 CHAPTER XXV. Had Mr. Grice been present I would have instantly triumphed over my disappointment, bottled up my chagran, and been the inscrutable Amelia Butterworth, before he could say, Something has gone wrong with this woman. But Mr. Grice was not present, and though I did not betray the half I felt, I yet showed enough emotion for Miss Althorpe to remark. You seemed surprised by what I have told you. Has anyone said that these two women were alike? Going to speak I became myself again in a trice and nodded vigorously. Someone was so foolish, I remarked. Miss Althorpe looked thoughtful. While she was interested she was not so interested as to take the subject in fully. Her own concerns made her abstracted, and I was very glad of it. Louise Van Burnham had a sharp chin and a very cold blue eye, yet her face was a fascinating one to some. While it was a dreadful tragedy I observed, and tried to turn the subject aside, which fortunately I was able to do after a short effort. Then I picked the basket up, and perceiving the sick woman's lips faintly moving, I went over to her and found her murmuring to herself. As Miss Althorpe had risen when I did, I did not dare to listen to these murmurs, but when my charming hostess had been me good-night, with many injunctions not to tire myself, and to be sure and remember that a decanter and a plate of biscuits stood on a table outside, I hastened back to the bedside and leaning over my patient, endeavored to catch the words as they fell from her lips. As they were simple and but the echo of those running at that very moment through my own brain, I had no difficulty in distinguishing them. Van Burnham, she was saying, Van Burnham, varied by a short, howard, and once by a doubtful, Franklin? Ah! thought I with a sudden reaction, she is the woman I seek if she is not Louise Van Burnham. And unheeding the start she gave, I pulled off the blanket I had spread over her, and willy-nilly drew off her left shoe and stocking. Her bare ankle showed no scar, and covering it quickly up I took up her shoe. Immediately the trepidation she had shown at the approach of a stranger's hand towards that article of clothing was explained. In the lining, around the top, were sewn bills of no ordinary amount, and as the other shoe was probably used as a like depository, she naturally felt concern at any approach which might lead to a discovery of her little fortune. Amazed at a mystery possessing so many points of interest, I tucked the shoe in under the bed-clothes and sat down to review the situation. The mistake I had made was in concluding that because the fugitive whose traces I had followed had worn the clothes of Louise Van Burnham, she must necessarily be that unfortunate lady. Now I saw that the murdered woman was Howard's wife after all, and this patient of mine her probable rival. But this necessitated an entire change in my whole line of reasoning. If the rival and not the wife lay before me, then which of the two accompanied him to the scene of tragedy? He had said it was his wife. I had proven to myself that it was the rival. Was he right, or was I right, or were neither of us right? Not being able to decide, I fixed my mind upon another query. When did the two women exchange clothes? Or rather, when did this woman procure the silk, habiliments, and elaborate adornments of her more opulent rival? Was it before either of them entered Mr. Van Burnham's house? Or was it after their encounter there? Running over in my mind certain little facts of which I had hitherto attempted no explanation. I grouped them together and sought amongst them for inspiration. These are the facts. One. One of the garments found on the murdered woman had been torn down the back. As it was a new one, it had evidently been subjected to some quick strain, not explainable by any appearance of struggle. Two. The shoes and stockings found on the victim were the only articles she wore, which could not be traced back to Altman's. And the redressing of the so-called Mrs. James Pope, these articles had not been changed. Could not that fact be explained by the presence of a considerable sum of money in her shoes? Three. The going-out bare-headed of a fugitive, anxious to avoid observation, leaving hat and gloves behind her in a dining-room closet. I had endeavored to explain this last anomalous action by her fear of being traced by so conspicuous an article as this hat. But it was not a satisfactory explanation to me then, and much less so now. Four. And last, and most vital of all, the words which I had heard fall from this half-conscious girl. Oh, how can I touch her? She is dead, and I have never touched a dead body. Could inspiration fail me before such a list? Was it not evident that the change had been made after death and by this seemingly sensitive girl's own hands? It was a horrible thought, and led to others more horrible. For the very commission of such a revolting act argued a desire for concealment only to be explained by great guilt. She had been the offender and the wife the victim, and howered, well, his actions continued to be a mystery, but I would not admit his guilt even now. On the contrary, I saw his innocence in a still stronger light. For if he had openly or even convertly connived at his wife's death, would he have so immediately forsaken the accomplice of his guilt? To say nothing of leaving to her the dreadful task of concealing the crime? No, I would rather think that the tragedy took place after his departure, and that his action in denying his wife's identity, as long as it was possible to do so, was to be explained by the fact of his ignorance in regard to his wife's presence in the house, where he had supposed himself to have simply left her rival. As the exchange made in the clothing worn by the two women could only have taken place later, and as he naturally judged the victim by her clothing, perhaps he was really deceived himself as to her identity. It was certainly not an improbable supposition, and accounted for much that was otherwise inexplicable in Mr. Van Burnham's conduct. But the rings, why could I not find the rings? If my present reasoning were correct, this woman should have those evidences of guilt about her. But had I not searched for them in every available place without success? Annoyed at my failure to fix this one irrefutable proof of guilt upon her, I took up the knitting work I saw in Miss Oliver's basket, and began to ply the needles by way of relief to my thoughts. But I had no sooner got well under way, than some movement on the part of my patient drew my attention again to the bed, and I was startled by beholding her sitting up again, but this time with a look of fear rather than suffering on her features. Don't, she gasped, pointing with an unsteady hand at the work in my hands. The click, click, of the needles is more than I can stand. Put them down, pray, put them down! Her agitation was so great, and her nervousness so apparent that I complied at once. Ever much I might be affected by her guilt, I was not willing to do the slightest thing to worry her nerves even at the expense of my own. As the needles fell from my hand, she sank back, and a quick, short sigh escaped her lips. Then she was again quiet, and I allowed my thoughts to return to the old theme. The rings, the rings. Where were the rings, and was it impossible for me to find them? CHAPTER XXVI. A Tilt with Mr. Grice. At seven o'clock the next morning my patient was resting so quietly that I considered it safe to leave her for a short time. So I informed Miss Elthorpe that I was obliged to go downtown on an important errand, and requested Crescenza to watch over the sick girl in my absence. As she agreed to this I left the house as soon as breakfast was over, and went immediately in search of Mr. Grice. I wished to make sure that he knew nothing about the rings. It was eleven o'clock before I succeeded in finding him. As I was certain that a direct question would bring no answer, I dissembled my real intention as much as my principles would allow, and accosted him with the eager look of one who has great news to impart. Oh, Mr. Grice! I impetuously cried just as if I were really the weak woman, he thought me. I have found something, something in connection with the Van Burnham murder. You know I promised to busy myself about it if you arrested Howard Van Burnham. His smile was tantalizing in the extreme. Found something, he repeated, and may I ask if you have been so good as to bring it with you? He was playing with me. This aged and reputable detective. I subdued my anger, subdued my indignation even, and smiling much in his own way, answered briefly. I never carry valuables on my person. A half-dozen expensive rings stand for too much money for me to run any undue risk with them. He was caressing his watch-chain as I spoke, and I noticed that he paused in this action for just an infinitesimal length of time as I said the word rings. Then he went on as before, but I knew I had caught his attention. Of what rings do you speak, madam? Of those missing from Mrs. Van Burnham's hands? I took a leaf from his book and allowed myself to indulge in a little banter. Oh, no, I remonstrated. Not those rings, of course. The Queen of Siam's rings. Any rings but those in which we are specially interested. This meeting him on his own ground evidently puzzled him. You are a facetious, madam. What am I to gather from such levity? That success has crowned your efforts in that you have found a guiltier party than the one now in custody? Possibly, I returned, limiting my advance by his. But it would be going too fast to mention that yet. What I want to know is whether you have found the rings belonging to Mrs. Van Burnham. My triumphant tone, the almost mocking accent I purposely gave to the word you, accomplished its purpose. He never dreamed I was playing with him. He thought I was bursting with pride, and casting me a sharp glance, the first by the way I had received from him. He inquired with perceptible interest, have you. Instantly convinced that the whereabouts of these jewels was as little known to him as to me, I rose and prepared to leave. But seeing that he was not satisfied and that he expected an answer, I assumed a mysterious air and quietly remarked. If you will come to my house tomorrow, I will explain myself. I am not prepared to more than intimate my discoveries today. But he was not the man to let one off so easily. Excuse me, said he, but matters of this kind do not admit of delay. The grand jury sits within the week, and any evidence worth presenting them must be collected at once. I must ask you to be frank with me, Miss Butterworth. And I will be, to-morrow. Today, he insisted, to-day. Seeing that I should gain nothing by my present course, I reseeded myself bestowing upon him a decidedly ambiguous smile as I did so. You acknowledged, then, said I, that the old maid can tell you something after all. I thought you regarded all my efforts in the light of a jest. What has made you change your mind? Madam, I declined to bandy words. Have you found those rings or have you not? I have not, said I, but neither have you, and as that is what I wanted to make sure of, I will now take my leave without further ceremony. Mr. Grice is not a profane man, but he allowed a word to slip from him, which was not entirely one of blessing. He made amends for it, next moment, however, by remarking, Madam, I once said, as you will doubtless remember, that the day would come when I should find myself at your feet. That day has arrived. And now is there any other little cherished fact known to the police which you would like to have imparted to you? I took his humiliation, seriously. You are very good, I rejoined, but I will not trouble you for any facts. Perhaps I am enabled to glean for myself, but what I should like you to tell me is this—whether, if you came upon those rings in the possession of a person, known to have been on the scene of crime at the time of its perpetration, you would not consider them as incontrovertible proof of guilt. Undoubtedly said he with a sudden alteration in his manner, which warned me that I must muster up all my strength if I would keep my secret till I was quite ready to part with it. Then said I, with a resolute movement towards the door, that's the whole of my business for today. Good morning, Mr. Greiss, to-morrow I shall expect you. He made me stop though my foot had crossed the threshold, not by word or look, but simply by his fatherly manner. Miss Butterworth, he observed, the suspicions which you have entertained from the first have within the last few days assumed a definite form. In what direction do they point? Tell me. Some men and most women would have yielded to that imperative, tell me, but there was no yielding in Amelia Butterworth. Instead of that I treated him to a touch of irony. Is it possible, I asked, that you think it worth while to consult me, I thought your eyes were too keen to seek assistance from mine. You are as confident as I am that Howard Van Burnham is innocent of the crime for which you have arrested him. A look that was dangerously insinuating crossed his face at this. He came forward rapidly and joining me where I stood, said smilingly, Let us join forces, Miss Butterworth. You have from the first refused to consider the younger son of Silas Van Burnham as guilty. Your reasons then were slight and hardly worth communicating. Have you any better ones to advance now? It is not too late to mention them, if you have. It will not be too late, to-morrow, I retorted. Convinced that I was not to be moved from my position he gave me one of his low bows. I forgot, said he, that it was as a rival and not as a co-edger that you meddled in this matter. But he bowed again, this time with the sarcastic air I felt too self-satisfied to resent. To-morrow, then, said I. To-morrow. At that I left him. I did not return immediately to Miss Althorpe. I visited Cox Milnery's store, Mrs. Desperger's house, and the offices of the various city railways. But I got no clue to the rings and finally satisfied that Miss Oliver, as I must now call her, had not lost or disposed of them on her way from Gramercy Park to her present place of refuge. I returned to Miss Althorpe's with even a greater determination than before to search that luxurious home till I found them. But a decided surprise awaited me. As the door opened I caught a glimpse of the butler's face, and noticing its embarrassed expression I at once asked what had happened. Miss Ancer showed a strange mixture of hesitation and bravado. Not much, ma'am, only Miss Althorpe is afraid you may not be pleased. Miss Oliver is gone, ma'am. She ran away while Crescentza was out of the room. CHAPTER XXVII of that affair next door. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording to-day by Dawn Larson in Minnesota. That affair next door by Anna K. Green, Chapter XXVII, found. I gave a low cry and rushed down the steps. Don't go, I called out to the driver, I shall want you in ten minutes. And hurrying back I ran upstairs in a condition of mind such as I have no reason to be proud of. Happily, Mr. Grice was not there to see me. Gone? Miss Oliver gone, I cried to the maid, whom I found trembling in a corner of the hall. Yes, ma'am, it was my fault, ma'am. She was in bed so quiet I thought I might step out for a minute, but when I came back her clothes were missing and she was gone. She must have slipped out at the front door while Dan was in the back hall. I don't see how ever she had the strength to do it. Nor did I, but I did not stop to reason about it there was too much to be done. Rushing on I entered the room I had left in such high hopes a few hours before. Emptiness was before me and I realized what it was to be baffled at the moment of success. But I did not waste an instant in inactivity. I searched the closets and pulled open the drawers, found her coat and hat gone, but not Mrs. Van Burnham's brown skirt, though the purse had been taken out of the pocket. Is her bag here, I asked? Yes, it was in its old place under the table, and on the wash stand and bureau were the simple toilet articles I had been told she had brought there. In what haste she must have fled to leave these necessities behind her. But the greatest shock I received was the sight of the knitting work, with which I had so inconsiderately meddled the evening before, lying in raveled heaps on the table as if torn to bits in a frenzy. This was a proof that the fever was yet on her, and as I contemplated this fact I took courage, thinking that one in her condition would not be allowed to run the streets long, but would be picked up and put in some hospital. In this hope I began my search. Miss Elthorpe, who came in just as I was about to leave the house, consented to telephone to police headquarters a description of the girl, with a request to be notified if such a person should be found in the streets or on the docks, or at any of the station houses that night. Not I assured her as we left the telephone, and I prepared to say goodbye for the day, that you need expect her to be brought back to this house, for I do not mean that she shall ever darken your doors again. So let me know if they find her, and I will relieve you of all further responsibility in the matter. Then I started out. To name the streets I traversed or the places I visited that day would take more space than I would like to devote to the subject.isk came, and I had failed in obtaining the least clue to her whereabouts. Evening followed, and still no trace of the fugitive. What was I to do? Take Mr. Gries into my confidence after all? That would be galling to my pride, but I began to fear I should have to submit to this humiliation, when I happened to think of the Chinaman. To think of him once was to think of him twice, and to think of him twice was to be conscious of an irresistible desire to visit his place and find out if any one but myself had been there to inquire after the lost one's clothes. Accompanied by Lina I hurried away to Third Avenue. The laundry was near Twenty-Seventh Street. As we approached I grew troubled and unaccountably expectant. When we reached it I understood my excitement and instantly became calm, for there stood Miss Oliver, gazing like one under a spell through the lighted window-panes into the narrow shop, where the owner bent over his ironing. She had evidently stood there some time, for a small group of half-grown lads were watching her with every symptom of being about to break into a mischievous display of curiosity. Her hands, which were without gloves, were pressed against the glass, and her whole attitude showed an intensity of fatigue, which would have laid her on the ground had she not been sustained by an equal intensity of purpose. Sending Lina for a carriage I approached the poor creature and drew her forcibly from the window. Do you want anything here, I asked. I will go in with you if you do. She surveyed me with strange apathy, and yet with a certain sort of relief too, then she slowly shook her head. I don't know anything about it. My head swims and everything looks queer, but some one or some thing sent me to this place. Come in, I urged. Come in for a minute, and half supporting her, half dragging her, I managed to get her across the threshold and into the Chinaman's shop. Immediately a dozen faces were pressed where hers had been. The Chinaman, a stolid being, turned as he heard the little bell tinkle which announced a customer. Is this the lady who left the clothes here a few nights ago, I asked. He stopped and stared, recognizing me slowly, and remembering by degrees what had passed between us at our last interview. You tell me Lely die, how him Lely when Lely die. The lady is not dead, I made a mistake. Is this the lady? Lely talk, I know see face, I hear speak. Have you seen this man before, I inquired of my nearly insensible companion? I think so, in a dream, she murmured, trying to recall her poor wandering wits back from some region into which they had strayed. Him Lely, cried the Chinaman, overjoyed at the prospect of getting his money. See speak, I know he him, Lely want clothe? Not tonight, the lady is sick, see she can hardly stand. And overjoyed at this seeming evidence that the police had failed to get wind of my interest in this place, I slipped a coin into the Chinaman's hand, and drew Miss Oliver away, towards the carriage I now saw drawing up before the shop. Lena's eyes when she came up to help me were a sight to see, they seemed to ask who this girl was, and what I was going to do with her. I answered the look by a very brief and evidently wholly unexpected explanation. This is your cousin who ran away, I remarked. Don't you recognize her? Lena gave me up then and there, but she accepted my explanation, and even lied in her desire to carry out my whim. Yes, ma'am, said she, and glad I am to see her again. And with a deft push here and a gentle pull there, she succeeded in getting the sick woman into the carriage. The crowd, which had considerably increased by this time, was beginning to flock about us with shouts of no little derision. Escaping at his best I could I took my seat by the poor girl's side, and bathed Lena to give the order for home. When we left the curb stone behind, I felt that the last page in my adventures as an amateur detective had closed. But I counted without my cost. Miss Oliver, who was in an advanced stage of fever, lay like a dead weight on my shoulder during the drive down the avenue. But when we entered the park and drew near my house, she began to show such signs of violent agitation that it was with difficulty that the united efforts of Lena and myself could prevent her from throwing herself out of the carriage door, which she had somehow managed to open. As the carriage stopped she grew worse, and though she made no further efforts to leave it, I found her present impulse is even harder to contend with than the former. For now she would not be pushed or dragged out, but crouched back moaning and struggling her eyes fixed on the stoop, which was not unlike that of the adjoining house. Till with a sudden realization that the cause of her terror lay in her fear of re-entering the scene of her late terrifying experiences, I bade the coachman drive on, and reluctantly I owned, carried her back to the house she had left in the morning. And this is how I came to spend a second night in Miss Elthorpe's hospitable mansion. End of Chapter Twenty-Seven, Chapter Twenty-Eight, taken aback. One incident more, and this portion of my story, is at an end. My poor patient, sicker than she had been the night before, left me but little leisure for thought or action, disconnected with my care for her. But towards morning she grew quieter and finding in an open drawer those tangled threads of yarn of which I had spoken. I began to rewind them out of a natural desire to see everything neat and orderly about me. I had nearly finished my task when I heard a strange noise from the bed. It was a sort of gurgling cry which I found hard to interpret, but which only stopped when I laid my work down again. Manifestly, this sick girl had very nervous fancies. When I went down to breakfast the next morning, I was in that complacent state of mind, natural to a woman who feels that her abilities have asserted themselves, and that she would soon receive a recognition of the same at the hands of the one person for whose commendation she had chiefly been working. The identification of Miss Oliver by the Chinaman was the last link in the chain connecting her with the Mrs. James Pope, who had accompanied Mr. Van Burnham to his father's house in Gramercy Park. And though I would feign have had the murdered woman's rings to show, I was contented enough with the discoveries I had made to wish for the hour which would bring me face to face with the detective. But a surprise awaited me at the breakfast-table in the shape of a communication from that gentleman. It had just been brought from my house by Lena, and it ran thus. Dear Miss Butterworth, pardon our interference. We have found the rings which you think so conclusive and evidence of guilt against the person secreting them. And with your permission, this was basely underlined. Mr. Franklin Van Burnham will be in custody today. I will wait upon you at ten. Respectfully yours, Ebenezer, Grice. Franklin Van Burnham. Was I dreaming? Franklin Van Burnham? Accused of this crime and in custody? What did it mean? I had found no evidence against Franklin Van Burnham. End of Chapter twenty-eight. End of Book two. Book three, Chapter twenty-nine of That Affair Next Door. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording today by Don Larson in Minnesota. That Affair Next Door by Anna K. Green. Book three, The Girl in Gray. Chapter twenty-nine, Amelia Becomes Peremptory. Madam, I hope I see you satisfied. This was Mr. Grice's greeting as he entered my parlor on that memorable morning. Satisfied, I repeated, rising and facing him with what he afterwards described as a stony glare. Pardon me. I suppose you would have been still more satisfied if we had waited for you to point out the guilty man to us. But you must make some allowances for professional egotism, Miss Betterworth. We really could not allow you to take that initiatory step in a matter of such importance. Oh, was my slow response. But he has since told me that there was a great deal in that, oh, so much that even he was startled by it. You set today for a talk with me, he went on, probably relying upon what you intended to assure yourself of yesterday. But our discovery at the same time as yourself of the rings in Mr. Van Burnham's office need not interfere with your giving us your full confidence. The work you have done has been excellent, and we are disposed to give you considerable credit for it. Indeed. I had no choice but to thus indulge in ejaculations. The communication he had just made was so startling, and his assumption of my complete understanding of, and participation in the discovery he professed to have made, so puzzling, that I dared not venture beyond these simple exclamations, lest he should see the state of mind into which he had thrown me, and shut up like an oyster. We have kept counsel over what we have found, the wary old detective continued with a smile, which I wish I could imitate, but which unhappily belongs to him alone. I hope that you, or your maid, I should say, have been equally discreet. My maid? I see you are touched, but women find it so hard to keep a secret. But it does not matter, to-night the whole town will know that the older and not the younger brother has had these rings in his keeping. It will be nuts for the papers, I commented. Then, making an effort, I remarked, you are a most judicious man, Mr. Grice, and must have other reasons than the discovery of these rings for your threatened arrest of a man of such excellent repute as Silas Van Burnham's eldest son. I should like to hear them, Mr. Grice, I should like to hear them very much. My attempt to seem at ease under these embarrassing conditions must have given a certain sharpness to my tone, for, instead of replying, he remarked, with well-simulated concern and a fatherly humoring of my folly, peculiarly exasperating to one of my temperament. You are displeased, Miss Butterworth, because we did not let you find the rings. Perhaps, but we were engaged in an open field. I could not expect the police to stand aside for me. Exactly, especially when you have the secret satisfaction of having put the police on the track of these jewels. How? We were simply fortunate in laying our hands on them first, you, or rather your maid, showed us where to look for them. Lena, again! I was so dumbfounded by this last assertion I did not attempt to reply. Suddenly he misinterpreted my silence and the stony glare with which it was accompanied. I know that it must seem to you altogether too bad to be tripped up at the moment of your anticipated triumph. But if apologies will suffice to express our sense of presumption, then I pray you to accept them, Miss Butterworth, both on my own part and on that of the superintendent of police. I did not understand in the least what he was talking about, but I recognized the sarcasm of his final expression, and had spirit enough to reply. The subject is too important for any more nonsense. Whereabouts in Franklin Van Burnham's desk were these rings found, and how do you know that his brother did not put them there? Your ignorance is refreshing, Miss Butterworth, if you will ask a certain young girl dressed in gray upon what object connected with Mr. Van Burnham's desk she laid her hands yesterday morning, you will have an answer to your first question. The second one is still more easily answered. Mr. Howard Van Burnham did not conceal the rings in the Dwayne Street office for the reason that he has not been in that office since his wife was killed. Regarding this fact we are as well advised as yourself. Now you change color, Miss Butterworth, but there is no necessity. For an amateur you have made less trouble and fewer mistakes than were to be expected. Worse and worse he was patronizing me now, and for results I had done nothing to bring about. I surveyed him in absolute amazement. Was he amusing himself with me, or was he himself deceived as to the nature and the trend of my late investigations? This was a question to settle, and at once, and as duplicity had hitherto proved my best weapon in dealing with Mr. Grice, I concluded to resort to it in this emergency. Clearing my brow I regarded with the more amenable air the little Hungarian face he had taken up on entering the room, and into which he had been talking ever since he thought it worthwhile to compliment its owner. I do not wish, said I, to be published to the world as the discoverer of Franklin Van Burnham's guilt, but I do want credit with the police, if only because one of their number has chosen to look upon my efforts with disdain. I mean you, Mr. Grice. So if you are in earnest, he smiled at the vase most genially, I will accept your apologies just so far as you honor me with your confidence. I know you are anxious to hear what evidence I have collected, or you would not be wasting time on me this busy morning. Shrewd was the short ejaculation he shot into the mouth of the vase he was handling. If that term of admiration is intended for me, I remarked, I am sure I am only too sensible of the honor. But flattery has never succeeded in making me talk against my better judgment. I may be shrewd, but a fool could see what you are after this morning. Compliment me when I have deserved it. I can wait. I begin to think that what you withhold so resolutely has more than common value, Miss Butterworth. If this is so, I must not be the only one to listen to your explanations. Is not that a carriage I hear stopping? I am expecting Inspector Z. If that is he, you have been wise to delay your communications till he came. A carriage was stopping, and it was the inspector who alighted from it. I began to feel my importance in a way that was truly gratifying, and cast my eyes up at the portrait of my father, with a secret longing that its original stood by to witness the verification of his prophecy. But I was not so distracted by these thoughts as not to make one attempt to get something from Mr. Grice before the inspector joined us. Why do you speak to me of my maid in one breath and of a girl in gray in another? Did you think, Lena, hush, he enjoined. We will have ample opportunities to discuss this subject later. Will we, thought I, we will discuss nothing till I know more positively what you are aiming at. But I show nothing of this determination in my face. On the contrary I became all affability as the inspector entered, and I did the honors of the house in a way I hope my father would have approved of, had he been alive and present. Mr. Grice continued to stare into the vase. Miss Butterworth, it was the inspector who was speaking, I have been told that you take great interest in the Van Burner murder, and that you have even gone so far as to collect some facts in connection with it, which you have not as yet given to the police. You have heard correctly, I returned. I have taken a deep interest in this tragedy, and have come into possession of some facts in reference to it, which as yet I have imparted to no living soul. Mr. Grice's interest in my poor little vase increased marvelously. Seeing this I complacently continued. I could not have accomplished so much had I indulged in a confidant. Such work as I have attempted depends for its success upon the secrecy with which it is carried on. That is why amateur work is sometimes more effective than professional. No one suspected me of making inquiries, unless it was this gentleman, and he was forewarned of my possible interference. I told him that in case Mr. Howard Van Burnum was put under arrest, I should take it upon myself to stir up matters, and I have. Then you do not believe in Mr. Van Burnum's guilt, not even in his complicity I suppose, ventured the inspector. I do not know anything about his complicity, but I do not believe the stroke given to his wife came from his hand. I see, I see, you believe at the work of his brother. I stole a look at Mr. Grice before replying. He had turned the vase upside down and was intently studying its label, but he could not conceal his expectation of an affirmative answer. Slowly relieved I immediately took the position I had resolved upon and calmly but vigorously observed. What I believe and what I have learned in support of my belief will sound as well in your ears ten minutes hence as now. Before I give you the result of such inquiries as I have been enabled to make, I require to know what evidence you have yourself collected against the gentleman you have just named, and in what respect it is as criminating as that against his brother. Is that not peremptory, Ms. Butterworth? And do you think us called upon to part with all or any of the secrets of our office? We have informed you that we have new and startling evidence against the older brother, should not that be sufficient for you? Perhaps so if I were an assistant of yours or even in your employ. But I am neither, I stand alone, and although I am a woman and unused to this business, I have earned, as I think you will acknowledge later, the right to some consideration on your part. I cannot present the facts I have to relate in a proper manner till I know just how the case stands. It is not curiosity that troubles Ms. Butterworth, madam. I said it was not curiosity but a laudable desire to have the whole matter arranged with precision. Not now in his driest tones from the detective's lips. Mr. Grice has a most excellent understanding of my character, I gravely observe. The inspector looked nonplussed, he glanced at Mr. Grice and he glanced at me, but the smile of the former was inscrutable, and my expression if I showed any must have betrayed but little relenting. If called as a witness, Ms. Butterworth, this was how he sought to manage me. You will have no choice in the matter. You will be compelled to speak or show contempt of court. That is true, I acknowledged, but it is not what I might feel myself called upon to say then, but what I can say now that is of interest to you at this present moment. So be generous, gentlemen, and satisfy my curiosity, for such Mr. Grice considers it in spite of his assertions to the contrary. Will it not all come out in the papers, a few hours hence, and have I not earned as much at your hands as the reporters? The reporters are our bane. Do not liken yourself to the reporters. Yet they sometimes give you a valuable clue. Mr. Grice looked as if he would like to disclaim this, but he was a judicious soul, and merely gave a twist to the vase, which I thought would cost me that small article of ver2. Shall we humor, Ms. Butterworth, asked the inspector? We will do better, answered Mr. Grice, setting the vase down with a precision that made me jump, for I am a worshiper of Brickbrack and prized the few articles I own, possibly beyond their real value. We will treat her as a co-agitor which, by the way, she says she is not, and by the trust we place in her, secure that discretionary use of our confidence, which she shows with so much spirit in regard to her own. Begin, then, said I. I will, said he, but first allow me to acknowledge that you are the person who first put us on the track of Franklin Van Burnham. CHAPTER XXXIV The matter is stated by Mr. Grice. I had exhausted my wonder, so I accepted this statement with no more display of surprise than a grim smile. When you failed to identify Howard Van Burnham as the man who accompanied his wife into the adjacent house, I realized that I must look elsewhere for the murderer of Louise Van Burnham. You see, I had more confidence in the excellence of your memory than you had yourself. So much indeed that I gave you more than one chance to exercise it. Having by certain little methods, I sometimes employ, induced different moods in Mr. Van Burnham at the time of his several visits, so that his bearing might vary, and you have every opportunity to recognize him for the man you had seen on that fatal night. And it was he you brought here each time I broke in. It was he. Well, I ejaculated. The superintendent and some others whom I need not mention, here Mr. Grice took up another small object from the table, believed implicitly in his guilt. Conjugal murder is so common, and the causes which lead to it so frequently purile. Therefore I had to work alone, but this did not cause me any concern. Your doubts emphasized mine. And when you confided to me that you had seen a figure similar to the one we were trying to identify entered the adjoining house on the evening of the funeral, I made immediate inquiries and discovered that the gentleman who had entered the house, right after the four persons described by you, was Franklin Van Burnham. This gave me a definite clue, and this is why I say that it was you who gave me my first start in this matter. Huh! thought I to myself, as, with a sudden shock, I remembered that one of the words, which had fallen from Miss Oliver's lips during her delirium, had been this very name of Franklin. I had had my doubts of this gentleman before, continued the detective, warming gradually with his subject. A man of my experience doubts everyone in a case of this kind. And I had formed at odd times a sort of side theory, so to speak, into which some little matters which came up during the inquest, seemed to fit with more or less nicety, but I had no real justification for suspicion till the event of which I speak. That you had evidently formed the same theory as myself, and were bound to enter into the lists with me, put me on my metal and with your knowledge or without it the struggle between us began. So your disdain of me, I here put in with the triumphant air I could not subdue, was only simulated. I shall know what to think of you hereafter. But don't stop, go on, this is all deeply interesting to me. I can understand that. To proceed then. My first duty, of course, was to watch you. You had reasons of your own for suspecting this man, so by watching you I hoped to surprise them. Good! I cried, unable to entirely conceal the astonishment, and grim amusement into which his continued misconception of the trend of my suspicions threw me. But you let us a chase, madam, I must acknowledge that you let us a chase. For being an amateur led me to anticipate you using amateur's methods, but you showed skill, madam, and the man I sent to keep watch over Mrs. Boppert against your looked-for visit there was foiled by the very simple strategy you used in meeting her at a neighbouring shop. Good! I cried again in my relief that the discovery made at that meeting had not been shared by him. We had sounded Mrs. Boppert ourselves, but she had seemed a very hopeless job, and I do not yet see how you got any water out of that stone, if you did. No, I retorted ambiguously, enjoying the inspector's manifest delight in this scene, as much as I did my own secret thoughts, and the prospect of the surprise I was holding in store for them. But your interference with the clock and the discovery you made that it had been going at the time the shelves fell was not unknown to us, and we have made use of it good use as you will hear after see. So those girls could not keep a secret after all, I muttered, and waited with some anxiety to hear him mention the pincushion, but he did not, greatly to my relief. Don't blame the girls, he put in, his ears evidently are as sharp as mine. The inquiries having proceeded from Franklin, it was only natural for me to suspect that he was trying to mislead us by some hocus pocus story. So I visited the girls, that I had difficulty in getting to the root of the matter is to their credit, Miss Butterworth, seeing that you had made them promise secrecy. You are right, I nodded, and forgave them on the spot. If I could not withstand Mr. Grice's eloquence, and it affected me at times, how could I expect these girls to? Besides, they had not revealed the more important secret I had confided to them, and in consideration of this I was ready to pardon them almost anything. That the clock was going at the time the shelves fell, and that he should be the one to draw our attention to it, would seem to the superficial mind proof positive that he was innocent of the deed with which it was so closely associated, that he teched if proceeded. But to one skilled in the subterfuges of criminals, this seemingly conclusive fact in his favor was capable of an explanation so in keeping with the subtlety shown in every other feature of this remarkable crime, that I begin to regard it as a point against him rather than in his favor, of which more hereafter. Not allowing myself to be deterred, then, by this momentary setback, and rejoicing in an affair considered as settled by my superiors, I proceeded to establish Franklin Van Burnham's connection with the crime, which had been laid with so much apparent reason at his brother's door. The first fact to be settled was, of course, whether your identification of him as the gentleman who accompanied his victim into Mr. Van Burnham's house could be corroborated by any of the many persons who had seen the so-called Mr. James Pope at the Hotel D. As none of the witnesses who attended the inquest had presumed to recognize in either of these sleek and haughty gentlemen the shrinking person just mentioned, I knew that any open attempt on my part to bring about an identification would result disastrously. So I employed strategy, like my betters, Miss Butterworth, here his bow was overpowering in its mock humility. And rightly considering that for a person to be satisfactorily identified with another, he must be seen under the same circumstances and in nearly the same place, I sought out Franklin Van Burnham and with specious promises of some great benefit to be done his brother, induced him to accompany me to the Hotel D. Whether he saw through my plans and thought that a brave front and an assumption of candor would best serve him in this unexpected dilemma, or whether he felt so entrenched behind the precautions he had taken as not to fear discovery under any circumstances, he made but one de Meurre before preparing to accompany me. This de Meurre was significant, however, for it was occasioned by my advice to change his dress for one less conspicuously fashionable, or to hide it under an Ulster or Macintosh. And as a proof of his hardyhood, remember, madam, that his connection with this crime has been established, he actually did put on the Ulster, though he must have known what a difference it would make in his appearance. The result was all I could desire. As we entered the Hotel, I saw a certain Hackman start and lean forward to look after him. It was the one who had driven Mr. and Mrs. Pope away from the Hotel. And when we passed the porter the wink which I gave him was met by a lift of his eyelids which he afterwards interpreted into like, very like. But it was from the clerk I received the most unequivocal proof of his identity. When entering the office, I had left Mr. Van Burnham as near as possible to the spot where Mr. Pope had stood while his so-called wife was inscribing their names in the register, and bidding him to remain in the background while I had a few words at the desk, all in his brother's interest, of course. I succeeded in secretly directing Mr. Henshaw's attention toward him. The start which he gave and the exclamation he uttered were unequivocal. Why there's the man now, he cried, happily in a whisper, anxious look, drooping head, brown mustache, everything but the duster. Bah! said I, that's Mr. Franklin Van Burnham you are looking at. What are you thinking of? Can't help it, said he. I saw both of the brothers at the inquest and saw nothing in them then to remind me of our late mysterious guest. But as he stands there, he's a sight more like James Pope than the other one is, and don't you forget it. I shrugged my shoulders, told him he was a fool, and that fools had better keep their follies to themselves, and came away with my man, outwardly disgusted but inwardly in the most excellent trim, for pursuing an investigation which had opened so auspiciously. Whether this man possessed any motive for a crime so seemingly out of accordance with his life and disposition was, of course, the next point to settle. His conduct at the inquest certainly showed no decided animosity towards his brother's wife, nor was there on the surface of affairs any token of the mortal hatred which alone could account for a crime at once so deliberate and so brutal. But we detectives plunge below the surface, and after settling the question of Franklin's identity with the so-called Mr. Pope of the Hotel D., I left New York and its interests, among which I reckoned your efforts at detective work, Miss Butterworth. To a young man in my office who I am afraid did not quite understand the persistence of your character, for he had nothing to tell me concerning you on my return, save that you had been cultivating Miss Althorpe, which, of course, was such a natural thing for you to do, I wonder he thought it necessary to mention it. My destination was Four Corners, the place where Howard first met his future wife. In relating what I learned there I shall doubtless repeat faxed which you are acquainted with, Miss Butterworth. That is of no consequence, I returned, with almost brazen duplicity, for I not only was ignorant of what he was going to say, but had every reason to believe that it would bear as remote a connection as possible, to the secret then laboring in my breast. A statement of the case from your lips, I pursued, will emphasize what I know. Do not stint any of your disclosures, then, I beg. I have an ear for all. This was truer than my rather sarcastic tone would convey, for might not his story after all prove to have some unexpected relation with the fax I had myself gathered together. It is a pleasure, said he, to think I am capable of giving any information to Miss Butterworth, and as I did not run across you or your very nimble and pert little maid during my stay at Four Corners, I shall take it for granted that you can find your inquiries to the city and the society of which you are such a shining light. This in reference to my double visit at Miss Elthorpe's no doubt. Four Corners is a charming little town in southern Vermont, and here, three years ago, Howard Van Burnham first met Miss Stapleton. She was living in a gentleman's family at the time as travelling companion to his invalid daughter. Ah! Now I could see what explanation this weary old detective gave himself of my visits to Miss Elthorpe and began to hug myself in anticipation of my coming triumph over him. The place did not fit her for Miss Stapleton only shown in society of men, but Mr. Harrison had not yet discovered the special idiosyncrasy of hers, and as his daughter was able to see a few friends, and in fact needed some diversion, the way was open to her companion for that acquaintance with Mr. Van Burnham which had led to such disastrous results. The house at which their meeting took place was a private one, and I soon found out many facts not widely known in this city, first that she was not so much in love with Howard as he was with her. He succumbed to her fascinations at once and proposed, I believe, within two weeks after seeing her. But though she accepted him, few of those who saw them together thought her affections very much engaged, till Franklin suddenly appeared in town. When her whole manner underwent a change, and she became so sparklingly and irresistibly beautiful that her avowed lover became doubly enslaved, and Franklin, well, there is evidence to prove that he was not insensible to her charms either, that in spite of her engagement to his brother and the attitude which honor bade him hold towards his prospective sister-in-law, he lost his head for a short time at least. And under her seductions I do not doubt, for she was a double-faced woman according to the general repute, went so far as to express his passion in a letter of which I heard much before I was so fortunate as to obtain a sight of it. This was three years ago, and I think Miss Stapleton would have been willing to have broken with Howard and married Franklin if the latter had had the courage to meet his brother's reproaches. But he evidently was deficient in this quality. His very letter, which is a warm one, but which holds out no hope to her of any closer bond between them than that offered by her prospective union with his brother, shows that he still retained some sense of honor. And as he presently left Four Corners and did not appear again, where they were till just before their marriage, it is probable that all would have gone well if the woman had shared this sentiment with him. But she was made up of mean materials, and while willing to marry Howard for what he could give her, or what she thought he could give her, she yet cherished an implacable grudge against Franklin for his weakness, as she called it, in not following the dictates of his heart. Being sly as well as passionate, she hid her feelings from everyone, but a venial, though apparently devoted confident, a young girl named Oliver, I finished in my own mind. But the name he mentioned was quite different. Pigot, he said, looking at the filigree basket he held in his hand, as if he picked this word out from one of its many interstices. She was French, and after once finding her I had but little difficulty in learning all she had to tell. She had been Miss Harrison's maid, but she was not above serving Miss Stapleton in many secret and dishonorable ways. As a consequence she could give me the details of an interview which that lady had held with Mr. Franklin Van Burnham on the evening of her wedding. It took place in Mr. Harrison's garden, and was supposed to be a secret one, but the woman who arranged the meeting was not the person to keep away from it when it occurred. And consequently I have been enabled to learn with more or less accuracy what took place between them. It was not to Miss Stapleton's credit. Mr. Van Burnham merely wanted his letter back, but she refused to return it unless he would promise her a complete recognition by his family of her marriage and ensure her a reception in his father's house as Howard's wife. This was more than he could engage himself to perform. He had already, according to his own story, made every effort possible to influence the old gentleman in her favour, but had only succeeded in irritating him against himself. It was an acknowledgment which would have satisfied most women, but it did not satisfy her. She declared her intention of keeping the letter for fear he would cease his exertions, and heedless of the effect produced upon him by the bare-faced threat proceeded to invade against his brother for the very love which made her union with him possible. And as if this was not bad enough, showed at the same time such a disposition to profit by whatever worldly good the match promised, that Franklin lost all regard for her and began to hate her. As he made no effort to conceal his feelings, she must have become immediately aware of the change which had taken place in them. But however affected by this, she gave no sign of relenting in her purpose. On the contrary, she persisted in her determination to retain his letter, and when he remonstrated with her and threatened to leave town before her marriage, she retorted by saying that if he did so, she would show his letter to his brother as soon as the minister had made them one. This threat seemed to affect Franklin deeply, and while it intensified his feeling of animosity towards her, subjected him for the moment to her whim. He stayed in four corners till the ceremony was performed, but was such a gloomy guest that all united in saying that he did the occasion no credit. So much for my work in four corners. I had by this time become aware that Mr. Grice was addressing himself chiefly to the inspector, being gratified no doubt at this opportunity of presenting his case at length before that gentleman. But true to his special habits, he looked at neither of us but rather at the fretted basket, upon the handle of which he tapped out his arguments as he quickly proceeded. The young couple spent the first months of their married life in Yonkers, so to Yonkers I went next. There I learned that Franklin had visited the place twice, both times as I judge, upon a peremptory summons from her. The result was mutual fret and heart-burning, for she had made no progress in her endeavors to win recognition from the Van Burnems, and even had had occasion to perceive that her husband's love, based as it was upon her physical attributes, had begun to feel the stress of her uneasiness and dissatisfaction. She became more anxious than ever for social recognition and distinction, and when the family went to Europe, consented to accompany her husband into the quiet retreat he thought best calculated to win the approbation of his father, only upon the assurance of better times in the fall and a possible visit to Washington in the winter. But the quiet to which she was subjected had a bad effect upon her. Under it she grew more and more restless, and as the time approached for the family's return, conceived so many plans for conciliating them that her husband could not restrain his disgust. But the worst plan of all, and the one which undoubtedly led to her death, he never knew. This was to surprise Franklin at his office, and by renewed threat of showing this old love letter to his brother, when an absolute promise from him to support her in a fresh endeavor to win his father's favor. You see, she did not understand Silas Van Burnham's real character, and persisted in holding the most extravagant views concerning Franklin's ascendancy over him, as well as over the rest of the family. She even went so far as to insist in the interview, which Jane Pigotte overheard, that it was Franklin himself who stood in the way of her desires, and that if he chose, he could obtain for her an invitation to take up her abode with the rest of them in Gramercy Park. To Duane Street she therefore went before making her appearance at Mrs. Parker's, a fact which was not brought out at the inquest. Franklin not disclosing it, of course, and the clerk not recognizing her under the false name she chose to give. Of the details of this interview I am ignorant, but as she was closeted with him some time, it is only natural to suppose that conversation of some importance took place between them. The clerk who works in the outer office did not, as I have said, know who she was at the time, but he noticed her face when she came out, and he declares that it was insolent with triumph, while Mr. Franklin, who was polite enough, or calculating enough, to bow her out of the room, was pale with rage, and acted so unlike himself that everybody observed it. She held his letter in her hand, a letter easily distinguishable by the violet-colored seal on the back, and she philliped with it in a most aggravating way as she crossed the floor, pretending to lay it down on Howard's desk as she went by, and then taking it up again with an arch-look at Franklin, pretty enough to see but hateful in its effect on him. As he went back to his own room his face was full of anger, and such was the effect of this visit on him that he declined to see anyone else that day. She had probably shown such determination to reveal his past perfidy to her husband that his fears were fully aroused at last, and he saw he was not only likely to lose his good name, but the esteem with which he was accustomed to being regarded by this younger and evidently much-loved brother. And now, considering his intense pride, as well as his affection for Howard, do you not see the motive which this seemingly good man had for putting his troublesome sister-in-law out of existence? He wanted that letter back, and to obtain it had to resort to crime. Ours such as my present theory of this murder, Miss Butterworth, does it correspond with yours? End of CHAPTER XXXI. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Thank for you to-day by Dawn Larson in Minnesota. That affair next door by Anna K. Green CHAPTER XXXI. Some fine work. Oh, perfectly, I assented, with just the shade of irony necessary to rob the assertion of its mendacity. But go on, go on! You have not begun to satisfy me yet. You did not stop with finding a motive for the crime, I am sure. Madam, you are a female shylock. You will have the whole of the bond or none. We are not here to draw comparisons, I retorted. Keep to the subject, Mr. Greiss. Keep to the subject. He laughed, laid down the little basket he held, took it up again, and finally resumed. Madam, you are right. We did not stop at finding a motive. Our next step was to collect evidence directly connecting him with the crime. And you succeeded in this? My tone was unnecessarily eager. This was also unaccountable to me, but he did not appear to notice it. We did indeed the evidence against him is stronger than that against his brother. For if we ignore the latter part of Howard's testimony, which was evidently a tissue of lies, what remains against him? Three things. His dogged persistency in not recognizing his wife in the murdered woman, the receiving of the house keys from his brother, and the fact that he was seen on the stoop of his father's house, at an unusual hour in the morning following this murder. Now what have we against Franklin? Many things. First, that he could no more account for the hours between half past eleven on Tuesday morning and five o'clock on the following Wednesday morning than his brother can. In one breath he declares that he was shut up in his rooms at the hotel for which no corroborative evidence is forthcoming, and in another that he was on a tramp after his brother, which seems equally improbable and incapable of proof. Second, that he and not Howard was the man in a linen duster, and that he and not Howard was in possession of the keys that night. As these are serious statements to make, I will give you my reasons for them. They are distinct from the recognition of his person by the inmates of the Hotel D., and, added to that recognition, form a strong case against him. The janitor who has charge of the offices in Dwayne Street, happening to have a leisure moment on the morning of the day on which Mrs. Van Burnham was murdered, was making the most of it by watching the unloading of a huge boiler, some four doors below, the Van Burnham Warehouse. He was consequently looking intently in that direction when Howard passed him, coming from the interview with his brother in which he had been given the keys. Mr. Van Burnham was walking briskly, but finding the sidewalk blocked by the boiler to which I have alluded, paused for a moment to let it pass, and, being greatly heated, took out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. This done, he moved on, just as a man dressed in a long duster came up behind him, stopping where he stopped, and picking up from the ground something which the first gentleman had evidently dropped. This last man's figure looked more or less familiar to the janitor, so did the duster, and later he discovered that the latter was the one which he had seen hanging for so long a time in the little disused closet under the warehouse stairs. Its wearer was Franklin Van Burnham, who, as I took pains to learn, had left the office immediately in the wake of his brother, and the object he picked up was the bunch of keys which the latter had inadvertently dropped. He may have thought he lost them later, but it was then and there they slipped from his pocket. I will hear add that the duster found by the hackman in his coach has been identified as the one missing from the closet just mentioned. Third, the keys with which Mr. Van Burnham's house was unlocked were found hanging in their usual place by noon of the next day. They could not have been taken there by Howard, for he was not seen at the office after the murder. By whom then were they returned if not by Franklin? Fourth, the letter, for the possession of which I believe this crime to have been perpetrated, was found by us in a supposedly secret drawer of this gentleman's desk. It was much crumpled, and bore evidences of having been rather rudely dealt with since it was last seen in Mrs. Van Burnham's hand in that very office. But the fact which is most convincing and which will tell most heavily against him is the unexpected discovery of the murdered lady's rings, also in this same desk. How you became aware that anything of such importance could be found there knowing even the exact place in which they were secreted, I will not stop to ask at this moment. Enough that when your maid entered the Van Burnham offices and insisted with so much ingenuousness that she was expected by Mr. Van Burnham and would wait for his return, the clerk most devoted to my interests became distrustful of her intentions, having been told to be on the lookout for a girl in gray or a lady in black with puffs on each side of two very sharp eyes. You will pardon me, Miss Butterworth. He therefore kept his eyes on the girl and presently aspired her stretching out her hand towards a hook at the side of Mr. Franklin Van Burnham's desk. As it is upon this hook, this gentleman strings his unanswered letters, the clerk rose from his place as quickly as possible and coming forward with every appearance of polite solicitude. Did she not say he was polite, Miss Butterworth? Inquired what she wished, thinking she was after some letter, or possibly anxious for a specimen of someone's handwriting. But she gave him no other reply than a blush and a confused look, for which you must rebuke her, Miss Butterworth, if you are going to continue to employ her as your agent in these very delicate affairs. And she made another mistake. She should not have left so abruptly upon detection, for that gave the clerk an opportunity to telephone for me, which he immediately did. I was at liberty, and I came at once. And after hearing his story, decided that what was of interest to you must be of interest to me, and so took a look at the letters she had handled, and discovered what she also must have discovered before she let them slip from her hand, that the five missing rings we were all in search of were hanging on this same hook amid the sheets of Franklin's correspondence. You can imagine, Madam, my satisfaction, and the gratitude which I felt towards my agent, who by his quickness had retained to me the honors of a discovery which it would have been injurious to my pride to have had confined entirely to yourself. I can understand, I repeated, and trusted myself to say no more, not as my secret felt upon my lips. You have read Poe's story of the filigree basket, he now suggested, running his finger up and down the filigree work he himself held. I nodded. I saw what he meant at once. Well, the principle involved in that story explains the presence of the rings in the midst of this stack of letters. In Van Burnham, if he is the murderer of his sister-in-law, is one of the subtlest villains this city has ever produced, and knowing that, if once suspected, every secret drawer and professed hiding place within his reach would be searched, he put these dangerous evidences of his guilt in a place so conspicuous, and yet so little likely to attract attention, that even so old a hand as myself did not think of looking for them there. He had finished, and the look he gave me was for myself alone. And now, madam, said he, that I have stated the facts of the case against Franklin Van Burnham, has not the moment come for you to show your appreciation of my good nature by a corresponding show of confidence on your part? I answered with a distinct negative, there is too much that is unexplained as yet in your case against Franklin, I objected. You have shown that he had motive for the murder, and that he was connected more or less intimately with the crime we are considering, but you have by no means explained all the phenomena accompanying this tragedy. How, for instance, do you account for Mrs. Van Burnham's whim in changing her clothing, if her brother-in-law, instead of her husband, was her companion at the Hotel D? You see, I was determined to know the whole story before introducing Miss Oliver's name into this complication. He who had seen through the devices of so many women in his day, did not see through mine, perhaps because he took a certain professional pleasure in making his views on this subject clear to the attentive inspector. At all events, this is the way he responded to my half-curious, half- ironical question. A crime planned and perpetrated for the purpose I have just mentioned, Miss Butterworth, could not have been a simple one under any circumstances. But conceived as this one was by a man of more than ordinary intelligence, and carried out with a skill and precaution little short of marvelous, the features which it presents are of such a varying and subtle character that only by the exercise of a certain amount of imagination can they be understood at all. Such an imagination I possess, but how can I be sure that you do? By testing it, I suggested. Very good, Madam, I will, not from actual knowledge then, but from a certain insight I have acquired in my long dealings with such matters. I have come to the conclusion that Franklin Van Burnham did not in the beginning plan to kill this woman in his father's house. On the contrary, he had fixed upon a hotel room as the scene of the conflict he foresaw between them, and that he might carry it on without endangering their good names had urged her to meet him the next morning in the semi-disguise of a gossamer over her fine dress and a heavy veil over her striking features. Making the pretense no doubt of this being the more appropriate costume for her to appear in, before the old gentleman should he so far concede to her demands as to take her to the steamer. For himself he had planned the adoption of a disfiguring duster, which had been hanging for a long time in a closet on the ground floor of the building in Duane Street. All this promised well, but when the time came and he was about to leave his office, his brother unexpectedly appeared and asked for the key to their father's house. Disconcerted no doubt by the appearance of the very person he least wished to see, and astonished by a request so out of keeping with all that had hitherto passed between them, he nevertheless was in too much haste to question him, so gave him what he wanted and Howard went away. As soon after as he could lock his desk and don his hat, Franklin followed and merely stopping to cover his coat with the old duster, he went out and hastened toward the place of meeting. Under most circumstances all this might have happened without the brothers encountering each other again, but a temporary obstruction on the sidewalk, having as we know, detained Howard, Franklin wasn't able to approach him sufficiently close to see him draw his pocket-hankerchief out of his pocket, and with it the keys which he had just given him. The latter fell, and as there was a great pounding of iron going on in the building just over their heads, Howard did not perceive his loss but went quickly on. Franklin coming up behind him picked up the keys, and with a thought, or perhaps as yet with no thought, of the use to which they might be applied, put them in his own pocket before proceeding on his way. New York is a large place, and much can take place in it without comment. Franklin Van Burnham and his sister-in-law met and went together to the Hotel D., without being either recognized or suspected till later developments drew attention to them. That she should consent to accompany him to this place, and that after she was there should submit, as she did, to taking all the business of the scheme upon herself, would be inconceivable in a woman of a self-respecting character. But Louise Van Burnham cared for little save her own aggrandizement, and rather enjoyed so far as we can see, this very doubtful escapade, whose real meaning at murderous purpose she was so far from understanding. Thus the steamer, contrary to all expectation, had not yet been sighted off Fire Island, they took a room and prepared to wait for it. That is, she prepared to wait. He had no intention of waiting for its arrival, or of going to it when it came. He only wanted his letter. But Louise Van Burnham was not the woman to relinquish it till she had obtained the price she had put on it. And he, becoming very soon aware of this fact, began to ask himself if he should not be obliged to resort to extreme measures in order to regain it. One chance only remained for avoiding these. He would seem to embrace her later and probably much talked of scheme of presenting herself before his father in his own house rather than at the steamer, and by urging her to make its success more certain by a different style of dress from that she wore, induce a change of clothing, during which he might come upon the letter he was more than confident she carried about her person. Had this plan worked, had he been able to seize upon this compromising bit of paper, even at the cost of a scratch or two from her vigorous fingers, we should not be sitting here at this moment trying to account for the most complicated crime on record. At Louise Van Burnham, while weak and volatile enough to enjoy the romantic features of this transformation scene, even going so far as to write out the order herself, with the same effort at disguise she had used in registering their assume names at the desk, was not entirely his dup, and having hidden the letter in her shoe. What, I cried? Having hidden the letter in her shoe, repeated Mr. Grice, with his finest smile, she had but to signify that the boots sent by Altman were a size too small for her to retain her secret and keep the one article she traded upon from his envious clutch. You seem struck dumb by this, Miss Butterworth. Have I enlightened you on a point that has hitherto troubled you? Don't ask me, don't look at me, as if he ever looked at anyone. Your perspicacity is amazing, but I will try and not show my sense of it if it is going to make you stop. He smiled, the inspector smiled, neither understood me. Very well, then, I will go on, but the non-change of shoes had to be accounted for, Miss Butterworth. You are right, and it has been, of course. Have you any better explanation to give? I had, or thought I had, and the words trembled on my tongue, but I restrained myself under an air of great impatience. Time is flying, I urged, with as near a simulation of his own manner in saying the words as I could effect. Go on, Mr. Grice. And he did, though my manner evidently puzzled him. Being foiled in this his last attempt, this smooth and diabolical villain hesitated no longer in carrying out the scheme which had doubtless been maturing in his mind ever since he dropped the keys of his father's house into his own pocket. His brother's wife must die, but not in a hotel room with him for a companion. Though scorned, detested, and a stumbling block in the way of the whole family's future happiness and prosperity, she still was a van Burnham, and no shadow must fall upon her reputation. Further than this, for he loved life and his own reputation also, and did not mean to endanger either by this act of self-preservation, she must perish as if from an accident, or by some blow so undiscoverable, that it would be laid to natural causes. He thought he knew how this might be brought about. He had seen her put on her hat with a very thin and sharp pin, and he had heard how one thrust into a certain spot in the spine would effect death without a struggle. A wound like that would be small, almost indiscernible. True, it would take skill to inflict it, and it would require dissimilation to bring her into the proper position for this contemplated thrust. But he was not lacking in either of these characteristics, and so he set himself to the task he had promised himself, and with such success that ere long the two left the hotel and proceeded to the house in Gramercy Park, with all the caution necessary for preserving a secret which meant reputation to the one, and liberty if not life to the other. That he and not she felt the greater need of secrecy witnessed their whole conduct, and when their goal reached, she and not he put the money into the driver's hand. The last act of this curious drama of opposing motives was reached, and only the final catastrophe was wanting. With what arts he procured her hatpin, and by what show of simulated passion he was able to approach near enough to her to inflict that cool and calculating thrust, which resulted in her immediate death, I leave to your imagination. Enough that he compassed his ends, killing her and regaining the letter for the possession of which he had been willing to take a life. Afterwards. Well, afterwards. The deed he had thought so complete began to assume a different aspect. The pin had broken in the wound, and knowing the scrutiny which the body would receive at the hands of a coroner's jury, he began to see what consequences might follow its discovery. So to hide that wound, and give her death the wished for appearance of accident, he went back and drew down the cabinet under which she was found. Had he done this at once, his hand in the tragedy might have escaped detection, but he waited, and by waiting allowed the blood vessels to stiffen, and all that phenomenon to become apparent by means of which the eyes of the physicians were opened to the fact that they must search deeper for the cause of death than the bruises she had received. Thus it is that justice opens loopholes in the finest web a criminal can weave. A just remark, Mr. Greiss, but in this fine-spun web of your weaving, you have not explained how the clock came to be running and to stop at five. Cannot you see? A man capable of such a crime would not forget to provide himself with an alibi. He expected to be in his rooms at five, so before pulling down the shelves at three or four, he wound the clock and set it at an hour when he could bring forward testimony to his being in another place. Is not such a theory consistent with his character and with the skill he has displayed from the beginning to the end of this woeful affair? A gas-stepped the deafness with which this able detective explained every detail of this crime by means of a theory necessarily hypothetical if the discoveries I had made in the matter were true, and for the moments subjected to the overwhelming influence of his enthusiasm, I sat in a maze, asking myself if all the seemingly irrefutable evidence upon which men had been convicted in times gone by was as false as this. To relieve myself and to gain renewed confidence in my own views and the discoveries I had made in this matter, I repeated the name of Howard, and asked how, in case the whole crime was conceived and perpetrated by his brother, he came to utter such equivocations and to assume that position of guilt which had led to his own arrest. Do you think, I inquired, that he was aware of his brother's part in this affair, and that out of compassion for him he endeavored to take the crime upon his own shoulders? No, madam, men of the world do not carry their disinterestedness so far. He not only did not know the part his brother took in this crime, but did not even suspect it, or why acknowledge that he lost the key by which the house was entered. I do not understand Howard's actions, even under these circumstances. They seem totally inconsistent to me. Madam, they are easily explainable to one who knows the character of his mind. He prizes his honor above every consideration, and regarded it as threatened by the suggestion that his wife had entered his father's empty house, at midnight with another man. To save himself that shame, he was willing not only to perjure himself, but to take upon himself the consequences of his perjury. Quixotic, certainly, but some men are constituted that way, and he, for all his amiable characteristics, is the most dogged man I have ever encountered. That he ran against snags in his attempted explanations seemed to make no difference to him. He was bound that no one should accuse him of marrying a false woman, even if he must bear the aproprium of her death. It is hard to understand such a nature, but reread his testimony, and see if this explanation of his conduct is not correct. And still, I mechanically repeated, I do not understand. Mr. Grice may not have been a patient man under all circumstances, but he was patient with me that day. It was his ignorance, Miss Butterworth, his total ignorance of the whole affair that led him into the inconsistencies he manifested. Let me present his case as I already have his brothers. He knew that his wife had come to New York to appeal to his father, and he gathered from what she said that she intended to do this either in his house or on the dock. To cut short any opportunity she might have for committing the first folly, he begged the key of the house from his brother, and supposing that he had it all right, went to his rooms not to the Coney Island, as he said, and began to pack up his trunks, for he meant to flee the country if his wife disgraced him. He was tired of her caprices, and meant to cut them short as far as he was himself concerned. But the striking of the midnight hour brought better counsel. He began to wonder what she had been doing in his absence. Going out, he haunted the region of Gramercy Park for the better part of the night, and at daybreak actually mounted the steps of his father's house, and prepared to enter it by means of the key he had obtained from his brother. But the key was not in his pocket, so he came down again and walked away, attracting the attention of Mr. Stone as he did so. The next day he heard of the tragedy which had taken place within those very walls, and though his first fears led him to believe that the victim was his wife, a sight of her clothes naturally dispelled this apprehension. For he knew nothing of her visit to the Hotel D, or of the change in her habilements which had taken place there. His father's persistent fears and the quiet pressure brought to bear upon him by the police only irritated him, and not until confronted by the hat found on the scene of death, an article only too well known as his wife's, did he yield to the accumulated evidence in support of her identity. Immediately he felt the full force of his unkindness towards her, and rushing to the morgue had her poor body taken to that father's house, and afterwards given a decent burial. But he could not accept the shame which this acknowledgment naturally brought with it, and, blind to all consequences, insisted when brought up again for examination, that he was the man with whom she came to that lonely house. The difficulties into which this plunged him were partly foreseen and partly prepared for, and he showed some skill in surmounting them. But falsehoods never fit like truths, and we all felt the strain on our credulity as he met and attempted to parry the coroner's questions. And now, Miss Butterworth, let me again ask if your turn has not come at last for adding the sum of your evidence to ours against Franklin Van Burnham. It had, I could not deny it, and as I realized that with it had also come the opportunity for justifying the pretensions I had made, I raised my head with suitable spirit, and, after a momentary pause for the purpose of making my words the more impressive, I asked. And what has made you think that I was interested in fixing the guilt on Franklin Van Burnham? End of CHAPTER XXXI CHAPTER XXXII Iconoclasm The surprise which this very simple question occasioned showed itself differently in the two men who heard it. The inspector who had never seen me before simply stared, while Mr. Grice, with that admirable command over himself, which has helped to make him the most successful man on the force, retained his impassibility, though I noticed a small corner drop from my filigree basket as if crushed off by an inadvertent pressure of his hand. I judged, was his calm reply, as he laid down the injured toy with an apologetic grunt, that clearing Howard from suspicion meant the establishment of another man's guilt, and so far as we can see there has been no other party in the case besides these two brothers. No, then I fear a great surprise awaits you, Mr. Grice. This crime which you have fixed with such care and seeming probability upon Franklin Van Burnham was not, in my judgment, perpetrated either by him or any other man. It was the act of a woman. A woman? Both men spoke, the inspector, as if he thought me demented. Mr. Grice, as if he would like to have considered me a fool but dared not. Yes, a woman, I repeated, dropping a quiet curtsy. It was a proper expression of respect, when I was young, and I see no reason why it should not be a proper expression of respect now, except that we have lost our manners in gaining our independence, something which is to be regretted, perhaps. A woman whom I know, a woman whom I can lay my hands on in a half hour's notice, a young woman, sirs, a pretty woman, the owner of one of the two hats found in the Van Burnham parlours. Had I exploded a bombshell the inspector could not have looked more astonished. The detective, who was a man of greater self-command, did not betray his feelings so plainly. Though he was not entirely without them, for, as I made this statement, he turned and looked at me. Mr. Grice looked at me. Both of those hats belonged to Mrs. Van Burnham he protested, the one she wore from Hadham, the other one in the order from Altmans. She never ordered anything from Altmans was my uncompromising reply. The woman whom I saw enter next door, and who was the same who left the Hotel D, with the man in the linen duster, was not Louise Van Burnham. She was that lady's rival, and let me say it, for I dare to think it, not only her rival, but the prospective taker of her life. Oh, you need not shake your heads at each other so significantly, gentlemen. I have been collecting evidence as well as yourselves, and what I have learned is very much to the point, very much indeed. The deuce you have, muttered the inspector, turning away from me, but Mr. Grice continued to eye me like a man fascinated. Upon what, said he, do you base these extraordinary assertions? I should like to hear what that evidence is. But first, said I, I must take a few exceptions to certain points you consider yourself to have made against Franklin Van Burnham. You believe him to have committed this crime, because you found in a secret drawer of his desk, a letter known to have been in Mrs. Van Burnham's hands the day she was murdered, and which you, naturally enough, I acknowledge, conceive he could only have regained by murdering her. But have you not thought of another way in which he could have obtained it? A perfectly harmless way, involving no one either in deceit or crime? May it not have been in the little handbag returned by Mrs. Parker on the morning of the discovery, and may not its crumpled condition be accounted for by the haste with which Franklin might have thrust it into his secret drawer at the untoward entrance of someone into his office? I acknowledge that I have not thought of such a possibility, growled the detective below his breath, but I saw that his self-satisfaction had been shaken. As for any proof of complicity being given by the presence of the rings on the hook attached to his desk, I grieve for your sake to be obliged to dispel that illusion also. Those rings, Mr. Grice and Mr. Inspector, were not discovered there by the girl in gray, but taken there and hung there at the very moment your spy saw her hand, fumbling with the papers. Taken there and hung there by your maid, by the girl Lena, who has so evidently been working in your interests, what sort of a confession are you making, Miss Butterworth? Ah, Mr. Grice, I gently remonstrated, for I actually pitted the old man in his hour of humiliation. Other girls were gray besides Lena. It was the woman of the hotel D, who played this trick in Mr. Van Burnham's office. Lena was not out of my house that day. I had never thought Mr. Grice feeble, though I knew he was over seventy, if not very near, the octogenarian age. But he drew up a chair at this and hastily sat down. Tell me about this other girl, said he. But before I repeat what I said to him, I must explain by what reasoning I had arrived at the conclusion I have just mentioned. That Ruth Oliver was the visitor in Mr. Van Burnham's office there was but little reason to doubt, that her errand was one in connection with the rings was equally plain. What else would have driven her from her bed when she was hardly able to stand, and sent her in a state of fever, if not delirium, downtown to this office? She feared having these rings found in her possession, and she also cherished a desire to throw whatever suspicion was attached to them upon the man who was already compromised. She may have thought it was Howard's desk she approached, and she may have known it to be Franklin's. On that point I was in doubt, but the rest was clear to me from the moment Mr. Grice mentioned the girl in grey, and even the spot where she had kept them in the interim since the murder was no longer an unsolved mystery to me. Her emotion when I touched her knitting work, and the shreds of unravelled wool I had found lying about after her departure had set my wits working, and I comprehended now that they had been wound up in the ball of yarn I had so carelessly handled. But what I had to say to Mr. Grice in answer to his question, much, and seeing that further delay was injudicious, I began my story then and there, prefacing my tale with the suspicions I had always had of Mrs. Boppert, I told them of my interview with that woman and of the valuable clue she had given me by confessing that she had let Mrs. Van Burnham into the house prior to the visit of the couple who entered there at midnight. Knowing what an effect this must produce upon Mr. Grice, utterly unprepared for it as he was, I looked for some burst of anger on his part, or at least some expression of self-reproach. But he only broke a second piece off my little filigree basket, and totally unconscious of the demolition he was causing cried out with true professional delight. Well, well, I have always said this was a remarkable case, a very remarkable case. But if we don't look out, it will go ahead of that one at sibling. Two women in the affair and one of them in the house before the arrival of the so-called victim and her murderer. What do you think of that, Inspector, rather late for us to find out so important a detail, hey? Rather, was the dry reply, at which Mr. Grice's face grew long and he exclaimed, half shame-facedly, half jocularly, outwitted by a woman. Well, it's a new experience for me, Inspector, and you must not be surprised if it takes me a minute or so to get accustomed to it. A scrub woman, too. It cuts, Inspector. It cuts. But as I went on, and he learned how I had obtained definite proof of the clock, having been not only wound by the lady thus admitted to the house, but set also, and that correctly, his face grew even longer, and he gazed quite dolefully at the small figure in the carpet to which he had transferred his attention. So-so came an almost indistinguishable murmur from his lips. All my pretty theories in regards to its being set by the criminal for the purpose of confirming his attempt at a false alibi was but a figment of my imagination, hey? Sad, sad. But it was neat enough to have been true, was it not, Inspector? Quite, that gentleman good-humoredly admitted, yet with a shade of irony in his tone that made me suspect that, for all his confidence in and evident admiration for this brilliant old detective, he felt a certain amount of pleasure at seeing him for once at fault. Perhaps it gave him more confidence in his own judgment, seeing that their ideas on this case had been opposed from the start. Well, well, I'm getting old, that's what they'll say at headquarters tomorrow. But go on, Miss Butterworth, let us hear what followed, for I am sure your investigations did not stop there. I complied with his request, with as much modesty as possible, but it was hard to suppress all triumph in face of the unrestrained enthusiasm with which he received my communication. When I told him of the doubts I had formed in regards to the disposal of the packages brought from the Hotel D, and how to settle those doubts I had taken that midnight walk down 27th Street, he looked astonished. His lips worked, and I really expected to see him try to pluck that flower up from the carpet. He ogled it so lovingly. But when I mentioned the lighted laundry and my discoveries there, his admiration burst all bounds, and he cried out, seemingly to the rose in the carpet, really to the inspector. Didn't I tell you she was a woman in a thousand? See now, we ought to have thought of that laundry ourselves, but we didn't. None of us did. We were too credulous and too easily satisfied with the evidence given at the inquest. Well, I'm seventy-seven, but I'm not too old to learn. Proceed, Miss Butterworth. I admired him and I was sorry for him, but I never enjoyed myself so much in my life. How could I help it? Or how could I prevent myself from throwing a glance now and then at the picture of my father smiling upon me from the opposite wall? It was my task now to mention the advertisement I had inserted in the newspapers, and the reflections which had led to my rather daring description of the wandering woman, as one dressed thus and so, and without a hat. This seemed to strike him, as I had expected it would, and he interrupted me with a quick slap of his leg, for which only that leg was prepared. Good, he ejaculated, a fine stroke, the work of a woman of genius. I could not have done better myself, Miss Butterworth. And what came of it, something I hope, talent like yours should not go on rewarded. Two letters came of it, said I, one from Cox, the millner, saying that a bare-headed girl had bought a hat in his shop early on the morning designated, and another from a Mrs. Desperger, appointing a meeting at which I obtained a definite clue to this girl, who, notwithstanding, she wore Mrs. Van Burnham's clothes from the scene of the tragedy, is not Mrs. Van Burnham herself, but a person by the name of Oliver, now to be found at Miss Althorpe's house in 21st Street. As this was in a measure putting the matter into their hands, I saw them grow impatient in their anxiety to see this girl for themselves. But I kept them for a few minutes longer, while I related my discovery of the money in her shoes, and hinted at the explanation it afforded for her not changing those articles under the influence of the man who accompanied her. This was the last blow I dealt to the pride of Mr. Grice. He quivered under it, but soon recovered, and was able to enjoy what he called another fine point in this remarkable case. But the acme of his delight was reached, when I informed him of my ineffectual search for the rings, and my final conclusion that they had been wound up in the ball of yarn attached to her knitting work. Whether his pleasure lay chiefly in the talent shown by Miss Oliver, in her choice of a hiding-place for these jewels, or in the acumen displayed by myself in discovering it, I do not know. But he evinced an unbounded satisfaction in my words, crying aloud, beautiful, I don't know of anything more interesting. We have not seen the like in years. I can almost congratulate myself on my mistakes. The features of the case they have brought out are so fine. But his satisfaction, great as it was, soon gave way to his anxiety to see this girl who, if not the criminal herself, was so important a factor in this great crime. I was anxious myself to have him see her, though I feared her condition was not such as to promise him any immediate enlightenment on the doubtful portions of this, far from thoroughly mastered problem. I bade him interview the Chinaman also, and Mrs. Desperger, and even Mrs. Boppert, for I did not wish him to take for granted anything I had said, though I saw he had lost his attitude of disdain, and was inclined to accept my opinions quite seriously. He answered in quite an offhand manner while the inspector stood by. But when that gentleman had withdrawn towards the door, Mr. Grice remarked with more earnestness than he had yet used. You saved me from committing a folly, Miss Butterworth. If I had arrested Franklin Van Burnham to-day, and to-morrow all these facts had come to light, I should never have held my head up again. As it is there will be numerous insinuations uttered by men on the force, and many a whisper will go about that Mr. Grice is getting old and that Grice has seen his best days. Nonsense was my vigorous rejoinder. You didn't have the clue, that is all. Nor did I get it through any keenness on my part, but from the force of circumstances. Mrs. Boppert thought herself indebted to me, and so gave me her confidence. Your laurels are very safe yet. Besides, there is enough work left on this case to keep more than one great detective like you busy. While the Van Burnham's have not been proved guilty, they are not so freed from suspicion that you can regard your task as completed. If Ruth Oliver committed this crime, which of these two brothers was involved in it with her? The facts seem to point towards Franklin, but not so unerringly that no doubt is possible on the subject. True, true, the mystery has deepened rather than cleared. Ms. Butterworth, you will accompany me to Miss Althorps.