 Chapter 1 of Initials Only This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Initials Only by Anna Catherine Green Book 1 As Seen by Two Strangers Chapter 1. Poinsettias A remarkable man. It was not my husband speaking, but some passerby. However, I looked up at George with a smile and found him looking down at me with much the same humour. We had often spoken of the odd phrases one hears in the street and how interesting it would be sometimes to hear a little more of the conversation. That's a case in point, he laughed, as he guided me through the crowd of theatre-goers which invariably blocked this part of Broadway at the hour of eight. We shall never know whose eulogy we have just heard. A remarkable man. There are not many of them. No, was my somewhat indifferent reply. It was a keen winter night and snow was packed upon the walks in a way to throw into sharp relief the figures of such pedestrians as happened to be walking alone. But it seems to me that, so far as general appearance goes, the one in front answers your description most admirably. I pointed to a man hurrying around the corner just ahead of us. Yes, he's remarkably well-built. I noticed him when he came out at the Clermont. This was a hotel we had just passed. But it's not only that. It's his height, his very striking features, his expression. I stopped suddenly, gripping George's arm convulsively in a surprise he appeared to share. We had turned the corner immediately behind the man of whom we were speaking and so had him still in full view. What's he doing? I asked in a low whisper. We were only a few feet behind. Look, don't you call that curious? My husband stared, then uttered a low, rather. The man ahead of us, presenting in every respect the appearance of a gentleman, had suddenly stooped to the curb and was washing his hands in the snow, furtively, but with a vigor and purpose which could not fail to arouse the strangest conjectures in any chance onlooker. Pilot escaped my lips in a sort of nervous chuckle, but George shook his head at me. I don't like it, he muttered, with unusual gravity. Did you see his face? Then as the man rose and hurried away from us, down the street, I should like to follow him. I do believe. But here we came aware of a quick rush and sudden clamour around the corner we had just left and turning quickly saw that something had occurred on Broadway which was fast causing a tumult. What's the matter? I cried. What can have happened? Let's go see George. Perhaps it has something to do with our man. My husband, with a final glance down the street at the fast disappearing figure, yielded to my importunity and possibly to some new curiosity of his own. I'd like to stop that man first, said he. But what excuse have I? He may be nothing but a crank, with some crack-brained idea in his head. We'll soon know, for there's certainly something wrong there on Broadway. He came out at the Claremont, I suggested. I know, if the excitement isn't there, what we've just seen is simply a coincidence. Then, as we retraced our steps to the corner, whatever we hear or see, don't say anything about this man. It's after eight, remember, and we promised Adela that we would be at the house before nine. I'll be quiet. Remember? It was the last word he had time to speak before we found ourselves in the midst of a crowd of men and women jostling one another in curiosity or in the consternation following a quick alarm. All were looking one way, and as this was towards the entrance of the Claremont, it was evident enough to us that the alarm had indeed had its origin in the very place we had anticipated. I felt my husband's arm press me closer to his side as we worked our way towards the entrance and presently caught a warning sound from his lips as the oaths and confused cries everywhere surrounding us were broken here and there by articulate words and we heard, Is it murder? The beautiful Miss Chalner, a millionaireess in her own right, killed, they say. No, no, suddenly dead, that's all. George, what shall we do? I managed to cry into my husband's ear. Get out of this. There is no chance of our reaching that door, and I can't have you standing round any longer in this icy slush. But, but, is it right? I urged in an important whisper, Should we go home while he hush? My first duty is to you. We will go make our visit, but tomorrow. I can't wait till tomorrow, I pleaded, while to satisfy my curiosity in regard to an event in which I naturally felt a keen personal interest. He drew me as near to the edge of the crowd as he could. There were new murmurs all about us. If it's a case of heart failure, why sin for the police? Ask one. It is better to have an officer or two here, grumbled another. Here comes a cop. Well, I'm going to the moose. I'll tell you what I'll do, whispered George, who, for all his bluster, was as curious as myself. We will try the rear door where there are fewer persons. Possibly we can make our way in there. And if we can, Slater will tell us all we want to know. Slater was the assistant manager at the Claremont, and one of George's oldest friends. Then hurry, said I, I am being crushed here. George did hurry, and in a few minutes we were before the rear entrance at the Great Hotel. There was a mob gathered here also, but it was neither so large nor so rough as the one on Broadway. Yet I doubt if we should have been able to work our way through it if Slater had not, at that very instant, shown himself in the doorway, in company with an officer to whom he was giving some final instructions. George caught his eye as soon as he was through with the man, and ventured on what I thought a rather uncalled for plea. Let us in, Slater, he begged. My wife feels a little faint. She has been knocked about so by the crowd. The manager glanced at my face and shouted to the people around us to make room. I felt myself lifted up, and that is all I remember of this part of our adventure. For affected more than I realised by the excitement of the event, I no sooner saw the way cleared for our entrance than I made good my husband's words by fainting away in earnest. When I came to, it was suddenly and with perfect recognition of my surroundings. The small reception room to which I had been taken was one I had often visited, and its familiar features did not hold my attention for a moment. What I did see and welcome was my husband's face bending close over me, and to him I spoke first. My words must have sounded oddly to those about. Have they told you anything about it? I asked. Did he? A quick pressure on my arm silenced me, and then I noticed that we were not alone. Two or three ladies stood near, watching me, and one had evidently been using some restorative, for she held a small vinaigrette in her hand. To this lady, George made haste to introduce me, and from her I presently learned the cause of disturbance in the hotel. It was of a somewhat different nature from what I expected, and during the recital I could not prevent myself from casting thirty and inquiring glances at George. Edith, the well-known daughter of Moses Chalna, had fallen suddenly dead on the floor of the mezzanine. She was not known to have been in poor health, still less in danger of a fatal attack, and the shock was consequently great to her friends, several of whom were in the building. Indeed, it was likely to prove a shock to the whole community, for she had great claims to general admiration, and her death must be regarded as a calamity to persons in all stations of life. I realised this myself, for I had heard much of the young lady's private virtues, as well as of her great beauty and distinguished manner, a heavy loss indeed. But, was she alone when she fell, I asked. Virtually alone, some persons sat on the other side of the room, reading at the big round table. They did not even hear her fall. They said that the band was playing unusually loud in the musician's gallery. Are you feeling quite well now? Quite myself, I gratefully replied as I rose slowly from the sofa. Then, as my kind informer stepped aside, I turned to George with the proposal we should go now. I seemed as anxious as myself to leave, and together we moved towards the door, while the hum of excited comment, which the intrusion of a fainting woman had undoubtedly interrupted, recommenced behind us till the whole room buzzed. In the hall we encountered Mr. Slater, whom I have before mentioned. He was trying to maintain order while himself in a state of great agitation. Seeing us, he could not refrain from whispering a few words into my husband's ear. The doctor has just gone up. Her doctor, I mean. He's simply dumbfounded. Says that she was the healthiest woman in New York yesterday. I think, don't mention her, that he suspects something quite different from heart failure. What do you mean? Asked George, following the assistant manager down the broad flight of steps, leading to the office. Then, as I pressed up close to Mr. Slater's other side, she was by herself. Wasn't she? In the hard floor above. Yes, and had been writing a letter, she fell with it still in her hand. Had they carried her to a room, I eagerly inquired, glancing fearfully up at the large, semi-circular openings, overlooking us from the place where she had fallen. Not yet. Mr. Hammond insists upon waiting for the coroner. Mr. Hammond was the proprietor of the hotel. She is lying on one of the big couches near which she fell. If you like, I can give you a glimpse of her. She looks beautiful. It's terrible to think that she is dead. I don't know why we consented. We were under a spell, I think. At all events, we accepted his offer and followed him up a narrow staircase open to a very few that night. At the top, he turned upon us with a warning gesture, which I hardly think we needed, and led us down a narrow hall flanked by openings corresponding to those we had noted from below. At the furthest one, he paused and, beckoning us to his side, pointed across the lobby into the large writing room, which occupied the better part of the mezzanine floor. We saw people standing in various attitudes of grief and dismay about a couch, one end of which only was visible to us at the moment. The doctor had just joined them, and every head was turned towards him, and everybody bent forward in anxious expectation. I remember the face of one grey head, old man. I shall never forget it. He was probably her father. Later, I knew him to be so. Her face, even her form, was entirely hidden from us, but as we watched, I have often thought with white heartless curiosity. A sudden movement took place in the whole group, and for one instant a startling picture presented itself to our gaze. Miss Chalena was stretched out upon the couch. She was dressed as she came from dinner in a gown of ivory-tinted satin, relieved at the breast by a large bouquet of scarlet poinsettias. I mention this adornment, because it was what first met, and drew our eyes and the eyes of everyone about her, though the face, now quite revealed, would seem to have the greater attraction. But the cause was evident, and one not to be resisted. The doctor was pointing at these poinsettias in horror and with awful meaning, and though we could not hear his words, we knew almost instinctively, both from his attitude and the cries which burst from the lips of those about him, that something more than broken petals and disordered laces amid his eyes, that blood was there, slowly oozing drops from the heart, which for some reason had escaped all eyes till now. Miss Chalena was dead, not from unsuspected disease, but from the violent attack of some murderous weapon. As the realisation of this brought fresh panic and bowed the old father's head with emotions even more bitter than those of grief, I turned a questioning look up at George's face. It was fixed with a purpose I had no trouble in understanding. CHAPTER 2 I KNOW THE MAN Yet he made no effort to detain Mr. Slater when that gentleman, under this renewed excitement, hastily left us. He was not the man to rush into anything impossibly, and not even the presence of murder could change his ways. I want to feel sure of myself, he explained. Can you bear the strain of waiting around a little longer, Laura? I mustn't forget that you fainted just now. Yes, I can bear it, much better than I could bear going to Adela's in my present state of mind. Don't you think the man we saw had something to do with this? Don't you believe? Hush, let us listen rather than talk. What are they saying over there? Can you hear? No, and I cannot bear to look. Yet I don't want to go away. It's also dreadful. It's devilish. Such a beautiful girl. Laura, I must leave you for a moment. Do you mind? No. No. Yet. I did mind, but he was gone before I could take back my word. Alone I felt the tragedy much more than when he was with me. Instead of watching, as I had hitherto done, every movement in the room opposite, I drew back against the wall and hid my eyes, waiting feverishly for George's return. He came, when he did come, in some haste and with certain marks of increased agitation. Laura, he said, Slater says that we may possibly be wanted and proposes that we stay here all night. I have telephoned Adela and have made it all right at home. Will you come to your room? This is no place for you. Nothing could have pleased me better to be near and yet not the direct observer of proceedings in which we took so secret an interest. I showed my gratitude by following George immediately, but I could not go without casting another glance at the tragic scene I was leaving. A stir was perceptible there, and I was just in time to see its cause. A tall, angular gentleman was approaching from the direction of the musician's gallery and from the manner of all present, as well as from the whispered comment of my husband. I recognized in him the special official for whom all had been waiting. Are you going to tell him? Was my question to George, as we made our way down to the lobby. That depends. First I am going to see you settled in a room quite remote from this business. I shall not like that. I know, my dear, but it is best. I could not gain say this. Nevertheless, after the first few minutes of relief I found it very lonesome upstairs. The pictures which crowded upon me of the various groups of excited and wildly gesticulating men and women through which we had passed on our way up mingled themselves with the solemn horror of the scene in the writing room, with its fleeting vision of youth and beauty lying pulseless in sudden death. I could not escape the one without feeling the immediate impress of the other, if by chance they both yielded for an instant to that earlier scene of a desolate street, with its solitary lamp shining down upon the crouched figure of a man washing his shaking hands in a drift of freshly fallen snow. They immediately rushed back with the force and clearness all the greater for the momentary lapse. I was still struggling with these fancies when the door opened and George came in. There was news in his face as I rushed to meet him. Tell me, tell, I begged. He tried to smile at my eagerness, but the attempt was ghastly. I've been listening and looking, said he, and this is all I have learned. Miss Chaloner died, not from a stroke or from disease of any kind, but from a wound reaching the heart. No one saw the attack or even the approach or departure of the person inflicting this wound. If she was killed by a pistol-shot, it was at a distance and almost over the heads of the person sitting at the table we saw there. But the doctors shake their heads at the word pistol-shot, though they refuse to explain themselves or express any opinion until the wound has been probed. This they are going to do at once, and when the question is decided, I may feel at my duty to speak and may ask you to support my story. I will tell what I saw, said I. Very good. That is all that will be required. We are strangers to the party's concerned and only speak from a sense of justice. It may be that our story will make no impression and that we shall be dismissed with but few thanks. But that is nothing to us. If the woman has been murdered, he is the murderer. With such a conviction in my mind there can be no doubt as to my duty. We can never make them understand how he looked. No, I don't expect to. Or his manner when he fled. Nor that either. We can only describe what we saw him do. That's all. Oh, what an adventure for quiet people like us. George, I don't believe he shot her. He must have. But they would have seen, have heard, the people around I mean. So they say, but I have a theory. But no matter about that now, I'm going down again to see how things have progressed. I'll be back for you later. Only be ready. Be ready. I almost laughed. A hysterical laugh, of course, when I recalled the injunction. Be ready. This lonely sitting by myself with nothing to do but think was a fine preparation for a sudden appearance before those men, some of them police officers no doubt. But that's enough about myself. I'm not the heroine of this story. In a half hour, or an hour, I never knew which. George reappeared only to tell me that no conclusions had as yet been reached. An element of great mystery involved the whole affair, and the most astute detectives on the forest had been sent for. Her father, who had been her constant companion all winter, had a suggestion to offer in way of its solution. So far as he knew, and he believed himself to be in perfect accord with his daughter, she had injured no one. She had just lived the even, happy, and useful life of a young woman of means, who sees duties beyond those of her own household and immediate surroundings. If, in the fulfillment of those duties, she had encountered any obstacle to content, he did not know it. Could he mention a friend of hers? He would even say lovers, since that was what he meant, who to his knowledge could be accused of harboring any such passion of revenge, as was manifested in this secret and diabolical attack. They were all gentlemen and respected her as heartily as they appeared to admire her. To no living being, man or woman, could he point as possessing any motive for such a deed? The victim of some mistake, his lovely and ever kindly disposed daughter, and while the loss was irreparable, he would never make it unendurable by thinking otherwise. Such was the father's way of looking at the matter, and I owned that it made our duty a trifle hard. But George's mind, when once made up, was persistent to the point of obstinacy, and while he was yet talking he led me out of the room to the hall to the elevator. Mr. Slater knows we have something to say, and will manage the interview before us in the very best manner. He confided to me, now with an encouraging air. We are going to the blue reception room on the parlor floor. I nodded, and nothing more was said till we entered the place mentioned. Here we came upon several gentlemen standing about, of a more or less professional appearance. This was not very agreeable to one of my retiring disposition, but a look from George brought back my courage, and I found myself waiting rather anxiously for the questions I expected to hear put. Mr. Slater was there according to his promise, and after introducing us, briefly stated that we had some evidence to give regarding the terrible occurrence which had just taken place in the house. George Bowd, and the chief spokesman, I am sure he was a police officer of some kind, asked him to tell what it was. George drew himself up. George is not one of your tall men, but he makes a very good appearance at times. Then he seemed suddenly to collapse. The sight of their expectation made him feel how flat and childish his story would sound. I, who had shared his adventure, understood his embarrassment, but the others were evidently at a loss to do so, for they glanced a scance at each other as he hesitated, and only looked back when I ventured to say, it's the peculiarity of the occurrence which affects my husband, the thing we saw may mean nothing. Let us hear what it was, and we will judge. Then my husband spoke up and related our little experience. If it did not create a sensation, it was because these men were well accustomed to surprises of all kinds. Watched his hands, a gentleman, out there in the snow, just after the alarm was raised here, repeated one, and you saw him come out of this house, another put in. Yes, sir, we noticed him particularly. Can you describe him? It was Mr. Slater who put this question. He had less control over himself, and considerable eagerness could be heard in his voice. He was a very fine-looking man, unusually tall and unusually striking both in his dress and appearance. What I could see of his face was bare of beard and very expressive. He walked with the swing of an athlete, and only looked mean and small when he was stooping and dabbling in the snow. His clothes. Describe his clothes. There was an odd sound in Mr. Slater's voice. He wore a silk hat and there was fur on his overcoat. I think the fur was black. Mr. Slater stepped back, then moved forward with a determined air. I know the man, said he. End of book one, chapter two. Chapter three of initials only. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Initials only by Anna Catherine Green. Book one, as seen by two strangers. Chapter three. The man. You know the man? I do, or rather I know a man who answers to this description. He comes here once in a while. I do not know whether or not he was in the building tonight, but Clausen can tell you, no one escapes Clausen's eye. His name? Brotherson. He expects quite capable of such eccentricity, but incapable, I should say, of crime. He's a gifted talker and so well-read that he can hold one's attention for hours. Of his tastes, I can only say that they appear to remain a scientific. But he is not averse to society and he's always very well-dressed. A taste for science and for fine clothing do not often go together. This man is an exception to all rules, the one I'm speaking of, I mean. I should say that he's a fellow seen pottering in the snow. Call up Clausen. The manager stepped to the telephone. Meanwhile, George had advanced to speak to a man who had beckoned him from the other side of the room, and with whom in another moment I saw him step out. Thus deserted, I sank into a chair near one of the windows. Never had I felt more uncomfortable. To attribute guilt to a totally unknown person, a person who is little more to you than a matter we silhouette against the background of snow is easy enough and not very disturbing to the conscience. But to hear that person named, given positive attributes, lifted from the indefinite into a living, breathing actuality for the man's hopes, purposes and responsibilities, is an entirely different proposition. This brotherhood might be the most innocent person alive, and if so, what had we done? Nothing to congratulate herself upon, certainly. And George was not present to a comfort and encouragement. He was—where was he? The man who had carried him off was the youngest in the group. What did he want out of George? Those who remained showed no interest in the matter. They had enough to say amongst themselves. But I was interested, naturally so, and in my uneasiness glanced restlessly from the window, the shade of which was up. The outlook was a very peaceful one. The room faced the side street, and as my eyes fell upon the whiteened pavements, I received an answer to one, and that the most anxious of my queries. This was the street into which we had turned in the wake of the handsome stranger they were trying at this very moment to identify with Brotherson. George had ever been asked to point out the exact spot where the man had stopped, for I could see from my vantage point two figures bending near the curb, and even pouring at the snow which lay there. He gave me a slight turn when one of them, I do not think it was George, began to rub his hands together in much the same way the unknown gentlemen had done, and in my excitement I probably added some sort of an ejaculation, for I was suddenly conscious of a silence in the room, and when I turned saw all the men about me looking my way. I attempted to smile, but instead I shuddered painfully as I raised my hand and pointed down the street, and imitating the man I required, my husband and the person he went out with, he looked dreadful to me, that is all. One other gentleman immediately said some kind words to me, and another smiled in a very encouraging way, but their attention was soon diverted, and so was mine by the entrance of a man in semi-uniform who was immediately addressed as classen. I knew his face, he was one of the doorkeepers, the oldest employee about the hotel, and the one best liked. I had often exchanged words with him myself. Mr Slater at once put his question, has Mr Brotherson passed your door at any time tonight? Mr Brotherson, I don't remember, really I don't, was the unexpected reply. It's not often I forget, but so many people came rushing in during those few minutes and all so excited. Before the excitement, classen, a little while before, possibly just before? Oh, now I recall him, yes, Mr Brotherson went out of my door not many minutes before the cry upstairs. I forgot because I had stepped back from the door to hand the lady the muff she had dropped, and it was at that moment he went out. I just got a glimpse of his back as he passed into the street. But are you sure of that back? I don't know another like it when he wears that big coat of his, but Jim can tell you, sir, he was in the cafe up to that minute, and that's where Mr Brotherson usually goes first. Very well, send up Jim, tell him I have some orders to give him. The old man bowed and went out. Meanwhile, Mr Slater had exchanged some words with the two officials, and now approached me with an expression of extreme consideration. They were about to excuse me from further participation in this informal inquiry. This I saw before he spoke. Of course they were right, but I should greatly have preferred to stay where I was till George came back. However, I met him for an instance in the hall before I took the elevator, and later I heard in a roundabout way what Jim and some of the others about the house had to say of Mr Brotherson. He was an obituary of the hotel, to the extent of dining once or twice a week in the cafe, and smoking afterward in the public lobby. When he was in the mood for talk, he would draw an ever-enlarging group about him, but at other times he would be seen sitting quite alone and morosely indifferent to all who approached him. There was no mystery about his business. He was an inventor, with one or two valuable patents already in the market. But this was not his only interest. He was an all-round sort of man, moody but brilliant in many ways, a character which at once attract and repelled. Odd that he seemed to sit little sure by his good looks, yet was most careful to dress himself in a way to show them off to advantage. If he had means beyond the ordinary, no one knew it, nor could any man say he had not. Of all personal matters, he was very close mouthed, though he would talk about other men's riches in a way to show he cherished some very extreme views. This was all that could be learned about him, offhand, and at so late an hour. I was greatly interested, of course, until I saw George again and learnt the result of the latest investigation. This cheloner had been shot, not stabbed. No other deduction was possible from such facts as were now known, though the physicians had not yet handed in their report, or even intimated what that report would be. No assailant could have approached or left her without attracting the notice of someone, if not all of the person seated at the table in the same room. I only have been reached by a bullet sent from a point near the head of a small winding staircase, connecting the mezzanine floor with a coat room adjacent to the front door. This had already been insisted on, as you will remember, and if you will glance at the diagram where George hastily scrawled for me, you will see why. A, B as well as C, D are half-circular openings into the office lobby. E and F are windows giving upon Broadway, and G are a party wall necessarily unbroken by a window, door or any other openings. It follows then that the only possible means of approach to this room lies through the archway H, or from the elevator door, but the elevator made no stop at the mezzanine on or near the time of the attack upon Miss Chalenae. Nor did anyone leave the table or pass by it in either direction till after the alarm given by her fall, but a bullet calls for no approach. A man at X might raise and fire his pistol without attracting any attention to himself. The music, which all acknowledge was at its full climax at this moment would drown the noise of the explosion, and the staircase, out of view of all but the victim, affords the same means of immediate escape which it must have given of secret and unseen approach. The coat room into which it descended communicated with the lobby very near the main entrance, and if Mr. Brotterson were the man, his sudden appearance there would thus be accounted for. To be sure, this gentleman had not been noticed in the coat room by the man there in charge. But if the latter had been engaged at that instant, as he often was in hanging up or taking down a coat from the rack, a person might easily pass by him and disappear into the lobby without attracting his attention. So many people passed that way from the dining room beyond, and so many of these were tall, fine-looking and well-dressed. It began to look bad for this man if indeed he were the one we had seen under the street lamp. And as George and I reviewed the situation we felt our situation to be serious enough for us several to set down our impressions of this man before we lost our first vivid idea. I do not know what George wrote for he sealed his words up as soon as he had finished writing. But this is what I put on paper while he was still fresh and my excitement unabated. He had the look of a man of powerful intellect and determined will, who shudders while he triumphs, who outwardly washes his hands of a deed over which he inwardly gloats. This was when he first rose from the snow. Afterwards he had a moment of fear, plain, human, everyday fear. But this was evanescent. Before he had turned to go, he showed the self-possession of one who feels himself so secure who is so well-satisfied with himself that he is no longer conscious of other emotions. Poor fellow, I commented a laugh as he folded up these words, he reckoned without you George, by tomorrow he will be in the hands of the police. Poor fellow, he repeated, better say poor Miss Joana. They told me she was one of these perfect women who reconciled even the pessimists to humanity in the age we live in. Why anyone should want to kill her is a mystery. But why this man should dare no one professes to explain him? They simply go by the facts. Tomorrow surely must bring strange revelations. And with this sentence ringing in my mind I laid down and endeavored to sleep. But it was not till very late that rest came. The noise of passing feet, though muffled beyond their want, roused me in spite of myself. These footsteps might be those of some later rival. Although might be those of some weary detective intent on business far removed from the usual routine of life in this grand hotel. I recalled the glimpse I had had of the writing room in the early evening, and imagined as it was with Miss Joana's body removed and the incongruous feeling of strain and busy figures across its fatal flaws, measuring distances and peering into corners while hundreds slept above and about them in undisturbed repose. Then I thought of him, the suspected and possibly guilty one, in visions over which I had little of any control. I saw him in all the restlessness of a slowly dying down excitement, the surrounding strange and unknown to me, the figure not, seeking for quiet, facing the past, facing the future, knowing perhaps for the first time in his life what it was for crime and remorse to murder sleep. I could not think of him as lying still, slumbering like the rest of mankind in the hope and expectation of a busy tomorrow. Crime perpetrated looms so large in the soul, and this man had a soul as big as his body, of that I was assured. That its instincts were cruel and inherently evil did not lessen its capacity for suffering, and he was suffering now, I could not doubt it, remembering the lovely face and fragment memory of the noble woman he had under some unknown impulse sent to an utter doom. At last I slept, but was only to rouse again with the same quick realisation of my surroundings which I had experienced on my recovery from my fainting fit of ails before. Someone had stopped at our door before hurrying by down the hall. Who was that someone? I rose on my elbow and endeavoured to pierce of the dark. Of course I couldn't see nothing, but when I woke the second time there was enough light in the room as early as it undoubtedly was for me to detect the letter lying on the carpet just inside the door. Instantly I was on my feet, catching the letter up I carried it to the window. Our two names were on it, Mr. and Mrs. George Anderson, the writing Mr. Slaces. I glanced over at George. He was sleeping peacefully. It was too early to wake him, but I could not lay that letter down unread was not my name on it. Tearing it open I devoured its contents, the exclamation I made unreading waking George. The writing was in Mr. Slaces hand, and the words were. I must request that the instance of coroner Heath and such of the police has listened to your adventure, that you make no further mention of what you saw in the street under our windows last night. The doctors find no bullet in the wound. This clears this, Mr. Brotterson. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Initials Only This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Renata McLaughlin Initials Only by Anna Catherine Green Chapter 4 Sweet Little Miss Clark When we took our seats at the breakfast table it was with the feeling of being no longer looked upon as connected in any way with this case. Yet our interest in it was, if anything, increased. And when I saw George casting glances at a certain table behind me, I leaned over and asked him the reason, being sure that the people whose faces I saw reflected in the mirror directly before us had something to do with the great matter then engrossing us. His answer conveyed the somewhat exciting information that the four persons seated in my rear were the same four who had been reading at the round table in the mezzanine at the time of Miss Chaliner's death. Instantly they absorbed all my attention, though I dared not give them a direct look and continued to observe them only in the glass. Is it one family? I asked. Yes, and a very respectable one, transients, of course, but very well known in Denver. The lady is not of the boys, but their aunt. The boys belong to the gentlemen who is a widower. Their word ought to be good. George nodded. The boys look quite awake enough if the father does not, as for the aunt she is sweeten as herself. Do they still insist that Miss Chaliner was the only person in the room with them at this time? They did last night. I don't know how they will meet the statement of the doctors. George He leaned nearer. Have you ever thought that she might have been a suicide? That she stabbed herself? No, for in that case a weapon would have been found. And are you sure that none was? Positive. Such a fact could not have been kept quiet. If a weapon had been picked up there would be no mystery and no necessity for further police investigation. And the detectives are still here? I just saw one. George Again, his head came nearer. Have they searched the lobby? I believe she had a weapon. Laura I know it sounds foolish but the alternative is so terrible. A family like that cannot be leaked together in a conspiracy to hide the truth concerning a matter so serious. To be sure they may all be short-sighted or so little given to observation that they didn't see what passed before their eyes. The boys look wide awake enough but who can tell? I would sooner believe that I stopped short so suddenly that George looked startled. My attention had been caught by something new I saw in their mirror upon which my attention was fixed. A man was looking in from the corridor behind at the four persons we were just discussing. He was watching them intently and I thought I knew his face. What kind of a looking person was the man who took you outside last night? I inquired of George a very supportive watcher. A fellow to make you laugh a perfect character Laura hideously homely but agreeable enough. I took quite a fancy to him. Why? I am looking at him now. Very likely he's deep in this affair just an everyday detective but ambitious I suppose and quite alive to the importance of being thorough. He is watching those people. No he isn't. How quickly he disappeared. Yes he's mercurial in all his movements. Laura we must get out of this. There happens to be something else in the world for me to do than to sit around and follow up murder clues. But we began to doubt if others agreed with him when on passing out we were stopped in the lobby who had something to say to George and drew him quickly aside. What does he want? I asked as soon as George had returned to my side. He wants me to stand ready to obey any summons the police may send me. Then they still suspect Brotherson? They must. My head rose a trifle as I glanced up at George. Then we were not all together out of it. I emphasized complacently. He smiled which hardly seemed apropos. Why does George sometimes smile when I am in my most serious moods? As we stepped out of the hotel George gave my arm a quiet pinch which served to direct my attention to an elderly gentleman who was just alighting from a taxicab at the curb. He moved heavily with some appearance of pain but from the crowd collected on the sidewalk many of whom nudged each other as he passed he was evidently a person of some importance. And as he disappeared within the hotel entrance I asked George who this kind-faced bright-eyed old gentleman could be. He appeared to know for he told me at once that he was Detective Grice a man who had grown old and just such baffling problems as these. He gave up work some time ago I have been told. My husband went on. But evidently a great case still has its a-learnment for him. The trail here must be a very blind one for them to call him in. I wish we had not left so soon. It would have been quite an experience to see him at work. I doubt if you could have been in the opportunity I noticed that we were slightly detrope towards the last. I wouldn't have minded that not on my own account that is. It may not have been pleasant for you. However, the office is waiting. Come, let me put you on the car. That night I bided his coming with an impatience I could not control. He was late, of course but when he did appear I almost forgot our usual greeting in a hurry to ask him if he had seen the evening papers. No, he grumbled as he hung up his overcoat and pushed about all day no time for anything. Then let me tell you but he would have dinner first. However, a little later we had a comfortable chat. Mr. Grice had made a discovery and the papers were full of it. It was one which gave me a small triumph over George. The suggestion he had laughed at was not so entirely foolish as he had been pleased to consider it. But let me tell the story of that day without any further reference to myself. The opinion had become quite general with those best acquainted with the details of this affair that the mystery was one of those abnormal ones for which no solution would ever be found when the aged detective showed himself in the building and was taken to the room where an inspector of police awaited him. Their greeting was cordial and the lines on the latter's face relaxed a little as he met the still bright eye of the man upon whose instinct and judgment so much reliance had always been placed. This is very good of you he began glancing down the detective's bundled up legs and gently pushing a chair towards him. I know that it was a great deal to ask but we're at our wits end and so I telephoned. It's the most inexplicable there. You've heard that phrase before but clues there are absolutely none that is we have not been able to find any perhaps you can at least that is what we hope I've known you more than once to succeed where others have failed The elderly man thus addressed glanced down at his legs now propped up on a stool which someone had brought him and smiled with the pathos of the old one who sees the interests of a lifetime slipping gradually away I am not what I was I can no longer get down on my hands and knees to pick up threads from the nap of a rug or spy out a spot of blood in the crimson roof of a carpet you shall have sweet water here to do the active work for you what we want of you is the directing mind the infallible instinct it's a case in a thousand Grace we've never had anything just like it you've never had anything at all like it it will make you young again the old man's eyes shot fire and unconsciously one foot slipped to the floor then he be thought himself and painfully lifted it back again what are the points what's the difficulty he asked a woman has been shot no, not shot stabbed we thought she had been shot she was unknowable and involved no impossibilities but doctors heath and Webster under the eye of the Chaloner's own physician have made an examination of the wound an official one thorough and quite final so far as they are convinced and they declare that no bullet is to be found in the body as the wound extends no further than the heart this settles one great point doctor heath is a reliable man and one of our ableist coroners yes there can be no question as to the truth of his report you know the victim her name I mean and the character she bore yes so much was told me on my way down a fine girl unspoiled by riches and seeming independence happy too to all appearance or we should be more ready to consider the possibility of suicide suicide by stabbing calls for a weapon yet none has been found I hear yet she was killed that way undoubtedly and by a long and very narrow blade larger than a needle but not so large as the ordinary stiletto stabbed while by herself or what you may call by herself she had no companion near her even if we can believe the four members of the parish family who were seated at the other end of the room and you believe them would a whole family lie needlessly they never knew the woman father made an ant and two boys clear-eyed jolly young chaps whom even the horror of this tragedy perpetrated as it were under their very nose cannot make serious for more than a passing moment it wouldn't seem so yet they would swear up and down that nobody crossed the room towards miss cheloner so they tell me she fell just a few feet from the desk where she had been writing no word no cry just a collapse and sudden fall in olden days they would have said struck by a bolt from heaven but it was a bolt which drew blood not much blood I hear but sufficient to end life almost instantly she never looked up or spoke again what do you make of it grace it's a tough one and I'm not ready to venture an opinion yet I should like to see the desk you speak of and the spot where she fell a young fellow who had been hovering in the background at once stepped forward he was the plane face detective who had spoken to George will you take my arm sir Mr. Grice's whole face brightened this sweet water as they called him was I have since understood one of his prodigies and more or less of a favorite have you had a chance at this thing he asked then over the ground studied the affair carefully yes sir they were good enough to allow it very well then you're in a position to pioneer me you've seen it all and won't be in a hurry no I'm at the end of my rope I haven't an idea sir well well that's honest at all events then as he slowly rose with the others careful assistance there's no crime without its clue the thing is to recognize that clue when seen but I'm in no position to make promises old days don't return for the asking nevertheless he looked 10 years younger than when he came in or so thought those who knew him the mezzanine was guarded from all visitors save such as had official sanction consequently the two remained quite uninterrupted while they moved about the place in quiet consultation others had preceded them had examined the plain little desk and found nothing had paced off the distances had looked with longing and inquiring eyes at the elevator cage and the open archway leading to the little staircase and the musicians gallery but this was nothing to the old detective the locale was what he wanted and he got it whether he got anything else it would be impossible to say from his manner as he finally sank into a chair by one of the openings and looked down on the lobby below it was full of people coming and going on all sorts of business and presently he drew back and leaning on sweetwater's arm asked him a few questions who were the first to rush in here after the parishes gave the alarm one or two of the musicians from the end of the hall they had just finished their program and were preparing to leave the gallery naturally they reached her first good their names Mark Sourby and Klaus Henerberg honest Germans men who have played here for years and who followed them who came next on the scene some people from the lobby they heard the disturbance and rushed up Palmel but not one of those touched her later her father came who did touch her anybody before the father came in yes Miss Clark the middle aged lady with the parishes she had run towards Miss Shaliner as soon as she heard her fall and was sitting there with the dead girls head in her lap when the musicians showed themselves I suppose she has been carefully questioned very I should say and she speaks of no weapon no neither she nor anyone else at the moment suspected murder or even a violent death all thought it was a natural one sudden but the result of some secret disease father and all yes but the blood surely there must have been some show of blood they say not no one noticed any not till the doctor came her doctor who was happily in his office in this very building he saw the drops and uttered the first suggestion of murder how long after was this there anyone who has ventured to make an estimate of the number of minutes which elapsed from the time she fell to the moment when the doctor first raised the cry of murder yes Mr. Slater the assistant manager who was in the lobby at the time says that ten minutes at least must have elapsed ten minutes and no blood the weapon must still have been there some weapon with a short and inconspicuous handle I think they said there were flowers over and around the place where it struck yes big scarlet ones nobody noticed nobody looked a panic like that seems to paralyze people ten minutes I must see everyone who approached her during those ten minutes everyone sweet water and I must myself talk with Ms. Clark you will like her I will believe every word she says no doubt all the more reason why I must see her sweet water someone drew that weapon out effects still have their causes notwithstanding the new cult the question is who we must leave no stone unturned to find that out the stones have all been turned over once by you not altogether by me and they will bear being turned over again I want to be witness of the operation where will you see Ms. Clark wherever she pleases only I can't walk far I think I know the place you shall have the use of this elevator it has not been running since last night be full of curious people all the time hustling to get a glimpse of this place but they'll put a man on for you very good manage it as you will I'll wait here till you're ready explain yourself to the lady tell her I'm an old and dramatic invalid who has been used to asking his own questions I'll not trouble her much but there is one point that I would like to share to me Sweetwater did not presume to ask what point but he hoped to be fully enlightened when the time came and he was Mr. Grice had undertaken to educate him for this work and never missed the opportunity of giving him a lesson the three met in a private sitting room on an upper floor the detectives entering first and the lady coming in as her quiet figure appeared in the doorway Sweetwater stole a glance at Mr. Grice he was not looking her way of course, he never looked directly at anyone but he formed his impression for all that and Sweetwater was anxious to make sure of these impressions there was no doubting them in this instance Miss Clark was not a woman to rouse an unfavorable opinion in any man's mind of slight almost frail build she had that peculiar animation which goes with a speaking eye and a widely sympathetic nature without any substantial claims to beauty her expression was so womanly and so sweet that she was invariably called lovely Mr. Grice was engaged at the moment in shifting his cane from the right hand to the left his manner was never more encouraging or his smile more benevolent pardon me he apologized with one of his old fashioned bows I'm sorry to trouble you after all the distress you must have been under this morning but there is something I wish especially to ask you in regard to the dreadful occurrence in which you played so kind a part you were the first to reach the prostrate woman I believe yes the boys jumped up and ran towards her but they were frightened by her looks and left it for me to put my hands under her and to try to lift her up did you manage it I succeeded in getting her head into my lap nothing more and sat so for some little time it seemed long though I believe it was not more than a minute before two men came running from the musicians gallery one thinks so fast at such a time and feels so much you knew she was dead then I felt her to be so how felt I was sure I never questioned it you have seen women in a faint yes many times what made the difference why should you believe Mrs. Chaliner dead simply because she lay still and apparently lifeless I cannot tell you possibly death tells its own story I only know how it felt perhaps there was another reason perhaps that consciously or unconsciously her palm upon her heart Ms. Clark started and her sweet face showed a moment's perplexity did I she queried musingly then with a sudden access of feeling I may have done so indeed I believe I did my arms were around her it would not have been an unnatural action a very natural one I cannot you tell me positively whether you did this or not yes I did I had forgotten it but I remember now and the glance she cast him while not meeting his eye showed that she understood the importance of the admission I know she said what you are going to ask me now did I feel anything there but the flowers and the tool I know Mr. Grice I did not there was no point in the wound Mr. Grice felt around found a chair and sank into it you are a truthful woman he said and he added more slowly composed enough in character I should judge not to have made any mistake on this very vital point I think so Mr. Grice I was in a state of excitement of course but the woman was a stranger to me and my feelings were not unduly agitated sweet water we can let my suggestion go in regard to those ten minutes I spoke of the time is narrowed down to one and in that one Ms. Clark was the only person to touch her the only one echoed the lady catching the slight rising of query in his voice I will trouble you no further so said the old detective thoughtfully sweet water help me out of this as I was dull and his manner betrayed exhaustion but Vigor returned to him before he had well reached the door and he showed some of his old spirit as he thanked Ms. Clark and turned to take the elevator but one possibility remains he confided to sweet water as they stood waiting at the elevator door Ms. Chaliner died from a stab the next minute she was in this lady's arms no weapon protruded from the wound nor was any found on or near her in the mezzanine what follows struck the blow herself and the strength of purpose which led her to do this gave her the additional force to pull the weapon out and fling it from her it did not fall upon the floor around her therefore it flew through one of those openings into the lobby and there it either will be or has been found it was this statement otherwise worded which gave me my triumph over George End of Chapter 4 Recorded by Renata McLaughlin at RenataMCL at yahoo.com Temecula, California September 13, 2008 Visit LibriVox.org Recording by Linda McDaniel Initials only by Anna Catherine Green Book 1 as seen by two strangers Chapter 5 The Red Cloak What results? Speak up, sweet water! None! Every man, woman and boy connected with the hotel has been questioned many of them routed out of their beds for the purpose but not one of them picked up anything from the floor or nose of anyone who did there now remain the guests and after them pardon me Mr. Grice the general public which rushed in rather promiscuously last night I know it, it's a task but it must be carried through put up bulletins, publish your wants in the papers, do anything only gain your end the bulletin was put up some hours later sweet water re-entered the room and approaching with a smile blurted out the bulletin is a great go I think of course I cannot be sure that it's going to do the business I've watched every one who stopped to read it many showed interest and many emotion she seems to have had a troop of friends but embarrassment only one showed that I thought you would like to know embarrassment, huh, a man no, a woman, a lady sir one of the transients I found out in a jiffy all they could tell me about her a woman, we didn't expect that where is she, still in the lobby no sir, she took the elevator while I was talking with the clerk there's nothing in it, you must took her expression I don't think so, I had noticed her when she first came into the lobby she was talking to her daughter who was with her and looked natural and happy but no sooner had she seen and read that bulletin shot up into her face and her manner became furtive and hasty there was no mistaking the difference, sir almost before I could point her out she had seized her daughter by the arm and hurried her towards the elevator I wanted to follow her but you may prefer to make your own inquiries her room is on the seventh floor number 712 and her name is Watkins Mrs. Horace Watkins of Nashville Mr. Grice nodded thoughtfully but made no immediate effort to rise is that all you know about her? he asked yes, this is the first time she has stopped at this hotel she came yesterday took her room indefinitely seems all right, but she did blush, sir I ever saw its beat in a young girl call the desk say that I'm to be told if Mrs. Watkins of Nashville rings up during the next ten minutes we'll give her that long to take some action if she fails to make any move I'll make my own approaches sweetwater did as he was bid then went back to his place in the lobby but he returned almost instantly Mrs. Watkins has just telephoned down that she is going to to leave, sir to leave the old man struggled to his feet number 712 do you say seven stories? he sighed but as he turned with the hobble he stopped there are difficulties in the way of this interview remarked a blush is not much to go upon I'm afraid we shall have to resort to the shadow business and that is your work, not mine but here the door opened and a boy brought in a line which had been left at the desk it related to the very matter then engaging them and ran thus I see that information is desired as to whether any person was seen to stoop to the lobby floor last night at or shortly after a critical moment of Mrs. Chaliner's fall in the half-story above I can give such information I was in the lobby at the time and in the height of the confusion following this alarming incident I remember seeing a lady one of the new arrivals there were several coming in at the time stoop quickly down and pick up something from the floor I thought nothing of it at the time and so paid little attention to her appearance I can only recall the suddenness with which she stopped and the color of the cloak she wore it was red and the whole garment was voluminous if you wish further particulars though in truth I have no more to give you can find me in 356 Henry A. McElroy Humpf this should simplify our task was Mr. Grace's comment as he handed the note over to Sweetwater you can easily find out if the lady, now on the point of departure, can be identified with the one described by Mr. McElroy if she can I am ready to meet her anywhere here goes then cried Sweetwater and quickly left the room when he returned it was not with his most hopeful air the cloak doesn't help he declared no one remembers the cloak but the time of Mrs. Watkins arrival was all right she came in directly on the heels of a catastrophe she did Sweetwater I will see her manage it for me at once the clerk says that it had better be upstairs she is a very sensitive woman there might be a scene if she were intercepted on her way out very well but the look which the old detective threw at his bandaged legs was not without its pathos and so it happened that just as Mrs. Watkins was in front of her trunks there appeared in the doorway before her an elderly gentleman whose expression, always benevolent save at moments when benevolence would be quite out of keeping with the situation had for some reason so marked an effect upon her that she colored under his eye and indeed showed such embarrassment that all doubt of the propriety of this intrusion vanished from the old man's mind and with the ease of one only accustomed to such scenes he kindly remarked am I speaking to Mrs. Watkins of Nashville you are she faltered with another rapid change of color I am just leaving I hope you will excuse me I wish I could he smiled hobbling in and confronting her quietly in her own room but circumstances make it quite imperative that I should have a few words with you on a topic which need not be available to you and probably will not be my name is Grace this will probably convey nothing to you but I am not unknown to the management below and my ears must certainly give you confidence in the propriety of my errand a beautiful and charming young woman died here last night may I ask if you knew her I she was trembling violently now but whether with indignation it would be difficult to say no, I am from the south I never saw the young lady why do you ask I do not recognize your right I certainly her emotion must be that of simple indignation Mr. Grace made one of his low bows and propping himself against the table he stood before remarked civilly I had rather not forced my rights the matter is so very ordinary I did not suppose you knew Miss Jalloner but one must begin somehow and as you came in at the very moment when the alarm was raised in the lobby I thought perhaps you could tell me something which would aid me in my effort to elicit the real facts of the case you were crossing the lobby at the time yes she raised her head so were a dozen others madam the interruption was made in his kindliest tones but in a way which nevertheless suggested authority something was picked up from the floor at that moment if the dozen you mention were witnesses to this act we do not know it but we do know that it did not pass unobserved by you am I correct didn't you see a certain person I will mention no names stupid pick up something from the lobby floor no the word came out with startling violence I was conscious of nothing but the confusion she was facing him with determination and her eyes were fixed boldly on his face but her lips quivered and her cheeks were white too white now for simple indignation then I have made a big mistake apologize the ever courteous detective will you pardon me it would have settled a very serious question if it could be found that the object thus picked up was the weapon which killed Miss Chaloner that is my excuse for the trouble I have given you he was not looking at her he was looking at her hand which rested on the table before which he himself stood did the fingers tighten a little and dig into the palm they concealed he thought so and was very slow and turning limpingly about towards the door meanwhile would she speak no the silence was so marked he felt it an excuse for stealing another glance in her direction she was not looking his way but at a door in the partition wall on her right and the look was one very akin to anxious fear the next moment he understood it the door burst open and a young girl bounded into the room with the merry cry already mother I'm glad we're going to the Clarendon I hate hotels where people die almost before your eyes what the woman said at this outburst is immaterial what the detective did is not keeping on his way he reached the door but not to open it wider rather to close it softly but with unmistakable decision the cloak which enveloped the girl was red and full enough to be called voluminous who is this demanded the girl her indignant glances flashing from one to the other I don't know faltered the mother in very evident distress he says he has a right to ask us questions and he has been asking questions about about not about me left the girl with the toss of her head Mr. Grice would have corrected in one of his grandchildren he can have nothing to say about me and she began to move about the room in an aimless half insolent way Mr. Grice stared hard at the few remaining belongings of the two women lying in a heap on the table and half musingly half deprecatingly remarked the person who stooped wore a long red cloak perhaps you receded your daughter Mrs. Watkins the lady thus brought to the point made a quick gesture toward the girl who suddenly stood still and with a rising color in her cheeks answered with some show of resolution on her own part you say your name is Grice and that you have a right to address me thus pointedly on a subject which you evidently regard as serious that is not enough for me who are you sir what is your greatness I think you have guessed it I am a detective from headquarters what I want of you I have already stated perhaps this young lady can tell me what you cannot I shall be pleased if this is so Caroline then the mother broke down show the gentleman what you picked up from the lobby floor last night the girl laughed again loudly and with evident bravado before she threw the cloak back on the first a sharp pointed gold handle paper cutter it was lying there and I picked it up I don't see any harm in that you probably meant none you couldn't have known the part it had just played in this tragic drama said the old detective looking carefully at the cutter which he had taken in his hand but not so carefully that he failed to note that the look of distress was not lifted from the mother's face either by her daughter's words or manner you have washed this he asked no why should I wash it it was clean enough I was just going down to give it in at the desk I wasn't going to carry it away and she turned aside to the window and began to hum as though done with the whole matter the old detective rubbed his chin glanced again at the paper cutter then at the girl in the window and lastly at the mother who had lifted her head again and was facing him bravely it is very important he observed to the latter that your daughter should be correct in her statement as to the condition of this article when she picked it up are you sure she did not wash it I don't think she did but I'm sure she will tell you the truth about that Caroline this is a place matter any mistake about it may involve us in a world of trouble and keep you from getting back home and time for your coming out party did you did you wash this cutter when you got upstairs or or she added with a propitiatory glance at Mr. Grice wipe it off at any time between now and then don't answer hastily be sure no one can blame you for that act any girl as thoughtless as you might do that mother how can I tell what I did flashed out the girl wheeling around on her heel until she faced them both until she faced them both I don't remember doing a thing to it I just brought it up a thing found like that belongs to the finder you needn't hold it out towards me like that I don't want it now I'm sick of it such a lot of talk about a paltry thing which couldn't have cost ten dollars and she wheel back it isn't the value Mr. Grice could be very patient it's the fact that we believe it to have been answerable for Miss Challenger's death that is if there was any blood on it when you picked it up placing them again astonishment struggling with disgust on her plane but mobile features blood is that what you mean no wonder I hate it take it away she cried oh mother I'll never pick up anything again which doesn't belong to me blood she repeated in horror flinging herself into her mother's arms Mr. Grice thought he understood the situation here was a little kleptomaniac whose weakness the mother was trying to hide light was pouring in he felt his body's weight less on that miserable foot of his does that frighten you are you so affected by the thought of blood don't ask me and I put that thing under my pillow I thought it was so so pretty Mrs. Watkins Mr. Grice from that moment ignored the daughter did you see it there yes but I didn't know where it came from I had not seen my stoop I didn't know where she got it till I read the bulletin never mind that the question agitating me is whether any stain was left under that pillow we want to be sure of the connection between this possible weapon and the death by stabbing which we all deplore if there is a connection I didn't see any stain but you can look for yourself the bed has been made up but there was no change of linen we expected to remain here we gained by hiding any of the facts now none whatever madam come then Caroline sit down and stop crying Mr. Grice believes that your only fault was in not taking this object at once to the desk yes that's all acquiesce the detective after a short study of the shaking figure and distorted features of the girl you had no idea I'm sure where this weapon came from or for what it had been used the shutter as she seated herself was very convincing she was too young to simulate so successfully emotions of this character I'm glad of that she responded half threatfully half gratefully as Mr. Grice followed her mother into the adjoining room I've had a bad enough time of it without being blamed for what I didn't know and didn't do Mr. Grice laid little stress upon these words but much upon the lack of curiosity showed in the minute and careful examination he now made of her room there was no stain on the pillow cover and none on the bureau spread where she might have naturally laid the cutter down on first coming into the room the blade was so polished that it must have been rubbed off somewhere either purposefully or by accident where then since not here he asked to see her gloves the one she had worn the previous night they are the same she is wearing now the anxious mother assured him wait and I will get them for you no need let her hold out her hands in token of amity I shall soon see they returned to where the girl still sat wrapped in her cloak sobbing still but not so violently Caroline you may take off your things said the mother drawing the pins from her own hat we shall not go today the child shut her mother one disappointed look then proceeded to suit when her hat was off she began to take off her gloves as soon as they were on the table the mother pushed them over to Mr. Grice as he looked at them the girl lifted off her cloak will will he tell she whispered behind it's ample folds into her mother's ear the answer came quickly but not in the mother's tones Mr. Grice's ears had lost none of their ancient acuteness I did not see that I should gain much by doing so the one discovery which would link this find of yours into Subli with Miss Chaloner's death I have failed to make if I am equally unsuccessful below if I can establish no closer connection there than here between this cutter and the weapon which kill Miss Chaloner I shall have no cause to mention the matter it will be too extraneous to the case do you remember the exact spot where you stooped Miss Watkins no somewhere near those big chairs I didn't have to step out of my way I really didn't Mr. Grice's answering smile was a study it seemed to convey a two fold message one for the mother and one for the child and both were comforting but he went away disappointed the clue which promised so much was to all appearance a false one he could soon tell End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Peake Initials only by Anna Catherine Green Book 1 As Seen by Two Strangers Chapter 6 Mr. Grice's fears were only too well-founded. Though Mr. McElroy was kind enough to point out the exact spot where he saw Ms. Watkins stoop, no trace of blood was found upon the rug which had lain there, nor had anything of the kind been washed up by the very careful man who scrubbed the lobby floor in the early morning. This was disappointing, as its presence would have settled the whole question. When these efforts all exhausted, the two detectives faced each other again in the small room given up to their use, Mr. Grice showed his discouragement. To be certain of a fact you cannot prove has not the same alluring quality for the old that it has for the young. Sweetwater watched him in some concern. Then, with the persistence which was one of his strong points, ventured finally to remark, I have but one idea left on the subject. And what is that? Old as he was, Mr. Grice was alert in a moment. The girl wore a red cloak. If I must take not, the lining was also red, a spot on it might not show to the casual observer, yet it would mean much to us. Sweetwater! A faint blush rose to the old man's cheek. Shall I request the privilege of looking that garment over? Yes! The young fellow ducked and left the room. When he returned it was with a downcast air. Nothing doing, said he. And then there was silence. We only need to find out now that this cutter was not even Miss Shaloner's property remarked to Mr. Grice, at last, with a gesture towards the object named, lying openly on the table before him. That should be easy. Shall I take it to their rooms and show it to her maid? If you can do so without disturbing the old gentleman. But here they were themselves disturbed. A knock at the door was followed by the immediate entrance of the very person just mentioned. Mr. Shaloner had come in search of the inspector and showed some surprise to find his place occupied by an unknown old man. But Mr. Grice, who had discerned tidings in the bereaved father's face, was all alacrity in an instant. Greeting his visitor with a smile which few could see without trusting the man, he explained the inspector's absence and introduced himself in his own capacity. Mr. Shaloner had heard of him. Nevertheless he did not seem inclined to speak. Mr. Grice motioned sweet water from the room. With a woeful look the young detective withdrew, his last glance cast at the cutter still lying in full view on the table. Mr. Grice, not unmindful himself of this object, took it up, then laid it down again, with an air of seeming abstraction. The father's attention was caught. What is that? he cried, advancing a step, and bestowing more than an ordinary glance at the object thus brought casually, as it were, to his notice. I surely recognize this cutter. Does it belong here, or? Mr. Grice, observing the other's emotion, motioned him to a chair. As his visitor sank into it, he remarked, with all the consideration exacted by the situation. It is unknown property, Mr. Shaloner, but we have some reason to think it belonged to your daughter. Are we correct in this, Sir Mice? I have seen it, or one like it, often in her hand. Here his eyes suddenly dilated, and the hand stretched forth to grasp it quickly drew back. Where? Where was it found, he hoarsely demanded? Oh, God! Am I to be crushed to the very earth by sorrow? Mr. Grice hastened to give him such relief as was consistent with the truth. It was picked up last night, from the lobby-floor. There is seemingly nothing to connect it with her death, yet— The pause was eloquent. Mr. Shaloner gave the detective an agonized look and turned white to the lips. Then, gradually, as the silence continued, his head fell forward, and he muttered almost unintelligibly. I honestly believe her the victim of some heartless stranger. I do now, but I cannot mislead the police. At any cost I must retract a statement I made under false impressions, and with no desire to deceive. I said that I knew all of the gentlemen who admired her and aspired to her hand, and that they were all reputable men, and above committing a crime of this or any other kind. But it seems that I did not know her secret heart as thoroughly as I had supposed. Among her effects I have just come upon a batch of letters—love letters I am forced to acknowledge—signed by initials totally strange to me. The letters are manly in tone, most of them, but one. What about the one? Shows that the writer was displeased. It may mean nothing, but I could not let the matter go without setting myself right with the authorities. If it might be allowed to rest here, if those letters can remain sacred, it would save me the additional pang of seeing her inmost concerns, the secret and holiest recesses of a woman's heart, laid open to the public. For, from the tenor of most of these letters, she was not averse to the writer. Mr. Grice moved a little restlessly in his chair, and stared hard at the cutter so conveniently placed under his eye. Then his manor softened, and he remarked, We will do what we can. But you must understand that the matter is not a simple one. That, in fact, it contains mysteries which demand a police investigation. We do not dare to trifle with any of the facts of the Inspector, and, if not he, the coroner, will have to be told about these letters, and will probably ask to see them. They are the letters of a gentleman, with the one exception. Yes, that is understood. Then, in a sudden heat, and with an almost sublime trust in his daughter notwithstanding the duplicity he had just discovered, nothing, not the story told by these letters, or the sight of that sturdy paper cutter with its long and very slender blade, will make me believe that she willingly took her own life. You do not know, cannot know the rare delicacy of her nature. She was a lady through and through. If she had meditated death, if the breach suggested by the one letter I have mentioned, should have so prayed upon her spirit says to lead her to break her old father's heart, and outrage the feelings of all who knew her, she could not, being the woman she was, choose a public place for such an act, and hotel writing-room? In and face of a lobbyful of hurrying men, it was out of nature. Every one who knows her will tell you so. The deed was an accident, incredible, but still an accident. Mr. Grice had respect for this outburst, making no attempt to answer it, he suggested, with some hesitation, that Miss Shaloner had been seen writing a letter previous to taking those fatal steps from the desk which ended so tragically. Was this letter to one of her lady-friends, as reported, and was it as far from suggesting the awful tragedy which followed, as he had been told? It was a cheerful letter, such a one as she often wrote to her little prodigies here and there. I judged that this was written to some girl like that, for the person addressed was not known to her maid, any more than she was to me. It expressed an affectionate interest, and it breathed encouragement, encouragement, and she meditating her own death at the moment impossible. That letter should exonerate her if nothing else does. Mr. Grice recalled the incongruities, the inconsistencies, and even the surprising contradictions which had often marked the conduct of men and women in his lengthy experience with the strange, the sudden, and the tragic things of life, and slightly shook his head. He pitied Mr. Shaloner, and admired even more his courage in face of the appalling grief which had overwhelmed him, but he dared not encourage a false hope. The girl had killed herself and with this weapon. They might not be able to prove it absolutely, but it was nevertheless true, and this broken old man would some day be obliged to acknowledge it. But the detective said nothing of this, and was very patient with the further arguments the other advanced to prove his point, and the lofty character of the girl to whom, misled by appearance, the police seemed inclined to attribute the awful sin of self-destruction. But when, this topic exhausted, Mr. Shaloner rose to leave the room, Mr. Grice showed where his own thoughts stood centered by asking him the date of the correspondence discovered between his daughter and her unknown admirer. Some of the letters were dated last summer, some this fall, the one you are most anxious to hear about only a month back, he added, with unconquerable devotion to what he considered his duty. Mr. Grice would like to have carried his inquiries further, but desisted. His heart was full of compassion for this childless old man, doomed to have his choicest memories disturbed by cruel doubts which possibly would never be removed to his own complete satisfaction. But when he was gone and Sweetwater had returned, Mr. Grice made it his first duty to communicate to his superiors the hitherto unsuspected fact of a secret romance in Miss Shaloner's seemingly calm and well-guarded life. She had loved and been loved by one of whom her family knew nothing, and the two had quarreled as certain letters lately found could be made to show. CHAPTER VII THE LETTERS Before a table strewn with papers, in the room we have already mentioned, as giving over to the use of the police, set Dr. Heath in a mood too thoughtful to notice the entrance of Mr. Grice and Sweetwater from the dining-room where they had been having dinner. However, as the former's tread was somewhat lumbering, the coroner's attention was caught before they had quite crossed the room, and Sweetwater, with his quick eye, noted how his arm and hand immediately fell so as to cover up a portion of the papers lying nearest to him. Well, Grice, this is a dark case, he observed, as at his bidding the two detectives took their seats. Mr. Grice nodded, so did Sweetwater. The darkest that has ever come to my knowledge pursued the coroner. Mr. Grice again nodded, but not so, Sweetwater, for some reason this simple expression of opinion seemed to have given him a mental start. She was not shot, she was not struck by any other hand, yet she lies dead from a mortal wound in the breast. Though there is no tangible proof of her having inflicted this wound upon herself, the jury will have no alternative, I fear, than to pronounce the case one of suicide. I am sorry that I have been able to do so little, remarked Mr. Grice. The coroner darted him a quick look. You are not satisfied? You have some different idea, he asked. The detective frowned at his hands crossed over the top of his cane, then shaking his head replied. The verdict you mention is the only natural one, of course. I see that you have been talking to Miss Chaloner's former maid. Yes, and she has settled an important point for us. There was a possibility, of course, that the paper cutter which you brought to my notice had never gone with her into the mezzanine. As she, or some other person, had dropped it in passing through the lobby. But this girl assures me that her mistress did not enter the lobby that night, that she accompanied her down in the elevator and saw her step off at the mezzanine. She can also swear that the cutter was in a book she carried, the book we found lying on the desk. The girl remembers distinctly seeing its peculiarly chased handle projecting from its pages. Could anything be more satisfactory if, I was going to say, if the young lady had been of the impulsive type and the provocation greater? But Miss Chaloner's nature was calm, and were it not for these letters, here his arm shifted a little, I should not be so sure of my jury's future verdict. Love, he went on after a moment of silent consideration of a letter he had chosen from those before him, disturbs the most equitable natures. When it enters as a factor we can expect anything, as you know, and Miss Chaloner evidently was much attached to her correspondent and naturally felt the reproach conveyed in these lines. And Dr. Heath read, Dear Miss Chaloner, only a man of small spirit could endure what I endured from you the other day. Love such as mine would be respectable in a clod-hopper, and I think that even you will acknowledge that I stand somewhat higher than that. Though I was silent under your disapprobation, you shall yet have your answer. It will not lack point because of its necessary delay. A threat! The words sprang from sweet water and were evidently involuntary. Dr. Heath paid no notice, but Mr. Grice, in shifting his hands on his cane-top, gave them a side-long look which was not without a hint of fresh interest in a case concerning which he had believed himself to have said his last word. It is the only letter of them all which conveys anything like a reproach, proceeded the coroner, the rest are ardent enough, and I must acknowledge that, so far as I have allowed myself to look into them, sufficiently respectful. Her surprise must consequently have been great at receiving these lines, and her resentment equally so. If the two met afterwards, but I have not shown you the signature. To the poor father it conveyed nothing. Some facts have been kept from him. But to us, here he whirled the letter about so that sweet water at least could see the name. It conveys a hope that we may yet understand, Miss Chaloner. Brother, son! exclaimed the young detective in loud surprise. Brother, son! the man who left this building just before or simultaneously with the alarm caused by Miss Chaloner's fall. It clears away some of the clouds befogging us. She probably caught sight of him in the lobby, and in the passion of the moment forgot her usual instincts and drove the sharp-pointed weapon into her heart. Brother, son! the word came softly now, and with a thoughtful intonation. He saw her die! Why do you say that? Would he have washed his hands in the snow if he had been in ignorance of the occurrence? He was the real, if not active, cause of her death, and he knew it. Either he—excuse me, Dr. Heath and Mr. Grice—it is not for me to obtrude my opinion. Have you settled it beyond dispute that Brotherson is really the man who was seen doing this? No, sir. I have not had a minute for that job, but I am ready for the business any time you see fit to spare me. Let it be tomorrow, or if you can manage it tonight. We want the man even if he is not the hero of that romantic episode. He wrote these letters, and he must explain the last one. His initials, as you see, are not ordinary ones, and you will find them at the bottom of all these sheets. He was brave enough, or arrogant enough, to sign the questionable one with his full name. This may speak well for him, and it may not. It is for you to decide that. Where will you look for him, sweet water? No one here knows his address. Not Miss Chaloner's made? No. The name is a new one to her. But she made it very evident that she was not surprised to hear that her mistress was in secret correspondence with a member of the male sex. Much can be hidden from servants, but not that. I'll find the man. I have a double reason for doing that now. He shall not escape me. Dr. Heath expressed his satisfaction and gave some orders. Meanwhile Mr. Grice had not uttered a word.