The Affair Next Door (7 page)

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

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

"Then let us to work," said I. "You have your theories about this
murder, and I have mine; let us see how they compare."

If the image he had under his eye had not been made of bronze, I am sure
it would have become petrified by the look he now gave it. What to me
seemed but the natural proposition of an energetic woman with a special
genius for his particular calling, evidently struck him as audacity of
the grossest kind. But he confined his display of astonishment to the
figure he was eying, and returned me nothing but this most gentlemanly
retort:

"I am sure I am obliged to you, madam, and possibly I may be willing to
consider your very thoughtful proposition later, but now I am busy, very
busy, and if you will await my presence in your house for a half
hour—"

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

"You—" Well, he did not say what I was, or rather, what the image he
was apostrophizing, was. But he must have meant to utter a compliment of
no common order.

The prim courtesy I made in acknowledgment of his good intention
satisfied him that I had understood him fully; and changing his whole
manner to one more in accordance with business, he observed after a
moment's reflection:

"You came to a conclusion this afternoon, Miss Butterworth, for which I
should like some explanation. In investigating the hat which had been
drawn from under the murdered girl's remains, you made the remark that
it had been worn but once. I had already come to the same conclusion,
but by other means, doubtless. Will you tell me what it was that gave
point to your assertion?"

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

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

It is perhaps a proof that Mr. Gryce is getting old, that he allowed
these words to escape him. But having once given vent to them, he made
no effort to retract them, but proceeded to take me into his confidence
so far as to explain:

"The woman who was killed in that room owed her death to the stab of a
thin, long pin. We had not thought of a hat-pin, but upon your
mentioning it, I am ready to accept it as the instrument of death. There
was no pin to be seen in the hat when you looked at it?"

"None. I examined it most carefully."

He shook his head and seemed to be meditating. As I had plenty of time I
waited, expecting him to speak again. My patience seemed to impress him.
Alternately raising and lowering his hands like one in the act of
weighing something, he soon addressed me again, this time in a tone of
banter:

"This pin—if pin it was—was found broken in the wound. We have been
searching for the end that was left in the murderer's hand, and we have
not found it. It is not on the floors of the parlors nor in this
hallway. What do you think the ingenious user of such an instrument
would do with it?"

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

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

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

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

That a man like him could look foolish I would not have you for a moment
suppose. But he did not look very well satisfied, and I had a chance to
throw more than one glance around me before he found his tongue again.

"An unfair advantage, ma'am; an unfair advantage! I am old and I am
rheumatic; you are young and sound as a nut. I acknowledge my folly in
endeavoring to compete with you and must make the best of the situation.
And now, madam, where is that pin?"

It was lightly said, but for all that I saw that my opportunity had
come. If I could find this instrument of murder, what might I not expect
from his gratitude. Nerving myself for the task thus set me, I peered
hither and thither, taking in every article in the room before I made a
step forward. There had been some attempt to rectify its disorder. The
broken pieces of china had been lifted and laid carefully away on
newspapers upon the shelves from which they had fallen. The cabinet
stood upright in its place, and the clock which had tumbled face upward,
had been placed upon the mantel shelf in the same position. The carpet
was therefore free, save for the stains which told such a woful story of
past tragedy and crime.

"You have moved the tables and searched behind the sofas," I suggested.

"Not an inch of the floor has escaped our attention, madam."

My eyes fell on the register, which my skirts half covered. It was
closed; I stooped and opened it. A square box of tin was visible below,
at the bottom of which I perceived the round head of a broken hat-pin.

Never in my life had I felt as I did at that minute. Rising up, I
pointed at the register and let some of my triumph become apparent; but
not all, for I was by no means sure at that moment, nor am I by any
means sure now, that he had not made the discovery before I did and was
simply testing my pretensions.

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

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

"I account for its being there in this way," I argued. "The room was
dark; for whether he lighted it or not to commit his crime, he
certainly did not leave it lighted long. Coming out, his foot came in
contact with the iron of the register and he was struck by a sudden
thought. He had not dared to leave the head of the pin lying on the
floor, for he hoped that he had covered up his crime by pulling the
heavy cabinet over upon his victim; nor did he wish to carry away such a
memento of his cruel deed. So he dropped it down the register, where he
doubtless expected it would fall into the furnace pipes out of sight.
But the tin box retained it. Is not that plausible, sir?"

"I could not have reasoned better myself, madam. We shall have you on
the force, yet."

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

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

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

I assured him I was not in the least bit afraid, at which he made me
another of his anomalous bows and passed into the adjoining parlor. He
did not stop there. Opening the sliding-doors communicating with the
dining-room beyond, he disappeared in the latter room, shutting the
doors behind him. Being now alone for a moment on the scene of crime, I
crossed over to the mantel-shelf, and lifted the clock that lay there.

Why I did this I scarcely know. I am naturally very orderly (some people
call me precise) and it probably fretted me to see so valuable an
object out of its natural position. However that was, I lifted it up and
set it upright, when to my amazement it began to tick. Had the hands not
stood as they did when my eyes first fell on the clock lying face up on
the floor at the dead girl's side, I should have thought the works had
been started since that time by Mr. Gryce or some other officious
person. But they pointed now as then to a few minutes before five and
the only conclusion I could arrive at was, that the clock had been in
running order when it fell, startling as this fact appeared in a house
which had not been inhabited for months.

But if it had been in running order and was only stopped by its fall
upon the floor, why did the hands point at five instead of twelve which
was the hour at which the accident was supposed to have happened? Here
was matter for thought, and that I might be undisturbed in my use of it,
I hastened to lay the clock down again, even taking the precaution to
restore the hands to the exact position they had occupied before I had
started up the works. If Mr. Gryce did not know their secret, why so
much the worse for Mr. Gryce.

I was back in my old place by the register before the folding-doors
unclosed again. I was conscious of a slight flush on my cheek, so I took
from my pocket that perplexing grocer-bill and was laboriously going
down its long line of figures, when Mr. Gryce reappeared.

He had to my surprise a woman's hat in his hand.

"Well!" thought I, "what does this mean!"

It was an elegant specimen of millinery, and was in the latest style. It
had ribbons and flowers and bird wings upon it, and presented, as it was
turned about by Mr. Gryce's deft hand, an appearance which some might
have called charming, but to me was simply grotesque and absurd.

"Is that a last spring's hat?" he inquired.

"I don't know, but I should say it had come fresh from the milliner's."

"I found it lying with a pair of gloves tucked inside it on an otherwise
empty shelf in the dining-room closet. It struck me as looking too new
for a discarded hat of either of the Misses Van Burnam. What do you
think?"

"Let me take it," said I.

"O, it's been worn," he smiled, "several times. And the hat-pin is in
it, too."

"There is something else I wish to see."

He handed it over.

"I think it belongs to one of them," I declared. "It was made by La Mole
of Fifth Avenue, whose prices are simply—wicked."

"But the young ladies have been gone—let me see—five months. Could
this have been bought before then?"

"Possibly, for this is an imported hat. But why should it have been left
lying about in that careless way? It cost twenty dollars, if not thirty,
and if for any reason its owner decided not to take it with her, why
didn't she pack it away properly? I have no patience with the modern
girl; she is made up of recklessness and extravagance."

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

"They are."

"Then you can make some inquiries about this hat; also about the gloves,
which are an ordinary street pair."

"Of what color?"

"Grey; they are quite fresh, size six."

"Very well; I will ask the young ladies about them."

"This third room is used as a dining-room, and the closet where I found
them is one in which glass is kept. The presence of this hat there is a
mystery, but I presume the Misses Van Burnam can solve it. At all
events, it is very improbable that it has anything to do with the crime
which has been committed here."

"Very," I coincided.

"So improbable," he went on, "that on second thoughts I advise you not
to disturb the young ladies with questions concerning it unless further
reasons for doing so become apparent."

"Very well," I returned. But I was not deceived by his second thoughts.

As he was holding open the parlor door before me in a very significant
way, I tied my veil under my chin, and was about to leave when he
stopped me.

"I have another favor to ask," said he, and this time with his most
benignant smile. "Miss Butterworth, do you object to sitting up for a
few nights till twelve o'clock?"

"Not at all," I returned, "if there is any good reason for it."

"At twelve o'clock to-night a gentleman will enter this house. If you
will note him from your window I will be obliged."

"To see whether he is the same one I saw last night? Certainly I will
take a look, but—"

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

"I have no prejudices—" I began.

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

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

"No man hangs on simple identification. We shall have to prove the
crime, madam, but identification is important; even such as you can
make."