towards Howard while saying this, and yet at the same time that he did
not miss the quiver of a muscle on his part or the motion of an eyelash.
But Howard's assumed _sang froid_ remained undisturbed and his
countenance imperturbable.
"The wound was so small," the detective went on, "that it is a miracle
it did not escape notice. It was made by the thrust of some very slender
instrument through----"
"The heart?" put in Franklin.
"Of course, of course," assented the detective; "what other spot is
vulnerable enough to cause death?"
"Is there any reason why we should not go?" demanded Howard, ignoring
the extreme interest manifested by the other two, with a determination
that showed great doggedness of character.
The detective ignored _him_.
"A quick stroke, a sure stroke, a fatal stroke. The girl never breathed
after."
"But what of those things under which she lay crushed?"
"Ah, in them lies the mystery! Her assailant must have been as subtle as
he was sure."
And still Howard showed no interest.
"I wish to telegraph to Haddam," he declared, as no one answered the
last remark. Haddam was the place where he and his wife had been
spending the summer.
"We have already telegraphed there," observed Mr. Gryce. "Your wife has
not yet returned."
"There are other places," defiantly insisted the other. "I can find her
if you give me the opportunity."
Mr. Gryce bowed.
"I am to give orders, then, for this body to be removed to the Morgue."
It was an unexpected suggestion, and for an instant Howard showed that
he had feelings with the best. But he quickly recovered himself, and
avoiding the anxious glances of his father and brother, answered with
offensive lightness:
"I have nothing to do with that. You must do as you think proper."
And Mr. Gryce felt that he had received a check, and did not know
whether to admire the young man for his nerve or to execrate him for his
brutality. That the woman whom he had thus carelessly dismissed to the
ignominy of the public gaze was his wife, the detective did not doubt.
VII.
MR. GRYCE DISCOVERS MISS AMELIA.
To return to my own observations. I was almost as ignorant of what I
wanted to know at ten o'clock on that memorable night as I was at five,
but I was determined not to remain so. When the two Misses Van Burnam
had retired to their room, I slipped away to the neighboring house and
boldly rang the bell. I had observed Mr. Gryce enter it a few minutes
before, and I was resolved to have some talk with him.
The hall-lamp was lit, and we could discern each other's faces as he
opened the door. Mine may have been a study, but I am sure his was. He
had not expected to be confronted by an elderly lady at that hour of
night.
"Well!" he dryly ejaculated, "I am sensible of the honor, Miss
Butterworth." But he did not ask me in.
"I expected no less," said I. "I saw you come in, and I followed as soon
after as I could. I have something to say to you."
He admitted me then and carefully closed the door. Feeling free to be
myself, I threw off the veil I had tied under my chin and confronted him
with what I call the true spirit.
"Mr. Gryce," I began, "let us make an exchange of civilities. Tell me
what you have done with Howard Van Burnam, and I will tell you what I
have observed in the course of this afternoon's investigation."
This aged detective is used to women, I have no doubt, but he is not
used to _me_. I saw it by the way he turned over and over the spectacles
he held in his hand. I made an effort to help him out.
"I have noted something to-day which I think has escaped _you_. It is so
slight a clue that most women would not speak of it. But being
interested in the case, I will mention it, if in return you will
acquaint me with what will appear in the papers to-morrow."
He seemed to like it. He peered through his glasses and at them with the
smile of a discoverer. "I am your very humble servant," he declared; and
I felt as if my father's daughter had received her first recognition.
But he did not overwhelm me with confidences. O, no, he is very sly,
this old and well-seasoned detective; and while appearing to be very
communicative, really parted with but little information. He said
enough, however, for me to gather that matters looked grim for Howard,
and if this was so, it must have become apparent that the death they
were investigating was neither an accident nor a suicide.
I hinted as much, and he, for his own ends no doubt, admitted at last
that a wound had been found on the young woman which could not have been
inflicted by herself; at which I felt such increased interest in this
remarkable murder that I must have made some foolish display of it, for
the wary old gentleman chuckled and ogled his spectacles quite lovingly
before shutting them up and putting them into his pocket.
"And now what have you to tell me?" he inquired, sliding softly between
me and the parlor door.
"Nothing but this. Question that queer-acting house-cleaner closely. She
has something to tell which it is your business to know."
I think he was disappointed. He looked as if he regretted the spectacles
he had pocketed, and when he spoke there was an edge to his tone I had
not noticed in it before.
"Do you know what that something is?" he asked.
"No, or I should tell you myself."
"And what makes you think she is hiding anything from us?"
"Her manner. Did you not notice her manner?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"It conveyed much to me," I insisted. "If I were a detective I would
have the secret out of that woman or die in the attempt."
He laughed; this sly, old, almost decrepit man laughed outright. Then he
looked severely at his old friend on the newel-post, and drawing himself
up with some show of dignity, made this remark:
"It is my very good fortune to have made your acquaintance, Miss
Butterworth. You and I ought to be able to work out this case in a way
that will be satisfactory to all parties."
He meant it for sarcasm, but I took it quite seriously, that is to all
appearance. I am as sly as he, and though not quite as old--now _I_ am
sarcastic--have some of his wits, if but little of his experience.
"Then let us to work," said I. "You have your theories about this
murder, and I have mine; let us see how they compare."
If the image he had under his eye had not been made of bronze, I am sure
it would have become petrified by the look he now gave it. What to me
seemed but the natural proposition of an energetic woman with a special
genius for his particular calling, evidently struck him as audacity of
the grossest kind. But he confined his display of astonishment to the
figure he was eying, and returned me nothing but this most gentlemanly
retort:
"I am sure I am obliged to you, madam, and possibly I may be willing to
consider your very thoughtful proposition later, but now I am busy, very
busy, and if you will await my presence in your house for a half
hour----"
"Why not let me wait here," I interposed. "The atmosphere of the place
may sharpen my faculties. I already feel that another sharp look into
that parlor would lead to the forming of some valuable theory."
"You--" Well, he did not say what I was, or rather, what the image he
was apostrophizing, was. But he must have meant to utter a compliment of
no common order.
The prim courtesy I made in acknowledgment of his good intention
satisfied him that I had understood him fully; and changing his whole
manner to one more in accordance with business, he observed after a
moment's reflection:
"You came to a conclusion this afternoon, Miss Butterworth, for which I
should like some explanation. In investigating the hat which had been
drawn from under the murdered girl's remains, you made the remark that
it had been worn but once. I had already come to the same conclusion,
but by other means, doubtless. Will you tell me what it was that gave
point to your assertion?"
"There was but one prick of a hat-pin in it," I observed. "If you have
been in the habit of looking into young women's hats, you will
appreciate the force of my remark."
"The deuce!" was his certainly uncalled for exclamation. "Women's eyes
for women's matters! I am greatly indebted to you, ma'am. You have
solved a very important problem for us. A hat-pin! humph!" he muttered
to himself. "The devil in a man is not easily balked; even such an
innocent article as that can be made to serve, when all other means are
lacking."
It is perhaps a proof that Mr. Gryce is getting old, that he allowed
these words to escape him. But having once given vent to them, he made
no effort to retract them, but proceeded to take me into his confidence
so far as to explain:
"The woman who was killed in that room owed her death to the stab of a
thin, long pin. We had not thought of a hat-pin, but upon your
mentioning it, I am ready to accept it as the instrument of death. There
was no pin to be seen in the hat when you looked at it?"
"None. I examined it most carefully."
He shook his head and seemed to be meditating. As I had plenty of time I
waited, expecting him to speak again. My patience seemed to impress him.
Alternately raising and lowering his hands like one in the act of
weighing something, he soon addressed me again, this time in a tone of
banter:
"This pin--if pin it was--was found broken in the wound. We have been
searching for the end that was left in the murderer's hand, and we have
not found it. It is not on the floors of the parlors nor in this
hallway. What do you think the ingenious user of such an instrument
would do with it?"
This was said, I am now sure, out of a spirit of sarcasm. He was amusing
himself with me, but I did not realize it then. I was too full of my
subject.
"He would not have carried it away," I reasoned shortly, "at least not
far. He did not throw it aside on reaching the street, for I watched his
movements so closely that I would have observed him had he done this. It
is in the house then, and presumably in the parlor, even if you do not
find it on the floor."
"Would you like to look for it?" he impressively asked. I had no means
of knowing at that time that when he was impressive he was his least
candid and trustworthy self.
"Would I," I repeated; and being spare in figure and much more active in
my movements that one would suppose from my age and dignified
deportment, I ducked under his arms and was in Mr. Van Burnam's parlor
before he had recovered from his surprise.
That a man like him could look foolish I would not have you for a moment
suppose. But he did not look very well satisfied, and I had a chance to
throw more than one glance around me before he found his tongue again.
"An unfair advantage, ma'am; an unfair advantage! I am old and I am
rheumatic; you are young and sound as a nut. I acknowledge my folly in
endeavoring to compete with you and must make the best of the situation.
And now, madam, where is that pin?"
It was lightly said, but for all that I saw that my opportunity had
come. If I could find this instrument of murder, what might I not expect
from his gratitude. Nerving myself for the task thus set me, I peered
hither and thither, taking in every article in the room before I made a
step forward. There had been some attempt to rectify its disorder. The
broken pieces of china had been lifted and laid carefully away on
newspapers upon the shelves from which they had fallen. The cabinet
stood upright in its place, and the clock which had tumbled face upward,
had been placed upon the mantel shelf in the same position. The carpet
was therefore free, save for the stains which told such a woful story of
past tragedy and crime.
"You have moved the tables and searched behind the sofas," I suggested.
"Not an inch of the floor has escaped our attention, madam."
My eyes fell on the register, which my skirts half covered. It was
closed; I stooped and opened it. A square box of tin was visible below,
at the bottom of which I perceived the round head of a broken hat-pin.
Never in my life had I felt as I did at that minute. Rising up, I
pointed at the register and let some of my triumph become apparent; but
not all, for I was by no means sure at that moment, nor am I by any
means sure now, that he had not made the discovery before I did and was
simply testing my pretensions.
However that may be, he came forward quickly and after some little
effort drew out the broken pin and examined it curiously.
"I should say that this is what we want," he declared, and from that
moment on showed me a suitable deference.
"I account for its being there in this way," I argued. "The room was
dark; for whether he lighted it or not to commit his crime, he
certainly did not leave it lighted long. Coming out, his foot came in
contact with the iron of the register and he was struck by a sudden
thought. He had not dared to leave the head of the pin lying on the
floor, for he hoped that he had covered up his crime by pulling the
heavy cabinet over upon his victim; nor did he wish to carry away such a
memento of his cruel deed. So he dropped it down the register, where he
doubtless expected it would fall into the furnace pipes out of sight.
But the tin box retained it. Is not that plausible, sir?"
"I could not have reasoned better myself, madam. We shall have you on
the force, yet."
But at the familiarity shown by this suggestion, I bridled angrily. "I
am Miss Butterworth," was my sharp retort, "and any interest I may take
in this matter is due to my sense of justice."
Seeing that he had offended me, the astute detective turned the
conversation back to business.
"By the way," said he, "your woman's knowledge can help me out at
another point. If you are not afraid to remain in this room alone for a
moment, I will bring an article in regard to which I should like your
opinion."
I assured him I was not in the least bit afraid, at which he made me
another of his anomalous bows and passed into the adjoining parlor. He
did not stop there. Opening the sliding-doors communicating with the
dining-room beyond, he disappeared in the latter room, shutting the
doors behind him. Being now alone for a moment on the scene of crime, I
crossed over to the mantel-shelf, and lifted the clock that lay there.
Why I did this I scarcely know. I am naturally very orderly (some people
call me precise) and it probably fretted me to see so valuable an
object out of its natural position. However that was, I lifted it up and
set it upright, when to my amazement it began to tick. Had the hands not
stood as they did when my eyes first fell on the clock lying face up on
the floor at the dead girl's side, I should have thought the works had
been started since that time by Mr. Gryce or some other officious
person. But they pointed now as then to a few minutes before five and
the only conclusion I could arrive at was, that the clock had been in
running order when it fell, startling as this fact appeared in a house
which had not been inhabited for months.
But if it had been in running order and was only stopped by its fall
upon the floor, why did the hands point at five instead of twelve which
was the hour at which the accident was supposed to have happened? Here
was matter for thought, and that I might be undisturbed in my use of it,
I hastened to lay the clock down again, even taking the precaution to
restore the hands to the exact position they had occupied before I had
started up the works. If Mr. Gryce did not know their secret, why so
much the worse for Mr. Gryce.
I was back in my old place by the register before the folding-doors
unclosed again. I was conscious of a slight flush on my cheek, so I took
from my pocket that perplexing grocer-bill and was laboriously going
down its long line of figures, when Mr. Gryce reappeared.
He had to my surprise a woman's hat in his hand.
"Well!" thought I, "what does this mean!"
It was an elegant specimen of millinery, and was in the latest style. It
had ribbons and flowers and bird wings upon it, and presented, as it was
turned about by Mr. Gryce's deft hand, an appearance which some might
have called charming, but to me was simply grotesque and absurd.
"Is that a last spring's hat?" he inquired.
"I don't know, but I should say it had come fresh from the milliner's."
"I found it lying with a pair of gloves tucked inside it on an otherwise
empty shelf in the dining-room closet. It struck me as looking too new
for a discarded hat of either of the Misses Van Burnam. What do you
think?"
"Let me take it," said I.
"O, it's been worn," he smiled, "several times. And the hat-pin is in
it, too."
"There is something else I wish to see."
He handed it over.
"I think it belongs to one of them," I declared. "It was made by La Mole
of Fifth Avenue, whose prices are simply--wicked."
"But the young ladies have been gone--let me see--five months. Could
this have been bought before then?"
"Possibly, for this is an imported hat. But why should it have been left
lying about in that careless way? It cost twenty dollars, if not thirty,
and if for any reason its owner decided not to take it with her, why
didn't she pack it away properly? I have no patience with the modern
girl; she is made up of recklessness and extravagance."
"I hear that the young ladies are staying with you," was his suggestive
remark.
"They are."
"Then you can make some inquiries about this hat; also about the gloves,
which are an ordinary street pair."
"Of what color?"
"Grey; they are quite fresh, size six."
"Very well; I will ask the young ladies about them."
"This third room is used as a dining-room, and the closet where I found
them is one in which glass is kept. The presence of this hat there is a
mystery, but I presume the Misses Van Burnam can solve it. At all
events, it is very improbable that it has anything to do with the crime
which has been committed here."
"Very," I coincided.
"So improbable," he went on, "that on second thoughts I advise you not
to disturb the young ladies with questions concerning it unless further
reasons for doing so become apparent."
"Very well," I returned. But I was not deceived by his second thoughts.
As he was holding open the parlor door before me in a very significant
way, I tied my veil under my chin, and was about to leave when he
stopped me.
"I have another favor to ask," said he, and this time with his most
benignant smile. "Miss Butterworth, do you object to sitting up for a
few nights till twelve o'clock?"
"Not at all," I returned, "if there is any good reason for it."
"At twelve o'clock to-night a gentleman will enter this house. If you
will note him from your window I will be obliged."
"To see whether he is the same one I saw last night? Certainly I will
take a look, but----"
"To-morrow night," he went on, imperturbably, "the test will be
repeated, and I should like to have you take another look; without
prejudice, madam; remember, without prejudice."
"I have no prejudices----" I began.
"The test may not be concluded in two nights," he proceeded, without any
notice of my words. "So do not be in haste to spot your man, as the
vulgar expression is. And now good-night--we shall meet again
to-morrow."
"Wait!" I called peremptorily, for he was on the point of closing the
door. "I saw the man but faintly; it is an impression only that I
received. I would not wish a man to hang through any identification I
could make."
"No man hangs on simple identification. We shall have to prove the
crime, madam, but identification is important; even such as you can
make."
There was no more to be said; I uttered a calm good-night and hastened
away. By a judicious use of my opportunities I had become much less
ignorant on the all-important topic than when I entered the house.
It was half past eleven when I returned home, a late hour for me to
enter my respectable front door alone. But circumstances had warranted
my escapade, and it was with quite an easy conscience and a cheerful
sense of accomplishment that I went up to my room and prepared to sit
out the half hour before midnight.
I am a comfortable sort of person when alone, and found no difficulty in
passing this time profitably. Being very orderly, as you must have
remarked, I have everything at hand for making myself a cup of tea at
any time of day or night; so feeling some need of refreshment, I set out
the little table I reserve for such purposes and made the tea and sat
down to sip it.
While doing so, I turned over the subject occupying my mind, and
endeavored to reconcile the story told by the clock with my
preconceived theory of this murder; but no reconcilement was possible.
The woman had been killed at twelve, and the clock had fallen at five.
How could the two be made to agree, and which, since agreement was
impossible, should be made to give way, the theory or the testimony of
the clock? Both seemed incontrovertible, and yet one must be false.
Which?
I was inclined to think that the trouble lay with the clock; that I had
been deceived in my conclusions, and that it was not running at the time
of the crime. Mr. Gryce may have ordered it wound, and then have had it
laid on its back to prevent the hands from shifting past the point where
they had stood at the time of the crime's discovery. It was an
unexplainable act, but a possible one; while to suppose that it was
going when the shelves fell, stretched improbability to the utmost,
there having been, so far as we could learn, no one in the house for
months sufficiently dexterous to set so valuable a timepiece; for who
could imagine the scrub-woman engaging in a task requiring such delicate
manipulation.
No! some meddlesome official had amused himself by starting up the
works, and the clue I had thought so important would probably prove
valueless.
There was humiliation in the thought, and it was a relief to me to hear
an approaching carriage just as the clock on my mantel struck twelve.
Springing from my chair, I put out my light and flew to the window.
The coach drew up and stopped next door. I saw a gentleman descend and
step briskly across the pavement to the neighboring stoop. The figure he
presented was not that of the man I had seen enter the night before.
VIII.
THE MISSES VAN BURNAM.
Late as it was when I retired, I was up betimes in the morning--as soon,
in fact, as the papers were distributed. The _Tribune_ lay on the stoop.
Eagerly I seized it; eagerly I read it. From its headlines you may judge
what it had to say about this murder:
A STARTLING DISCOVERY IN THE VAN BURNAM MANSION IN GRAMERCY
PARK.
A YOUNG GIRL FOUND THERE, LYING DEAD UNDER AN OVERTURNED
CABINET.
EVIDENCES THAT SHE WAS MURDERED BEFORE IT WAS PULLED DOWN UPON
HER.
THOUGHT BY SOME TO BE MRS. HOWARD VAN BURNAM.
A FEARFUL CRIME INVOLVED IN AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY.
WHAT MR. VAN BURNAM SAYS ABOUT IT: HE DOES NOT RECOGNIZE THE
WOMAN AS HIS WIFE.
So, so, it was his wife they were talking about. I had not expected
that. Well! well! no wonder the girls looked startled and concerned. And
I paused to recall what I had heard about Howard Van Burnam's marriage.
It had not been a fortunate one. His chosen bride was pretty enough, but
she had not been bred in the ways of fashionable society, and the other
members of the family had never recognized her. The father, especially,
had cut his son dead since his marriage, and had even gone so far as to
threaten to dissolve the partnership in which they were all involved.
Worse than this, there had been rumors of a disagreement between Howard
and his wife. They were not always on good terms, and opinions differed
as to which was most in fault. So much for what I knew of these two
mentioned parties.
Reading the article at length, I learned that Mrs. Van Burnam was
missing; that she had left Haddam for New York the day before her
husband, and had not since been heard from. Howard was confident,
however, that the publicity given to her disappearance by the papers
would bring immediate news of her.
The effect of the whole article was to raise grave doubts as to the
candor of Mr. Van Burnam's assertions, and I am told that in some of the
less scrupulous papers these doubts were not only expressed, but actual
surmises ventured upon as to the identity between the person whom I had
seen enter the house with the young girl. As for my own name, it was
blazoned forth in anything but a gratifying manner. I was spoken of in
one paper--a kind friend told me this--as the prying Miss Amelia. As if
my prying had not given the police their only clue to the identification
of the criminal.
The New York _World_ was the only paper that treated me with any
consideration. That young man with the small head and beady eyes was not
awed by me for nothing. He mentioned me as the clever Miss Butterworth
whose testimony is likely to be of so much value in this very
interesting case.