The Complete Amelia Butterworth Mystery Series

by Anna Katharine Green

  I was, of course, in no position to determine what plan Mr. Gryce intended to pursue. I only knew what course I myself meant to follow, which was to remain quiet and sustain the part I had already played in this house as visitor and friend. It was therefore as such both in heart and manner that I hastened from my room late in the afternoon to inquire the meaning of the cry I had just heard issue from Lucetta’s lips. It had come from the front of the house, and, as I hastened thither, I met the two Misses Knollys, looking more openly anxious and distraught than at any former time of anxiety and trouble.

  As they looked up and saw my face, Loreen paused and laid her hand on Lucetta’s arm. But Lucetta was not to be restrained.

  “He has dared to enter our gates, bringing a police officer with him,” was her hoarse and almost unintelligible cry. “We know that the man with him is a police officer because he was here once before, and though he was kind enough then, he cannot have come the second time except to—”

  Here the pressure of Loreen’s hand was so strong as to make the feeble Lucetta quiver. She stopped, and Miss Knollys took up her words:

  “Except to make us talk on subjects much better buried in oblivion. Miss Butterworth, will you go down with us? Your presence may act as a restraint. Mr. Trohm seems to have some respect for you.”

  “Mr. Trohm?”

  “Yes. It is his coming which has so agitated Lucetta. He and a man named Gryce are just coming up the walk. There goes the knocker. Lucetta, you must control yourself or leave me to face these unwelcome visitors alone.”

  Lucetta, with a sudden fierce effort, subdued her trembling.

  “If he must be met,” said she, “my anger and disdain may give some weight to your quiet acceptance of the family’s disgrace. I shall not accept his denunciations quietly, Loreen. You must expect me to show some of the feelings that I have held in check all these years.” And without waiting for reply, without waiting even to see what effect these strange words might have upon me, she dashed down the stairs and pulled open the front door.

  We had followed rapidly, too rapidly for speech ourselves, and were therefore in the hall when the door swung back, revealing the two persons I had been led to expect. Mr. Trohm spoke first, evidently in answer to the defiance to be seen in Lucetta’s face.

  “Miss Knollys, a thousand pardons. I know I am transgressing, but, I assure you, the occasion warrants it. I am certain you will acknowledge this when you hear what my errand is.”

  “Your errand? What can your errand be but to—”

  Why did she pause? Mr. Gryce had not looked at her. Yet that it was under his influence she ceased to commit herself I am as convinced as we can be of anything in a world which is half deceit.

  “Let us hear your errand,” put in Loreen, with that gentle emphasis which is no sign of weakness.

  “I will let this gentleman speak for me,” returned Mr. Trohm. “You have seen him before—a New York detective of whose business in this town you cannot be ignorant.”

  Lucetta turned a cold eye upon Mr. Gryce and quietly remarked:

  “When he visited this lane a few days ago, he professed to be seeking a clue to the many disappearances which have unfortunately taken place within its precincts.”

  Mr. Trohm’s nod was one of acquiescence. But Lucetta was still looking at the detective.

  “Is that your business now?” she asked, appealing directly to Mr. Gryce.

  His fatherly accents when he answered her were a great relief after the alternate iciness and fire with which she had addressed his companion and himself.

  “I hardly know how to reply without arousing your just anger. If your brother is in—”

  “My brother would face you with less patience than we. Tell us your errand, Mr. Gryce, and do not think of calling in my brother till we have failed to answer your questions or satisfy your demands.”

  “Very well,” said he. “The quickest explanation is the kindest in these cases. I merely wish, as a police officer whose business it is to locate the disappearances which have made this lane notorious, and who believes the surest way to do this is to find out once and for all where they did not and could not have taken place, to make an official search of these premises as I already have those of Mother Jane and of Deacon Spear.”

  “And my errand here,” interposed Mr. Trohm, “is to make everything easier by the assurance that my house will be the next to undergo a complete investigation. As all the houses in the lane will be visited alike, none of us need complain or feel our good name attacked.”

  This was certainly thoughtful of him, but knowing how much they had to fear, I could not expect Loreen or Lucetta to show any great sense either of his kindness or Mr. Gryce’s consideration. They were in no position to have a search made of their premises, and, serene as was Loreen’s nature and powerful as was Lucetta’s will, the apprehension under which they labored was evident to us all, though neither of them attempted either subterfuge or evasion.

  “If the police wish to search this house, it is open to them,” said Loreen.

  “But not to Mr. Trohm,” quoth Lucetta, quickly. “Our poverty should be our protection from the curiosity of neighbors.”

  “Mr. Trohm has no wish to intrude,” was Mr. Gryce’s conciliatory remark; but Mr. Trohm said nothing. He probably understood why Lucetta wished to curtail his stay in this house better than Mr. Gryce did.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  In the Cellar

  I had meanwhile stood silent. There was no reason for me to obtrude myself, and I was happy not to do so. This does not mean, however, that my presence was not noticed. Mr. Trohm honored me with more than one glance during these trying moments, in which I read the anxiety he felt lest my peace of mind should be too much disturbed, and when, in response to the undoubted dismissal he had received from Lucetta, he prepared to take his leave, it was upon me he bestowed his final look and most deferential bow. It was a tribute to my position and character which all seemed to feel, and I was not at all surprised when Lucetta, after carefully watching his departure, turned to me with childlike impetuosity, saying:

  “This must be very unpleasant for you, Miss Butterworth, yet must we ask you to stand our friend. God knows we need one.”

  “I shall never forget I occupied that position toward your mother,” was my straightforward reply, and I did not forget it, not for a moment.

  “I shall begin with the cellar,” Mr. Gryce announced.

  Both girls quivered. Then Loreen lifted her proud head and said quietly:

  “The whole house is at your disposal. Only I pray you to be as expeditious as possible. My sister is not well, and the sooner our humiliation is over, the better it will be for her.”

  And, indeed, Lucetta was in a state that aroused even Mr. Gryce’s anxiety. But when she saw us all hovering over her she roused herself with an extraordinary effort, and, waving us aside, led the way to the kitchen, from which, as I gathered, the only direct access could be had to the cellar. Mr. Gryce immediately followed, and behind him came Loreen and myself, both too much agitated to speak. At the Flower Parlor Mr. Gryce paused as if he had forgotten something, but Lucetta urged him feverishly on, and before long we were all standing in the kitchen. Here a surprise awaited us. Two men were sitting there who appeared to be strangers to Hannah, from the lowering looks she cast them as she pretended to be busy over her stove. This was so out of keeping with her usual good humor as to attract the attention even of her young mistress.

  “What is the matter, Hannah?” asked Lucetta. “And who are these men?”

  “They are my men,” said Mr. Gryce. “The job I have undertaken cannot be carried on alone.”

  The quick look the two sisters interchanged did not escape me, or the quiet air of resignation which was settling slowly over Loreen.

  “Must they go into the cellar too?” she asked.

&nb
sp; Mr. Gryce smiled his most fatherly smile as he said:

  “My dear young ladies, these men are interested in but one thing; they are searching for a clue to the disappearances that have occurred in this lane. As they will not find this in your cellar, nothing else that they may see there will remain in their minds for a moment.”

  Lucetta said no more. Even her indomitable spirit was giving way before the inevitable discovery that threatened them.

  “Do not let William know,” were the low words with which she passed Hannah; but from the short glimpse I caught of William’s burly figure standing in the stable door, under the guardianship of two detectives, I felt this injunction to be quite superfluous. William evidently did know.

  I was not going to descend the cellar stairs, but the girls made me.

  “We want you with us,” Loreen declared in no ordinary tones, while Lucetta paused and would not go on till I followed. This surprised me. I no longer seemed to have any clue to their motives; but I was glad to be one of the party.

  Hannah, under Loreen’s orders, had furnished one of the men with a lighted lantern, and upon our descent into the dark labyrinth below, it became his duty to lead the way, which he did with due circumspection. What all this underground space into which we were thus introduced had ever been used for, it would be difficult to tell. At present it was mostly empty. After passing a small collection of stores, a wine-cellar, the very door of which was unhinged and lay across the cellar bottom, we struck into a hollow void, in which there was nothing worth an instant’s investigation save the earth under our feet.

  This the two foremost detectives examined very carefully, detaining us often longer, I thought, than Mr. Gryce desired or Lucetta had patience for. But nothing was said in protest nor did the older detective give an order or manifest any special interest in the investigation till he saw the men in front stoop and throw out of the way a coil of rope, when he immediately hurried forward and called upon the party to stop.

  The girls, who were on either side of me, crossed glances at this command, and Lucetta, who had been tottering for the last few minutes, fell upon her knees and hid her face in the hollow of her two hands. Loreen came around and stood by her, and I do not know which of them presented the most striking picture of despair, the shrinking Lucetta or Loreen with her quivering form uplifted to meet the shafts of fate without a droop of her eyelids or a murmur from her lips. The light of the one lantern which, intentionally or unintentionally, was concentrated on this pathetic group, made it stand out from the midst of the surrounding darkness in a way to draw the gaze of Mr. Gryce upon them. He looked, and his own brow became overcast. Evidently we were not far from the cause of their fears.

  Ordering the candle lifted, he surveyed the ceiling above, at which Loreen’s lips opened slightly in secret dread and amazement. Then he commanded the men to move on slowly, while he himself looked overhead rather than underneath, which seemed to astonish his associates, who evidently had heard nothing of the hole which had been cut in the floor of the Flower Parlor.

  Suddenly I heard a slight gasp from Lucetta, who had not moved forward with the rest of us. Then her rushing figure flew by us and took up its stand by Mr. Gryce, who had himself paused and was pointing with an imperious forefinger to the ground under his feet.

  “You will dig here,” said he, not heeding her, though I am sure he was as well acquainted with her proximity as we.

  “Dig?” repeated Loreen, in what we all saw was a final effort to stave off disgrace and misery.

  “My duty demands it,” said he. “Some one else has been digging here within a very few days, Miss Knollys. That is as evident as is the fact that a communication has been made with this place through an opening into the room above. See!” And taking the lantern from the man at his side, he held it up toward the ceiling.

  There was no hole there now, but there were ample evidences of there having been one, and that within a very short time. Loreen made no further attempt to stay him.

  “The house is at your disposal,” she reiterated, but I do not think she knew what she said. The man with the bundle in his arms was already unrolling it on the cellar bottom. A spade came to light, together with some other tools. Lifting the spade, he thrust it smartly into the ground toward which Mr. Gryce’s inexorable finger still pointed. At the sight and the sound it made, a thrill passed through Lucetta which made her another creature. Dashing forward, she flung herself down upon the spot with lifted head and outstretched arms.

  “Stop your desecrating hand!” she cried. “This is a grave—the grave, sirs, of our mother!”

  CHAPTER XXX

  Investigation

  The shock of these words—if false, most horrible; if true, still more horrible—threw us all aback and made even Mr. Gryce’s features assume an aspect quite uncommon to them.

  “Your mother’s grave?” said he, looking from her to Loreen with very evident doubt. “I thought your mother died seven or more years ago, and this grave has been dug within three days.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “To the world my mother has been dead many, many years, but not to us. We closed her eyes night before last, and it was to preserve this secret, which involves others affecting our family honor, that we resorted to expedients which have perhaps attracted the notice of the police and drawn this humiliation down upon us. I can conceive no other reason for this visit, ushered in as it was by Mr. Trohm.”

  “Miss Lucetta”—Mr. Gryce spoke quickly; if he had not I certainly could not have restrained some expression of the emotions awakened in my own breast by this astounding revelation—“Miss Lucetta, it is not necessary to bring Mr. Trohm’s name into this matter or that of any other person than myself. I saw the coffin lowered here, which you say contained the body of your mother. Thinking this a strange place of burial and not knowing it was your mother to whom you were paying these last dutiful rites, I took advantage of my position as detective to satisfy myself that nothing wrong lay behind so mysterious a death and burial. Can you blame me, Miss? Would I have been a man to trust if I had let such an event as this go by unchallenged?”

  She did not answer. She had heard but one sentence of all this long speech.

  “You saw my mother’s coffin lowered? Where were you that you should see that? In some of these dark passages, let in by I know not what traitor to our peace of mind.” And her eyes, which seemed to have grown almost supernaturally large and bright under her emotions, turned slowly in their sockets till they rested with something like doubtful accusation upon mine. But not to remain there, for Mr. Gryce recalled them almost instantly by this short, sharp negative.

  “No, I was nearer than that. I lent my strength to this burial. If you had thought to look under Mother Jane’s hood, you would have seen what would have forced these explanations then and there.”

  “And you—”

  “I was Mother Jane for the nonce. Not from choice, Miss, but from necessity. I was impersonating the old woman when your brother came to the cottage. I could not give away my plans by refusing the task your brother offered me.”

  “It is well.” Lucetta had risen and was now standing by the side of Loreen. “Such a secret as ours defies concealment. Even Providence takes part against us. What you want to know we must tell, but I assure you it has nothing to do with the business you profess to be chiefly interested in—nothing at all.”

  “Then perhaps you and your sister will retire,” said he. “Distracted as you are by family griefs, I would not wish to add one iota to your distress. This lady, whom you seem to regard with more or less favor as friend or relative, will stay to see that no dishonor is paid to your mother’s remains. But your mother’s face we must see, Miss Lucetta, if only to lighten the explanations you will doubtless feel called upon to make.”

  It was Loreen who answered this.

  “If it must be,” said she, “remember your
own mother and deal reverently with ours.” Which entreaty and the way it was uttered, gave me my first distinct conviction that these girls were speaking the truth, and that the diminutive body we had come to unearth was that of Althea Knollys, whose fairy-like form I had so long supposed commingled with foreign soil.

  The thought was almost too much for my self-possession, and I advanced upon Loreen with a dozen burning questions on my lips when the voice of Mr. Gryce stopped me.

  “Explanations later,” said he. “For the present we want you here.”

  It was no easy task for me to linger there with all my doubts unsolved, waiting for the decisive moment when Mr. Gryce should say: “Come! Look! Is it she?” But the will that had already sustained me through so many trying experiences did not fail me now, and, grievous as was the ordeal, I passed steadily through it, being able to say, though not without some emotion, I own: “It is Althea Knollys! Changed almost beyond conception, but still these girls’ mother!” which was a happier end to this adventure than that we had first feared, mysterious as the event was, not only to myself, but, as I could see, to the acute detective as well.

  The girls had withdrawn long before this, just as Mr. Gryce had desired, and I now expected to be allowed to join them, but Mr. Gryce detained me till the grave was refilled and made decent again, when he turned and to my intense astonishment—for I had thought the matter was all over and the exoneration of this household complete—said softly and with telling emphasis in my ear:

  “Our work is not done yet. They who make graves so readily in cellars must have been more or less accustomed to the work. We have still some digging to do.”

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Strategy

  I was overwhelmed.

  “What,” said I, “you still doubt?”

  “I always doubt,” he gravely replied. “This cellar bottom offers a wide field for speculation. Too wide, perhaps, but, then, I have a plan.”