The Affair Next Door (27 page)

"You seemed surprised by what I have told you. Has any one said that
these two women were alike?"

Having to speak, I became myself again in a trice, and nodded
vigorously.

"Some one 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 Burnam had a sharp chin and a very cold blue eye. Yet her
face was a fascinating one to some."

"Well, 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 bidden 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 Burnam!" she was saying, "Van Burnam!" 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 Burnam." 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 bedclothes 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 Burnam, 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 Burnam'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:

1. 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.

2. The shoes and stockings found on the victim were the only articles
she wore which could not be traced back to Altman's. In the re-dressing
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?

3. The going out bareheaded 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.

4. And last, and most vital of all, the words which I had heard fall
from this half-conscious girl: "
O 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 Howard—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
covertly 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 Burnam'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 of suffering on her features.

"Don't!" she gasped, pointing with an unsteady hand at the work in my
hand. "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. However 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?

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
Althorpe that I was obliged to go down-town on an important errand, and
requested Crescenze 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. Gryce. 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.

"O, Mr. Gryce!" 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 Burnam murder. You know I promised to busy myself about it
if you arrested Howard Van Burnam."

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
Burnam's hands?"

I took a leaf from his book, and allowed myself to indulge in a little
banter.

"O, 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 facetious, madam. What am I to gather from such levity? That
success has crowned your efforts, and 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 Burnam?"

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 to-morrow I will explain myself. I am not
prepared to more than intimate my discoveries to-day."

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."

"To-day," he insisted, "to-day."

Seeing that I should gain nothing by my present course, I reseated
myself, bestowing upon him a decidedly ambiguous smile as I did so.

"You acknowledge 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 decline 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. Gryce 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
,—
those
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 an
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 to-day. Good-morning, Mr. Gryce; 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 Burnam 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 Burnam 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.