That Affair Next Door Read online

  VII.

  MR. GRYCE DISCOVERS MISS AMELIA.

  To return to my own observations. I was almost as ignorant of what Iwanted 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 Burnamhad retired to their room, I slipped away to the neighboring house andboldly rang the bell. I had observed Mr. Gryce enter it a few minutesbefore, and I was resolved to have some talk with him.

  The hall-lamp was lit, and we could discern each other's faces as heopened the door. Mine may have been a study, but I am sure his was. Hehad not expected to be confronted by an elderly lady at that hour ofnight.

  "Well!" he dryly ejaculated, "I am sensible of the honor, MissButterworth." But he did not ask me in.

  "I expected no less," said I. "I saw you come in, and I followed as soonafter as I could. I have something to say to you."

  He admitted me then and carefully closed the door. Feeling free to bemyself, I threw off the veil I had tied under my chin and confronted himwith what I call the true spirit.

  "Mr. Gryce," I began, "let us make an exchange of civilities. Tell mewhat you have done with Howard Van Burnam, and I will tell you what Ihave observed in the course of this afternoon's investigation."

  This aged detective is used to women, I have no doubt, but he is notused to _me_. I saw it by the way he turned over and over the spectacleshe 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 soslight a clue that most women would not speak of it. But beinginterested in the case, I will mention it, if in return you willacquaint me with what will appear in the papers to-morrow."

  He seemed to like it. He peered through his glasses and at them with thesmile of a discoverer. "I am your very humble servant," he declared; andI 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 verycommunicative, really parted with but little information. He saidenough, however, for me to gather that matters looked grim for Howard,and if this was so, it must have become apparent that the death theywere investigating was neither an accident nor a suicide.

  I hinted as much, and he, for his own ends no doubt, admitted at lastthat a wound had been found on the young woman which could not have beeninflicted by herself; at which I felt such increased interest in thisremarkable murder that I must have made some foolish display of it, forthe wary old gentleman chuckled and ogled his spectacles quite lovinglybefore shutting them up and putting them into his pocket.

  "And now what have you to tell me?" he inquired, sliding softly betweenme and the parlor door.

  "Nothing but this. Question that queer-acting house-cleaner closely. Shehas something to tell which it is your business to know."

  I think he was disappointed. He looked as if he regretted the spectacleshe had pocketed, and when he spoke there was an edge to his tone I hadnot 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 wouldhave the secret out of that woman or die in the attempt."

  He laughed; this sly, old, almost decrepit man laughed outright. Then helooked severely at his old friend on the newel-post, and drawing himselfup with some show of dignity, made this remark:

  "It is my very good fortune to have made your acquaintance, MissButterworth. You and I ought to be able to work out this case in a waythat will be satisfactory to all parties."

  He meant it for sarcasm, but I took it quite seriously, that is to allappearance. I am as sly as he, and though not quite as old--now _I_ amsarcastic--have some of his wits, if but little of his experience.

  "Then let us to work," said I. "You have your theories about thismurder, 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 sureit would have become petrified by the look he now gave it. What to meseemed but the natural proposition of an energetic woman with a specialgenius for his particular calling, evidently struck him as audacity ofthe grossest kind. But he confined his display of astonishment to thefigure he was eying, and returned me nothing but this most gentlemanlyretort:

  "I am sure I am obliged to you, madam, and possibly I may be willing toconsider your very thoughtful proposition later, but now I am busy, verybusy, and if you will await my presence in your house for a halfhour----"

  "Why not let me wait here," I interposed. "The atmosphere of the placemay sharpen my faculties. I already feel that another sharp look intothat parlor would lead to the forming of some valuable theory."

  "You--" Well, he did not say what I was, or rather, what the image hewas apostrophizing, was. But he must have meant to utter a compliment ofno common order.

  The prim courtesy I made in acknowledgment of his good intentionsatisfied him that I had understood him fully; and changing his wholemanner to one more in accordance with business, he observed after amoment's reflection:

  "You came to a conclusion this afternoon, Miss Butterworth, for which Ishould like some explanation. In investigating the hat which had beendrawn from under the murdered girl's remains, you made the remark thatit 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 gavepoint to your assertion?"

  "There was but one prick of a hat-pin in it," I observed. "If you havebeen in the habit of looking into young women's hats, you willappreciate the force of my remark."

  "The deuce!" was his certainly uncalled for exclamation. "Women's eyesfor women's matters! I am greatly indebted to you, ma'am. You havesolved a very important problem for us. A hat-pin! humph!" he mutteredto himself. "The devil in a man is not easily balked; even such aninnocent article as that can be made to serve, when all other means arelacking."

  It is perhaps a proof that Mr. Gryce is getting old, that he allowedthese words to escape him. But having once given vent to them, he madeno effort to retract them, but proceeded to take me into his confidenceso far as to explain:

  "The woman who was killed in that room owed her death to the stab of athin, long pin. We had not thought of a hat-pin, but upon yourmentioning it, I am ready to accept it as the instrument of death. Therewas 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 Iwaited, expecting him to speak again. My patience seemed to impress him.Alternately raising and lowering his hands like one in the act ofweighing something, he soon addressed me again, this time in a tone ofbanter:

  "This pin--if pin it was--was found broken in the wound. We have beensearching for the end that was left in the murderer's hand, and we havenot found it. It is not on the floors of the parlors nor in thishallway. What do you think the ingenious user of such an instrumentwould do with it?"

  This was said, I am now sure, out of a spirit of sarcasm. He was amusinghimself with me, but I did not realize it then. I was too full of mysubject.

  "He would not have carried it away," I reasoned shortly, "at least notfar. He did not throw it aside on reaching the street, for I watched hismovements so closely that I would have observed him had he done this. Itis in the house then, and presumably in the parlor, even if you do notfind it on the floor."

  "Would you like to look for it?" he impressively asked. I had no meansof knowing at that time that when he was impressive he was his leastcandid and trustworthy self.

  "Would I," I repeated; and being spare in figure and much more active inmy movements that one would suppose from my age and dignifieddeportment, I ducked under his arms an
d was in Mr. Van Burnam's parlorbefore he had recovered from his surprise.

  That a man like him could look foolish I would not have you for a momentsuppose. But he did not look very well satisfied, and I had a chance tothrow 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 amrheumatic; you are young and sound as a nut. I acknowledge my folly inendeavoring 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 hadcome. If I could find this instrument of murder, what might I not expectfrom his gratitude. Nerving myself for the task thus set me, I peeredhither and thither, taking in every article in the room before I made astep forward. There had been some attempt to rectify its disorder. Thebroken pieces of china had been lifted and laid carefully away onnewspapers upon the shelves from which they had fallen. The cabinetstood upright in its place, and the clock which had tumbled face upward,had been placed upon the mantel shelf in the same position. The carpetwas therefore free, save for the stains which told such a woful story ofpast 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 wasclosed; 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, Ipointed at the register and let some of my triumph become apparent; butnot all, for I was by no means sure at that moment, nor am I by anymeans sure now, that he had not made the discovery before I did and wassimply testing my pretensions.

  However that may be, he came forward quickly and after some littleeffort drew out the broken pin and examined it curiously.

  "I should say that this is what we want," he declared, and from thatmoment on showed me a suitable deference.

  "I account for its being there in this way," I argued. "The room wasdark; for whether he lighted it or not to commit his crime, hecertainly did not leave it lighted long. Coming out, his foot came incontact with the iron of the register and he was struck by a suddenthought. He had not dared to leave the head of the pin lying on thefloor, for he hoped that he had covered up his crime by pulling theheavy cabinet over upon his victim; nor did he wish to carry away such amemento of his cruel deed. So he dropped it down the register, where hedoubtless 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 onthe force, yet."

  But at the familiarity shown by this suggestion, I bridled angrily. "Iam Miss Butterworth," was my sharp retort, "and any interest I may takein this matter is due to my sense of justice."

  Seeing that he had offended me, the astute detective turned theconversation back to business.

  "By the way," said he, "your woman's knowledge can help me out atanother point. If you are not afraid to remain in this room alone for amoment, I will bring an article in regard to which I should like youropinion."

  I assured him I was not in the least bit afraid, at which he made meanother of his anomalous bows and passed into the adjoining parlor. Hedid not stop there. Opening the sliding-doors communicating with thedining-room beyond, he disappeared in the latter room, shutting thedoors behind him. Being now alone for a moment on the scene of crime, Icrossed 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 peoplecall me precise) and it probably fretted me to see so valuable anobject out of its natural position. However that was, I lifted it up andset it upright, when to my amazement it began to tick. Had the hands notstood as they did when my eyes first fell on the clock lying face up onthe floor at the dead girl's side, I should have thought the works hadbeen started since that time by Mr. Gryce or some other officiousperson. But they pointed now as then to a few minutes before five andthe only conclusion I could arrive at was, that the clock had been inrunning order when it fell, startling as this fact appeared in a housewhich had not been inhabited for months.

  But if it had been in running order and was only stopped by its fallupon the floor, why did the hands point at five instead of twelve whichwas the hour at which the accident was supposed to have happened? Herewas 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 torestore the hands to the exact position they had occupied before I hadstarted up the works. If Mr. Gryce did not know their secret, why somuch the worse for Mr. Gryce.

  I was back in my old place by the register before the folding-doorsunclosed again. I was conscious of a slight flush on my cheek, so I tookfrom my pocket that perplexing grocer-bill and was laboriously goingdown 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. Ithad ribbons and flowers and bird wings upon it, and presented, as it wasturned about by Mr. Gryce's deft hand, an appearance which some mighthave 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 otherwiseempty shelf in the dining-room closet. It struck me as looking too newfor a discarded hat of either of the Misses Van Burnam. What do youthink?"

  "Let me take it," said I.

  "O, it's been worn," he smiled, "several times. And the hat-pin is init, 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 Moleof Fifth Avenue, whose prices are simply--wicked."

  "But the young ladies have been gone--let me see--five months. Couldthis have been bought before then?"

  "Possibly, for this is an imported hat. But why should it have been leftlying 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, whydidn't she pack it away properly? I have no patience with the moderngirl; she is made up of recklessness and extravagance."

  "I hear that the young ladies are staying with you," was his suggestiveremark.

  "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 foundthem is one in which glass is kept. The presence of this hat there is amystery, but I presume the Misses Van Burnam can solve it. At allevents, it is very improbable that it has anything to do with the crimewhich has been committed here."

  "Very," I coincided.

  "So improbable," he went on, "that on second thoughts I advise you notto disturb the young ladies with questions concerning it unless furtherreasons 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 significantway, I tied my veil under my chin, and was about to leave when hestopped me.

  "I have another favor to ask," said he, and this time with his mostbenignant smile. "Miss Butterworth, do you object to sitting up for afew 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 youwill note him from your window I will be obliged."
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  "To see whether he is the same one I saw last night? Certainly I willtake a look, but----"

  "To-morrow night," he went on, imperturbably, "the test will berepeated, and I should like to have you take another look; withoutprejudice, madam; remember, without prejudice."

  "I have no prejudices----" I began.

  "The test may not be concluded in two nights," he proceeded, without anynotice of my words. "So do not be in haste to spot your man, as thevulgar expression is. And now good-night--we shall meet againto-morrow."

  "Wait!" I called peremptorily, for he was on the point of closing thedoor. "I saw the man but faintly; it is an impression only that Ireceived. I would not wish a man to hang through any identification Icould make."

  "No man hangs on simple identification. We shall have to prove thecrime, madam, but identification is important; even such as you canmake."

  There was no more to be said; I uttered a calm good-night and hastenedaway. By a judicious use of my opportunities I had become much lessignorant 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 toenter my respectable front door alone. But circumstances had warrantedmy escapade, and it was with quite an easy conscience and a cheerfulsense of accomplishment that I went up to my room and prepared to sitout the half hour before midnight.

  I am a comfortable sort of person when alone, and found no difficulty inpassing this time profitably. Being very orderly, as you must haveremarked, I have everything at hand for making myself a cup of tea atany time of day or night; so feeling some need of refreshment, I set outthe little table I reserve for such purposes and made the tea and satdown to sip it.

  While doing so, I turned over the subject occupying my mind, andendeavored to reconcile the story told by the clock with mypreconceived 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 wasimpossible, should be made to give way, the theory or the testimony ofthe 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 hadbeen deceived in my conclusions, and that it was not running at the timeof the crime. Mr. Gryce may have ordered it wound, and then have had itlaid on its back to prevent the hands from shifting past the point wherethey had stood at the time of the crime's discovery. It was anunexplainable act, but a possible one; while to suppose that it wasgoing when the shelves fell, stretched improbability to the utmost,there having been, so far as we could learn, no one in the house formonths sufficiently dexterous to set so valuable a timepiece; for whocould imagine the scrub-woman engaging in a task requiring such delicatemanipulation.

  No! some meddlesome official had amused himself by starting up theworks, and the clue I had thought so important would probably provevalueless.

  There was humiliation in the thought, and it was a relief to me to hearan 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 andstep briskly across the pavement to the neighboring stoop. The figure hepresented was not that of the man I had seen enter the night before.