“Any one else?”
“A Mr. Hull, also from New York, and a young couple from Hartford. My house accommodates no more.”
“How long have the first mentioned couple been with you?”
“Three months. They came in June.”
“Are they with you still?”
“Virtually, sir. They have not moved their trunks; but neither of them is in Haddam at present. Mrs. Van Burnam came to New York last Monday morning, and in the afternoon her husband also left, presumably for New York. I have seen nothing of either of them since.”
(It was on Tuesday night the murder occurred.)
“Did either of them take a trunk?”
“No, sir.”
“A hand-bag?”
“Yes; Mrs. Van Burnam carried a bag, but it was a very small one.”
“Large enough to hold a dress?”
“O no, sir.”
“And Mr. Van Burnam?”
“He carried an umbrella; I saw nothing else.”
“Why did they not leave together? Did you hear any one say?”
“Yes; I heard them say Mrs. Van Burnam came against her husband’s wishes. He did not want her to leave Haddam, but she would, and he was none too pleased at it. Indeed they had words about it, and as both our rooms overlook the same veranda, I could not help hearing some of their talk.”
“Will you tell us what you heard?”
“It does not seem right” (thus this honest woman spoke), “but if it’s the law, I must not go against it. I heard him say these words: ‘I have changed my mind, Louise. The more I think of it, the more disinclined I am to have you meddle in the matter. Besides, it will do no good. You will only add to the prejudice against you, and our life will become more unbearable than it is now.’”
“Of what were they speaking?”
“I do not know.”
“And what did she reply?”
“O, she uttered a torrent of words that had less sense in them than feeling. She wanted to go, she would go, she had not changed her mind, and considered that her impulses were as well worth following as his cool judgment. She was not happy, had never been happy, and meant there should be a change, even if it were for the worse. But she did not believe it would be for the worse. Was she not pretty? Was she not very pretty when in distress and looking up thus? And I heard her fall on her knees, a movement which called out a grunt from her husband, but whether this was an expression of approval or disapproval I cannot say. A silence followed, during which I caught the sound of his steady tramping up and down the room. Then she spoke again in a petulant way. ‘It may seem foolish to you’ she cried, ‘knowing me as you do, and being used to seeing me in all my moods. But to him it will be a surprise, and I will so manage it that it will effect all we want, and more, too, perhaps. I—I have a genius for some things, Howard; and my better angel tells me I shall succeed.’”
“And what did he reply to that?”
“That the name of her better angel was Vanity; that his father would see through her blandishments; that he forbade her to prosecute her schemes; and much more to the same effect. To all of which she answered by a vigorous stamp of her foot, and the declaration that she was going to do what she thought best in spite of all opposition; that it was a lover, and not a tyrant that she had married, and that if he did not know what was good for himself, she did, and that when he received an intimation from his father that the breach in the family was closed, then he would acknowledge that if she had no fortune and no connections, she had at least a plentiful supply of wit. Upon which he remarked: ‘A poor qualification when it verges upon folly!’ which seemed to close the conversation, for I heard no more till the sound of her skirts rustling past my door assured me she had carried her point and was leaving the house. But this was not done without great discomfiture to her husband, if one may judge from the few brief but emphatic words that escaped him before he closed his own door and followed her down the hall.”
“Do you remember those words?”
“They were swear words, sir; I am sorry to say it, but he certainly cursed her and his own folly. Yet I always thought he loved her.”
“Did you see her after she passed your door?”
“Yes, sir, on the walk outside.”
“Was she then on the way to the train?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carrying the bag of which you have spoken?”
“Yes, sir; another proof of the state of feeling between them, for he was very considerate in his treatment of ladies, and I never saw him do anything ungallant before.”
“You say you watched her as she went down the walk?”
“Yes, sir; it is human nature, sir; I have no other excuse to offer.”
It was an apology I myself might have made. I conceived a liking for this homely matter-of-fact woman.
“Did you note her dress?”
“Yes, sir; that is human nature also, or, rather, woman’s nature.”
“Particularly, madam; so that you can describe it to the jury before you?”
“I think so.”
“Will you, then, be good enough to tell us what sort of a dress Mrs. Van Burnam wore when she left your house for the city?”
“It was a black and white plaid silk, very rich—”
Why, what did this mean? We had all expected a very different description.
“It was made fashionably, and the sleeves—well, it is impossible to describe the sleeves. She wore no wrap, which seemed foolish to me, for we have very sudden changes sometimes in September.”
“A plaid dress! And did you notice her hat?”
“O, I have seen the hat often. It was of every conceivable color. It would have been called bad taste at one time, but now-a-days—”
The pause was significant. More than one man in the room chuckled, but the women kept a discreet silence.
“Would you know that hat if you saw it?”
“I should think I would!”
The emphasis was that of a countrywoman, and amused some people notwithstanding the melodious tone in which it was uttered. But it did not amuse me; my thoughts had flown to the hat which Mr. Gryce had found in the third room of Mr. Van Burnam’s house, and which was of every color of the rainbow.
The Coroner asked two other questions, one in regard to the gloves worn by Mrs. Van Burnam, and the other in regard to her shoes. To the first, Miss Ferguson replied that she did not notice her gloves, and to the other, that Mrs. Van Burnam was very fashionable, and as pointed shoes were the fashion, in cities at least, she probably wore pointed shoes.
The discovery that Mrs. Van Burnam had been differently dressed on that day from the young woman found dead in the Van Burnam parlors, had acted as a shock upon most of the spectators. They were just beginning to recover from it when Miss Ferguson sat down. The Coroner was the only one who had not seemed at a loss. Why, we were soon destined to know.
CHAPTER XI
THE ORDER CLERK
A lady well known in New York society was the next person summoned. She was a friend of the Van Burnam family, and had known Howard from childhood. She had not liked his marriage; indeed, she rather participated in the family feeling against it, but when young Mrs. Van Burnam came to her house on the preceding Monday, and begged the privilege of remaining with her for one night, she had not had the heart to refuse her. Mrs. Van Burnam had therefore slept in her house on Monday night.
Questioned in regard to that lady’s appearance and manner, she answered that her guest was unnaturally cheerful, laughing much and showing a great vivacity; that she gave no reason for her good spirits, nor did she mention her own affairs in any way—rather took pains not to do so.
“How long did she stay?”
“Till the next mo
rning.”
“And how was she dressed?”
“Just as Miss Ferguson has described.”
“Did she bring her hand-bag to your house?”
“Yes, and left it there. We found it in her room after she was gone.”
“Indeed! And how do you account for that?”
“She was preoccupied. I saw it in her cheerfulness, which was forced and not always well timed.”
“And where is that bag now?”
“Mr. Van Burnam has it. We kept it for a day and as she did not call for it, sent it down to the office on Wednesday morning.”
“Before you had heard of the murder?”
“O yes, before I had heard anything about the murder.”
“As she was your guest, you probably accompanied her to the door?”
“I did, sir.”
“Did you notice her hands? Can you say what was the color of her gloves?”
“I do not think she wore any gloves on leaving; it was very warm, and she held them in her hand. I remembered this, for I noticed the sparkle of her rings as she turned to say good-bye.”
“Ah, you saw her rings!”
“Distinctly.”
“So that when she left you she was dressed in a black and white plaid silk, had a large hat covered with flowers on her head, and wore rings?”
“Yes, sir.”
And with these words ringing in the ears of the jury, the witness sat down.
What was coming? Something important, or the Coroner would not look so satisfied, or the faces of the officials about him so expectant. I waited with great but subdued eagerness for the testimony of the next witness, who was a young man by the name of Callahan.
I don’t like young men in general. They are either over-suave and polite, as if they condescended to remember that you are elderly and that it is their duty to make you forget it, or else they are pert and shallow and disgust you with their egotism. But this young man looked sensible and business-like, and I took to him at once, though what connection he could have with this affair I could not imagine.
His first words, however, settled all questions as to his personality: He was the order clerk at Altman’s.
As he acknowledged this, I seemed to have some faint premonition of what was coming. Perhaps I had not been without some vague idea of the truth ever since I had put my mind to work on this matter; perhaps my wits only received their real spur then; but certainly I knew what he was going to say as soon as he opened his lips, which gave me quite a good opinion of myself, whether rightfully or not, I leave you to judge.
His evidence was short, but very much to the point. On the seventeenth of September, as could be verified by the books, the firm had received an order for a woman’s complete outfit, to be sent, C.O.D., to Mrs. James Pope at the Hotel D——, on Broadway. Sizes and measures and some particulars were stated, and as the order bore the words In haste underlined upon it, several clerks had assisted him in filling this order, which when filled had been sent by special messenger to the place designated.
Had he this order with him?
He had.
And could he identify the articles sent to fill it?
He could.
At which the Coroner motioned to an officer and a pile of clothing was brought forward from some mysterious corner and laid before the witness.
Immediately expectation rose to a high pitch, for every one recognized, or thought he did, the apparel which had been taken from the victim.
The young man, who was of the alert, nervous type, took up the articles one by one and examined them closely.
As he did so, the whole assembled crowd surged forward and lightning-like glances from a hundred eyes followed his every movement and expression.
“Are they the same?” inquired the Coroner.
The witness did not hesitate. With one quick glance at the blue serge dress, black cape, and battered hat, he answered in a firm tone:
“They are.”
And a clue was given at last to the dreadful mystery absorbing us.
The deep-drawn sigh which swept through the room testified to the universal satisfaction; then our attention became fixed again, for the Coroner, pointing to the undergarments accompanying the articles already mentioned, demanded if they had been included in the order.
There was as little hesitation in the reply given to this question as to the former. He recognized each piece as having come from his establishment. “You will note,” said he, “that they have never been washed, and that the pencil marks are still on them.”
“Very good,” observed the Coroner, “and you will note that one article there is torn down the back. Was it in that condition when sent?”
“It was not, sir.”
“All were in perfect order?”
“Most assuredly, sir.”
“Very good, again. The jury will take cognizance of this fact, which may be useful to them in their future conclusions. And now, Mr. Callahan, do you notice anything lacking here from the list of articles forwarded by you?”
“No, sir.”
“Yet there is one very necessary adjunct to a woman’s outfit which is not to be found here.”
“Yes, sir, the shoes; but I am not surprised at that. We sent shoes, but they were not satisfactory, and they were returned.”
“Ah, I see. Officer, show the witness the shoes that were taken from the deceased.”
This was done, and when Mr. Callahan had examined them, the Coroner inquired if they came from his store. He replied no.
Whereupon they were held up to the jury, and attention called to the fact that, while rather new than old, they gave signs of having been worn more than once; which was not true of anything else taken from the victim.
This matter settled, the Coroner proceeded with his questions.
“Who carried the articles ordered, to the address given?”
“A man in our employ, named Clapp.”
“Did he bring back the amount of the bill?”
“Yes, sir; less the five dollars charged for the shoes.”
“What was the amount, may I ask?”
“Here is our cash-book, sir. The amount received from Mrs. James Pope, Hotel D——, on the seventeenth of September, is, as you see, seventy-five dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
“Let the jury see the book; also the order.”
They were both handed to the jury, and if ever I wished myself in any one’s shoes, save my own very substantial ones, it was at that moment. I did so want a peep at that order.
It seemed to interest the jury also, for their heads drew together very eagerly over it, and some whispers and a few knowing looks passed between them. Finally one of them spoke:
“It is written in a very odd hand. Do you call this a woman’s writing or a man’s?”
“I have no opinion to give on the subject,” rejoined the witness. “It is intelligible writing, and that is all that comes within my province.”
The twelve men shifted on their seats and surveyed the Coroner eagerly. Why did he not proceed? Evidently he was not quick enough to suit them.
“Have you any further questions for this witness?” asked that gentleman after a short delay.
Their nervousness increased, but no one ventured to follow the Coroner’s suggestion. A poor lot, I call them, a very poor lot! I would have found plenty of questions to put to him.
I expected to see the man Clapp called next, but I was disappointed in this. The name uttered was Henshaw, and the person who rose in answer to it was a tall, burly man with a shock of curly black hair. He was the clerk of the Hotel D——, and we all forgot Clapp in our eagerness to hear what this man had to say.
His testimony amounted to this:
&n
bsp; That a person by the name of Pope was registered on his books. That she came to his house on the seventeenth of September, some time near noon. That she was not alone; that a person she called her husband accompanied her, and that they had been given a room, at her request, on the second floor overlooking Broadway.
“Did you see the husband? Was it his handwriting we see in your register?”
“No, sir. He came into the office, but he did not approach the desk. It was she who registered for them both, and who did all the business in fact. I thought it queer, but took it for granted he was ill, for he held his head very much down, and acted as if he felt disturbed or anxious.”
“Did you notice him closely? Would you be able to identify him on sight?”
“No, sir, I should not. He looked like a hundred other men I see every day: medium in height and build, with brown hair and brown moustache. Not noticeable in any way, sir, except for his hang-dog air and evident desire not to be noticed.”
“But you saw him later?”
“No, sir. After he went to his room he stayed there, and no one saw him. I did not even see him when he left the house. His wife paid the bill and he did not come into the office.”
“But you saw her well; you would know her again?”
“Perhaps, sir; but I doubt it. She wore a thick veil when she came in, and though I might remember her voice, I have no recollection of her features for I did not see them.”
“You can give a description of her dress, though; surely you must have looked long enough at a woman who wrote her own and her husband’s name in your register, for you to remember her clothes.”
“Yes, for they were very simple. She had on what is called a gossamer, which covered her from neck to toe, and on her head a hat wrapped all about with a blue veil.”
“So that she might have worn any dress under that gossamer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And any hat under that veil?”
The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK ™: 20 Modern and Classic Tales of Female Detectives Page 64
