Acknowledging their mutual defeat by a look, the Superintendent and detective drew off to one side, and something like the following conversation took place between them.
“You think she’s sane?”
“I do.”
“And will remain so two weeks?”
“If humored.”
“You are sure she is implicated in this crime?”
“She was a witness to it.”
“And that she speaks the truth when she declares that she is the only person who can point out the criminal?”
“Yes; that is, she is the only one who will do it. The attitude taken by the Van Burnams, especially by Howard just now in the presence of this girl, shows how little we have to expect from them.”
“Yet you think they know as much as she does about it?”
“I do not know what to think. For once I am baffled, Superintendent. Every passion which this woman possesses was roused by her unexpected meeting with Howard Van Burnam, and yet their indifference when confronted, as well as her present action, seems to argue a lack of connection between them which overthrows at once the theory of his guilt. Was it the sight of Franklin, then, which really affected her? and was her apparent indifference at meeting him only an evidence of her self-control? It seems an impossible conclusion to draw, and indeed there are nothing but hitches and improbable features in this case. Nothing fits; nothing jibes. I get just so far in it and then I run up against a wall. Either there is a superhuman power of duplicity in the persons who contrived this murder or we are on the wrong tack altogether.”
“In other words, you have tried every means known to you to get at the truth of this matter, and failed.”
“I have, sir; sorry as I may be to acknowledge it.”
“Then we must accept her terms. She can be shadowed?”
“Every moment.”
“Very well, then. Extreme cases must be met by extreme measures. We will let her have her swing, and see what comes of it. Revenge is a great weapon in the hands of a determined woman, and from her look I think she will make the most of it.”
And returning to where the young girl stood, the Superintendent asked her whether she felt sure the murderer would not escape in the time that must elapse before his apprehension.
Instantly her cheek, which had looked as if it could never show color again, flushed a deep and painful scarlet, and she cried vehemently:
“If any hint of what is here passing should reach him I should be powerless to prevent his flight. Swear, then, that my very existence shall be kept a secret between you two, or I will do nothing towards his apprehension—no, not even to save the innocent.”
“We will not swear, but we will promise,” returned the Superintendent. “And now, when may we expect to hear from you again?”
“Two weeks from tonight as the clock strikes eight. Be wherever I may chance to be at that hour, and see on whose arm I lay my hand. It will be that of the man who killed Mrs. Van Burnam.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII
A WHITE SATIN GOWN
The events just related did not come to my knowledge for some days after they occurred, but I have recorded them at this time that I might in some way prepare you for an interview which shortly after took place between myself and Mr. Gryce.
I had not seen him since our rather unsatisfactory parting in front of Miss Althorpe’s house, and the suspense which I had endured in the interim made my greeting unnecessarily warm. But he took it all very naturally.
“You are glad to see me,” said he; “been wondering what has become of Miss Oliver. Well, she is in good hands; with Mrs. Desberger, in short; a woman whom I believe you know.”
“With Mrs. Desberger?” I was surprised. “Why, I have been looking every day in the papers for an account of her arrest.”
“No doubt,” he answered. “But we police are slow; we are not ready to arrest her yet. Meanwhile you can do us a favor. She wants to see you; are you willing to visit her?”
My answer contained but little of the curiosity and eagerness I really felt.
“I am always at your command. Do you wish me to go now?”
“Miss Oliver is impatient,” he admitted. “Her fever is better, but she is in an excited condition of mind which makes her a little unreasonable. To be plain, she is not quite herself, and while we still hope something from her testimony, we are leaving her very much to her own devices, and do not cross her in anything. You will therefore listen to what she says, and, if possible, aid her in anything she may undertake, unless it points directly towards self-destruction. My opinion is that she will surprise you. But you are becoming accustomed to surprises, are you not?”
“Thanks to you, I am.”
“Very well, then, I have but one more suggestion to make. You are working for the police now, madam, and nothing that you see or learn in connection with this girl is to be kept back from us. Am I understood?”
“Perfectly; but it is only proper for me to retort that I am not entirely pleased with the part you assign me. Could you not have left thus much to my good sense, and not put it into so many words?”
“Ah, madam, the case at present is too serious for risks of that kind. Mr. Van Burnam’s reputation, to say nothing of his life, depends upon our knowledge of this girl’s secret; surely you can stretch a point in a matter of so much moment?”
“I have already stretched several, and I can stretch one more, but I hope the girl won’t look at me too often with those miserable appealing eyes of hers; they make me feel like a traitor.”
“You will not be troubled by any appeal in them. The appeal has vanished; something harder and even more difficult to meet is to be found in them now: wrath, purpose, and a desire for vengeance. She is not the same woman, I assure you.”
“Well,” I sighed, “I am sorry; there is something about the girl that lays hold of me, and I hate to see such a change in her. Did she ask for me by name?”
“I believe so.”
“I cannot understand her wanting me, but I will go; and I won’t leave her either till she shows me she is tired of me. I am as anxious to see the end of this matter as you are.” Then, with some vague idea that I had earned a right to some show of confidence on his part, I added insinuatingly: “I supposed you would feel the case settled when she almost fainted at the sight of the younger Mr. Van Burnam.”
The old ambiguous smile I remembered so well came to modify his brusque rejoinder.
“If she had been a woman like you, I should; but she is a deep one, Miss Butterworth; too deep for the success of a little ruse like mine. Are you ready?”
I was not, but it did not take me long to be so, and before an hour had elapsed I was seated in Mrs. Desberger’s parlor in Ninth Street. Miss Oliver was in, and ere long made her appearance. She was dressed in street costume.
I was prepared for a change in her, and yet the shock I felt when I first saw her face must have been apparent, for she immediately remarked:
“You find me quite well, Miss Butterworth. For this I am partially indebted to you. You were very good to nurse me so carefully. Will you be still kinder, and help me in a new matter which I feel quite incompetent to undertake alone?”
Her face was flushed, her manner nervous, but her eyes had an extraordinary look in them which affected me most painfully, notwithstanding the additional effect it gave to her beauty.
“Certainly,” said I. “What can I do for you?”
“I wish to buy me a dress,” was her unexpected reply. “A handsome dress. Do you object to showing me the best shops? I am a stranger in New York.”
More astonished than I can express, but carefully concealing it in remembrance of the caution received from Mr. Gryce, I replied that I would be only too happy to accompany her on such an errand. Upon which she lost her nervousness and prepared at once to go out with me.
“I would have asked Mrs. Desberger,” she observed while fitting on her gloves, “but her taste”—here she cast a significa
nt look about the room—”is not quiet enough for me.”
“I should think not!” I cried.
“I shall be a trouble to you,” the girl went on, with a gleam in her eye that spoke of the restless spirit within. “I have many things to buy, and they must all be rich and handsome.”
“If you have money enough, there will be no trouble about that.”
“Oh, I have money.” She spoke like a millionaire’s daughter. “Shall we go to Arnold’s?”
As I always traded at Arnold’s, I readily acquiesced, and we left the house. But not before she had tied a very thick veil over her face.
“If we meet any one, do not introduce me,” she begged. “I cannot talk to people.”
“You may rest easy,” I assured her.
At the corner she stopped. “Is there any way of getting a carriage?” she asked.
“Do you want one?”
“Yes.”
I signalled a hack.
“Now for the dress!” she cried.
We rode at once to Arnold’s.
“What kind of a dress do you want?” I inquired as we entered the store.
“An evening one; a white satin, I think.”
I could not help the exclamation which escaped me; but I covered it up as quickly as possible by a hurried remark in favor of white, and we proceeded at once to the silk counter.
“I will trust it all to you,” she whispered in an odd, choked tone as the clerk approached us. “Get what you would for your daughter—no, no! for Mr. Van Burnam’s daughter, if he has one, and do not spare expense. I have five hundred dollars in my pocket.”
Mr. Van Burnam’s daughter! Well, well! A tragedy of some kind was portending! But I bought the dress.
“Now,” said she, “lace, and whatever else I need to make it up suitably. And I must have slippers and gloves. You know what a young girl requires to make her look like a lady. I want to look so well that the most critical eye will detect no fault in my appearance. It can be done, can it not, Miss Butterworth? My face and figure will not spoil the effect, will they?”
“No,” said I; “you have a good face and a beautiful figure. You ought to look well. Are you going to a ball, my dear?”
“I am going to a ball,” she answered; but her tone was so strange the people passing us turned to look at her.
“Let us have everything sent to the carriage,” said she, and went with me from counter to counter with her ready purse in her hand, but not once lifting her veil to look at what was offered us, saying over and over as I sought to consult her in regard to some article: “Buy the richest; I leave it all to you.”
Had Mr. Gryce not told me she must be humored, I could never have gone through this ordeal. To see a girl thus expend her hoarded savings on such frivolities was absolutely painful to me, and more than once I was tempted to decline any further participation in such extravagance. But a thought of my obligations to Mr. Gryce restrained me, and I went on spending the poor girl’s dollars with more pain to myself than if I had taken them out of my own pocket.
Having purchased all the articles we thought necessary, we were turning towards the door when Miss Oliver whispered:
“Wait for me in the carriage for just a few minutes. I have one more thing to buy, and I must do it alone.”
“But—” I began.
“I will do it, and I will not be followed,” she insisted, in a shrill tone that made me jump.
And seeing no other way of preventing a scene, I let her leave me, though it cost me an anxious fifteen minutes.
When she rejoined me, as she did at the expiration of that time, I eyed the bundle she held with decided curiosity. But I could make no guess at its contents.
“Now,” she cried, as she reseated herself and closed the carriage door, “where shall I find a dressmaker able and willing to make up this satin in five days?”
I could not tell her. But after some little search we succeeded in finding a woman who engaged to make an elegant costume in the time given her. The first measurements were taken, and we drove back to Ninth Street with a lasting memory in my mind of the cold and rigid form of Miss Oliver standing up in Madame’s triangular parlor, submitting to the mechanical touches of the modiste with an outward composure, but with a brooding horror in her eyes that bespoke an inward torment.
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE WATCHFUL EYE
As I parted with Miss Oliver on Mrs. Desberger’s stoop and did not visit her again in that house, I will introduce the report of a person better situated than myself to observe the girl during the next few days. That the person thus alluded to was a woman in the service of the police is evident, and as such may not meet with your approval, but her words are of interest, as witness:
* * * *
“Friday P.M.
“Party went out today in company with an elderly female of respectable appearance. Said elderly female wears puffs, and moves with great precision. I say this in case her identification should prove necessary.
“I had been warned that Miss O. would probably go out, and as the man set to watch the front door was on duty, I occupied myself during her absence in making a neat little hole in the partitions between our two rooms, so that I should not be obliged to offend my next-door neighbor by too frequent visits to her apartment. This done, I awaited her return, which was delayed till it was almost dark. When she did come in, her arms were full of bundles. These she thrust into a bureau-drawer, with the exception of one, which she laid with great care under her pillow. I wondered what this one could be, but could get no inkling from its size or shape. Her manner when she took off her hat was fiercer than before, and a strange smile, which I had not previously observed on her lips, added force to her expression. But it paled after supper-time, and she had a restless night. I could hear her walk the floor long after I thought it prudent on my part to retire, and at intervals through the night I was disturbed by her moaning, which was not that of a sick person but of one very much afflicted in mind.
* * * *
“Saturday.
“Party quiet. Sits most of the time with hands clasped on her knee before the fire. Given to quick starts as if suddenly awakened from an absorbing train of thought. A pitiful object, especially when seized by terror as she is at odd times. No walks, no visitors today. Once I heard her speak some words in a strange language, and once she drew herself up before the mirror in an attitude of so much dignity I was surprised at the fine appearance she made. The fire of her eyes at this moment was remarkable. I should not be surprised at any move she might make.
* * * *
“Sunday.
“She has been writing today. But when she had filled several pages of letter paper she suddenly tore them all up and threw them into the fire. Time seems to drag with her, for she goes every few minutes to the window from which a distant church clock is visible, and sighs as she turns away. More writing in the evening and some tears. But the writing was burned as before, and the tears stopped by a laugh that augurs little good to the person who called it up. The package has been taken from under her pillow and put in some place not visible from my spy-hole.
* * * *
“Monday.
“Party out again today, gone some two hours or more. When she returned she sat down before the mirror and began dressing her hair. She has fine hair, and she tried arranging it in several ways. None seemed to satisfy her, and she tore it down again and let it hang till supper-time, when she wound it up in its usual simple knot. Mrs. Desberger spent some minutes with her, but their talk was far from confidential, and therefore uninteresting. I wish people would speak louder when they talk to themselves.
* * * *
“Tuesday.
“Great restlessness on the part of the young person I am watching. No quiet for her, no quiet for me, yet she accomplishes nothing, and as yet has furnished me no clue to her thoughts.
“A huge box was brought into the room tonight. It seemed to cause her dread rather than
pleasure, for she shrank at sight of it, and has not yet attempted to open it. But her eyes have never left it since it was set down on the floor. It looks like a dressmaker’s box, but why such emotion over a gown?
* * * *
“Wednesday.
“This morning she opened the box but did not display its contents. I caught one glimpse of a mass of tissue paper, and then she put the cover on again, and for a good half hour sat crouching down beside it, shuddering like one in an ague-fit. I began to feel there was something deadly in the box, her eyes wandered towards it so frequently and with such contradictory looks of dread and savage determination. When she got up it was to see how many more minutes of the wretched day had passed.
* * * *
“Thursday.
“Party sick; did not try to leave her bed. Breakfast brought up by Mrs. Desberger, who showed her every attention, but could not prevail upon her to eat. Yet she would not let the tray be taken away, and when she was alone again or thought herself alone, she let her eyes rest so long on the knife lying across her plate, that I grew nervous and could hardly restrain myself from rushing into the room. But I remembered my instructions, and kept still even when I saw her hand steal towards this possible weapon, though I kept my own on the bell-rope which fortunately hung at my side. She looked quite capable of wounding herself with the knife, but after balancing it a moment in her hand, she laid it down again and turned with a low moan to the wall. She will not attempt death till she has accomplished what is in her mind.
* * * *
“Friday.
“All is right in the next room; that is, the young lady is up; but there is another change in her appearance since last night. She has grown contemptuous of herself and indulges less in brooding. But her impatience at the slow passage of time continues, and her interest in the box is even greater than before. She does not open it, however, only looks at it and lays her trembling hand now and then on the cover.
* * * *
“Saturday.
“A blank day. Party dull and very quiet. Her eyes begin to look like ghastly hollows in her pale face. She talks to herself continually, but in a low mechanical way exceedingly wearing to the listener, especially as no word can be distinguished. Tried to see her in her own room today, but she would not admit me.
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack Page 28