The Circular Study

by Anna Katharine Green

  CHAPTER VII.

  AMOS'S SON.

  Miss Butterworth had been brought up in a strict school of manners. Whenshe sat, she sat still; when she moved, she moved quickly, firmly, butwith no unnecessary disturbance. Fidgets were unknown to her. Yet whenshe found herself alone after this interview, it was with difficulty shecould restrain herself from indulging in some of those outwardmanifestations of uneasiness which she had all her life reprobated inthe more nervous members of her own sex. She was anxious, and she showedit, like the sensible woman she was, and was glad enough when Mr. Grycefinally returned and, accosting her with a smile, said almost gayly:

  "Well, that is seen to! And all we have to do now is to await theresult. Madam, have you any further ideas? If so, I should be glad tohave the benefit of them."

  Her self-possession was at once restored.

  "You would?" she repeated, eying him somewhat doubtfully. "I should liketo be assured of the value of the one I have already advanced, before Iventure upon another. Let us enter into a conference instead; comparenotes; tell, for instance, why neither of us look on Bartow as theguilty man."

  "I thought we had exhausted that topic. Your suspicions were aroused bythe young couple you saw leaving the house, while mine--well, madam, toyou, at least, I may admit that there is something in the mute'sgestures and general manner which conveys to my mind the impression thathe is engaged in rehearsing something he has seen, rather than somethinghe has done; and as yet I have seen no reason for doubting the truth ofthis impression."

  "I was affected in the same way, and would have been, even if I had notalready had my suspicions turned in another direction. Besides, it ismore natural for a man to be driven insane by another's act than by hisown."

  "Yes, if he loved the victim."

  "And did not Bartow?"

  "He does not mourn Mr. Adams."

  "But he is no longer master of his emotions."

  "Very true; but if we take any of his actions as a clew to thesituation, we must take all. We believe from his gestures that he isgiving us a literal copy of acts he has seen performed. Then, why passover the gleam of infernal joy that lights his face after the whole isover? It is as if he rejoiced over the deed, or at least foundimmeasurable satisfaction in it."

  "Perhaps it is still a copy of what he saw; the murderer may haverejoiced. But no, there was no joy in the face of the young man I sawrushing away from this scene of violence. Quite the contrary. Mr. Gryce,we are in deep waters. I feel myself wellnigh submerged by them."

  "Hold up your head, madam. Every flood has its ebb. If you allowyourself to go under, what will become of me?"

  "You are disposed to humor, Mr. Gryce. It is a good sign. You are neverhumorous when perplexed. Somewhere you must see daylight."

  "Let us proceed with our argument. Illumination frequently comes fromthe most unexpected quarter."

  "Very well, then, let us put the old man's joy down as one of themysteries to be explained later. Have you thought of him as a possibleaccomplice?"

  "Certainly; but this supposition is open to the same objection as thatwhich made him the motive power in this murder. One is not driven insaneby an expected horror. It takes shock to unsettle the brain. He was notlooking for the death of his master."

  "True. We may consider that matter as settled. Bartow was an innocentwitness of this crime, and, having nothing to fear, may be trusted toreproduce in his pantomimic action its exact features."

  "Very good. Continue, madam. Nothing but profit is likely to follow anargument presented by Miss Butterworth."

  The old detective's tone was serious, his manner perfect; but MissButterworth, ever on the look-out for sarcasm from his lips, bridled alittle, though in no other way did she show her displeasure.

  "Let us, then, recall his precise gestures, remembering that he musthave surprised the assailant from the study doorway, and so have seenthe assault from over his master's shoulder."

  "In other words, directly in front of him. Now what was his first move?"

  "His first move, as now seen, is to raise his right arm and stretch itbehind him, while he leans forward for the imaginary dagger. What doesthat mean?"

  "I should find it hard to say. But I did not see him do that. When Icame upon him, he was thrusting with his left hand across his ownbody--a vicious thrust and with his left hand. That is a point, Mr.Gryce."

  "Yes, especially as the doctors agree that Mr. Adams was killed by aleft-handed blow."

  "You don't say! Don't you see the difficulty, then?"

  "The difficulty, madam?"

  "Bartow was standing face to face with the assailant. In imitating him,especially in his unreasoning state of mind, he would lift the armopposite to the one whose action he mimics, which, in this case, wouldbe the assailant's right. Try, for the moment, to mimic my actions. See!I lift this hand, and instinctively (nay, I detected the movement, sir,quickly as you remembered yourself), you raise the one directly oppositeto it. It is like seeing yourself in a mirror. You turn your head to theright, but your image turns to the left."

  Mr. Gryce's laugh rang out in spite of himself. He was not often caughtnapping, but this woman exercised a species of fascination upon him attimes, and it rather amused than offended him, when he was obliged toacknowledge himself defeated.

  "Very good! You have proved your point quite satisfactorily; but whatconclusions are to be drawn from it? That the man was not left-handed,or that he was not standing in the place you have assigned to him?"

  "Shall we go against the doctors? They say that the blow was aleft-handed one. Mr. Gryce, I would give anything for an hour spent withyou in Mr. Adams's study, with Bartow free to move about at his will. Ithink we would learn more by watching him for a short space of time thanin talking as we are doing for an hour."

  It was said tentatively, almost timidly. Miss Butterworth had some senseof the temerity involved in this suggestion even if, according to herown declaration, she had no curiosity. "I don't want to bedisagreeable," she smiled.

  She was so far from being so that Mr. Gryce was taken unawares, and foronce in his life became impulsive.

  "I think it can be managed, madam; that is, after the funeral. There aretoo many officials now in the house, and----"

  "Of course, of course," she acceded. "I should not think of obtrudingmyself at present. But the case is so interesting, and my connectionwith it so peculiar, that I sometimes forget myself. Do you think"--hereshe became quite nervous for one of her marked self-control--"that Ihave laid myself open to a summons from the coroner?"

  Mr. Gryce grew thoughtful, eyed the good lady, or rather her foldedhands, with an air of some compassion, and finally replied:

  "The facts regarding this affair come in so slowly that I doubt if theinquest is held for several days. Meanwhile we may light on those twoyoung people ourselves. If so, the coroner may _overlook_ your share inbringing them to our notice."

  There was a sly emphasis on the word, and a subtle humor in his lookthat showed the old detective at his worst. But Miss Butterworth did notresent it; she was too full of a fresh confession she had to make.

  "Ah," said she, "if they had been the only persons I encountered there.But they were not. Another person entered the house before I left it,and I may be obliged to speak of him."

  "Of him? Really, madam, you are a mine of intelligence."

  "Yes, sir," was the meek reply; meek, when you consider from whose lipsit came. "I ought to have spoken of him before, but I never like to mixmatters, and this old gentleman----"

  "Old gentleman!"

  "Yes, sir, very old and very much of a gentleman, did not appear to haveany connection with the crime beyond knowing the murdered man."

  "Ah, but that's a big connection, ma'am. To find some one who knew Mr.Adams--really, madam, patience has its limits, and I must press you tospeak."

  "Oh, I will speak! The time has come for it. Besides, I'm quite ready todiscuss this new theme; it is very interesting."

  "S
uppose we begin, then, by a detailed account of your adventures inthis house of death," dryly suggested the detective. "Your fulladventures, madam, with nothing left out."

  "I appreciate the sarcasm, but nothing has been left out except what Iam about to relate to you. It happened just as I was leaving the house."

  "What did? I hate to ask you to be more explicit. But, in the interestsof justice----"

  "You are quite right. As I was going out, then, I encountered an elderlygentleman coming in. His hand had just touched the bell handle. You willacknowledge that it was a perplexing moment for me. His face, which waswell preserved for his years, wore an air of expectation that was almostgay. He glanced in astonishment at mine, which, whatever its usualserenity, certainly must have borne marks of deep emotion. Neither of usspoke. At last he inquired politely if he might enter, and saidsomething about having an appointment with some one in the study. Atwhich I stepped briskly enough aside, I assure you, for this mightmean--What did you say? Did I close the door? I assuredly did. Was I tolet the whole of ---- Street into the horrors of this house at a momentwhen a poor old man--No, I didn't go out myself. Why should I? Was I toleave a man on the verge of eighty--excuse me, not every man of eightyis so hale and vigorous as yourself--to enter such a scene alone?Besides, I had not warned him of the condition of the only other livingoccupant of the house."

  "Discreet, very. Quite what was to be expected of you, Miss Butterworth.More than that. You followed him, no doubt, with careful supervision,down the hall."

  "Most certainly! What would you have thought of me if I had not? He wasin a strange house; there was no servant to guide him, he wanted to knowthe way to the study, and I politely showed him there."

  "Kind of you, madam,--very. It must have been an interesting moment toyou."

  "Very interesting! Too interesting! I own that I am not made entirely ofsteel, sir, and the shock he received at finding a dead man awaitinghim, instead of a live one, was more or less communicated to me. Yet Istood my ground."

  "Admirable! I could have done no better myself. And so this man who hadan appointment with Mr. Adams was shocked, really shocked, at findinghim lying there under a cross, dead?"

  "Yes, there was no doubting that. Shocked, surprised, terrified, andsomething more. It is that something more which has proved myperplexity. I cannot make it out, not even in thinking it over. Was itthe fascination which all horrible sights exert on the morbid, or was ita sudden realization of some danger he had escaped, or of somedifficulty yet awaiting him? Hard to say, Mr. Gryce, hard to say; butyou may take my word for it that there was more to him in this meetingthan an unexpected stumbling upon a dead man where he expected to find alive one. Yet he made no sound after that first cry, and hardly anymovement. He just stared at the figure on the floor; then at his face,which he seemed to devour, at first with curiosity, then with hate, thenwith terror, and lastly--how can I express myself?--with a sort ofhellish humor that in another moment might have broken into somethinglike a laugh, if the bird, which I had failed to observe up to thismoment, had not waked in its high cage, and, thrusting its beak betweenthe bars, shrilled out in the most alarming of tones: 'Remember Evelyn!'That startled the old man even more than the sight on the floor haddone. He turned round, and I saw his fist rise as if against somemenacing intruder, but it quickly fell again as his eyes encountered thepicture which hung before him, and with a cringe painful to see in oneof his years, he sidled back till he reached the doorway. Here he pauseda minute to give another look at the man outstretched at his feet, and Iheard him say:

  "'It is Amos's son, not Amos! Is it fatality, or did he plan thismeeting, thinking----'

  "But here he caught sight of my figure in the antechamber beyond, andresuming in an instant his former debonair manner, he bowed very low andopened his lips as if about to ask a question. But he evidently thoughtbetter of it, for he strode by me and made his way to the front doorwithout a word. Being an intruder myself, I did not like to stop him.But I am sorry now for the consideration I showed him; for just beforehe stepped out, his emotion--the special character of which, I own toyou, I find impossible to understand--culminated in a burst of raucouslaughter which added the final horror to this amazing adventure. Then hewent out, and in the last glimpse I had of him before the door shut hewore the same look of easy self-satisfaction with which he had enteredthis place of death some fifteen minutes before."

  "Remarkable! Some secret history there! That man must be found. He canthrow light upon Mr. Adams's past. 'Amos's son,' he called him? Who isAmos? Mr. Adams's name was Felix. Felix, the son of Amos. Perhaps thisconnection of names may lead to something. It is not a common one, andif given to the papers, may result in our receiving a clew to a mysterywhich seems impenetrable. Your stay in Mr. Adams's house was quiteproductive, ma'am. Did you prolong it after the departure of this oldman?"

  "No, sir, I had had my fill of the mysterious, and left immediatelyafter him. Ashamed of the spirit of investigation which had led me toenter the house, I made a street boy the medium of my communication tothe police, and would have been glad if I could have so escaped allresponsibility in the matter. But the irony of fate follows me as itdoes others. A clew was left of my presence, which involves me in thisaffair, whether I will or no. Was the hand of Providence in this?Perhaps. The future will tell. And now, Mr. Gryce, since my budget isquite empty and the hour late, I will take my leave. If you hear fromthat bit of paper----"

  "If I hear from it in the way you suggest I will let you know. It willbe the least I can do for a lady who has done so much for me."

  "Now you flatter me--proof positive that I have stayed a minute longerthan was judicious. Good evening, Mr. Gryce. What? I have not stayed toolong? You have something else to ask."

  "Yes, and this time it is concerning a matter personal to yourself. MayI inquire if you wore the same bonnet yesterday that you do to-day?"

  "No, sir. I know you have a good reason for this question, and so willnot express my surprise. Yesterday I was in reception costume, and mybonnet was a jet one----"

  "With long strings tied under the chin?"

  "No, sir, short strings; long strings are no longer the fashion."

  "But you wore something which fell from your neck?"

  "Yes, a boa--a feather boa. How came you to know it, sir? Did I leave myimage in one of the mirrors?"

  "Hardly. If so, I should not have expected it to speak. You merely wrotethe fact on the study table top. Or so I have dared to think. You or theyoung lady--did she wear ribbons or streamers, too?"

  "That I cannot say. Her face was all I saw, and the skirt of adove-colored silk dress."

  "Then you must settle the question for me in this way. If on the tips ofthat boa of yours you find the faintest evidence of its having beendipped in blood, I shall know that the streaks found on the top of thetable I speak of were evidences of your presence there. But if your boais clean, or was not long enough to touch that dying man as you leanedover him, then we have proof that the young lady with the dove-coloredplumes fingered that table also, instead of falling at once into thecondition in which you saw her carried out."

  "I fear that it is my boa which will tell the tale: another proof of thefallibility of man, or, rather, woman. In secret search for clews I leftbehind me traces of my own presence. I really feel mortified, sir, andyou have quite the advantage of me."

  And with this show of humility, which may not have been entirelysincere, this estimable lady took her departure.

  Did Mr. Gryce suffer from any qualms of conscience at having elicited somuch and imparted so little? I doubt it. Mr. Gryce's conscience wasquite seared in certain places.