Van Burnam parlors are separated by an open arch. It was to the
right of this arch and in the corner opposite the doorway that the dead
woman lay. Using my eyes, now that I was somewhat accustomed to the
semi-darkness enveloping us, I noticed two or three facts which had
hitherto escaped me. One was, that she lay on her back with her feet
pointing towards the hall door, and another, that nowhere in the room,
save in her immediate vicinity, were there to be seen any signs of
struggle or disorder. All was as set and proper as in my own parlor when
it has been undisturbed for any length of time by guests; and though I
could not see far into the rooms beyond, they were to all appearance in
an equally orderly condition.
Meanwhile the cleaner was trying to account for the overturned cabinet.
"Poor dear! poor dear! she must have pulled it over on herself! But
however did she get into the house? And what was she doing in this great
empty place?"
The policeman, to whom these remarks had evidently been addressed,
growled out some unintelligible reply, and in her perplexity the woman
turned towards me.
But what could I say to her? I had my own private knowledge of the
matter, but she was not one to confide in, so I stoically shook my head.
Doubly disappointed, the poor thing shrank back, after looking first at
the policeman and then at me in an odd, appealing way, difficult to
understand. Then her eyes fell again on the dead girl at her feet, and
being nearer now than before, she evidently saw something that startled
her, for she sank on her knees with a little cry and began examining the
girl's skirts.
"What are you looking at there?" growled the policeman. "Get up, can't
you! No one but the Coroner has right to lay hand on anything here."
"I'm doing no harm," the woman protested, in an odd, shaking voice. "I
only wanted to see what the poor thing had on. Some blue stuff, isn't
it?" she asked me.
"Blue serge," I answered; "store-made, but very good; must have come
from Altman's or Stern's."
"I--I'm not used to sights like this," stammered the scrub-woman,
stumbling awkwardly to her feet, and looking as if her few remaining
wits had followed the rest on an endless vacation. "I--I think I shall
have to go home." But she did not move.
"The poor dear's young, isn't she?" she presently insinuated, with an
odd catch in her voice that gave to the question an air of hesitation
and doubt.
"I think she is younger than either you or myself," I deigned to reply.
"Her narrow pointed shoes show she has not reached the years of
discretion."
"Yes, yes, so they do!" ejaculated the cleaner, eagerly--too eagerly
for perfect ingenuousness. "That's why I said 'Poor dear!' and spoke of
her pretty face. I am sorry for young folks when they get into trouble,
aint you? You and me might lie here and no one be much the worse for it,
but a sweet lady like this----"
This was not very flattering to me, but I was prevented from rebuking
her by a prolonged shout from the stoop without, as a rush was made
against the front door, followed by a shrill peal of the bell.
"Man from Headquarters," stolidly announced the policeman. "Open the
door, ma'am; or step back into the further hall if you want me to do
it."
Such rudeness was uncalled for; but considering myself too important a
witness to show feeling, I swallowed my indignation and proceeded with
all my native dignity to the front door.
II.
QUESTIONS.
As I did so, I could catch the murmur of the crowd outside as it seethed
forward at the first intimation of the door being opened; but my
attention was not so distracted by it, loud as it sounded after the
quiet of the shut-up house, that I failed to notice that the door had
not been locked by the gentleman leaving the night before, and that,
consequently, only the night latch was on. With a turn of the knob it
opened, showing me the mob of shouting boys and the forms of two
gentlemen awaiting admittance on the door-step. I frowned at the mob and
smiled on the gentlemen, one of whom was portly and easy-going in
appearance, and the other spare, with a touch of severity in his aspect.
But for some reason these gentlemen did not seem to appreciate the honor
I had done them, for they both gave me a displeased glance, which was so
odd and unsympathetic in its character that I bridled a little, though I
soon returned to my natural manner. Did they realize at the first glance
that I was destined to prove a thorn in the sides of every one connected
with this matter, for days to come?
"Are you the woman who called from the window?" asked the larger of the
two, whose business here I found it difficult at first to determine.
"I am," was my perfectly self-possessed reply. "I live next door and my
presence here is due to the anxious interest I always take in my
neighbors. I had reason to think that all was not as it should be in
this house, and I was right. Look in the parlor, sirs."
They were already as far as the threshold of that room and needed no
further encouragement to enter. The heavier man went first and the other
followed, and you may be sure I was not far behind. The sight meeting
our eyes was ghastly enough, as you know; but these men were evidently
accustomed to ghastly sights, for they showed but little emotion.
"I thought this house was empty," observed the second gentleman, who was
evidently a doctor.
"So it was till last night," I put in; and was about to tell my story,
when I felt my skirts jerked.
Turning, I found that this warning had come from the cleaner who stood
close beside me.
"What do you want?" I asked, not understanding her and having nothing to
conceal.
"I?" she faltered, with a frightened air. "Nothing, ma'am, nothing."
"Then don't interrupt me," I harshly admonished her, annoyed at an
interference that tended to throw suspicion upon my candor. "This woman
came here to scrub and clean," I now explained; "it was by means of the
key she carried that we were enabled to get into the house. I never
spoke to her till a half hour ago."
At which, with a display of subtlety I was far from expecting in one of
her appearance, she let her emotions take a fresh direction, and
pointing towards the dead woman, she impetuously cried:
"But the poor child there! Aint you going to take those things off of
her? It's wicked to leave her under all that stuff. Suppose there was
life in her!"
"Oh! there's no hope of that," muttered the doctor, lifting one of the
hands, and letting it fall again.
"Still--" he cast a side look at his companion, who gave him a meaning
nod--"it might be well enough to lift this cabinet sufficiently for me
to lay my hand on her heart."
They accordingly did this; and the doctor, leaning down, placed his hand
over the poor bruised breast.
"No life," he murmured. "She has been dead some hours. Do you think we
had better release the head?" he went on, glancing up at the portly man
at his side.
But the latter, who was rapidly growing serious, made a slight protest
with his finger, and turning to me, inquired, with sudden authority:
"What did you mean when you said that the house had been empty till last
night?"
"Just what I said, sir. It was empty till about midnight, when two
persons----" Again I felt my dress twitched, this time very cautiously.
What did the woman want? Not daring to give her a look, for these men
were only too ready to detect harm in everything I did, I gently drew my
skirt away and took a step aside, going on as if no interruption had
occurred. "Did I say persons? I should have said a man and a woman drove
up to the house and entered. I saw them from my window."
"You did?" murmured my interlocutor, whom I had by this time decided to
be a detective. "And this is the woman, I suppose?" he proceeded,
pointing to the poor creature lying before us.
"Why, yes, of course. Who else can she be? I did not see the lady's face
last night, but she was young and light on her feet, and ran up the
stoop gaily."
"And the man? Where is the man? I don't see him here."
"I am not surprised at that. He went very soon after he came, not ten
minutes after, I should say. That is what alarmed me and caused me to
have the house investigated. It did not seem natural or like any of the
Van Burnams to leave a woman to spend the night in so large a house
alone."
"You know the Van Burnams?"
"Not well. But that don't signify. I know what report says of them; they
are gentlemen."
"But Mr. Van Burnam is in Europe."
"He has two sons."
"Living here?"
"No; the unmarried one spends his nights at Long Branch, and the other
is with his wife somewhere in Connecticut."
"How did the young couple you saw get in last night? Was there any one
here to admit them?"
"No; the gentleman had a key."
"Ah, he had a key."
The tone in which this was said recurred to me afterwards, but at the
moment I was much more impressed by a peculiar sound I heard behind me,
something between a gasp and a click in the throat, which came I knew
from the scrub-woman, and which, odd and contradictory as it may appear,
struck me as an expression of satisfaction, though what there was in my
admission to give satisfaction to this poor creature I could not
conjecture. Moving so as to get a glimpse of her face, I went on with
the grim self-possession natural to my character:
"And when he came out he walked briskly away. The carriage had not
waited for him."
"Ah!" again muttered the gentleman, picking up one of the broken pieces
of china which lay haphazard about the floor, while I studied the
cleaner's face, which, to my amazement, gave evidences of a confusion of
emotions most unaccountable to me.
Mr. Gryce may have noticed this too, for he immediately addressed her,
though he continued to look at the broken piece of china in his hand.
"And how come you to be cleaning the house?" he asked. "Is the family
coming home?"
"They are, sir," she answered, hiding her emotion with great skill the
moment she perceived attention directed to herself, and speaking with a
sudden volubility that made us all stare. "They are expected any day. I
didn't know it till yesterday--was it yesterday? No, the day
before--when young Mr. Franklin--he is the oldest son, sir, and a very
nice man, a _very_ nice man--sent me word by letter that I was to get
the house ready. It isn't the first time I have done it for them, sir,
and as soon as I could get the basement key from the agent, I came here,
and worked all day yesterday, washing up the floors and dusting. I
should have been at them again this morning if my husband hadn't been
sick. But I had to go to the infirmary for medicine, and it was noon
when I got here, and then I found this lady standing outside with a
policeman, a very nice lady, a very _nice_ lady indeed, sir, I pay my
respects to her"--and she actually dropped me a curtsey like a peasant
woman in a play--"and they took my key from me, and the policeman opens
the door, and he and me go upstairs and into all the rooms, and when we
come to this one----"
She was getting so excited as to be hardly intelligible. Stopping
herself with a jerk, she fumbled nervously with her apron, while I asked
myself how she could have been at work in this house the day before
without my knowing it. Suddenly I remembered that I was ill in the
morning and busy in the afternoon at the Orphan Asylum, and somewhat
relieved at finding so excellent an excuse for my ignorance, I looked up
to see if the detective had noticed anything odd in this woman's
behavior. Presumably he had, but having more experience than myself with
the susceptibility of ignorant persons in the presence of danger and
distress, he attached less importance to it than I did, for which I was
secretly glad, without exactly knowing my reasons for being so.
"You will be wanted as a witness by the Coroner's jury," he now remarked
to her, looking as if he were addressing the piece of china he was
turning over in his hand. "Now, no nonsense!" he protested, as she
commenced to tremble and plead. "You were the first one to see this dead
woman, and you must be on hand to say so. As I cannot tell you when the
inquest will be held, you had better stay around till the Coroner comes.
He'll be here soon. You, and this other woman too."
By other woman he meant _me_, Miss Butterworth, of Colonial ancestry and
no inconsiderable importance in the social world. But though I did not
relish this careless association of myself with this poor scrub-woman,
I was careful to show no displeasure, for I reasoned that as witnesses
we were equal before the law, and that it was solely in this light he
regarded us.
There was something in the manner of both these gentlemen which
convinced me that while my presence was considered desirable in the
house, it was not especially wanted in the room. I was therefore moving
reluctantly away, when I felt a slight but peremptory touch on the arm,
and turning, saw the detective at my side, still studying his piece of
china.
He was, as I have said, of portly build and benevolent aspect; a
fatherly-looking man, and not at all the person one would be likely to
associate with the police. Yet he could take the lead very naturally,
and when he spoke, I felt bound to answer him.
"Will you be so good, madam, as to relate over again, what you saw from
your window last night? I am likely to have charge of this matter, and
would be pleased to hear all you may have to say concerning it."
"My name is Butterworth," I politely intimated.
"And my name is Gryce."
"A detective?"
"The same."
"You must think this matter very serious," I ventured.
"Death by violence is always serious."
"You must regard this death as something more than an accident, I mean."
His smile seemed to say: "You will not know to-day how I regard it."
"And you will not know to-day what I think of it either," was my inward
rejoinder, but I said nothing aloud, for the man was seventy-five if he
was a day, and I have been taught respect for age, and have practised
the same for fifty years and more.
I must have shown what was passing in my mind, and he must have seen it
reflected on the polished surface of the porcelain he was contemplating,
for his lips showed the shadow of a smile sufficiently sarcastic for me
to see that he was far from being as easy-natured as his countenance
indicated.
"Come, come," said he, "there is the Coroner now. Say what you have to
say, like the straightforward, honest woman you appear."
"I don't like compliments," I snapped out. Indeed, they have always been
obnoxious to me. As if there was any merit in being honest and
straightforward, or any distinction in being told so!
"I am Miss Butterworth, and not in the habit of being spoken to as if I
were a simple countrywoman," I objected. "But I will repeat what I saw
last night, as it is no secret, and the telling of it won't hurt me and
may help you."
Accordingly I went over the whole story, and was much more loquacious
than I had intended to be, his manner was so insinuating and his
inquiries so pertinent. But one topic we both failed to broach, and that
was the peculiar manner of the scrub-woman. Perhaps it had not struck
him as peculiar and perhaps it should not have struck me so, but in the
silence which was preserved on the subject I felt I had acquired an
advantage over him, which might lead to consequences of no small
importance. Would I have felt thus or congratulated myself quite so much
upon my fancied superiority, if I had known he was the man who managed
the Leavenworth case, and who in his early years had experienced that
very wonderful adventure on the staircase of the Heart's Delight?
Perhaps I would; for though I have had no adventures, I feel capable of
them, and as for any peculiar acumen he may have shown in his long and
eventful career, why that is a quality which others may share with him,
as I hope to be able to prove before finishing these pages.
III.
AMELIA DISCOVERS HERSELF.
There is a small room at the extremity of the Van Burnam mansion. In
this I took refuge after my interview with Mr. Gryce. As I picked out
the chair which best suited me and settled myself for a comfortable
communion with my own thoughts, I was astonished to find how much I was
enjoying myself, notwithstanding the thousand and one duties awaiting me
on the other side of the party-wall.
Even this very solitude was welcome, for it gave me an opportunity to
consider matters. I had not known up to this very hour that I had any
special gifts. My father, who was a shrewd man of the old New England
type, said more times than I am years old (which was not saying it as
often as some may think) that Araminta (the name I was christened by,
and the name you will find in the Bible record, though I sign myself
Amelia, and insist upon being addressed as Amelia, being, as I hope, a
sensible woman and not the piece of antiquated sentimentality suggested
by the former cognomen)--that Araminta would live to make her mark;
though in what capacity he never informed me, being, as I have observed,
a shrewd man, and thus not likely to thoughtlessly commit himself.
I now know he was right; my pretensions dating from the moment I found
that this affair, at first glance so simple, and at the next so
complicated, had aroused in me a fever of investigation which no
reasoning could allay. Though I had other and more personal matters on
my mind, my thoughts would rest nowhere but on the details of this
tragedy; and having, as I thought, noticed some few facts in connection
with it, from which conclusions might be drawn, I amused myself with
jotting them down on the back of a disputed grocer's bill I happened to
find in my pocket.
Valueless as explaining this tragedy, being founded upon insufficient
evidence, they may be interesting as showing the workings of my mind
even at this early stage of the matter. They were drawn up under three
heads.
First, was the death of this young woman an accident?
Second, was it a suicide?
Third, was it a murder?
Under the first head I wrote:
_My reasons for not thinking it an accident._
1. If it had been an accident and she had pulled the cabinet over upon
herself, she would have been found with her feet pointing towards the
wall where the cabinet had stood.
(But her feet were towards the door and her head under the cabinet.)
2. The decent, even precise, arrangement of the clothing about her feet,
which precludes any theory involving accident.
Under the second:
_Reason for not thinking it suicide._
She could not have been found in the position observed without having
lain down on the floor while living and then pulled the shelves down
upon herself.
(A theory obviously too improbable to be considered.)
Under the third:
_Reason for not thinking it murder._
She would need to have been held down on the floor while the cabinet was
being pulled over on her; something which the quiet aspect of the hands
and feet made appear impossible.
To this I added:
_Reasons for accepting the theory of murder._
1. The fact that she did not go into the house alone; that a man entered
with her, remained ten minutes, and then came out again and disappeared
up the street with every appearance of haste and an anxious desire to
leave the spot.
2. The front door, which he had unlocked on entering, was not locked by
him on his departure, the catch doing the locking. Yet, though he could
have re-entered so easily, he had shown no disposition to return.
3. The arrangement of the skirts, which show the touch of a careful hand
after death.
Nothing clear, you see. I was doubtful of all; and yet my suspicions
tended most toward murder.
I had eaten my luncheon before interfering in this matter, which was
fortunate for me, as it was three o'clock before I was summoned to meet
the Coroner, of whose arrival I had been conscious some time before.
He was in the front parlor where the dead girl lay, and as I took my way
thither I felt the same sensations of faintness which had so nearly
overcome me on the previous occasion. But I mastered them, and was
quite myself before I crossed the threshold.
There were several gentlemen present, but of them all I only noticed
two, one of whom I took to be the Coroner, while the other was my late
interlocutor, Mr. Gryce. From the animation observable in the latter, I
gathered that the case was growing in interest from the detective
standpoint.
"Ah, and is this the witness?" asked the Coroner, as I stepped into the
room.
"I am Miss Butterworth," was my calm reply. "_Amelia_ Butterworth.
Living next door and present at the discovery of this poor murdered
body."
"Murdered," he repeated. "Why do you say murdered?"
For reply I drew from my pocket the bill on which I had scribbled my
conclusions in regard to this matter.
"Read this," said I.
Evidently astonished, he took the paper from my hand, and, after some
curious glances in my direction, condescended to do as I requested. The
result was an odd but grudging look of admiration directed towards
myself and a quick passing over of the paper to the detective.
The latter, who had exchanged his bit of broken china for a very much
used and tooth-marked lead-pencil, frowned with a whimsical air at the
latter before he put it in his pocket. Then he read my hurried scrawl.
"Two Richmonds in the field!" commented the Coroner, with a sly chuckle.
"I am afraid I shall have to yield to their allied forces. Miss
Butterworth, the cabinet is about to be raised; do you feel as if you
could endure the sight?"
"I can stand anything where the cause of justice is involved," I
replied.
"Very well, then, sit down, if you please. When the whole body is
visible I will call you."
And stepping forward he gave orders to have the clock and broken china
removed from about the body.
As the former was laid away on one end of the mantel some one observed:
"What a valuable witness that clock might have been had it been running
when the shelves fell!"
But the fact was so patent that it had not been in motion for months
that no one even answered; and Mr. Gryce did not so much as look towards
it. But then we had all seen that the hands stood at three minutes to
five.
I had been asked to sit down, but I found this impossible. Side by side
with the detective, I viewed the replacing of that heavy piece of
furniture against the wall, and the slow disclosure of the upper part of
the body which had so long lain hidden.
That I did not give way is a proof that my father's prophecy was not
without some reasonable foundation; for the sight was one to try the
stoutest nerves, as well as to awaken the compassion of the hardest
heart.
The Coroner, meeting my eye, pointed at the poor creature inquiringly.
"Is this the woman you saw enter here last night?"
I glanced down at her dress, noted the short summer cape tied to the
neck with an elaborate bow of ribbon, and nodded my head.
"I remember the cape," said I. "But where is her hat? She wore one. Let
me see if I can describe it." Closing my eyes I endeavored to recall
the dim silhouette of her figure as she stood passing up the change to
the driver; and was so far successful that I was ready to announce at
the next moment that her hat presented the effect of a soft felt with
one feather or one bow of ribbon standing upright from the side of the
crown.
"Then the identity of this woman with the one you saw enter here last
night is established," remarked the detective, stooping down and drawing
from under the poor girl's body a hat, sufficiently like the one I had
just described, to satisfy everybody that it was the same.
"As if there could be any doubt," I began.
But the Coroner, explaining that it was a mere formality, motioned me to
stand aside in favor of the doctor, who seemed anxious to approach
nearer the spot where the dead woman lay. This I was about to do when a
sudden thought struck me, and I reached out my hand for the hat.
"Let me look at it for a moment," said I.
Mr. Gryce at once handed it over, and I took a good look at it inside
and out.
"It is pretty badly crushed," I observed, "and does not present a very
fresh appearance, but for all that it has been worn but once."
"How do you know?" questioned the Coroner.
"Let the other Richmond inform you," was my grimly uttered reply, as I
gave it again into the detective's hand.
There was a murmur about me, whether of amusement or displeasure, I made
no effort to decide. I was finding out something for myself, and I did
not care what they thought of me.
"Neither has she worn this dress long," I continued; "but that is not
true of the shoes. They are not old, but they have been acquainted with
the pavement, and that is more than can be said of the hem of this gown.
There are no gloves on her hands; a few minutes elapsed then before the
assault; long enough for her to take them off."
"Smart woman!" whispered a voice in my ear; a half-admiring,
half-sarcastic voice that I had no difficulty in ascribing to Mr. Gryce.
"But are you sure she wore any? Did you notice that her hand was gloved
when she came into the house?"
"No," I answered, frankly; "but so well-dressed a woman would not enter
a house like this, without gloves."
"It was a warm night," some one suggested.
"I don't care. You will find her gloves as you have her hat; and you
will find them with the fingers turned inside out, just as she drew them
from her hand. So much I will concede to the warmth of the weather."
"Like these, for instance," broke in a quiet voice.
Startled, for a hand had appeared over my shoulder dangling a pair of
gloves before my eyes, I cried out, somewhat too triumphantly I own:
"Yes, yes, just like those! Did you pick them up here? Are they hers?"
"You say that this is the way hers should look."
"And I repeat it."
"Then allow me to pay you my compliments. These were picked up here."
"But where?" I cried. "I thought I had looked this carpet well over."
He smiled, not at me but at the gloves, and the thought crossed me that
he felt as if something more than the gloves was being turned inside
out. I therefore pursed my mouth, and determined to stand more on my
guard.
"It is of no consequence," I assured him; "all such matters will come
out at the inquest."
Mr. Gryce nodded, and put the gloves back in his pocket. With them he
seemed to pocket some of his geniality and patience.
"All these facts have been gone over before you came in," said he, which
statement I beg to consider as open to doubt.
The doctor, who had hardly moved a muscle during all this colloquy, now
rose from his kneeling position beside the girl's head.
"I shall have to ask the presence of another physician," said he. "Will
you send for one from your office, Coroner Dahl?"
At which I stepped back and the Coroner stepped forward, saying,
however, as he passed me:
"The inquest will be held day after to-morrow in my office. Hold
yourself in readiness to be present. I regard you as one of my chief
witnesses."
I assured him I would be on hand, and, obeying a gesture of his finger,
retreated from the room; but I did not yet leave the house. A straight,
slim man, with a very small head but a very bright eye, was leaning on
the newel-post in the front hall, and when he saw me, started up so
alertly I perceived that he had business with me, and so waited for him
to speak.
"You are Miss Butterworth?" he inquired.
"I am, sir."
"And I am a reporter from the New York _World_. Will you allow me----"
Why did he stop? I had merely looked at him. But he did stop, and that
is saying considerable for a reporter from the New York _World_.
"I certainly am willing to tell you what I have told every one else," I
interposed, considering it better not to make an enemy of so judicious a
young man; and seeing him brighten up at this, I thereupon related all I
considered desirable for the general public to know.
I was about passing on, when, reflecting that one good turn deserves
another, I paused and asked him if he thought they would leave the dead
girl in that house all night.
He answered that he did not think they would. That a telegram had been
sent some time before to young Mr. Van Burnam, and that they were only
awaiting his arrival to remove her.
"Do you mean Howard?" I asked.
"Is he the elder one?"
"No."
"It is the elder one they have summoned; the one who has been staying at
Long Branch."
"How can they expect him then so soon?"
"Because he is in the city. It seems the old gentleman is going to
return on the _New York_, and as she is due here to-day, Franklin Van
Burnam has come to New York to meet him."
"Humph!" thought I, "lively times are in prospect," and for the first
time I remembered my dinner and the orders which had not been given
about some curtains which were to have been hung that day, and all the
other reasons I had for being at home.
I must have shown my feelings, much as I pride myself upon my
impassibility upon all occasions, for he immediately held out his arm,
with an offer to pilot me through the crowd to my own house; and I was
about to accept it when the door-bell rang so sharply that we
involuntarily stopped.
"A fresh witness or a telegram for the Coroner," whispered the reporter
in my ear.
I tried to look indifferent, and doubtless made out pretty well, for he
added, after a sly look in my face:
"You do not care to stay any longer?"
I made no reply, but I think he was impressed by my dignity. Could he
not see that it would be the height of ill-manners for me to rush out in
the face of any one coming in?
An officer opened the door, and when we saw who stood there, I am sure
that the reporter, as well as myself, was grateful that we listened to
the dictates of politeness. It was young Mr. Van Burnam--Franklin; I
mean the older and more respectable of the two sons.
He was flushed and agitated, and looked as if he would like to
annihilate the crowd pushing him about on his own stoop. He gave an
angry glance backward as he stepped in, and then I saw that a carriage
covered with baggage stood on the other side of the street, and gathered
that he had not returned to his father's house alone.
"What has happened? What does all this mean?" were the words he hurled
at us as the door closed behind him and he found himself face to face
with a half dozen strangers, among whom the reporter and myself stood
conspicuous.
Mr. Gryce, coming suddenly from somewhere, was the one to answer him.
"A painful occurrence, sir. A young girl has been found here, dead,
crushed under one of your parlor cabinets."
"A young girl!" he repeated. (Oh, how glad I was that I had been brought
up never to transgress the principles of politeness.) "Here! in this
shut-up house? What young girl? You mean old woman, do you not? the
house-cleaner or some one----"
"No, Mr. Van Burnam, we mean what we say, though possibly I should call
her a young lady. She is dressed quite fashionably."
"The ----" Really I cannot repeat in this public manner the word which
Mr. Van Burnam used. I excused him at the time, but I will not
perpetuate his forgetfulness in these pages.
"She is still lying as we found her," Mr. Gryce now proceeded in his
quiet, almost fatherly way. "Will you not take a look at her? Perhaps
you can tell us who she is?"
"I?" Mr. Van Burnam seemed quite shocked. "How should I know her! Some
thief probably, killed while meddling with other people's property."
"Perhaps," quoth Mr. Gryce, laconically; at which I felt so angry, as
tending to mislead my handsome young neighbor, that I irresistibly did
what I had fully made up my mind not to do, that is, stepped into view
and took a part in this conversation.
"How can you say that," I cried, "when her admittance here was due to a
young man who let her in at midnight with a key, and then left her to
eat out her heart in this great house all alone."