The Affair Next Door (33 page)

"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. Gryce 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. Gryce," I gently remonstrated, for I actually pitied the old
man in his hour of humiliation, "other girls wear gray besides Lena. It
was the woman of the Hotel D— who played this trick in Mr. Van
Burnam's office. Lena was not out of my house that day."

I had never thought Mr. Gryce 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 Burnam'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,
down town 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. Gryce mentioned the girl in gray; 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 had I to say to Mr. Gryce 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 Burnam
into the house prior to the visit of the couple who entered there at
midnight. Knowing what an effect this must produce upon Mr. Gryce,
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've 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 Sibley.
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, eh?"

"Rather," was the dry reply. At which Mr. Gryce's face grew long and he
exclaimed, half shamefacedly, 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 in almost indistinguishable murmur from his lips. "All my
pretty theory in regard 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, eh? 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
to-morrow. 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 regard to the disposal of the packages brought from the Hotel
D—, and how to settle those doubts I had taken that midnight walk
down Twenty-seventh 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 whole 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 unrewarded."

"Two letters came of it," said I. "One from Cox, the milliner, saying
that a bareheaded girl had bought a hat in his shop early on the morning
designated; and another from a Mrs. Desberger appointing a meeting at
which I obtained a definite clue to this girl, who, notwithstanding she
wore Mrs. Van Burnam's clothes from the scene of tragedy, is not Mrs.
Van Burnam herself, but a person by the name of Oliver, now to be found
at Miss Althorpe's house in Twenty-first Street."

As this was in a measure putting the matter into their hands, I saw them
both 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. Gryce. 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 upon 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. And I
bade him interview the Chinaman also, and Mrs. Desberger, 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 off-hand manner while the Inspector stood by,
but when that gentleman had withdrawn towards the door, Mr. Gryce
remarked with more earnestness than he had yet used:

"You have saved me from committing a folly, Miss Butterworth. If I had
arrested Franklin Van Burnam to-day, and to-morrow all these facts had
come to light, I should never have held up my head again. As it is,
there will be numerous insinuations uttered by men on the force, and
many a whisper will go about that Gryce is getting old, that Gryce 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 Burnams 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. Miss
Butterworth, you will accompany me to Miss Althorpe's."

Mr. Gryce possesses one faculty for which I envy him, and that is his
skill in the management of people. He had not been in Miss Althorpe's
house five minutes before he had won her confidence and had everything
he wished at his command.
I
had to talk some time before getting so
far, but
he
—a word and a look did it.

Miss Oliver, for whom I hesitated to inquire, lest I should again find
her gone or in a worse condition than when I left, was in reality
better, and as we went up-stairs I allowed myself to hope that the
questions which had so troubled us would soon be answered and the
mystery ended.

But Mr. Gryce evidently knew better, for when we reached her door he
turned and said:

"Our task will not be an easy one. Go in first and attract her attention
so that I can enter unobserved. I wish to study her before addressing
her; but, mind, no words about the murder; leave that to me."

I nodded, feeling that I was falling back into my own place; and
knocking softly entered the room.

A maid was sitting with her. Seeing me, she rose and advanced, saying:

"Miss Oliver is sleeping."

"Then I will relieve you," I returned, beckoning Mr. Gryce to come in.

The girl left us and we two contemplated the sick woman silently.
Presently I saw Mr. Gryce shake his head. But he did not tell me what he
meant by it.

Following the direction of his finger, I sat down in a chair at the head
of the bed; he took his station at the side of it in a large arm-chair
he saw there. As he did so I saw how fatherly and kind he really looked,
and wondered if he was in the habit of so preparing himself to meet the
eye of all the suspected criminals he encountered. The thought made me
glance again her way. She lay like a statue, and her face, naturally
round but now thinned out and hollow, looked up from the pillow in
pitiful quiet, the long lashes accentuating the dark places under her
eyes.

A sad face, the saddest I ever saw and one of the most haunting.

He seemed to find it so also, for his expression of benevolent interest
deepened with every passing moment, till suddenly she stirred; then he
gave me a warning glance, and stooping, took her by the wrist and pulled
out his watch.

She was deceived by the action. Opening her eyes, she surveyed him
languidly for a moment, then heaving a great sigh, turned aside her
head.

"Don't tell me I am better, doctor. I do not want to live."

The plaintive tone, the refined accent, seemed to astonish him. Laying
down her hand, he answered gently:

"I do not like to hear that from such young lips, but it assures me that
I was correct in my first surmise, that it is not medicine you need but
a friend. And I can be that friend if you will but allow me."

Moved, encouraged for the instant, she turned her head from side to
side, probably to see if they were alone, and not observing me, answered
softly:

"You are very good, very thoughtful, doctor, but"—and here her despair
returned again—"it is useless; you can do nothing for me."

"You think so," remonstrated the old detective, "but you do not know me,
child. Let me show you that I can be of benefit to you." And he drew
from his pocket a little package which he opened before her astonished
eyes. "Yesterday, in your delirium, you left these rings in an office
down-town. As they are valuable, I have brought them back to you. Wasn't
I right, my child?"