The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK ™: 20 Modern and Classic Tales of Female Detectives

by Catherine Louisa Pirkis

  Amazed at a mystery possessing so many points of interest, I tucked the shoe in under the bedclothes and sat down to review the situation.

  The mistake I had made was in concluding that because the fugitive whose traces I had followed had worn the clothes of Louise Van Burnam, she must necessarily be that unfortunate lady. Now I saw that the murdered woman was Howard’s wife after all, and this patient of mine her probable rival.

  But this necessitated an entire change in my whole line of reasoning. If the rival and not the wife lay before me, then which of the two accompanied him to the scene of tragedy? He had said it was his wife; I had proven to myself that it was the rival; was he right, or was I right, or were neither of us right?

  Not being able to decide, I fixed my mind upon another query. When did the two women exchange clothes, or rather, when did this woman procure the silk habiliments and elaborate adornments of her more opulent rival? Was it before either of them entered Mr. Van Burnam’s house? Or was it after their encounter there?

  Running over in my mind certain little facts of which I had hitherto attempted no explanation, I grouped them together and sought amongst them for inspiration.

  These are the facts:

  1. One of the garments found on the murdered woman had been torn down the back. As it was a new one, it had evidently been subjected to some quick strain, not explainable by any appearance of struggle.

  2. The shoes and stockings found on the victim were the only articles she wore which could not be traced back to Altman’s. In the re-dressing of the so-called Mrs. James Pope, these articles had not been changed. Could not that fact be explained by the presence of a considerable sum of money in her shoes?

  3. The going out bareheaded of a fugitive, anxious to avoid observation, leaving hat and gloves behind her in a dining-room closet.

  I had endeavored to explain this last anomalous action by her fear of being traced by so conspicuous an article as this hat; but it was not a satisfactory explanation to me then and much less so now.

  4. And last, and most vital of all, the words which I had heard fall from this half-conscious girl: “O how can I touch her! She is dead, and I have never touched a dead body!”

  Could inspiration fail me before such a list? Was it not evident that the change had been made after death, and by this seemingly sensitive girl’s own hands?

  It was a horrible thought and led to others more horrible. For the very commission of such a revolting act argued a desire for concealment only to be explained by great guilt. She had been the offender and the wife the victim; and Howard—Well, his actions continued to be a mystery, but I would not admit his guilt even now. On the contrary, I saw his innocence in a still stronger light. For if he had openly or even covertly connived at his wife’s death, would he have so immediately forsaken the accomplice of his guilt, to say nothing of leaving to her the dreadful task of concealing the crime? No, I would rather think that the tragedy took place after his departure, and that his action in denying his wife’s identity, as long as it was possible to do so, was to be explained by the fact of his ignorance in regard to his wife’s presence in the house where he had supposed himself to have simply left her rival. As the exchange made in the clothing worn by the two women could only have taken place later, and as he naturally judged the victim by her clothing, perhaps he was really deceived himself as to her identity. It was certainly not an improbable supposition, and accounted for much that was otherwise inexplicable in Mr. Van Burnam’s conduct.

  But the rings? Why could I not find the rings? If my present reasoning were correct, this woman should have those evidences of guilt about her. But had I not searched for them in every available place without success? Annoyed at my failure to fix this one irrefutable proof of guilt upon her, I took up the knitting-work I saw in Miss Oliver’s basket, and began to ply the needles by way of relief to my thoughts. But I had no sooner got well under way than some movement on the part of my patient drew my attention again to the bed, and I was startled by beholding her sitting up again, but this time with a look of fear rather than of suffering on her features.

  “Don’t!” she gasped, pointing with an unsteady hand at the work in my hand. “The click, click of the needles is more than I can stand. Put them down, pray; put them down!”

  Her agitation was so great and her nervousness so apparent that I complied at once. However much I might be affected by her guilt, I was not willing to do the slightest thing to worry her nerves even at the expense of my own. As the needles fell from my hand, she sank back and a quick, short sigh escaped her lips. Then she was again quiet, and I allowed my thoughts to return to the old theme. The rings! the rings! Where were the rings, and was it impossible for me to find them?

  CHAPTER XXVI

  A TILT WITH MR. GRYCE

  At seven o’clock the next morning my patient was resting so quietly that I considered it safe to leave her for a short time. So I informed Miss Althorpe that I was obliged to go down-town on an important errand, and requested Crescenze to watch over the sick girl in my absence. As she agreed to this, I left the house as soon as breakfast was over and went immediately in search of Mr. Gryce. I wished to make sure that he knew nothing about the rings.

  It was eleven o’clock before I succeeded in finding him. As I was certain that a direct question would bring no answer, I dissembled my real intention as much as my principles would allow, and accosted him with the eager look of one who has great news to impart.

  “O, Mr. Gryce!” I impetuously cried, just as if I were really the weak woman he thought me, “I have found something; something in connection with the Van Burnam murder. You know I promised to busy myself about it if you arrested Howard Van Burnam.”

  His smile was tantalizing in the extreme. “Found something?” he repeated. “And may I ask if you have been so good as to bring it with you?”

  He was playing with me, this aged and reputable detective. I subdued my anger, subdued my indignation even, and smiling much in his own way, answered briefly:

  “I never carry valuables on my person. A half-dozen expensive rings stand for too much money for me to run any undue risk with them.”

  He was caressing his watch-chain as I spoke, and I noticed that he paused in this action for just an infinitesimal length of time as I said the word rings. Then he went on as before, but I knew I had caught his attention.

  “Of what rings do you speak, madam? Of those missing from Mrs. Van Burnam’s hands?”

  I took a leaf from his book, and allowed myself to indulge in a little banter.

  “O, no,” I remonstrated, “not those rings, of course. The Queen of Siam’s rings, any rings but those in which we are specially interested.”

  This meeting him on his own ground evidently puzzled him.

  “You are facetious, madam. What am I to gather from such levity? That success has crowned your efforts, and that you have found a guiltier party than the one now in custody?”

  “Possibly,” I returned, limiting my advance by his. “But it would be going too fast to mention that yet. What I want to know is whether you have found the rings belonging to Mrs. Van Burnam?”

  My triumphant tone, the almost mocking accent I purposely gave to the word you, accomplished its purpose. He never dreamed I was playing with him; he thought I was bursting with pride; and casting me a sharp glance (the first, by the way, I had received from him), he inquired with perceptible interest:

  “Have you?”

  Instantly convinced that the whereabouts of these jewels was as little known to him as to me, I rose and prepared to leave. But seeing that he was not satisfied, and that he expected an answer, I assumed a mysterious air and quietly remarked:

  “If you will come to my house tomorrow I will explain myself. I am not prepared to more than intimate my discoveries today.”

 
But he was not the man to let one off so easily.

  “Excuse me,” said he, “but matters of this kind do not admit of delay. The grand jury sits within the week, and any evidence worth presenting them must be collected at once. I must ask you to be frank with me, Miss Butterworth.”

  “And I will be, tomorrow.”

  “Today,” he insisted, “today.”

  Seeing that I should gain nothing by my present course, I reseated myself, bestowing upon him a decidedly ambiguous smile as I did so.

  “You acknowledge then,” said I, “that the old maid can tell you something after all. I thought you regarded all my efforts in the light of a jest. What has made you change your mind?”

  “Madam, I decline to bandy words. Have you found those rings, or have you not?”

  “I have not,” said I, “but neither have you, and as that is what I wanted to make sure of, I will now take my leave without further ceremony.”

  Mr. Gryce is not a profane man, but he allowed a word to slip from him which was not entirely one of blessing. He made amends for it next moment, however, by remarking:

  “Madam, I once said, as you will doubtless remember, that the day would come when I should find myself at your feet. That day has arrived. And now is there any other little cherished fact known to the police which you would like to have imparted to you?”

  I took his humiliation seriously.

  “You are very good,” I rejoined, “but I will not trouble you for any facts—those I am enabled to glean for myself; but what I should like you to tell me is this: Whether if you came upon those rings in the possession of a person known to have been on the scene of crime at the time of its perpetration, you would not consider them as an incontrovertible proof of guilt?”

  “Undoubtedly,” said he, with a sudden alteration in his manner which warned me that I must muster up all my strength if I would keep my secret till I was quite ready to part with it.

  “Then,” said I, with a resolute movement towards the door, “that’s the whole of my business for today. Good-morning, Mr. Gryce; tomorrow I shall expect you.”

  He made me stop though my foot had crossed the threshold; not by word or look but simply by his fatherly manner.

  “Miss Butterworth,” he observed, “the suspicions which you have entertained from the first have within the last few days assumed a definite form. In what direction do they point?—tell me.”

  Some men and most women would have yielded to that imperative tell me! But there was no yielding in Amelia Butterworth. Instead of that I treated him to a touch of irony.

  “Is it possible,” I asked, “that you think it worth while to consult me? I thought your eyes were too keen to seek assistance from mine. You are as confident as I am that Howard Van Burnam is innocent of the crime for which you have arrested him.”

  A look that was dangerously insinuating crossed his face at this. He came forward rapidly and, joining me where I stood, said smilingly:

  “Let us join forces, Miss Butterworth. You have from the first refused to consider the younger son of Silas Van Burnam as guilty. Your reasons then were slight and hardly worth communicating. Have you any better ones to advance now? It is not too late to mention them, if you have.”

  “It will not be too late tomorrow,” I retorted.

  Convinced that I was not to be moved from my position, he gave me one of his low bows.

  “I forgot,” said he, “that it was as a rival and not as a coadjutor you meddled in this matter.” And he bowed again, this time with a sarcastic air I felt too self-satisfied to resent.

  “Tomorrow, then?” said I.

  “Tomorrow.”

  At that I left him.

  I did not return immediately to Miss Althorpe. I visited Cox’s millinery store, Mrs. Desberger’s house, and the offices of the various city railways. But I got no clue to the rings; and finally satisfied that Miss Oliver, as I must now call her, had not lost or disposed of them on her way from Gramercy Park to her present place of refuge, I returned to Miss Althorpe’s with even a greater determination than before to search that luxurious home till I found them.

  But a decided surprise awaited me. As the door opened I caught a glimpse of the butler’s face, and noticing its embarrassed expression, I at once asked what had happened.

  His answer showed a strange mixture of hesitation and bravado.

  “Not much, ma’am; only Miss Althorpe is afraid you may not be pleased. Miss Oliver is gone, ma’am; she ran away while Crescenze was out of the room.”

  CHAPTER XXVII

  FOUND

  I gave a low cry and rushed down the steps.

  “Don’t go!” I called out to the driver. “I shall want you in ten minutes.” And hurrying back, I ran upstairs in a condition of mind such as I have no reason to be proud of. Happily Mr. Gryce was not there to see me.

  “Gone? Miss Oliver gone?” I cried to the maid whom I found trembling in a corner of the hall.

  “Yes, ma’am; it was my fault, ma’am. She was in bed so quiet, I thought I might step out for a minute, but when I came back her clothes were missing and she was gone. She must have slipped out at the front door while Dan was in the back hall. I don’t see how ever she had the strength to do it.”

  Nor did I. But I did not stop to reason about it; there was too much to be done. Rushing on, I entered the room I had left in such high hopes a few hours before. Emptiness was before me, and I realized what it was to be baffled at the moment of success. But I did not waste an instant in inactivity. I searched the closets and pulled open the drawers; found her coat and hat gone, but not Mrs. Van Burnam’s brown skirt, though the purse had been taken out of the pocket.

  “Is her bag here?” I asked.

  Yes, it was in its old place under the table; and on the wash-stand and bureau were the simple toilet articles I had been told she had brought there. In what haste she must have fled to leave these necessities behind her!

  But the greatest shock I received was the sight of the knitting-work, with which I had so inconsiderately meddled the evening before, lying in ravelled heaps on the table, as if torn to bits in a frenzy. This was a proof that the fever was yet on her; and as I contemplated this fact I took courage, thinking that one in her condition would not be allowed to run the streets long, but would be picked up and put in some hospital.

  In this hope I began my search. Miss Althorpe, who came in just as I was about to leave the house, consented to telephone to Police Headquarters a description of the girl, with a request to be notified if such a person should be found in the streets or on the docks or at any of the station-houses that night. “Not,” I assured her, as we left the telephone and I prepared to say good-bye for the day, “that you need expect her to be brought back to this house, for I do not mean that she shall ever darken your doors again. So let me know if they find her, and I will relieve you of all further responsibility in the matter.”

  Then I started out.

  To name the streets I traversed or the places I visited that day, would take more space than I would like to devote to the subject. Dusk came, and I had failed in obtaining the least clue to her whereabouts; evening followed, and still no trace of the fugitive. What was I to do? Take Mr. Gryce into my confidence after all? That would be galling to my pride, but I began to fear I should have to submit to this humiliation when I happened to think of the Chinaman. To think of him once was to think of him twice, and to think of him twice was to be conscious of an irresistible desire to visit his place and find out if any one but myself had been there to inquire after the lost one’s clothes.

  Accompanied by Lena, I hurried away to Third Avenue. The laundry was near Twenty-seventh Street. As we approached I grew troubled and unaccountably expectant. When we reached it I understood my excitement and instantly became calm. For there stood Miss
Oliver, gazing like one under a spell through the lighted window-panes into the narrow shop where the owner bent over his ironing. She had evidently stood there some time, for a small group of half-grown lads were watching her with every symptom of being about to break into a mischievous display of curiosity. Her hands, which were without gloves, were pressed against the glass, and her whole attitude showed an intensity of fatigue which would have laid her on the ground had she not been sustained by an equal intensity of purpose.

  Sending Lena for a carriage, I approached the poor creature and drew her forcibly from the window.

  “Do you want anything here?” I asked. “I will go in with you if you do.”

  She surveyed me with strange apathy, and yet with a certain sort of relief too. Then she slowly shook her head.

  “I don’t know anything about it. My head swims and everything looks queer, but someone or something sent me to this place.”

  “Come in,” I urged, “come in for a minute.” And half supporting her, half dragging her, I managed to get her across the threshold and into the Chinaman’s shop.

  Immediately a dozen faces were pressed where hers had been.

  The Chinaman, a stolid being, turned as he heard the little bell tinkle which announced a customer.

  “Is this the lady who left the clothes here a few nights ago?” I asked.

  He stopped and stared, recognizing me slowly, and remembering by degrees what had passed between us at our last interview.

  “You tellee me lalee die; how him lalee when lalee die?”

  “The lady is not dead; I made a mistake. Is this the lady?”

  “Lalee talk; I no see face, I hear speak.”

  “Have you seen this man before?” I inquired of my nearly insensible companion.

  “I think so in a dream,” she murmured, trying to recall her poor wandering wits back from some region into which they had strayed.