II.
QUESTIONS.
As I did so, I could catch the murmur of the crowd outside as it seethedforward at the first intimation of the door being opened; but myattention was not so distracted by it, loud as it sounded after thequiet of the shut-up house, that I failed to notice that the door hadnot been locked by the gentleman leaving the night before, and that,consequently, only the night latch was on. With a turn of the knob itopened, showing me the mob of shouting boys and the forms of twogentlemen awaiting admittance on the door-step. I frowned at the mob andsmiled on the gentlemen, one of whom was portly and easy-going inappearance, and the other spare, with a touch of severity in his aspect.But for some reason these gentlemen did not seem to appreciate the honorI had done them, for they both gave me a displeased glance, which was soodd and unsympathetic in its character that I bridled a little, though Isoon returned to my natural manner. Did they realize at the first glancethat I was destined to prove a thorn in the sides of every one connectedwith this matter, for days to come?
"Are you the woman who called from the window?" asked the larger of thetwo, whose business here I found it difficult at first to determine.
"I am," was my perfectly self-possessed reply. "I live next door and mypresence here is due to the anxious interest I always take in myneighbors. I had reason to think that all was not as it should be inthis house, and I was right. Look in the parlor, sirs."
They were already as far as the threshold of that room and needed nofurther encouragement to enter. The heavier man went first and the otherfollowed, and you may be sure I was not far behind. The sight meetingour eyes was ghastly enough, as you know; but these men were evidentlyaccustomed to ghastly sights, for they showed but little emotion.
"I thought this house was empty," observed the second gentleman, who wasevidently a doctor.
"So it was till last night," I put in; and was about to tell my story,when I felt my skirts jerked.
Turning, I found that this warning had come from the cleaner who stoodclose beside me.
"What do you want?" I asked, not understanding her and having nothing toconceal.
"I?" she faltered, with a frightened air. "Nothing, ma'am, nothing."
"Then don't interrupt me," I harshly admonished her, annoyed at aninterference that tended to throw suspicion upon my candor. "This womancame here to scrub and clean," I now explained; "it was by means of thekey she carried that we were enabled to get into the house. I neverspoke to her till a half hour ago."
At which, with a display of subtlety I was far from expecting in one ofher appearance, she let her emotions take a fresh direction, andpointing towards the dead woman, she impetuously cried:
"But the poor child there! Aint you going to take those things off ofher? It's wicked to leave her under all that stuff. Suppose there waslife in her!"
"Oh! there's no hope of that," muttered the doctor, lifting one of thehands, and letting it fall again.
"Still--" he cast a side look at his companion, who gave him a meaningnod--"it might be well enough to lift this cabinet sufficiently for meto lay my hand on her heart."
They accordingly did this; and the doctor, leaning down, placed his handover the poor bruised breast.
"No life," he murmured. "She has been dead some hours. Do you think wehad better release the head?" he went on, glancing up at the portly manat his side.
But the latter, who was rapidly growing serious, made a slight protestwith his finger, and turning to me, inquired, with sudden authority:
"What did you mean when you said that the house had been empty till lastnight?"
"Just what I said, sir. It was empty till about midnight, when twopersons----" Again I felt my dress twitched, this time very cautiously.What did the woman want? Not daring to give her a look, for these menwere only too ready to detect harm in everything I did, I gently drew myskirt away and took a step aside, going on as if no interruption hadoccurred. "Did I say persons? I should have said a man and a woman droveup to the house and entered. I saw them from my window."
"You did?" murmured my interlocutor, whom I had by this time decided tobe a detective. "And this is the woman, I suppose?" he proceeded,pointing to the poor creature lying before us.
"Why, yes, of course. Who else can she be? I did not see the lady's facelast night, but she was young and light on her feet, and ran up thestoop gaily."
"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 tenminutes after, I should say. That is what alarmed me and caused me tohave the house investigated. It did not seem natural or like any of theVan Burnams to leave a woman to spend the night in so large a housealone."
"You know the Van Burnams?"
"Not well. But that don't signify. I know what report says of them; theyare 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 otheris with his wife somewhere in Connecticut."
"How did the young couple you saw get in last night? Was there any onehere 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 themoment 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 knewfrom the scrub-woman, and which, odd and contradictory as it may appear,struck me as an expression of satisfaction, though what there was in myadmission to give satisfaction to this poor creature I could notconjecture. Moving so as to get a glimpse of her face, I went on withthe grim self-possession natural to my character:
"And when he came out he walked briskly away. The carriage had notwaited for him."
"Ah!" again muttered the gentleman, picking up one of the broken piecesof china which lay haphazard about the floor, while I studied thecleaner's face, which, to my amazement, gave evidences of a confusion ofemotions 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 familycoming home?"
"They are, sir," she answered, hiding her emotion with great skill themoment she perceived attention directed to herself, and speaking with asudden volubility that made us all stare. "They are expected any day. Ididn't know it till yesterday--was it yesterday? No, the daybefore--when young Mr. Franklin--he is the oldest son, sir, and a verynice man, a _very_ nice man--sent me word by letter that I was to getthe 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. Ishould have been at them again this morning if my husband hadn't beensick. But I had to go to the infirmary for medicine, and it was noonwhen I got here, and then I found this lady standing outside with apoliceman, a very nice lady, a very _nice_ lady indeed, sir, I pay myrespects to her"--and she actually dropped me a curtsey like a peasantwoman in a play--"and they took my key from me, and the policeman opensthe door, and he and me go upstairs and into all the rooms, and when wecome to this one----"
She was getting so excited as to be hardly intelligible. Stoppingherself with a jerk, she fumbled nervously with her apron, while I askedmyself how she could have been at work in this house the day beforewithout my knowing it. Suddenly I remembered that I was ill in themorning and busy in the afternoon at the Orphan Asylum, and somewhatrelieved at finding so excellent an excuse for my ignorance, I looked upto see if the detective had noticed anything odd in this woman'sbehavior. Presumably he had, but having more experience than myself withthe susceptibility of ignorant persons in the presence of danger anddistress, he attached less importance to it than I did, for which I wassecretly glad, without exactly knowing my reasons for being so.
"You will be wanted as a witness by the Coroner's jury," he now remarkedto her, looking as if he were addressing the piece of china he wasturning over in his hand. "Now, no nonsense!" he protested, as shecommenced to tremble and plead. "You were the first one to see this deadwoman, and you must be on hand to say so. As I cannot tell you when theinquest 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 andno inconsiderable importance in the social world. But though I did notrelish this careless association of myself with this poor scrub-woman,I was careful to show no displeasure, for I reasoned that as witnesseswe were equal before the law, and that it was solely in this light heregarded us.
There was something in the manner of both these gentlemen whichconvinced me that while my presence was considered desirable in thehouse, it was not especially wanted in the room. I was therefore movingreluctantly away, when I felt a slight but peremptory touch on the arm,and turning, saw the detective at my side, still studying his piece ofchina.
He was, as I have said, of portly build and benevolent aspect; afatherly-looking man, and not at all the person one would be likely toassociate 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 fromyour window last night? I am likely to have charge of this matter, andwould 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 inwardrejoinder, but I said nothing aloud, for the man was seventy-five if hewas a day, and I have been taught respect for age, and have practisedthe same for fifty years and more.
I must have shown what was passing in my mind, and he must have seen itreflected on the polished surface of the porcelain he was contemplating,for his lips showed the shadow of a smile sufficiently sarcastic for meto see that he was far from being as easy-natured as his countenanceindicated.
"Come, come," said he, "there is the Coroner now. Say what you have tosay, like the straightforward, honest woman you appear."
"I don't like compliments," I snapped out. Indeed, they have always beenobnoxious to me. As if there was any merit in being honest andstraightforward, or any distinction in being told so!
"I am Miss Butterworth, and not in the habit of being spoken to as if Iwere a simple countrywoman," I objected. "But I will repeat what I sawlast night, as it is no secret, and the telling of it won't hurt me andmay help you."
Accordingly I went over the whole story, and was much more loquaciousthan I had intended to be, his manner was so insinuating and hisinquiries so pertinent. But one topic we both failed to broach, and thatwas the peculiar manner of the scrub-woman. Perhaps it had not struckhim as peculiar and perhaps it should not have struck me so, but in thesilence which was preserved on the subject I felt I had acquired anadvantage over him, which might lead to consequences of no smallimportance. Would I have felt thus or congratulated myself quite so muchupon my fancied superiority, if I had known he was the man who managedthe Leavenworth case, and who in his early years had experienced thatvery wonderful adventure on the staircase of the Heart's Delight?Perhaps I would; for though I have had no adventures, I feel capable ofthem, and as for any peculiar acumen he may have shown in his long andeventful career, why that is a quality which others may share with him,as I hope to be able to prove before finishing these pages.
That Affair Next Door Page 3