The ledger. [volume] (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1896-1907, July 04, 1902, Image 6
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* ^w^S/f(DND EPUDOE •
IN THE LIFE OF AMELIA BUTTEI
^ 57 ' BV ANNA KATHAPINf GPEEN^
AUTHOR OF * THE LEAVCMVAORTH CAJT.*
DEHIND CUVED DQOQ^ THAT APfAlB NEXT DOOR*
-‘COPYRIGHT. 18^7. BT ANNA K. ROHLfJ’ —
ETC. ETC
CHAPTER L
Ever sinoe my fortuuate—or shall I
«ny unfortunate, connection with that
famous case of murder in Gramercy
park I have had it intimated to me by
many of my friends—and by innumera
ble acquaintances—that no woman who
bad met with such success in detective
work would ever be satisfied with a siu-
Kl« display of her powers and that
sooner or later I would find myself again
at work upon somo other case of strik
ing peculiarities.
As vanity has never been my foible,
and as, moreover, I never have and never
would bo likely to forsake the plain
path marked out for my sex at any oth
er call than that of duty, I invariably
responded to these insinuations by an
affable bnt incredulous smile, striving
to excuse their presumption by remem
bering their ignorance of my nature and
the very excellent reasons 1 bad for my
one notable interference in tho police
affairs of New York city.
Besides, though I appeared to be rest
ing quietly, if not in entire content
ment. on my laurels, 1 was not so utter
ly removed from the old atmosphere of
crime and its detection as the world in
general considered me. Mr. Gryce still
visited me; not on business, of course,
but as a friend, as a man for whom I
had some regard, and naturally our con
versation was not always confined to
lire weather or even to city politics,
provocative as tho latter subject is of
•outroversy bt tween all right thinking
*ieu and women just now
Not that he ever betrayed any of the
berets of the office or even any of his
own—oh, no; that would have been too
much to expect—but he did sometimes
fcention some of the outward aspects of
Some celebrated case, and though 1 nev-
fsr ventured upon advice—1 know too
much for that, 1 hope—I found my wits
more or less exercised by a couvt rsatiou
from which he expected to gain .some
thing without acknowledging it, and 1
to give something without appearing to
be conscious of tho fact.
1 was therefore satisfied in my mind
-tnd was finding life p!ea>ant and full of
interest when suddenly (1 hud no right
to expect it, and 1 do not blame myself
for not expecting it or for holding my
head so high at the prognostications of
niy friends) an opportunity came for a
direct < xoreise of my detective powers |
in a line seemingly so laid out lor me
by Providence that 1 felt 1 would bo j
slighting the powt rs above if 1 ri fused to
enter it, though now i see that the line j
was laid out for me by Mr. Gryce and
that 1 was obeying anything but the
call of duty in embracing it.
But (Ids is not explicit Let me tell
the whole from the beginning. Guo
night Mr Gryce came to my house look
ing older and more feeble than usual.
He was engaged m a perplexing ease, lie
said, and missed his early vigor and per- I
sisteucy Would 1 like to hear about it?
It was not in the line of his usual work, ‘
yet it had points—and well—it would do '
him good to talk about it to a uoupro-
fessional who was capable of srmpatidz- !
iug with its baffling and worrisome b a- j
tun s and yet would never have to be
told to hold her peace.
I ought to have been on my guard. 1
ought to have known tho old fox well
enough to feel certain that when ho
went so manifestly out of bis way to
rake me into his confidence be did it
for a purpose it would be well enough!
for me to understand before placing
too great stress on his disabilities, but
Jove nods now and then—or so I have
been assured by what should be consid
ered as unimpeachable authority—and
if Jove has ever bei n caught napping
• surely Amelia Bntterwnrth may lie par
doned for one such inconsistency.
“It is not a city crime,” Mr. Gryce
went on to explain, and lu re he was
base cuough to sigh “At my time of
life that is an important and a tur fix m
desirable cou.-uierutiou. It is no longer
a simple matter for me to pack up a
aJise and go off to some distant vil
lage, way up in the mountains perhaps,
where comforts are f“w and secrecy an
impossibility. Comforts have become
indispensable to my threescore years
ami ten, and seerecy—well, if ever
'.here was a case where one needs to go
softly, it is this one, as you will see if
you win allow me to gne you the facts
of the case as known at headquarters
today. ’’
I bowed, trying not to show my sur
prise or my extreme satisfaction. Mr.
Airyce assumed bis most benignant as
pect, always a dangerous one with him,
and began his story
CHAPTER II
I am tkmptkd.
Some 90 miles from here, in a more
<or less inaccessible region, there is a
email but beautiful village which has
been the scene of so many strange and
unaccountable disappearances, presum
ably murders, that the attention of the
27ew York police has been at last direct
ed to it. The town, which is at least
nine miles from any railroad, is one of
those quiet, placid little spots found
now and then among the mountains,
v bare life is of the simplest and crime,
to all appearance, an clement so out of
accord with every other characteristic
of the place ns to seem a complete anom
aly. Yet crime or some other hide
ous mystery almost equally revolting
has during the last live years been ac
countable for the disappearance in or
about tins village of four persons of
various ages and occupations. Of these,
three were strangers and one a well
known vagabond accustomed to tramp
the hills and live on tfce bounty of
farmers’ wives. All were of the male
sex, and in no ease lias any clew ever
come to light as to their fate. They
were seen in town or near it and then
suddenly were not seen or ever heard of
again. That is the matter as it “stands
before the police today.”
“A serious affair," I remarked.
“Seems to me 1 have read of such things
in novels. Is there a tumbled down old
inn in the vicinity where beds are made
up over trapdoors?”
His smile was a mild protest against
my flippancy.
“1 have visited the town myself
There is no inn there, tut a comfortable
hotel of the most matter of fact sort,
kept by the frankest and most open
minded of landlords. Besides, these dis
appearances as a rule did not take place
at night, but in broad daylight. Imag
iue this street at noon. It is a short
one, and you kuow every house on it,
and, you think, every lurking place.
You see a mau enter it at one end and
you expect him to issue from it at the
other. But suppose lie never does
More than that, suppose he is never
heard of again and that this thing
should happen just here on this one
street six times during five years.”
"I should move,” 1 responded dryly
“Would you? Many good people have
moved from the place I speak of, but
that has not helped matters. The disap
pearances go on, and the why and the
where are juat as much a mystery as
ever. ”
“Yon interest me,” I said. “Come
to think of it, if this street were the
srene of such an unexplained series of
horrors as you have described, 1 do not-
think I would move.”
“1 thought not,” bo responded curt
ly “But since you are interested let
me be more explicit in my statements
The first person whose disappearance
was noted”—
“ Wait, ” I interrupted. “Have you a
map of the place?”
He smiled, nodded quite affectionate
ly to an old friend of his on the inantel-
piec", but did not produce the map.
“That detail will keep,” said he.
“Let me go ou with my story. As I was
saying, madam, the first person whose
disapiiearauc e there was noted was u
peddler of small wares, accustomed to
tramp the mountains. On this occasion
he had be< n in town longer than usual
and was known to have sold fully half
of his goods. Consequently he must
have had quite a sum of money upon
him Cue day his pack was found lying
under a cluster of bushes in a wood, but
'■f him nothing was ever again heard.
It made an excitement for a few days
while the woods were being searched
for his body, but nothing having been
discovered he was forgotten and every
thing went on as before, till suddenly
public attention was again aroused by
the pouring in of letters containing in
quiries in regard to a young mau who
had been Sent there from Duluth to col-
leet facts in a law case and who after a
| certain date had failed to communicate
with his firm or show up at any of the
places where he was known. Instantly
, the village was in arms. Many remem-
! ben d the young mau, and some two or
three of the villagers could recall the
. fact of having seen him go up the street
( with his hand bag in his hand as if on
bis way to the mountain station. The
landlord of tho hotel could lix the very
day at which he loft his house, but in-
; quiries at the station failed to establish
the fact that he took train from there,
nor were the most minute inquiries into
his fate at that time or afterward ever
attended by tuo least result. He was not
known to have carried much money, but
he wore a very handsome watch anti
chain and a ring of more than ordinary
value, none of which has ever shown
un at any pawnbroker's within the
knowledge of the police. This was
three years ago.
“The next occurrence of a like charac
ter did not take place till a year after
This time it was a jxtor old man from
Hartford who vanished almost as it
were before the eyes of these astounded
villagers. He hail come to town to get
subscriptions for a valuable book issued
' by a well know u publisher. He had been
more or less successful and was looking
very cheerful and contented when one
morning, after making a sale at a cer
tain farmhouse, he sat down to dine with
them, it being close ou to 12 o’clock.
He had eaten several mouthfuls and
was chatting quite freely when sudden
ly they saw him pause, clap his hand
to his pocket and rise up very much
disturbed ‘1 have left my pocket!*x>k
j behind me at Deacon Spear’s, ’ said he
T cannot eat with it out of my posses
sion Excuse me if I go for it* And
without any further apologies he ran
I out of the house aud down the road in
, the direction of Deacon Siiear’s. He
never reach*d Deacon Spear's, nor was
, he ever c cn in that village again or ii:
his home in Hartford This was the
i most astonishing mystery of all With-
country town this man disapiieared as
if the road had swallowed him and
closed again It was marvelous, incred
ible and remained so even after the best
efforts of the county police to solve the
mystery had exhausted themselves.
After this the town began to acquire a
bad name, and one or two families mov
ed away. Yet no one was found who
was willing to admit that these various
persons had been the victims of foul
play till a mouth later another case
came to light of a young man who had
left the village for the hillside station
and had never arrived at that or any
other destination so far as could be
learned. As he was a distant relative of
a wealthy cattle owner in Iowa, who
came ou posthaste to inquire into his
nephew’s fate, the excitement ran high,
and through his efforts and that of Mr.
Trohm the services of our office were
called into play. But the result has
been nil. We have found neither the
bodies of these men nor any clew to
their fate. ’’
I could uot help casting an envious
glance at the pocket where I felt sure
that the map I had asked for lay.
“Yet you have been there?” I sug
gested.
He nodded.
“Wonderful!" I exclaimed. “And
you came upon no suspicious hense, uo
suspicious person?”
The finger with which he was rub
bing his eyeglasses went round aud
round the rims with a slower and slow
er and still more thoughtful motion.
“Every town has its suspicious look
ing houses,” he slowly remarked, “and,
as for persons, the most honest often wear
a lowering look in which an unbridled
imagination can see guilt. I uever trust
iu appearances of that kind. ”
“What else can you trust in, ” I said,
“where all is impenetrable as iu this
case?’’
His finger, going slower and slower,
suddenly stopped.
“In my knowledge of persons,” said
he, “knowledge of their fears, their
hopes aud their individual concerns. If
I were 20 years younger”—here he stole
a glance at me iu the mirror which
made me bridle; did he think I was
only 20 years younger than himself?—“I
would,” he went on, “make myself so
acquainted with every man, woman
and child there”— Here he drew himself
up with a jerk. ^“But the day for that
is passed,” said he. “I am too old aud
too crippled to succeed iu that undertak
ing. Having been there once, 1 am a
marked mau. My walk alone betrays
me. He whose good fortune it will L j
to get at the bottom of these people’s
hearts must awaken no suspicions as to
his connection with the police. Indeed
I do not think that any man can succeed
iu doing this now. ”
I started. This was a frank showing
of his hand at least. No man! It was a
woman’s aid he was after, then. I
laughed as I thought of it. I had not
thought hint either so presumptuous or
so appreciative of talents of a character
so directly in line with his own.
“Don’t you agree with me, madam?”
I did agree with him. but I had a
character of great dignity to maintain,
so 1 only looked at him with an air of
and an undoubted influence with the j
man fortunate enough to receive her * 1
advice. ”
“Bah!” I exclaimed. It was one of
his favorite expressions. That was per
haps why I used it. “One would think
I was a member of your police.”
“You flatter us too deeply,” was his
instant deferential answer. “Such an
houor as that would be beyond our
deserts. ”
To this I gave bnt the faintest sniff.
That he should think that 1, Amelia
Butterworth, could be amenable to such
barefaced flattery! Then I faced him
with some asperity and said bluntly:
“You waste your time. I have no more
intention of meddling in another affair
than”—
“You had in meddling in the first,”
he politely, too politely, interpolated.
“I understand, madam.”
I was angry, but put a curb on every
expression of it. I was uot willing he
should see that I could be affected by
anything he could say.
“The Vau Surname are my next door
neighbors,” I remarked sweetly. “I
had the best of excuses for the interest
I took iu their affairs.”
“So you had, ” he acquiesced. “I am
glad to be reminded of the fact. I won
der I was able to forget it.”
Angry now to the point of not being
able to hide it, I turned upon him with
firm determination.
“Let us talk of something else,” I
said.
But he was equal to the occasion.
Drawing a folded paper from his pock
et, he opened it out before my eyes, say
ing quite naturally: “That is a happy
thought. Let us look over this sketch
you were sharp enough to ask for a few
moments ago. It shows the streets of the
village and the places where each of
the persons 1 have mentioned to you was
last seen. Is it not what you wanted?”
I kuow that I should have drawn back
with aYrown, that I never should have
allowed myself the satisfaction of cast
ing so much as a glance toward the pa
per, but the human nature which links
me to my kind was too much for me,
and with an involuntary "Exactly!” 1
leaned over it with an eagerness I
! For two years now it has been called
Lost Man’s lane. ”
"Indeed!” I cried. “They have got
the matter down as close as that and
yet have not solved its mystery? How
long is this road?”
“A half mile or so. ”
I must have looked my disgust, for
his hands opened deprecatingly.
"The ground has undergone a thor
ough search,” said he. “Not a square
foot in those woods you see ou either
side but has been gone over.”
“And the houses? I see there ax-)
three houses on this road. ”
“Oh, they are owned by most respect
able people—most respectable people,”
he repeated with a lingering emphasis
that gave me an inward shudder. “I
think 1 had the honor of intimating as
much to you a few minutes ago.”
I looked at him earnestly and irre
sistibly drew a little nearer to hi
over the diagram.
“Has none of these houses been visit
by you?” I asked. “Do you mean to sj
yon have not seen the inside of tb
all?”
“Oh, ” said he, “I have been iu ttym
all, of course, but a mystery suchius
we are investigatiug is not written >-p-
on the walls of parlors or halls.”
“You freeze my blood, ” I murm
Somehow the sight of these bfnes
drawn out before me seemed to ring
me into more intimate sympathy ■vith
the affair.
His shrug was significant.
“1 told you that this was no/tlgar
mystery.” said he, “or why shoyl I be
considering it with you? It fquite
worthy of your interest. Do f Q see
that house marked A?”
“Ido,” I nodded.
“Well, that is a decayed m
imposing proportions set in
ove. grown shrubbery. The
inhabit it”—
“Ladies!” I put in, wit!
shock of horror.
“Young ladies,” he explaiid, “of a-
refined if not overprosperous J>earance.
They are what is left of standly of
some repute. Their father r a j idge.
I believe. ” ' /
“And do they live tly alone, ” 1.
ion of
rest of
es who
small.
f
-j. 1 Ai
-2^
it, -efti :
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iu a h »lf mile s> dutauce iu a populous
marked severity.
“I do uot know of any woman who
would undertake sock a tat-k,’’ 1 ob
served.
“No?” He smiled with that air of for
bearance which is so exasperating to
me. “Well, perhaps there isn’t any
such woman to bo found. It would take
one of very uncommon characteristics,
I own. ”
“Pish!” leried. “Not so very!”
“Indeed I think you have not fully
taken in the case.’’ be urged iu quiet
superiority “The people there are of
the higher order of country folk. Many
of them are of extreme refinement. Ono
family”—1 thought his tone changed
the least iu the world here—“is poor
enough and elegant enough to interest
even such a-woman as yourself."
“Indeed!” 1 answered, with just a
touch of my father’s hauteur to hide
the stir of curiosity his words naturally
evoked.
“It is iu some such home,” he went
ou with au ease that should have warn
ed me that he had started on this pur
suit with a quiet determination to win,
“that the clew will be fouud to the
mystery we are considering. Yes, you
may well look startled, but that conclu
sion is the ono thing I brought away
with me from—X. let us say. I regard
it as one of some moment W’hat do you
think of it?”
“Well, “said I, “it makes me feel
like recalling that pish 1 uttered a few
minutes ago. It would take a woman < f
uncommon characteristics to assist you
in this matter. ”
“1 am glad we have got that far, ”
said he.
“A lady, ” I went on.
“Most assuredly a lady. ”
I.paused Sometimes discreet silence
is more sarcastic thau speech.
“Well, what lady would lend herself
to this scheme?’' I asked at last.
The tap, tap of his fingers ou the rim
of his glasses was my only answer.
“1 do not know of any,” said L
His eyebrows rose perhaps a hair’s
breadth, bnt I noted the implied *ar-
casm aud for an instant forgot iny dig
nity.
“Now,” said I, "this will not da
Yon mean m*—Amelia Butterrortb, a
woman who—but 1 do not think it is
necessary to tell you either who or what
I am You have presumed— Now do
uot put on that look of innocence^ and
above all do not attempt to deny what
is so manifestly in your thoughts, for
that is the one thing which you could
do which would make me feel like show
ing you the door. ’’
“Then, ” he smiled, “I shall be sure
not to make it. 1 am not anxious to
leave—yet Besides, who could I mean
but you? A lady visiting friends iu this
remote and beautiful region—what op
portunities might she not have to probe
this important mystery if, like yourself,
she had tact, discretiou, excellent un
derstanding and an experience which if
uot broad or deep is certainly such as to
give her n certain c<*ifideuce tu herself
■ i >.
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171
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•‘HE NEVER REACHED DEA CONr/ A R’S”
strove hard even at that exciting mo
ment to keep within the bounds 1
thought proper to my position as a non-
professional, interested iu the matter
from curiosity alone.
This is what I saw:
asked, “tw<
large and
mystery?”
“Oh, tk
a lout of
sponded
thought.
1 matl
mind.
“Aud
,ried, po
“A N
exertion
Y’ork i
there i
town,
to leay
so if t
bad
The v
do m
ng ladies in a house so
|ighborbood so full of
re a brother with them,
ft at attractions, ■’ ho ro-
(ssly—too carelessly, 1
[ta of the house A iu my
“U
on tl
tliatj
ives there?” I now que-
to the house marked B.
km. It was through his
the services of the New
were insured. His place
'of the most interesting in
dot's uot wish to be forced
nt he will be obliged to do
1 is not soon relieved of its
nd so will Deacon Spear,
dren shun the road now 1
of a lonelier place. ”
it tie cross marked up here
;e of the woods. What does
call
mu
fis a hut—it can hardly be
ittage—where a poor old wo-
called Mother Jane. She is a
old imbecile, against whom uo
ver dinurtod a suspicion. You
e your finger off that mark,
itterworth. ”
so, but I did not forget that it
ry near the footpath branching
be station.
u entered this hut as well as the
uses?” I intimated,
mr walls, ” was his answer. “Just
.vails; nothing more."
t my finger travel along the foot-
have just meutioned.
feep, ” was his comment. “Up, up
way, but uo precipices. Nothing
pine woods ou either side, thickly
He
“Mr. Gryce"—this after a few min
utes’ dose contemplation of thcdiagraij ''‘T ”** VJ1
before me-“I do uot suppose you waif w,th
any opinion from me. “ f h,1 ^ r
said be, “it is all nmrked M.
stopped at
“Madam,
nave left me free to a.-k for. ”
Receiving this as a permission
speak, I put my finger ou the
marked X.
“Then," said I “so far as
gather from this drawing all th|
appearances seem to have taken
iu or about this especial road. “
“You are as correct as usual,
he. “So true is this that the
there have already given to thi
iug way a special cognomen of i|
r v\'by is a letter affixed to this spot?”
ked.
* Because it stands at the head of the
le just as Deacon Spear's guards the
it. Any one sitting at the window L
n see whoever enters or leaves the lane
this end. And some one is always
ttiug them The woman who lives
7|liere has two crippled children, a boy
nd a gill. One of them is always in
hat window. ”
1 see," said L Then abruptly
“Oh," said he, “a well m«
man. none too line in his feelings,
does not mind the neighborhood;
quiet, he says. 1 hope you will „
him for yourself some day,” said h*
At this return to the forbidden
ject I held myself very much aloof.
“Your diagram is interesting,” i
I, “but it bas not iu the least ehai
ray determination. It is you who
go back there aud that very soon.”
“Not very soon,” said he. “Wbc
goes there on this errand must go
care, tonight, if possible; if uot,
morrow at the latest.”
“Tonight! Tomorrow!” leried.
I you thought”—
i “No matter what 1 thought,”
I signed. “It seems I bad no groundwc
for it.” Aud folding up tho map
slowly rose. “The young man we _
left there is doing more harm thau gc
That is why I say some one of real at
ity must replace him and that imme
ately The detective from New Yc
must seem to have left the place. ”
I made him my most ladylike
dismissal.
“1 shall watch the papers, ” I sai<
have no doubt that I shall soon see
them some token of your success.”
He cast a rueful look at his hanc
took a painful step toward the door
dolefully shook his head.
I kept my sileuce undisturbed.
He took another painful step.
“ By the way, ’ ’ be remarked as 11 ..
watching him with an uncompromisi
air, “I have forgotten to mention t
name of the town in which these diss
pearauces have occurred. It is call
X., and it is to be fouud ou one
the spurs of the Berkshire hills. ”
being by this time at the door he
me a bow in which was concentrated
the insinuating suavity of which he
capable and in another moment^
gone. The old fox was so sure Of ^
triumph that be did not even wait
see it He knew—how I never Jm
thought it necessary to inquire—that
was a place 1 had often threatened
visit. There was living there the ta
ily of one of my dearest friends,
had been a schoolmate of mine,
when she died I had promised rays
that 1 would not let mauy months ela;
before making the acquaintance of
children. Alas. I bad let years go by
This story will Ee eontintu
j in next Friday’s issue of Tbe Ledge
Vengeful Soldiers Wreck Saloon.
Washington, June 26.—Jas. Geary'
saloon at Reslin. Va.. was completel
wrecked, and the place riddled wif
bullets from carbines and revolver
a crowd of 150 soldiers from Fort i
ers, Va., who conducted an apparent!
organized attack, presumably In
venge for the shooting of one of the:
comrades. One man was wounded
the raid.
Steel Plant To Cost $2,000,000.
Youngstown, O.. June 26.—Pror
nent independent local Iron manufa
turers are planning for the erection
a Bessemer steel plant in this city
cost $2,000,000.
Ilt-ailziulon.
*‘We never realize the full value of
thing until we lose it,” remarked tt
moralist.
"That's right.” remarked the pract
eal man. "especially if the thing l<
was Insured.”- Philadelphia Press.,
Timely.
Muggins—Youngpop is going to hi
his baby christened Bill.
Btiggins—How strange.
Muggins—Ob. I don’t know,
came on the first of the month.—Ph.
delphia Record.
Laugh, and the world laughs wit!
you; weep, and the world laughs
you.—St. Louis Star.
Art Palace Contract Awarded.
St. Louis. July 2.—The contract fc
the erection of the art palace, th
most important of all the Louisi&i
Purchase exposition contracts, hj
been awarded to the Goldie Coustryli
tion company for $945,127.
The ThriiHt of a Lance
is scarcely more agonizing than the rt.
rent pains iu the abdomen which fol
the eating of improper food or too free
diligence iu ice-water. The iinmet
cause of cramps and colic is often the
tention of the bowels by gas. Quick re
follows the iim* of Perry Duris’ Painkil
(uretul housekeepers give it the plac<
honor in the family medicine chest.
If anybody has a message foi
’ the people of this communitj
he cannot deliver it to them sc
effectually, so cheaply, so quick
ly in any other way as throi
the columns of this paper.
It is the business of this pa
per to carry messages of on«
kind and another into homes.
The message will be delivered,
too, under favorable conditions,
for few persons take up theii
local paper except in a pleasant
and receptive frame of mind.
The sign upon the fence board
may be good, but it can be seen
only by travelers who go that
particular road. The message
in the local paper carries itself
to thousands, no matter by which
road they travel.
Select your space and pnl
your message where it will
the most good.
We, per hap*, can help
you if you will but uk M>