running his finger up and down the filigree work he himself held.
I nodded. I saw what he meant at once.
"Well, the principle involved in that story explains the presence of the
rings in the midst of this stack of letters. Franklin Van Burnam, if he
is the murderer of his sister-in-law, is one of the subtlest villains
this city has ever produced, and knowing that, if once suspected, every
secret drawer and professed hiding-place within his reach would be
searched, he put these dangerous evidences of his guilt in a place so
conspicuous, and yet so little likely to attract attention, that even so
old a hand as myself did not think of looking for them there."
He had finished, and the look he gave me was for myself alone.
"And now, madam," said he, "that I have stated the facts of the case
against Franklin Van Burnam, has not the moment come for you to show
your appreciation of my good nature by a corresponding show of
confidence on your part?"
I answered with a distinct negative. "There is too much that is
unexplained as yet in your case against Franklin," I objected. "You have
shown that he had motive for the murder and that he was connected more
or less intimately with the crime we are considering, but you have by no
means explained all the phenomena accompanying this tragedy. How, for
instance, do you account for Mrs. Van Burnam's whim in changing her
clothing, if her brother-in-law, instead of her husband, was her
companion at the Hotel D----?"
You see I was determined to know the whole story before introducing Miss
Oliver's name into this complication.
He who had seen through the devices of so many women in his day did not
see through mine, perhaps because he took a certain professional
pleasure in making his views on this subject clear to the attentive
Inspector. At all events, this is the way he responded to my
half-curious, half-ironical question:
"A crime planned and perpetrated for the purpose I have just mentioned,
Miss Butterworth, could not have been a simple one under any
circumstances. But conceived as this one was by a man of more than
ordinary intelligence, and carried out with a skill and precaution
little short of marvellous, the features which it presents are of such a
varying and subtle character that only by the exercise of a certain
amount of imagination can they be understood at all. Such an imagination
I possess, but how can I be sure that you do?"
"By testing it," I suggested.
"Very good, madam, I will. Not from actual knowledge, then, but from a
certain insight I have acquired in my long dealing with such matters, I
have come to the conclusion that Franklin Van Burnam did not in the
beginning plan to kill this woman in his father's house.
"On the contrary, he had fixed upon a hotel room as the scene of the
conflict he foresaw between them, and that he might carry it on without
endangering their good names, had urged her to meet him the next morning
in the semi-disguise of a gossamer over her fine dress and a heavy veil
over her striking features; making the pretence, no doubt, of this being
the more appropriate costume for her to appear in before the old
gentleman should he so far concede to her demands as to take her to the
steamer. For himself he had planned the adoption of a disfiguring duster
which had been hanging for a long time in a closet on the ground-floor
of the building in Duane Street. All this promised well, but when the
time came and he was about to leave his office, his brother unexpectedly
appeared and asked for the key to their father's house. Disconcerted no
doubt by the appearance of the very person he least wished to see, and
astonished by a request so out of keeping with all that had hitherto
passed between them, he nevertheless was in too much haste to question
him, so gave him what he wanted and Howard went away. As soon after as
he could lock his desk and don his hat, Franklin followed, and merely
stopping to cover his coat with the old duster, he went out and hastened
towards the place of meeting. Under most circumstances all this might
have happened without the brothers encountering each other again, but a
temporary obstruction on the sidewalk having, as we know, detained
Howard, Franklin was enabled to approach him sufficiently close to see
him draw his pocket-handkerchief out of his pocket, and with it the keys
which he had just given him. The latter fell, and as there was a great
pounding of iron going on in the building just over their heads, Howard
did not perceive his loss but went quickly on. Franklin coming up behind
him picked up the keys, and with a thought, or perhaps as yet with no
thought, of the use to which they might be applied, put them in his own
pocket before proceeding on his way.
"New York is a large place, and much can take place in it without
comment. Franklin Van Burnam and his sister-in-law met and went together
to the Hotel D---- without being either recognized or suspected till
later developments drew attention to them. That _she_ should consent to
accompany him to this place, and that after she was there should submit,
as she did, to taking all the business of the scheme upon herself, would
be inconceivable in a woman of a self-respecting character; but Louise
Van Burnam cared for little save her own aggrandisement, and rather
enjoyed, so far as we can see, this very doubtful escapade, whose real
meaning and murderous purpose she was so far from understanding.
"As the steamer, contrary to all expectation, had not yet been sighted
off Fire Island, they took a room and prepared to wait for it. That is,
_she_ prepared to wait. He had no intention of waiting for its arrival
or of going to it when it came; he only wanted his letter. But Louise
Van Burnam was not the woman to relinquish it till she had obtained the
price she had put on it, and he becoming very soon aware of this fact,
began to ask himself if he should not be obliged to resort to extreme
measures in order to regain it. One chance only remained for avoiding
these. He would seem to embrace her later and probably much-talked-of
scheme of presenting herself before his father in his own house rather
than at the steamer; and by urging her to make its success more certain
by a different style of dress from that she wore, induce a change of
clothing, during which he might come upon the letter he was more than
confident she carried about her person. Had this plan worked; had he
been able to seize upon this compromising bit of paper, even at the cost
of a scratch or two from her vigorous fingers, we should not be sitting
here at this moment trying to account for the most complicated crime on
record. But Louise Van Burnam, while weak and volatile enough to enjoy
the romantic features of this transformation scene, even going so far as
to write out the order herself with the same effort at disguise she had
used in registering their assumed names at the desk, was not entirely
his dupe, and having hidden the letter in her shoe----"
"What!" I cried.
"_Having hidden the letter in her shoe_," repeated Mr. Gryce, with his
finest smile, "she had but to signify that the boots sent by Altman were
a size too small, for her to retain her secret and keep the one article
she traded upon from his envious clutch. You seem struck dumb by this,
Miss Butterworth. Have I enlightened you on a point that has hitherto
troubled you?"
"Don't ask me; don't look at me." As if he ever looked at any one! "Your
perspicacity is amazing, but I will try and not show my sense of it, if
it is going to make you stop."
He smiled; the Inspector smiled: neither understood me.
"Very well then, I will go on; but the non-change of shoes had to be
accounted for, Miss Butterworth."
"You are right; and it _has_ been, of course."
"Have you any better explanation to give?"
I had, or thought I had, and the words trembled on my tongue. But I
restrained myself under an air of great impatience. "Time is flying!" I
urged, with as near a simulation of his own manner in saying the words
as I could affect. "Go on, Mr. Gryce."
And he did, though my manner evidently puzzled him.
"Being foiled in this his last attempt, this smooth and diabolical
villain hesitated no longer in carrying out the scheme which had
doubtless been maturing in his mind ever since he dropped the key of his
father's house into his own pocket. His brother's wife must die, but not
in a hotel room with him for a companion. Though scorned, detested, and
a stumbling-block in the way of the whole family's future happiness and
prosperity, she still was a Van Burnam, and no shadow must fall upon her
reputation. Further than this, for he loved life and his own reputation
also, and did not mean to endanger either by this act of
self-preservation, she must perish as if from accident, or by some blow
so undiscoverable that it would be laid to natural causes. He thought he
knew how this might be brought about. He had seen her put on her hat
with a very thin and sharp pin, and he had heard how one thrust into a
certain spot in the spine would effect death without a struggle. A wound
like that would be small; almost indiscernible. True it would take skill
to inflict it, and it would require dissimulation to bring her into the
proper position for the contemplated thrust; but he was not lacking in
either of these characteristics; and so he set himself to the task he
had promised himself, and with such success that ere long the two left
the hotel and proceeded to the house in Gramercy Park with all the
caution necessary for preserving a secret which meant reputation to the
one, and liberty, if not life, to the other. That he and not she felt
the greater need of secrecy, witness their whole conduct, and when,
their goal reached, she and not he put the money into the driver's hand,
the last act of this curious drama of opposing motives was reached, and
only the final catastrophe was wanting.
"With what arts he procured her hat-pin, and by what show of simulated
passion he was able to approach near enough to her to inflict that cool
and calculating thrust which resulted in her immediate death, I leave to
_your_ imagination. Enough that he compassed his ends, killing her and
regaining the letter for the possession of which he had been willing to
take a life. Afterwards----"
"Well, afterwards?"
"The deed he had thought so complete began to assume a different aspect.
The pin had broken in the wound, and, knowing the scrutiny which the
body would receive at the hands of a Coroner's jury, he began to see
what consequences might follow its discovery. So to hide that wound and
give to her death the wished-for appearance of accident, he went back
and drew down the cabinet under which she was found. Had he done this at
once his hand in the tragedy might have escaped detection, but he
waited, and by waiting allowed the blood-vessels to stiffen and all
that phenomena to become apparent by means of which the eyes of the
physicians were opened to the fact that they must search deeper for the
cause of death than the bruises she had received. Thus it is that
Justice opens loop-holes in the finest web a criminal can weave."
"A just remark, Mr. Gryce, but in this fine-spun web of _your_ weaving,
you have not explained how the clock came to be running and to stop at
five."
"Cannot you see? A man capable of such a crime would not forget to
provide himself with an alibi. He expected to be in his rooms at five,
so before pulling down the shelves at three or four, he wound the clock
and set it at an hour when he could bring forward testimony to his being
in another place. Is not such a theory consistent with his character and
with the skill he has displayed from the beginning to the end of this
woful affair?"
Aghast at the deftness with which this able detective explained every
detail of this crime by means of a theory necessarily hypothetical if
the discoveries I had made in the matter were true, and for the moment
subjected to the overwhelming influence of his enthusiasm, I sat in a
maze, asking myself if all the seemingly irrefutable evidence upon which
men had been convicted in times gone by was as false as this. To relieve
myself and to gain renewed confidence in my own views and the
discoveries I had made in this matter, I repeated the name of Howard,
and asked how, in case the whole crime was conceived and perpetrated by
his brother, he came to utter such equivocations and to assume that
position of guilt which had led to his own arrest.
"Do you think," I inquired, "that he was aware of his brother's part in
this affair, and that out of compassion for him he endeavored to take
the crime upon his own shoulders?"
"No, madam. Men of the world do not carry their disinterestedness so
far. He not only did not know the part his brother took in this crime,
but did not even suspect it, or why acknowledge that he lost the key by
which the house was entered?"
"I do not understand Howard's actions, even under these circumstances.
They seem totally inconsistent to me."
"Madam, they are easily explainable to one who knows the character of
his mind. He prizes his honor above every consideration, and regarded it
as threatened by the suggestion that his wife had entered his father's
empty house at midnight with another man. To save himself that shame, he
was willing not only to perjure himself, but to take upon himself the
consequences of his perjury. Quixotic, certainly, but some men are
constituted that way, and he, for all his amiable characteristics, is
the most dogged man I ever encountered. That he ran against snags in his
attempted explanations, seemed to make no difference to him. He was
bound that no one should accuse him of marrying a false woman, even if
he must bear the opprobrium of her death. It is hard to understand such
a nature, but re-read his testimony, and see if this explanation of his
conduct is not correct."
And still I mechanically repeated: "I do not understand."
Mr. Gryce may not have been a patient man under all circumstances, but
he was patient with me that day.
"It was his ignorance, Miss Butterworth, his total ignorance of the
whole affair that led him into the inconsistencies he manifested. Let me
present his case as I already have his brother's. He knew that his wife
had come to New York to appeal to his father, and he gathered from what
she said that she intended to do this either in his house or on the
dock. To cut short any opportunity she might have for committing the
first folly, he begged the key of the house from his brother, and,
supposing that he had it all right, went to his rooms, not to Coney
Island as he said, and began to pack up his trunks. For he meant to flee
the country if his wife disgraced him. He was tired of her caprices and
meant to cut them short as far as he was himself concerned. But the
striking of the midnight hour brought better counsel. He began to wonder
what she had been doing in his absence. Going out, he haunted the region
of Gramercy Park for the better part of the night, and at daybreak
actually mounted the steps of his father's house and prepared to enter
it by means of the key he had obtained from his brother. But the key was
not in his pocket, so he came down again and walked away, attracting the
attention of Mr. Stone as he did so. The next day he heard of the
tragedy which had taken place within those very walls; and though his
first fears led him to believe that the victim was his wife, a sight of
her clothes naturally dispelled this apprehension, for he knew nothing
of her visit to the Hotel D---- or of the change in her habiliments
which had taken place there. His father's persistent fears and the quiet
pressure brought to bear upon him by the police only irritated him, and
not until confronted by the hat found on the scene of death, an article
only too well known as his wife's, did he yield to the accumulated
evidence in support of her identity. Immediately he felt the full force
of his unkindness towards her, and rushing to the Morgue had her poor
body taken to that father's house and afterwards given a decent burial.
But he could not accept the shame which this acknowledgment naturally
brought with it, and, blind to all consequences, insisted, when brought
up again for examination, that he was the man with whom she came to that
lonely house. The difficulties into which this plunged him were partly
foreseen and partly prepared for, and he showed some skill in
surmounting them. But falsehoods never fit like truths, and we all felt
the strain on our credulity as he met and attempted to parry the
Coroner's questions.
"And now, Miss Butterworth, let me again ask if your turn has not come
at last for adding the sum of your evidence to ours against Franklin Van
Burnam?"
It had; I could not deny it, and as I realized that with it had also
come the opportunity for justifying the pretensions I had made, I raised
my head with suitable spirit and, after a momentary pause for the
purpose of making my words the more impressive, I asked:
"And what has made you think that _I_ was interested in fixing the guilt
on Franklin Van Burnam?"
XXXII.
ICONOCLASM.
The surprise which this very simple question occasioned, showed itself
differently in the two men who heard it. The Inspector, who had never
seen me before, simply stared, while Mr. Gryce, with that admirable
command over himself which has helped to make him the most successful
man on the force, retained his impassibility, though I noticed a small
corner drop from my filigree basket as if crushed off by an inadvertent
pressure of his hand.
"I judged," was his calm reply, as he laid down the injured toy with an
apologetic grunt, "that the clearing of Howard from suspicion meant the
establishment of another man's guilt; and so far as we can see there has
been no other party in the case besides these two brothers."
"No? Then I fear a great surprise awaits you, Mr. Gryce. This crime,
which you have fixed with such care and seeming probability upon
Franklin Van Burnam, was not, in my judgment, perpetrated either by him
or any other man. It was the act of a woman."
"A WOMAN?"
Both men spoke: the Inspector, as if he thought me demented; Mr. Gryce,
as if he would like to have considered me a fool but dared not.
"Yes, a _woman_," I repeated, dropping a quiet curtsey. It was a proper
expression of respect when I was young, and I see no reason why it
should not be a proper expression of respect now, except that we have
lost our manners in gaining our independence, something which is to be
regretted perhaps. "A woman whom I know; a woman whom I can lay my hands
on at a half-hour's notice; a young woman, sirs; a pretty woman, the
owner of one of the two hats found in the Van Burnam parlors."
Had I exploded a bomb-shell the Inspector could not have looked more
astounded. The detective, who was a man of greater self-command, did not
betray his feelings so plainly, though he was not entirely without them,
for, as I made this statement, he turned and looked at me; _Mr. Gryce_
looked at me.
"Both of those hats belonged to Mrs. Van Burnam," he protested; "the one
she wore from Haddam; the other was in the order from Altman's."
"She never ordered anything from Altman's," was my uncompromising reply.
"The woman whom I saw enter next door, and who was the same who left the
Hotel D---- with the man in the linen duster, was not Louise Van Burnam.
She was that lady's rival, and let me say it, for I dare to think it,
not only her rival but the prospective taker of her life. O you need not
shake your heads at each other so significantly, gentlemen. I have been
collecting evidence as well as yourselves, and what I have learned is
very much to the point; very much, indeed."
"The deuce you have!" muttered the Inspector, turning away from me; but
Mr. Gryce continued to eye me like a man fascinated.
"Upon what," said he, "do you base these extraordinary assertions? I
should like to hear what that evidence is."
"But first," said I, "I must take a few exceptions to certain points you
consider yourself to have made against Franklin Van Burnam. You believe
him to have committed this crime because you found in a secret drawer of
his desk a letter known to have been in Mrs. Van Burnam's hands the day
she was murdered, and which you, naturally enough, I acknowledge,
conceive he could only have regained by murdering her. But have you not
thought of another way in which he could have obtained it, a perfectly
harmless way, involving no one either in deceit or crime? May it not
have been in the little hand-bag returned by Mrs. Parker on the morning
of the discovery, and may not its crumpled condition be accounted for by
the haste with which Franklin might have thrust it into his secret
drawer at the untoward entrance of some one into his office?"
"I acknowledge that I have not thought of such a possibility," growled
the detective, below his breath, but I saw that his self-satisfaction
had been shaken.
"As for any proof of complicity being given by the presence of the rings
on the hook attached to his desk, I grieve for your sake to be obliged
to dispel that illusion also. Those rings, Mr. Gryce and Mr. Inspector,
were not discovered there by the girl in gray, but taken there; and hung
there at the very moment your spy saw her hand fumbling with the
papers."
"Taken there, and hung there by your maid! By the girl Lena, who has so
evidently been working in _your_ interests! What sort of a confession
are you making, Miss Butterworth?"
"Ah, Mr. Gryce," I gently remonstrated, for I actually pitied the old
man in his hour of humiliation, "other girls wear gray besides Lena. It
was the woman of the Hotel D---- who played this trick in Mr. Van
Burnam's office. Lena was not out of my house that day."
I had never thought Mr. Gryce feeble, though I knew he was over seventy
if not very near the octogenarian age. But he drew up a chair at this
and hastily sat down.
"Tell me about this other girl," said he.
But before I repeat what I said to him, I must explain by what reasoning
I had arrived at the conclusion I have just mentioned. That Ruth Oliver
was the visitor in Mr. Van Burnam's office there was but little reason
to doubt; that her errand was one in connection with the rings was
equally plain. What else would have driven her from her bed when she was
hardly able to stand, and sent her in a state of fever, if not delirium,
down town to this office?
She feared having these rings found in her possession, and she also
cherished a desire to throw whatever suspicion was attached to them upon
the man who was already compromised. She may have thought it was
Howard's desk she approached, and she may have known it to be
Franklin's. On that point I was in doubt, but the rest was clear to me
from the moment Mr. Gryce mentioned the girl in gray; and even the spot
where she had kept them in the interim since the murder was no longer an
unsolved mystery to me. Her emotion when I touched her knitting-work
and the shreds of unravelled wool I had found lying about after her
departure, had set my wits working, and I comprehended now _that they
had been wound up in the ball of yarn I had so carelessly handled_.
But what had I to say to Mr. Gryce in answer to his question. Much; and
seeing that further delay was injudicious, I began my story then and
there. Prefacing my tale with the suspicions I had always had of Mrs.
Boppert, I told them of my interview with that woman and of the valuable
clue she had given me by confessing that she had let Mrs. Van Burnam
into the house prior to the visit of the couple who entered there at
midnight. Knowing what an effect this must produce upon Mr. Gryce,
utterly unprepared for it as he was, I looked for some burst of anger on
his part, or at least some expression of self-reproach. But he only
broke a second piece off my little filigree basket, and, totally
unconscious of the demolition he was causing, cried out with true
professional delight:
"Well! well! I've always said this was a remarkable case, a very
remarkable case; but if we don't look out it will go ahead of that one
at Sibley. _Two_ women in the affair, and one of them in the house
before the arrival of the so-called victim and her murderer! What do you
think of that, Inspector? Rather late for us to find out so important a
detail, eh?"
"Rather," was the dry reply. At which Mr. Gryce's face grew long and he
exclaimed, half shamefacedly, half jocularly: