The Affair Next Door (3 page)

"And the man? Where is the man? I don't see him here."

"I am not surprised at that. He went very soon after he came, not ten
minutes after, I should say. That is what alarmed me and caused me to
have the house investigated. It did not seem natural or like any of the
Van Burnams to leave a woman to spend the night in so large a house
alone."

"You know the Van Burnams?"

"Not well. But that don't signify. I know what report says of them; they
are gentlemen."

"But Mr. Van Burnam is in Europe."

"He has two sons."

"Living here?"

"No; the unmarried one spends his nights at Long Branch, and the other
is with his wife somewhere in Connecticut."

"How did the young couple you saw get in last night? Was there any one
here to admit them?"

"No; the gentleman had a key."

"Ah, he had a key."

The tone in which this was said recurred to me afterwards, but at the
moment I was much more impressed by a peculiar sound I heard behind me,
something between a gasp and a click in the throat, which came I knew
from the scrub-woman, and which, odd and contradictory as it may appear,
struck me as an expression of satisfaction, though what there was in my
admission to give satisfaction to this poor creature I could not
conjecture. Moving so as to get a glimpse of her face, I went on with
the grim self-possession natural to my character:

"And when he came out he walked briskly away. The carriage had not
waited for him."

"Ah!" again muttered the gentleman, picking up one of the broken pieces
of china which lay haphazard about the floor, while I studied the
cleaner's face, which, to my amazement, gave evidences of a confusion of
emotions most unaccountable to me.

Mr. Gryce may have noticed this too, for he immediately addressed her,
though he continued to look at the broken piece of china in his hand.

"And how come you to be cleaning the house?" he asked. "Is the family
coming home?"

"They are, sir," she answered, hiding her emotion with great skill the
moment she perceived attention directed to herself, and speaking with a
sudden volubility that made us all stare. "They are expected any day. I
didn't know it till yesterday—was it yesterday? No, the day
before—when young Mr. Franklin—he is the oldest son, sir, and a very
nice man, a
very
nice man—sent me word by letter that I was to get
the house ready. It isn't the first time I have done it for them, sir,
and as soon as I could get the basement key from the agent, I came here,
and worked all day yesterday, washing up the floors and dusting. I
should have been at them again this morning if my husband hadn't been
sick. But I had to go to the infirmary for medicine, and it was noon
when I got here, and then I found this lady standing outside with a
policeman, a very nice lady, a very
nice
lady indeed, sir, I pay my
respects to her"—and she actually dropped me a curtsey like a peasant
woman in a play—"and they took my key from me, and the policeman opens
the door, and he and me go upstairs and into all the rooms, and when we
come to this one—"

She was getting so excited as to be hardly intelligible. Stopping
herself with a jerk, she fumbled nervously with her apron, while I asked
myself how she could have been at work in this house the day before
without my knowing it. Suddenly I remembered that I was ill in the
morning and busy in the afternoon at the Orphan Asylum, and somewhat
relieved at finding so excellent an excuse for my ignorance, I looked up
to see if the detective had noticed anything odd in this woman's
behavior. Presumably he had, but having more experience than myself with
the susceptibility of ignorant persons in the presence of danger and
distress, he attached less importance to it than I did, for which I was
secretly glad, without exactly knowing my reasons for being so.

"You will be wanted as a witness by the Coroner's jury," he now remarked
to her, looking as if he were addressing the piece of china he was
turning over in his hand. "Now, no nonsense!" he protested, as she
commenced to tremble and plead. "You were the first one to see this dead
woman, and you must be on hand to say so. As I cannot tell you when the
inquest will be held, you had better stay around till the Coroner comes.
He'll be here soon. You, and this other woman too."

By other woman he meant
me
, Miss Butterworth, of Colonial ancestry and
no inconsiderable importance in the social world. But though I did not
relish this careless association of myself with this poor scrub-woman,
I was careful to show no displeasure, for I reasoned that as witnesses
we were equal before the law, and that it was solely in this light he
regarded us.

There was something in the manner of both these gentlemen which
convinced me that while my presence was considered desirable in the
house, it was not especially wanted in the room. I was therefore moving
reluctantly away, when I felt a slight but peremptory touch on the arm,
and turning, saw the detective at my side, still studying his piece of
china.

He was, as I have said, of portly build and benevolent aspect; a
fatherly-looking man, and not at all the person one would be likely to
associate with the police. Yet he could take the lead very naturally,
and when he spoke, I felt bound to answer him.

"Will you be so good, madam, as to relate over again, what you saw from
your window last night? I am likely to have charge of this matter, and
would be pleased to hear all you may have to say concerning it."

"My name is Butterworth," I politely intimated.

"And my name is Gryce."

"A detective?"

"The same."

"You must think this matter very serious," I ventured.

"Death by violence is always serious."

"You must regard this death as something more than an accident, I mean."

His smile seemed to say: "You will not know to-day how I regard it."

"And you will not know to-day what I think of it either," was my inward
rejoinder, but I said nothing aloud, for the man was seventy-five if he
was a day, and I have been taught respect for age, and have practised
the same for fifty years and more.

I must have shown what was passing in my mind, and he must have seen it
reflected on the polished surface of the porcelain he was contemplating,
for his lips showed the shadow of a smile sufficiently sarcastic for me
to see that he was far from being as easy-natured as his countenance
indicated.

"Come, come," said he, "there is the Coroner now. Say what you have to
say, like the straightforward, honest woman you appear."

"I don't like compliments," I snapped out. Indeed, they have always been
obnoxious to me. As if there was any merit in being honest and
straightforward, or any distinction in being told so!

"I am Miss Butterworth, and not in the habit of being spoken to as if I
were a simple countrywoman," I objected. "But I will repeat what I saw
last night, as it is no secret, and the telling of it won't hurt me and
may help you."

Accordingly I went over the whole story, and was much more loquacious
than I had intended to be, his manner was so insinuating and his
inquiries so pertinent. But one topic we both failed to broach, and that
was the peculiar manner of the scrub-woman. Perhaps it had not struck
him as peculiar and perhaps it should not have struck me so, but in the
silence which was preserved on the subject I felt I had acquired an
advantage over him, which might lead to consequences of no small
importance. Would I have felt thus or congratulated myself quite so much
upon my fancied superiority, if I had known he was the man who managed
the Leavenworth case, and who in his early years had experienced that
very wonderful adventure on the staircase of the Heart's Delight?
Perhaps I would; for though I have had no adventures, I feel capable of
them, and as for any peculiar acumen he may have shown in his long and
eventful career, why that is a quality which others may share with him,
as I hope to be able to prove before finishing these pages.

There is a small room at the extremity of the Van Burnam mansion. In
this I took refuge after my interview with Mr. Gryce. As I picked out
the chair which best suited me and settled myself for a comfortable
communion with my own thoughts, I was astonished to find how much I was
enjoying myself, notwithstanding the thousand and one duties awaiting me
on the other side of the party-wall.

Even this very solitude was welcome, for it gave me an opportunity to
consider matters. I had not known up to this very hour that I had any
special gifts. My father, who was a shrewd man of the old New England
type, said more times than I am years old (which was not saying it as
often as some may think) that Araminta (the name I was christened by,
and the name you will find in the Bible record, though I sign myself
Amelia, and insist upon being addressed as Amelia, being, as I hope, a
sensible woman and not the piece of antiquated sentimentality suggested
by the former cognomen)—that Araminta would live to make her mark;
though in what capacity he never informed me, being, as I have observed,
a shrewd man, and thus not likely to thoughtlessly commit himself.

I now know he was right; my pretensions dating from the moment I found
that this affair, at first glance so simple, and at the next so
complicated, had aroused in me a fever of investigation which no
reasoning could allay. Though I had other and more personal matters on
my mind, my thoughts would rest nowhere but on the details of this
tragedy; and having, as I thought, noticed some few facts in connection
with it, from which conclusions might be drawn, I amused myself with
jotting them down on the back of a disputed grocer's bill I happened to
find in my pocket.

Valueless as explaining this tragedy, being founded upon insufficient
evidence, they may be interesting as showing the workings of my mind
even at this early stage of the matter. They were drawn up under three
heads.

First, was the death of this young woman an accident?

Second, was it a suicide?

Third, was it a murder?

Under the first head I wrote:

My reasons for not thinking it an accident.

1. If it had been an accident and she had pulled the cabinet over upon
herself, she would have been found with her feet pointing towards the
wall where the cabinet had stood.

(But her feet were towards the door and her head under the cabinet.)

2. The decent, even precise, arrangement of the clothing about her feet,
which precludes any theory involving accident.

Under the second:

Reason for not thinking it suicide.

She could not have been found in the position observed without having
lain down on the floor while living and then pulled the shelves down
upon herself.

(A theory obviously too improbable to be considered.)

Under the third:

Reason for not thinking it murder.

She would need to have been held down on the floor while the cabinet was
being pulled over on her; something which the quiet aspect of the hands
and feet made appear impossible.

To this I added:

Reasons for accepting the theory of murder.

1. The fact that she did not go into the house alone; that a man entered
with her, remained ten minutes, and then came out again and disappeared
up the street with every appearance of haste and an anxious desire to
leave the spot.

2. The front door, which he had unlocked on entering, was not locked by
him on his departure, the catch doing the locking. Yet, though he could
have re-entered so easily, he had shown no disposition to return.

3. The arrangement of the skirts, which show the touch of a careful hand
after death.

Nothing clear, you see. I was doubtful of all; and yet my suspicions
tended most toward murder.

I had eaten my luncheon before interfering in this matter, which was
fortunate for me, as it was three o'clock before I was summoned to meet
the Coroner, of whose arrival I had been conscious some time before.

He was in the front parlor where the dead girl lay, and as I took my way
thither I felt the same sensations of faintness which had so nearly
overcome me on the previous occasion. But I mastered them, and was
quite myself before I crossed the threshold.

There were several gentlemen present, but of them all I only noticed
two, one of whom I took to be the Coroner, while the other was my late
interlocutor, Mr. Gryce. From the animation observable in the latter, I
gathered that the case was growing in interest from the detective
standpoint.

"Ah, and is this the witness?" asked the Coroner, as I stepped into the
room.

"I am Miss Butterworth," was my calm reply. "
Amelia
Butterworth.
Living next door and present at the discovery of this poor murdered
body."

"Murdered," he repeated. "Why do you say murdered?"

For reply I drew from my pocket the bill on which I had scribbled my
conclusions in regard to this matter.

"Read this," said I.

Evidently astonished, he took the paper from my hand, and, after some
curious glances in my direction, condescended to do as I requested. The
result was an odd but grudging look of admiration directed towards
myself and a quick passing over of the paper to the detective.

The latter, who had exchanged his bit of broken china for a very much
used and tooth-marked lead-pencil, frowned with a whimsical air at the
latter before he put it in his pocket. Then he read my hurried scrawl.

"Two Richmonds in the field!" commented the Coroner, with a sly chuckle.
"I am afraid I shall have to yield to their allied forces. Miss
Butterworth, the cabinet is about to be raised; do you feel as if you
could endure the sight?"