The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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      “I have said the means were peculiar. She was stabbed, but not—with a knife.”

      I know Mr. Gryce well enough now to be sure that he did not glance towards Howard while saying this, and yet at the same time that he did not miss the quiver of a muscle on his part or the motion of an eyelash. But Howard’s assumed sang froid remained undisturbed and his countenance imperturbable.

      “The wound was so small,” the detective went on, “that it is a miracle it did not escape notice. It was made by the thrust of some very slender instrument through——”

      “The heart?” put in Franklin.

      “Of course, of course,” assented the detective; “what other spot is vulnerable enough to cause death?”

      “Is there any reason why we should not go?” demanded Howard, ignoring the extreme interest manifested by the other two, with a determination that showed great doggedness of character.

      The detective ignored him.

      “A quick stroke, a sure stroke, a fatal stroke. The girl never breathed after.”

      “But what of those things under which she lay crushed?”

      “Ah, in them lies the mystery! Her assailant must have been as subtle as he was sure.”

      And still Howard showed no interest.

      “I wish to telegraph to Haddam,” he declared, as no one answered the last remark. Haddam was the place where he and his wife had been spending the summer.

      “We have already telegraphed there,” observed Mr. Gryce. “Your wife has not yet returned.”

      “There are other places,” defiantly insisted the other. “I can find her if you give me the opportunity.”

      Mr. Gryce bowed.

      “I am to give orders, then, for this body to be removed to the Morgue.”

      It was an unexpected suggestion, and for an instant Howard showed that he had feelings with the best. But he quickly recovered himself, and avoiding the anxious glances of his father and brother, answered with offensive lightness:

      “I have nothing to do with that. You must do as you think proper.”

      And Mr. Gryce felt that he had received a check, and did not know whether to admire the young man for his nerve or to execrate him for his brutality. That the woman whom he had thus carelessly dismissed to the ignominy of the public gaze was his wife, the detective did not doubt.

Chapter VII.

       Mr. Gryce Discovers Miss Amelia

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      To return to my own observations. I was almost as ignorant of what I wanted to know at ten o’clock on that memorable night as I was at five, but I was determined not to remain so. When the two Misses Van Burnam had retired to their room, I slipped away to the neighboring house and boldly rang the bell. I had observed Mr. Gryce enter it a few minutes before, and I was resolved to have some talk with him.

      The hall-lamp was lit, and we could discern each other’s faces as he opened the door. Mine may have been a study, but I am sure his was. He had not expected to be confronted by an elderly lady at that hour of night.

      “Well!” he dryly ejaculated, “I am sensible of the honor, Miss Butterworth.” But he did not ask me in.

      “I expected no less,” said I. “I saw you come in, and I followed as soon after as I could. I have something to say to you.”

      He admitted me then and carefully closed the door. Feeling free to be myself, I threw off the veil I had tied under my chin and confronted him with what I call the true spirit.

      “Mr. Gryce,” I began, “let us make an exchange of civilities. Tell me what you have done with Howard Van Burnam, and I will tell you what I have observed in the course of this afternoon’s investigation.”

      This aged detective is used to women, I have no doubt, but he is not used to me. I saw it by the way he turned over and over the spectacles he held in his hand. I made an effort to help him out.

      “I have noted something to-day which I think has escaped you. It is so slight a clue that most women would not speak of it. But being interested in the case, I will mention it, if in return you will acquaint me with what will appear in the papers to-morrow.”

      He seemed to like it. He peered through his glasses and at them with the smile of a discoverer. “I am your very humble servant,” he declared; and I felt as if my father’s daughter had received her first recognition.

      But he did not overwhelm me with confidences. O, no, he is very sly, this old and well-seasoned detective; and while appearing to be very communicative, really parted with but little information. He said enough, however, for me to gather that matters looked grim for Howard, and if this was so, it must have become apparent that the death they were investigating was neither an accident nor a suicide.

      I hinted as much, and he, for his own ends no doubt, admitted at last that a wound had been found on the young woman which could not have been inflicted by herself; at which I felt such increased interest in this remarkable murder that I must have made some foolish display of it, for the wary old gentleman chuckled and ogled his spectacles quite lovingly before shutting them up and putting them into his pocket.

      “And now what have you to tell me?” he inquired, sliding softly between me and the parlor door.

      “Nothing but this. Question that queer-acting house-cleaner closely. She has something to tell which it is your business to know.”

      I think he was disappointed. He looked as if he regretted the spectacles he had pocketed, and when he spoke there was an edge to his tone I had not noticed in it before.

      “Do you know what that something is?” he asked.

      “No, or I should tell you myself.”

      “And what makes you think she is hiding anything from us?”

      “Her manner. Did you not notice her manner?”

      He shrugged his shoulders.

      “It conveyed much to me,” I insisted. “If I were a detective I would have the secret out of that woman or die in the attempt.”

      He laughed; this sly, old, almost decrepit man laughed outright. Then he looked severely at his old friend on the newel-post, and drawing himself up with some show of dignity, made this remark:

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ