That Affair Next Door Read online

  X.

  IMPORTANT EVIDENCE.

  Evidently not; for the next words I heard were: "Miss AmeliaButterworth!"

  I had not expected to be called so soon, and was somewhat flustered bythe suddenness of the summons, for I am only human. But I rose withsuitable composure, and passed to the place indicated by the Coroner, inmy usual straightforward manner, heightened only by a sense of theimportance of my position, both as a witness and a woman whom the oncefamous Mr. Gryce had taken more or less into his confidence.

  My appearance seemed to awaken an interest for which I was not prepared.I was just thinking how well my name had sounded uttered in the sonoroustones of the Coroner, and how grateful I ought to be for the courage Ihad displayed in substituting the genteel name of Amelia for the weakand sentimental one of Araminta, when I became conscious that the eyesdirected towards me were filled with an expression not easy tounderstand. I should not like to call it admiration and will not call itamusement, and yet it seemed to be made up of both. While I was puzzlingmyself over it, the first question came.

  As my examination before the Coroner only brought out the facts alreadyrelated, I will not burden you with a detailed account of it. Oneportion alone may be of interest. I was being questioned in regard tothe appearance of the couple I had seen entering the Van Burnam mansion,when the Coroner asked if the young woman's step was light, or if itbetrayed hesitation.

  I replied: "No hesitation; she moved quickly, almost gaily."

  "And he?"

  "Was more moderate; but there is no signification in that; he may havebeen older."

  "No theories, Miss Butterworth; it is facts we are after. Now, do youknow that he was older?"

  "No, sir."

  "Did you get any idea as to his age?"

  "The impression he made was that of being a young man."

  "And his height?"

  "Was medium, and his figure slight and elegant. He moved as a gentlemanmoves; of this I can speak with great positiveness."

  "Do you think you could identify him, Miss Butterworth, if you shouldsee him?"

  I hesitated, as I perceived that the whole swaying mass eagerly awaitedmy reply. I even turned my head because I saw others doing so; but Iregretted this when I found that I, as well as others, was glancingtowards the door beyond which the Van Burnams were supposed to sit. Tocover up the false move I had made--for I had no wish as yet to centresuspicion upon anybody--I turned my face quickly back to the crowd anddeclared in as emphatic a tone as I could command:

  "I have thought I could do so if I saw him under the same circumstancesas those in which my first impression was made. But lately I have begunto doubt even that. I should never dare trust to my memory in thisregard."

  The Coroner looked disappointed, and so did the people around me.

  "It is a pity," remarked the Coroner, "that you did not see moreplainly. And, now, how did these persons gain an entrance into thehouse?"

  I answered in the most succinct way possible.

  I told them how he had used a door-key in entering, of the length oftime the man stayed inside, and of his appearance on going away. I alsorelated how I came to call a policeman to investigate the matter nextday, and corroborated the statements of this official as to theappearance of the deceased at time of discovery.

  And there my examination stopped. I was not asked any questions tendingto bring out the cause of the suspicion I entertained against thescrub-woman, nor were the discoveries I had made in conjunction with Mr.Gryce inquired into. It was just as well, perhaps, but I would neverapprove of a piece of work done for me in this slipshod fashion.

  A recess now followed. Why it was thought necessary, I cannot imagine,unless the gentlemen wished to smoke. Had they felt as much interest inthis murder as I did, they would not have wanted bite or sup till thedreadful question was settled. There being a recess, I improved theopportunity by going into a restaurant near by where one can get verygood buns and coffee at a reasonable price. But I could have donewithout them.

  The next witness, to my astonishment, was Mr. Gryce. As he steppedforward, heads were craned and many women rose in their seats to get aglimpse of the noted detective. I showed no curiosity myself, for bythis time I knew his features well, but I did feel a great satisfactionin seeing him before the Coroner, for now, thought I, we shall hearsomething worth our attention.

  But his examination, though interesting, was not complete. The Coroner,remembering his promise to show us the other end of the steel pointwhich had been broken off in the dead girl's brain, limited himself tosuch inquiries as brought out the discovery of the broken hat-pin in Mr.Van Burnam's parlor register. No mention was made by the witness of anyassistance which he may have received in making this discovery; a factwhich caused me to smile: men are so jealous of any interference intheir affairs.

  The end found in the register and the end which the Coroner's physicianhad drawn from the poor woman's head were both handed to the jury, andit was interesting to note how each man made his little effort to fitthe two ends together, and the looks they interchanged as they foundthemselves successful. Without doubt, and in the eyes of all, theinstrument of death had been found. But what an instrument!

  The felt hat which had been discovered under the body was now producedand the one hole made by a similar pin examined. Then Mr. Gryce wasasked if any other pin had been picked up from the floor of the room,and he replied, no; and the fact was established in the minds of allpresent that the young woman had been killed by a pin taken from her ownhat.

  "A subtle and cruel crime; the work of a calculating intellect," was theCoroner's comment as he allowed the detective to sit down. Whichexpression of opinion I thought reprehensible, as tending to prejudicethe jury against the only person at present suspected.

  The inquiry now took a turn. The name of Miss Ferguson was called. Whowas Miss Ferguson? It was a new name to most of us, and her face whenshe rose only added to the general curiosity. It was the plainest faceimaginable, yet it was neither a bad nor unintelligent one. As I studiedit and noted the nervous contraction that disfigured her lip, I couldnot but be sensible of my blessings. I am not handsome myself, thoughthere have been persons who have called me so, but neither am I ugly,and in contrast to this woman--well, I will say nothing. I only knowthat, after seeing her, I felt profoundly grateful to a kind Providence.

  As for the poor woman herself, she knew she was no beauty, but she hadbecome so accustomed to seeing the eyes of other people turn away fromher face, that beyond the nervous twitching of which I have spoken, sheshowed no feeling.

  "What is your full name, and where do you live?" asked the Coroner.

  "My name is Susan Ferguson, and I live in Haddam, Connecticut," was herreply, uttered in such soft and beautiful tones that every one wasastonished. It was like a stream of limpid water flowing from a mostunsightly-looking rock. Excuse the metaphor; I do not often indulge.

  "Do you keep boarders?"

  "I do; a few, sir; such as my house will accommodate."

  "Whom have you had with you this summer?"

  I knew what her answer would be before she uttered it; so did a hundredothers, but they showed their knowledge in different ways. I did notshow mine at all.

  "I have had with me," said she, "a Mr. and Mrs. Van Burnam from NewYork. Mr. Howard Van Burnam is his full name, if you wish me to beexplicit."

  "Any one else?"

  "A Mr. Hull, also from New York, and a young couple from Hartford. Myhouse accommodates no more."

  "How long have the first mentioned couple been with you?"

  "Three months. They came in June."

  "Are they with you still?"

  "Virtually, sir. They have not moved their trunks; but neither of themis in Haddam at present. Mrs. Van Burnam came to New York last Mondaymorning, and in the afternoon her husband also left, presumably for NewYork. I have seen nothing of either of them since."

  (It was on Tuesday night the murder occurred.)

  "Did
either of them take a trunk?"

  "No, sir."

  "A hand-bag?"

  "Yes; Mrs. Van Burnam carried a bag, but it was a very small one."

  "Large enough to hold a dress?"

  "O no, sir."

  "And Mr. Van Burnam?"

  "He carried an umbrella; I saw nothing else."

  "Why did they not leave together? Did you hear any one say?"

  "Yes; I heard them say Mrs. Van Burnam came against her husband'swishes. He did not want her to leave Haddam, but she would, and he wasnone too pleased at it. Indeed they had words about it, and as both ourrooms overlook the same veranda, I could not help hearing some of theirtalk."

  "Will you tell us what you heard?"

  "It does not seem right" (thus this honest woman spoke), "but if it'sthe law, I must not go against it. I heard him say these words: 'I havechanged my mind, Louise. The more I think of it, the more disinclined Iam to have you meddle in the matter. Besides, it will do no good. Youwill only add to the prejudice against you, and our life will becomemore unbearable than it is now.'"

  "Of what were they speaking?"

  "I do not know."

  "And what did she reply?"

  "O, she uttered a torrent of words that had less sense in them thanfeeling. She wanted to go, she would go, _she_ had not changed _her_mind, and considered that her impulses were as well worth following ashis cool judgment. She was not happy, had never been happy, and meantthere should be a change, even if it were for the worse. But she did notbelieve it would be for the worse. Was she not pretty? Was she not verypretty when in distress and looking up thus? And I heard her fall on herknees, a movement which called out a grunt from her husband, but whetherthis was an expression of approval or disapproval I cannot say. Asilence followed, during which I caught the sound of his steady trampingup and down the room. Then she spoke again in a petulant way. 'It mayseem foolish to _you_' she cried, 'knowing me as you do, and being usedto seeing me in all my moods. But to him it will be a surprise, and Iwill so manage it that it will effect all we want, and more, too,perhaps. I--I have a genius for some things, Howard; and my better angeltells me I shall succeed.'"

  "And what did he reply to that?"

  "That the name of her better angel was Vanity; that his father would seethrough her blandishments; that he forbade her to prosecute her schemes;and much more to the same effect. To all of which she answered by avigorous stamp of her foot, and the declaration that she was going to dowhat she thought best in spite of all opposition; that it was a lover,and not a tyrant that she had married, and that if he did not know whatwas good for himself, she did, and that when he received an intimationfrom his father that the breach in the family was closed, then he wouldacknowledge that if she had no fortune and no connections, she had atleast a plentiful supply of wit. Upon which he remarked: 'A poorqualification when it verges upon folly!' which seemed to close theconversation, for I heard no more till the sound of her skirts rustlingpast my door assured me she had carried her point and was leaving thehouse. But this was not done without great discomfiture to her husband,if one may judge from the few brief but emphatic words that escaped himbefore he closed his own door and followed her down the hall."

  "Do you remember those words?"

  "They were swear words, sir; I am sorry to say it, but he certainlycursed her and his own folly. Yet I always thought he loved her."

  "Did you see her after she passed your door?"

  "Yes, sir, on the walk outside."

  "Was she then on the way to the train?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Carrying the bag of which you have spoken?"

  "Yes, sir; another proof of the state of feeling between them, for hewas very considerate in his treatment of ladies, and I never saw him doanything ungallant before."

  "You say you watched her as she went down the walk?"

  "Yes, sir; it is human nature, sir; I have no other excuse to offer."

  It was an apology I myself might have made. I conceived a liking forthis homely matter-of-fact woman.

  "Did you note her dress?"

  "Yes, sir; that is human nature also, or, rather, woman's nature."

  "Particularly, madam; so that you can describe it to the jury beforeyou?"

  "I think so."

  "Will you, then, be good enough to tell us what sort of a dress Mrs. VanBurnam wore when she left your house for the city?"

  "It was a black and white plaid silk, very rich----"

  Why, what did this mean? We had all expected a very differentdescription.

  "It was made fashionably, and the sleeves--well, it is impossible todescribe the sleeves. She wore no wrap, which seemed foolish to me, forwe have very sudden changes sometimes in September."

  "A plaid dress! And did you notice her hat?"

  "O, I have seen the hat often. It was of every conceivable color. Itwould have been called bad taste at one time, but now-a-days----"

  The pause was significant. More than one man in the room chuckled, butthe women kept a discreet silence.

  "Would you know that hat if you saw it?"

  "I should think I would!"

  The emphasis was that of a countrywoman, and amused some peoplenotwithstanding the melodious tone in which it was uttered. But it didnot amuse me; my thoughts had flown to the hat which Mr. Gryce had foundin the third room of Mr. Van Burnam's house, and which was of everycolor of the rainbow.

  The Coroner asked two other questions, one in regard to the gloves wornby Mrs. Van Burnam, and the other in regard to her shoes. To the first,Miss Ferguson replied that she did not notice her gloves, and to theother, that Mrs. Van Burnam was very fashionable, and as pointed shoeswere the fashion, in cities at least, she probably wore pointed shoes.

  The discovery that Mrs. Van Burnam had been differently dressed on thatday from the young woman found dead in the Van Burnam parlors, had actedas a shock upon most of the spectators. They were just beginning torecover from it when Miss Ferguson sat down. The Coroner was the onlyone who had not seemed at a loss. Why, we were soon destined to know.