The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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СКАЧАТЬ “You have your theories about this murder, and I have mine; let us see how they compare.”

      If the image he had under his eye had not been made of bronze, I am sure it would have become petrified by the look he now gave it. What to me seemed but the natural proposition of an energetic woman with a special genius for his particular calling, evidently struck him as audacity of the grossest kind. But he confined his display of astonishment to the figure he was eying, and returned me nothing but this most gentlemanly retort:

      “I am sure I am obliged to you, madam, and possibly I may be willing to consider your very thoughtful proposition later, but now I am busy, very busy, and if you will await my presence in your house for a half hour——”

      “Why not let me wait here,” I interposed. “The atmosphere of the place may sharpen my faculties. I already feel that another sharp look into that parlor would lead to the forming of some valuable theory.”

      “You—” Well, he did not say what I was, or rather, what the image he was apostrophizing, was. But he must have meant to utter a compliment of no common order.

      The prim courtesy I made in acknowledgment of his good intention satisfied him that I had understood him fully; and changing his whole manner to one more in accordance with business, he observed after a moment’s reflection:

      “You came to a conclusion this afternoon, Miss Butterworth, for which I should like some explanation. In investigating the hat which had been drawn from under the murdered girl’s remains, you made the remark that it had been worn but once. I had already come to the same conclusion, but by other means, doubtless. Will you tell me what it was that gave point to your assertion?”

      “There was but one prick of a hat-pin in it,” I observed. “If you have been in the habit of looking into young women’s hats, you will appreciate the force of my remark.”

      “The deuce!” was his certainly uncalled for exclamation. “Women’s eyes for women’s matters! I am greatly indebted to you, ma’am. You have solved a very important problem for us. A hat-pin! humph!” he muttered to himself. “The devil in a man is not easily balked; even such an innocent article as that can be made to serve, when all other means are lacking.”

      It is perhaps a proof that Mr. Gryce is getting old, that he allowed these words to escape him. But having once given vent to them, he made no effort to retract them, but proceeded to take me into his confidence so far as to explain:

      “The woman who was killed in that room owed her death to the stab of a thin, long pin. We had not thought of a hat-pin, but upon your mentioning it, I am ready to accept it as the instrument of death. There was no pin to be seen in the hat when you looked at it?”

      “None. I examined it most carefully.”

      He shook his head and seemed to be meditating. As I had plenty of time I waited, expecting him to speak again. My patience seemed to impress him. Alternately raising and lowering his hands like one in the act of weighing something, he soon addressed me again, this time in a tone of banter:

      “This pin—if pin it was—was found broken in the wound. We have been searching for the end that was left in the murderer’s hand, and we have not found it. It is not on the floors of the parlors nor in this hallway. What do you think the ingenious user of such an instrument would do with it?”

      This was said, I am now sure, out of a spirit of sarcasm. He was amusing himself with me, but I did not realize it then. I was too full of my subject.

      “He would not have carried it away,” I reasoned shortly, “at least not far. He did not throw it aside on reaching the street, for I watched his movements so closely that I would have observed him had he done this. It is in the house then, and presumably in the parlor, even if you do not find it on the floor.”

      “Would you like to look for it?” he impressively asked. I had no means of knowing at that time that when he was impressive he was his least candid and trustworthy self.

      “Would I,” I repeated; and being spare in figure and much more active in my movements that one would suppose from my age and dignified deportment, I ducked under his arms and was in Mr. Van Burnam’s parlor before he had recovered from his surprise.

      That a man like him could look foolish I would not have you for a moment suppose. But he did not look very well satisfied, and I had a chance to throw more than one glance around me before he found his tongue again.

      “An unfair advantage, ma’am; an unfair advantage! I am old and I am rheumatic; you are young and sound as a nut. I acknowledge my folly in endeavoring to compete with you and must make the best of the situation. And now, madam, where is that pin?”

      It was lightly said, but for all that I saw that my opportunity had come. If I could find this instrument of murder, what might I not expect from his gratitude. Nerving myself for the task thus set me, I peered hither and thither, taking in every article in the room before I made a step forward. There had been some attempt to rectify its disorder. The broken pieces of china had been lifted and laid carefully away on newspapers upon the shelves from which they had fallen. The cabinet stood upright in its place, and the clock which had tumbled face upward, had been placed upon the mantel shelf in the same position. The carpet was therefore free, save for the stains which told such a woful story of past tragedy and crime.

      “You have moved the tables and searched behind the sofas,” I suggested.

      “Not an inch of the floor has escaped our attention, madam.”

      My eyes fell on the register, which my skirts half covered. It was closed; I stooped and opened it. A square box of tin was visible below, at the bottom of which I perceived the round head of a broken hat-pin.

      Never in my life had I felt as I did at that minute. Rising up, I pointed at the register and let some of my triumph become apparent; but not all, for I was by no means sure at that moment, nor am I by any means sure now, that he had not made the discovery before I did and was simply testing my pretensions.

      However that may be, he came forward quickly and after some little effort drew out the broken pin and examined it curiously.

      “I should say that this is what we want,” he declared, and from that moment on showed me a suitable deference.

      “I account for its being there in this way,” I argued. “The room was dark; for whether he lighted it or not to commit his crime, he certainly did not leave it lighted long. Coming out, his foot came in contact with the iron of the register and he was struck by a sudden thought. He had not dared to leave the head of the pin lying on the floor, for he hoped that he had covered up his crime by pulling the heavy cabinet over upon his victim; nor did he wish to carry away such a memento of his cruel deed. So he dropped it down the register, where he doubtless expected it would fall into the furnace pipes out of sight. But the tin box retained it. Is not that plausible, sir?”

      “I could not have reasoned better myself, madam. We shall have you on the force, yet.”

      But at the familiarity shown by this suggestion, I bridled angrily. “I am Miss Butterworth,” was my sharp retort, “and any interest I may take in this matter is due to my sense of justice.”

      Seeing that he had offended me, the astute detective turned the conversation back to business.

      “By the way,” said he, “your woman’s knowledge can help me out at another СКАЧАТЬ