“Any one that was large enough, sir.”
“Very good. Now, did you see her hands?”
“Not to remember them.”
“Did she have gloves on?”
“I cannot say. I did not stand and watch her, sir.”
“That is a pity. But you say you heard her voice.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it a lady’s voice? Was her tone refined and her language good?”
“They were, sir.”
“When did they leave? How long did they remain in your house?”
“They left in the evening; after tea, I should say.”
“How? On foot or in a carriage?”
“In a carriage; one of the hacks that stand in front of the door.”
“Did they bring any baggage with them?”
“No, sir.”
“Did they take any away?”
“The lady carried a parcel.”
“What kind of a parcel?”
“A brown-paper parcel, like clothing done up.”
“And the gentleman?”
“I did not see him.”
“Was she dressed the same in going as in coming?”
“To all appearance, except her hat. That was smaller.”
“She had the gossamer on still, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a veil?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Only that the hat it covered was smaller?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now, how did you account to yourself for the parcel and the change of hat?”
“I didn’t account for them. I didn’t think anything about them at the time; but, since I have had the subject brought to my mind, I find it easy enough. She had a package delivered to her while she was in our house, or rather packages; they were quite numerous, I believe.”
“Can you recall the circumstances of their delivery?”
“Yes, sir; the man who brought the packages said that they had not been paid for, so I allowed him to carry them to Mrs. James Pope’s room. When he went away, he had but one small parcel with him; the rest he had left.”
“And this is all you can tell us about this singular couple? Had they no meals in your house?”
“No, sir; the gentleman—or I suppose I should say the lady, sir, for the order was given in her voice—sent for two dozen oysters and a bottle of ale, which were furnished to them in their rooms; but they didn’t come to the dining-room.”
“Is the boy here who carried up those articles?”
“He is, sir.”
“And the chambermaid who attended to their rooms?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may answer this question, and we will excuse you. How was the gentleman dressed when you saw him?”
“In a linen duster and a felt hat.”
“Let the jury remember that. And now let us hear from Richard Clapp. Is Richard Clapp in the room?”
“I am, sir,” answered a cheery voice; and a lively young man with a shrewd eye and a wide-awake manner popped up from behind a portly woman on a side seat and rapidly came forward.
He was asked several questions before the leading one which we all expected; but I will not record them here. The question which brought the reply most eagerly anticipated was this:
“Do you remember being sent to the Hotel D—— with several packages for a Mrs. James Pope?”
“I do, sir.”
“Did you deliver them in person? Did you see the lady?”
A peculiar look crossed his face and we all leaned forward. But his answer brought a shock of disappointment with it.
“No, I didn’t, sir. She wouldn’t let me in. She bade me lay the things down by the door and wait in the rear hall till she called me.”
“And you did this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you kept your eye on the door, of course?”
“Naturally, sir.”
“And saw—”
“A hand steal out and take in the things.”
“A woman’s hand?”
“No; a man’s. I saw the white cuff.”
“And how long was it before they called you?”
“Fifteen minutes, I should say. I heard a voice cry ‘Here!’ and seeing their door open, I went toward it. But by the time I reached it, it was shut again, and I only heard the lady say that all the articles but the shoes were satisfactory, and would I thrust the bill in under the door. I did so, and they were some minutes counting out the change, but presently the door opened slightly, and I saw a man’s hand holding out the money, which was correct to the cent. ‘You need not receipt the bill,’ cried the lady from somewhere in the room. ‘Give him the shoes and let him go.’ So I received the shoes in the same mysterious way I had the money, and seeing no reason for waiting longer, pocketed the bills and returned to the store.”
“Has the jury any further questions to ask the witness?”
Of course not. They were ninnies, all of them, and— But, contrary to my expectation, one of them did perk up courage, and, wriggling very much on his seat, ventured to ask if the cuff he had seen on the man’s hand when it was thrust through the doorway had a button in it.
The answer was disappointing. The witness had not noticed any.
The juror, somewhat abashed, sank into silence, at which another of the precious twelve, inspired no doubt by the other’s example, blurted out:
“Then what was the color of the coat sleeve? You surely can remember that.”
But another disappointment awaited us.
“He did not wear any coat. It was a shirt sleeve I saw.”
A shirt sleeve! There was no clue in that. A visible look of dejection spread through the room, which was not dissipated till another witness stood up.
This time it was the bell-boy of the hotel who had been on duty that day. His testimony was brief, and added but little to the general knowledge. He had been summoned more than once by these mysterious parties, but only to receive his orders through a closed door. He had not entered the room at all.
He was followed by the chambermaid, who testified that she was in the room once while they were there; that she saw them both then, but did not catch a glimpse of their faces; Mr. Pope was standing in the window almost entirely shielded by the curtains, and Mrs. Pope was busy hanging up something in the wardrobe. The gentleman had on his duster and the lady her gossamer; it was but a few minutes after their arrival.
Questioned in regard to the state of the room after they left it, she said that there was a lot of brown paper lying about, marked B. Altman, but nothing else that did not belong there.
“Not a tag, nor a hat-pin, nor a bit of memorandum, lying on bureau or table?”
“Nothing, sir, so far as I mind. I wasn’t on the look-out for anything, sir. They were a queer couple, but we have lots of queer couples at our house, and the most I notices, sir, is those what remember the chambermaid and those what don’t. This couple was of the kind what don’t.”
“Did you sweep the room after their departure?”
“I always does. They went late, so I swept the room the next morning.”
“And threw the sweepings away, of course?”
“Of course; would you have me keep them for treasures?”
“It might have been well if you had,” muttered the Coroner. “The combings from the lady’s hair might have been very useful in establishing her identity.”
The porter who has charge of the lady’s entrance was the last witness from this house. He had been on duty on the evening in question and had noticed this couple leaving. They both carried packages, and had attracted his attention first, by the long, old-fa
shioned duster which the gentleman wore, and secondly, by the pains they both took not to be observed by any one. The woman was veiled, as had already been said, and the man held his package in such a way as to shield his face entirely from observation.
“So that you would not know him if you saw him again?” asked the Coroner.
“Exactly, sir,” was the uncomprising answer.
As he sat down, the Coroner observed: “You will note from this testimony, gentlemen, that this couple, signing themselves Mr. and Mrs. James Pope of Philadelphia, left this house dressed each in a long garment eminently fitted for purposes of concealment—he in a linen duster, and she in a gossamer. Let us now follow this couple a little farther and see what became of these disguising articles of apparel. Is Seth Brown here?”
A man, who was so evidently a hackman that it seemed superfluous to ask him what his occupation was, shuffled forward at this.
It was in his hack that this couple had left the D——. He remembered them very well as he had good reason to. First, because the man paid him before entering the carriage, saying that he was to let them out at the northwest corner of Madison Square, and secondly— But here the Coroner interrupted him to ask if he had seen the gentleman’s face when he paid him. The answer was, as might have been expected, No. It was dark, and he had not turned his head.
“Didn’t you think it queer to be paid before you reached your destination?”
“Yes, but the rest was queerer. After I had taken the money—I never refuses money, sir—and was expecting him to get into the hack, he steps up to me again and says in a lower tone than before: ‘My wife is very nervous. Drive slow, if you please, and when you reach the place I have named, watch your horses carefully, for if they should move while she is getting out, the shock would throw her into a spasm.’ As she had looked very pert and lively, I thought this mighty queer, and I tried to get a peep at his face, but he was too smart for me, and was in the carriage before I could clap my eye on him.”
“But you were more fortunate when they got out? You surely saw one or both of them then?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. I had to watch the horses’ heads, you know. I shouldn’t like to be the cause of a young lady having a spasm.”
“Do you know in what direction they went?”
“East, I should say. I heard them laughing long after I had whipped up my horses. A queer couple, sir, that puzzled me some, though I should not have thought of them twice if I had not found next day—”
“Well?”
“The gentleman’s linen duster and the neat brown gossamer which the lady had worn, lying folded under the two back cushions of my hack; a present for which I was very much obliged to them, but which I was not long allowed to enjoy, for yesterday the police—”
“Well, well, no matter about that. Here is a duster and here is a brown gossamer. Are these the articles you found under your cushions?”
“If you will examine the neck of the lady’s gossamer, you can soon tell, sir. There was a small hole in the one I found, as if something had been snipped out of it; the owner’s name, most likely.”
“Or the name of the place where it was bought,” suggested the Coroner, holding the garment up to view so as to reveal a square hole under the collar.
“That’s it!” cried the hackman. “That’s the very one. Shame, I say, to spoil a new garment that way.”
“Why do you call it new?” asked the Coroner.
“Because it hasn’t a mud spot or even a mark of dust upon it. We looked it all over, my wife and I, and decided it had not been long off the shelf. A pretty good haul for a poor man like me, and if the police—”
But here he was cut short again by an important question:
“There is a clock but a short distance from the place where you stopped. Did you notice what time it was when you drove away?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t know why I remember it, but I do. As I turned to go back to the hotel, I looked up at this clock. It was half-past eleven.”
CHAPTER XII
THE KEYS
We were all by this time greatly interested in the proceedings; and when another hackman was called we recognized at once that an effort was about to be made to connect this couple with the one who had alighted at Mr. Van Burnam’s door.
The witness, who was a melancholy chap, kept his stand on the east side of the Square. At about twenty minutes to twelve, he was awakened from a nap he had been taking on the top of his coach, by a sharp rap on his whip arm, and looking down, he saw a lady and gentleman standing at the door of his vehicle.
“We want to go to Gramercy Park,” said the lady. “Drive us there at once.”
“I nodded, for what is the use of wasting words when it can be avoided; and they stepped at once into the coach.”
“Can you describe them—tell us how they looked?”
“I never notice people; besides, it was dark; but he had a swell air, and she was pert and merry, for she laughed as she closed the door.”
“Can’t you remember how they were dressed?”
“No, sir; she had on something that flapped about her shoulders, and he had a dark hat on his head, but that was all I saw.”
“Didn’t you see his face?”
“Not a bit of it; he kept it turned away. He didn’t want nobody looking at him. She did all the business.”
“Then you saw her face?”
“Yes, for a minute. But I wouldn’t know it again. She was young and purty, and her hand which dropped the money into mine was small, but I couldn’t say no more, not if you was to give me the town.”
“Did you know that the house you stopped at was Mr. Van Burnam’s, and that it was supposed to be empty?”
“No, sir, I’m not one of the swell ones. My acquaintances live in another part of the town.”
“But you noticed that the house was dark?”
“I may have. I don’t know.”
“And that is all you have to tell us about them?”
“No, sir; the next morning, which was yesterday, sir, as I was a-dusting out the coach I found under the cushions a large blue veil, folded and lying very flat. But it had been slit with a knife and could not be worn.”
This was strange too, and while more than one person about me ventured an opinion, I muttered to myself, “James Pope, his mark!” astonished at a coincidence which so completely connected the occupants of the two coaches.
But the Coroner was able to produce a witness whose evidence carried the matter on still farther. A policeman in full uniform testified next, and after explaining that his beat led him from Madison Avenue to Third on Twenty-seventh Street, went on to say that as he was coming up this street on Tuesday evening some few minutes before midnight, he encountered, somewhere between Lexington Avenue and Third, a man and woman walking rapidly towards the latter avenue, each carrying a parcel of some dimensions; that he noted them because they seemed so merry, but would have thought nothing of it, if he had not presently perceived them coming back without the parcels. They were chatting more gaily than ever. The lady wore a short cape, and the gentleman a dark coat, but he could give no other description of their appearance, for they went by rapidly, and he was more interested in wondering what they had done with such large parcels in such a short time at that hour of night, than in noting how they looked or whither they were going. He did observe, however, that they proceeded towards Madison Square, and remembers now that he heard a carriage suddenly drive away from that direction.
The Coroner asked him but one question:
“Had the lady no parcel when you saw her last?”
“I saw none.”
“Could she not have carried one under her cape?”
“Perhaps, if it was small enough.”
“As small as a lady’s hat
, say?”
“Well, it would have to be smaller than some of them are now, sir.”
And so terminated this portion of the inquiry.
A short delay followed the withdrawal of this witness. The Coroner, who was a somewhat portly man, and who had felt the heat of the day very much, leaned back and looked anxious, while the jury, always restless, moved in their seats like a set of school-boys, and seemed to long for the hour of adjournment, notwithstanding the interest which everybody but themselves seemed to take in this exciting investigation.
Finally an officer, who had been sent into the adjoining room, came back with a gentleman, who was no sooner recognized as Mr. Franklin Van Burnam than a great change took place in the countenances of all present. The Coroner sat forward and dropped the large palm-leaf fan he had been industriously using for the last few minutes, the jury settled down, and the whispering of the many curious ones about me grew less audible and finally ceased altogether. A gentleman of the family was about to be interrogated, and such a gentleman!
I have purposely refrained from describing this best known and best reputed member of the Van Burnam family, foreseeing this hour when he would attract the attention of a hundred eyes and when his appearance would require our special notice. I will therefore endeavor to picture him to you as he looked on this memorable morning, with just the simple warning that you must not expect me to see with the eyes of a young girl or even with those of a fashionable society woman. I know a man when I see him, and I had always regarded Mr. Franklin as an exceptionally fine-looking and prepossessing gentleman, but I shall not go into raptures, as I heard a girl behind me doing, nor do I feel like acknowledging him as a paragon of all the virtues—as Mrs. Cunningham did that evening in my parlor.
He is a medium-sized man, with a shape not unlike his brother’s. His hair is dark and so are his eyes, but his moustache is brown and his complexion quite fair. He carries himself with distinction, and though his countenance in repose has a precise air that is not perfectly agreeable, it has, when he speaks or smiles, an expression at once keen and amiable.
The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK ™: 20 Modern and Classic Tales of Female Detectives Page 65
