The ledger. [volume] (Gaffney City, S.C.) 1896-1907, October 03, 1902, Image 6
LOST MAN’S LANE.
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN.
[Copyright, 1897, by Anna K. ItohLfa.]
CHAPTER XXH.
THE THIRD NIGHT.
The afternoon was spent not altogeth
er unprolitably. Having seen many
things in the housekeeping which would
bear changing, I took occasion to spend
gome time with Hannah in the kitchen,
giving her during my visit some hints
in regard to household affairs winch if
followed would make considerable dif
ference in the comfort of those concern
ed. She receivtd them patiently, but 1
have seen no change in her manage
ment of the kitchen that I feel justified in
attributing to my imiuem c. But I know
human nature well enough not to have
expect* d it. Had the kitchen been far
ther from the door of the flower .parlor
I might not have thrown away so much
energy. ’ • <
I did not effect an entrance into the
flower parlor, however, nor did 1 suc
ceed in seeing any one'else enter it
Neither did 1 succeed in making Han
nah talk on any other topic than ordi-
cury domestic concerns, *i>ut i saw cer
tain tilings.
I had formed a plan for the night that
required some courage. Recalling Ln-
cctta's expression of the morning, that
I might expect a repetition of the expe
rience which, if a dream, had had the
appearance of a most formidable reality,
I prepared to profit by the warning in a
way she had certainly never meant that
I should. Satisfied that if there wa«
any truth in my suspicions there would
be an act performed in this house to
night which, if seen by me, would for
ever settle the question that was agitat
ing the whole countryside, I made up
my mind that no locked door should in-
t eric re with my opportunity of doing so.
How I effected this result I will relate
in a few minutes.
After an evening more solemn than
the day, but characterized, as the two
previous ones had not been, by a long
talk with the two girls together, I went
to my room in a state of seeming fatigue
that evidently met with the approbation
of Lucetta, who had accompanied me to
my door with a lighted candle.
“1 hear you hud some trouble with
matches last night,” said she. ‘‘You
will find them all right now. Hannah
must be blamed for some of this care
lessness. ’ ’ Then as I began some reas
suring reply she turned upon me with a
look that was almost fond, and, throw
ing out her arms, cried entreatingly:
‘‘Won't yon give me a little kiss, Miss
Lutterworth? We have not given you
the best of welcomes, but you are my
mother’s old friend, and sometimes I feel
a little lonely. ”
I could easily believe that, and yet I
found it hard to embrace her. Too many
shadows swam between Althea’s chil
dren and myself. She saw my hesitancy
(a hesitancy 1 could not but have shown
even at the risk of losing her confidence),
and, paling slightly, dropped her hands
with a pitiful smile.
“You don’t like me,” she said. “1
do not wonder, out 1 was in hopes you
would for my mother’s sake. 1 have no
claims myself. That you must be sure I
am thoroughly convinced of.”
“You are an interesting girl, and you
have, what your mother had not, a se
rious side to your nature that is any
thing but displeasing to me. But my
kisses, Lucetta, ; ro a; var a my tears.
I had rather gives . dm .ie. and
that is a fact Perl:a’ i r is :•> strong a
proof rf affection as any erdinary ear -...-
might le. ”
“Perhaps,” she murmured, but she
did not encourage me to give it to h r
notwithstanding. Instead of that she
drew back and bid me a gentle good
night, which for some reason made me
sadder than I wished to be at a erfsi-
dentanding so nmch nerve. Then she
walk'd quickly away, and I was left to
face the night alone.
Knowing that I should be rather
weakened than helped by the omission
of any of the little acts of preparation
with which I am accustomed to call my
spirits for the night I went through
them all with just as much precision as
if I had expected to spend the ensuing
hours in rest. When all was clone and
only my cup of tea remained to be
quaffed, I had a little struggle with
myself which ended in my not drinking
it at all Nothing, not even this com
fortable solace for an unsatisfactory
day, should stand in the way of my be
ing the complete mistress of my wits
this night. Had I known that this leva
contained a soporific in the shape of a
Uttle harmless morphine I would have
found this act of self denial much easier.
It was now 11. Confident that noth
ing would be done while my light was
burning, I blew it out, and, taking a
candle and matches in my hand, softly
opened my door ami after a moment of
intense listening stepped out and closed
it carefully behind me. Nothing could
be stiller than the house or darker than
the corridor.
“Am I watched or am 1 not watch
ed?” thought I, and for an instant stood
undecided Then, seeing nothing and
hearing nothing, I slipped down the
ball to the door beyond mine and, open
ing it with all the care possible, ste pped
inside.
I knew the room. I had taken especial
note of it in my visit of the morning. I
knew that it was nearly empty and that
there waa a key in the lock which 1
could torn. 1 therefore felt more or less
safe in it, especially as its window was
undarkened by the branches that bung
so thickly across my own casement,
■hutting me in, or seeming to shut me
in, from all communication with the
ontside world and the unknown guard
ian which I had been assured constantly
attended my summons.
That I might strengthen my spirits
by one glimpse of this same outside
Yprld before settling down to the watch
I had set Tor myself T stepped softly to
the window and took one lingering look
without. A lielt of forest illumined by
a gibbous moon met my eyes; nothing
else. Yet this sight was welcome, and it
was only after I had been struck by the
possibility of my own figure being seen
at the casement by some possible watch
er in the shadows below that 1 found
tho hardihood necessary to withdraw
into the darker precincts of tho room
and begin that lonely watch which my
doubts and expectations rendered neces
sary.
This was the third I had been forced
to keep, and it was by far the most dis
mal, for though the bolted door be
tween me and the hall promised me
personal safety there presently rose in
some faroff place a smothered repeti
tion of t that same rat, tap, tap which
had sent the shudders over me upon my
sudden entrance, into the house early in
the morning. Heard now, it brought a
weakness upon me which I did not
know existed in my nature, and while
with' this recognition of jny feminine
susceptibility to impressions there came
a certain pride in the stanchuess of pur
pose which led me to restrain all ac
knowledgment of it by any recourse to
my whistle, I was more than glad when
even this Sound ceased and 1 had only
to expect the swishing noise of a skirt
down the hall, and that stealthy lock
ing of a door I had taken the precau
tion of le:v\ ing.
It came sooner than 1 expected, came
just in the way it had the previous
night, only that the person paused a
moment to listen before hastening back.
The silence within must have satisfied
her, for 1 heard a low sigh like that of
relief before the steps took themselves
tack. That they would turn my way
gave me a momentary concern, hut, no,
I had too completely lulled their sus
picious, or let me be faithful to all the
possibilities of the case, they put per
haps too much confidence in the powder
with which they had seasoned my
nightly cup of tea for them to doubt
foom corridor “TSuT as In my anxielyTo
determine this fact I slipped far enough
forward to make sure that their destina
tion lay somewhere within reach of the
flower parlor, 1 was so struck by tho ad
vantages to be gained by a cautious use
of the trapdoor in William’s room that
I hesitated no longer, but sped with
what swiftness I could toward the spot
from which I had so lately heard this
str;uige procession c< me.
A narrow hand of light lying across
the upper cud of this long corridor
proved that the door was uot only ajar,
but that a second candle waa burning in
tho room 1 was about to so daringly in
vade, but this was scarcely to be regret
ted since there could be no question of |
the emptiness of the room. Tho six fig- 1
ures I had seen go by embraced every |
one who by any possibility could be
considered.as having part in this traus-
uctiou—William, Mr. bimsbury, Mis
Iviiollys, Lucetta, Hauuah and Mothe
Jane. No one else was left to guaro
this room, so l pushed tho door open
quite boldly and entered.
What I saw there 1 will relate later,
cr, rather, I will but bint at now.
There were a Ltd with a sheet thrown
back, a stand covered with vials, a hu
rt an with a man’s shaving parapher
nalia upon it, and on the wall such pic
tures as only sporting gentlemen delight
in. The candle was guttering on a small
table up* n which, to my momentary as
tonishment. a Bible lay open. Not hav
ing my glasses w itli me, 1 could not see
what portion of the sacred word was
thus disclos 'd, but I took the precau
tion to indent the upper leaf with my
thumb n..il, that 1 might find it again in
case of future opportunity. My atten
tion v; s attracted by other small mat
ters that would lie food for thought at
a more propitious moment, but at that
instant the sound of voices coming dis
tinctly to my ear from below warned
me that a halt had been made at the
flower parlor and that the duty of tho
nicuunt was to locate the trapdoor and
if possible uitermlne the means of rais
ing it.
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AS I SPOKE, r CAUGHT SIGHT OF THE MARK I ifLl.S LOOKING FOR
1 w;
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ti • asleep in my own
TIjj* • minutes after I bad 1 dlow d
tho.-* sreirs a« far down thecorrid >r as 1
:iar -d to go, for since my last appear
in' in it a candle bud 1 * on kt in the
u.„iii hall, and faint u^\ its pli, r
it vu.^ sriil a glimmer ini * tn*; * i. •!*; < f
which I felt it would be f< /linudines*
for me to step. At some 2U paces t!.< n
from flie opening I paus'd and ga
myself up to listening. Alas, there \.us
pi* uty now for me to Lear.
You have heard the sound; ve ail
have beard the sound, but f* w of us in
a desolate : tructure such as I stood lis
toning in and at the hour and under the
influences of midnight. Tin- measured
tread of men struggling under a heavy
weight and that w< ight—how well I
knew it; as well as if I had seen it, as I
really did in my imagination.
It came from the ad/huing corridor,
from the room I had found no *<ipor-
tuuity of entering that day, and it ap
proached surely and slowly the main
hall near which 1 was standing, but in
such a position it would be impossible
for me to see Anything if they took the
direc t course to the head of the stairs:
and so down, as there was every reason
to exjiect they would. I did not dare to
advance, however, so concentrated my
faculties anew upon listening, till sud
denly I perceived on the great white
wall in front of me—the wall of the
main hall, I mean, toward which the
ojs ning looked—the outline of a shadow
puss and realized that the candle Ixad
been placed in such a position that the
wall must receive the full shadow of
this passing cortege. And so it was 1
saw it, huge, distorted and suggestive
beyond any picture I ever beheld, the
passing of a body to its long home, car
ried by six anxious figures, four of
which seemed to be those of women.
But that Iwig home! Where was that
likely to be? It was a question so im
portant that for a moment I could think
of nothing bat how 1 coaid follow them
without running the risk of discovery.
They had reached the bead of the stairs
by this time, and 1 heard Miss Kuollys’
low, firm voice enjoining silence. Then
they began to descend.
Ere they reached the foot a doubt
■truck me Would it be better to follow
them or to take the opportunity of every
member of the household being engaged
in this task to take a peep into the room
where the death bad occurred? 1 had
not decided when 1 beard them take the
forward conne from the foot o^ the
■tain to what to my ■training ear
seemed to be the entrapee to the fining
This was less difficult than I antici
pated. Either this room was regarded
as so sale from intrusion that a secret
like this could bo sab ly left unguarded,
or ftie door which was plainly to be
se«n in one corner bail been lately lifted
that it had hardly sunk back into its
place. I found it, if the expression may
be used of a horizontal object, slightly
ajar and needing but the slightest pull
to make it spring upright and remain
so by means of some mechanical con-
trivance 1 will uot attempt to describe.
The hole thus disclosed was filled
with the little staircase up which 1 had
partly mounted in my daring explouu-
tious of the day before. It was dark
now, darker than it was then, but I felt
1 must descend by it, for plainly to be
beard now through the crack in the
closet d<xir, which seemed to have a
knack of standing partly open, 1 could
hear the heavy tread of the six bearers
us they entered the parlor below still
carrying their burden, concerning the
destination of which I was so anxious
to gain a clew.
That it could be here I knew to be
too improbable for consideration. Yet
if they took up their stand in this room
it was for a purpose, and what that
purpose was I was determined to know.
The noise their feet made on the bare
boards of the floor and the few words I
now heard uttered in William’s stolid
tones and Lucetta’s musical treble as
sured me that my own light steps in
the softest of felt slippers would no
more be heard than my dark gown of
quiet wool would be seen through the
narrow slit through which I was pro
paring to jieer Yet it t<s.k no small de
gree of what my father used to call
pluck for me to put foot on this wind
ing staircase and descend almost as it
were in the midst of what 1 must regard
as the last wicked act of a most coward
ly and brutal murder
1 did it, however, and after a short
but grim communion with my own
heart, which would persist in bbatiug
somewhat noisily, 1 leaned forward
with all the precaution possible and let
my gaze traverse the chamber in which
I had previously seen such horrors as
should have prepared me for this last
and greatest one.
In a moment I understood the whole.
A long square hole in the floor, lately
■awed, provided an opening through
which the plain plank coffin, of which 1
now canght sight, was to be lowered in
to the cellar and the grave which bad
doubtless been dog there. The ropes in
the bauds of the six persons, in whose
identity 1 bad made no mi stake, was
proof enough of their intention, and,
sat bsfled as I now was of the means and
mode of the interment which had been
such a boundless mystery to mo, I
shrank a stop upward, fearing lest my
indignation and the horror I could not
now bat feel for Althea’s children
would betray me into some exclamation
which might lead to my discovery and
a similar fate
.One other short glance, in which I
saw them all* ranged aroufid tho dark
opening, and 1 was up out of their
n adi, Lncetta’s face and Lneetta’s one
sob as the ropes began to creak being
the one memory which followed me the
most persistently. She, at least, was
overwhelmed with remorse for a deed
she was perhaps only answerable for in
that she failed to make known to the
world her brother’s madness and the
horrible crimes to which it gave rise.
1 took one other look around his room
before I fled to my own, or, rather, to
the one in which I had taken refuge
while my own was under lock and key
That I spent the next two hours on my
knees no one can wonder. When my
own door was unlocked, as it was be
fore the day broke, I hastened in there
and lay my head with all its unhappy
knowledge on my pillow. But I did not
sleep. Tiie oddest thing of all this was
that I never onee thought of giving a
single note from the whistle which
would have brought the police into that
abode of crime. Perhaps it was a wise
omission. 1 had seen enough that was
horrible for one night without behold
ing Althea’s children arrested before
my eyes.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ROOM NO. 3.
I rose at my usual hour. I dressed
myself with my usual care. I was, to a
superficial observer at least, in all re
spects my usual self when Hannah
came to my door to ask what she could
do for me. As there was nothing I
wanted but to get out of this house,
which certainly was now made unbear
able to me, I replied with the utmost
cheerfulness that my wants were all
supplied and that I would soon be
down, at which she answered that in
that case sh* must bestir herself or the
br- aklast would uot bo ready and hur
ried away. ,
There was no one in the dining room
when 1 entered, and judging from ap
pearances that it would he some min
utes yet before breakfast would bo
ready, I took occasion to stroll through
the grounds and glance up at the win
dow of William’s room. The knot of
crape was gone.
I would have gone farther, but jnst
then I heard a great rushing and scam
p-ring and, looking up, saw an enor
mous dog approaching at full gallop
from the stables. Saracen was loose.
I did uot scream or give way to other
feminine expressions of fear, but I did
r< turn as quickly as possible to tho
house, where I now saw I must remain
till William chose to take me into town.
This I was determined should tako
place as soon utter breakfast as practi
cable. The knowledge which I now pos
sessed warranted, nay demanded, in
stant consultation with the police, and
as this could be t bo effected by follow
ing out the orders 1 had received from
Mr. Gryce I did uot consider any other
method than that of meeting the man
on duty m room No. 3 at the hotel.
Loreen, Lucetta and William were
awaiting me in the hall and made no
apology for the finny into which I Lad
been thrown by my rapid escape from
Saracen. Indeed I doubt if th* y noticed
it, for with all the attempt they made
to seem gay and at ease the anxieties
and i.;tigue of the fon-going nights were
telling upon them, and from Miss Kuol
lys down they looked physically ex
hausted. But they also looked mentally
relieved. In the clear depths of Lncet
ta’s eye there was now no wavering,
and the head which was always turning
in anxious anticipation over her shoul
der r sted firm, tlnaagh not as erect as
h< r sister’s, who had less cause perhaps
for regret and sorrow.
William was jovial to a degree, but
it was a forced joviality which only be
came real when he heard a sudden,
quick bank under the w'indow and the
sound of scraping paws against the mas
tic coating < l the wall outside. Then he
broke into a loud laugh of unressraiued
pleasure, crying out thoughtlessly:
“There's fcaracen. Mow quick he
knows”—
A warning look from Lucetta stopped
him.
“I mean,” he stammered, “that it’s
a dull dog who does uot know where
his master is. Miss Butterworth”—he
was absolutely unrestrained in his re
stored self confidence—“you will have
to overcome your fear of dogs if you
stay wish us long. Saracen is unbound
this morning, and”—he used a great
oath—“he’s going to remain so. ”
By which I came to understand that
it was uot out of consideration for me
he ha<l been tied up in the court till
now, but for reasons connected with
th*-ir own safety and the preservation of
the secret which they so evidently be
lieved had been buried with the bodv.
which I did not like to remember lay at
that very minute too nearly under our
feet for my own individual comfort.
However, this lias nothing to do with
the reply I made to Yv illiam.
“I hope,” said I, “he does not run
with the buggy. I want to take a ride
very much this morning and could get
small pleasure out of it if thutd'ig must
be our companion. ”
“I cannot go out thin morning,"
William began, but changed his sen
tence, possibly at the touch of his sis
ter's foot under the table, into: “But if
you say I mast, why, I must You
women folks are so plagued changeable.
Yesterday I wanted to go; today 1
don’t, but don’t let that make any dif
ference to you. A host must follow the
wishes of his guest. ”
Had ho been ton years younger 1
would have boxed his ears; had he been
that much older 1 would have taken cue
and packed np my trank before he could
have finished the cup of coffee he was
drinking. But ho was just too * Id to
reprimand—that is, in that way, s;:d
ndt old enough to appreciate any dis
play of personal dignity or self respect
Besides, he was a knave; so I just let
his impertinence pass with the remark:
“1 have purchases to make in tho vil
lage,” and so that matter ended, mani
festly to the two girls’ relief, who natu
rally did uot like to soe mo insulted
even if they did no f possess sufficient
power over their brother to prevent it.
One other small episode and then 1
will take you with me to tho village.
As we were leaving the table, where I
ate less than common, notwithstanding
all my efforts to seem perfectly uncon
cerned except at those demonstrations
of Saracen, from which they all expect
ed me to shrink, Lucetta, who had
waited for her brother to go out, took
me gently by tho urm, and, looking at
me closely, said:
“Did you have any dreams last night,
Miss Butterworth? You know I promised
yon soma ”
I was a little takeu aback and for a
moment felt like taking those two girls
into my confidence and bidding them fly
from the shame and doom so soon to fall
upon their brother, but the real principle
underlying all such momentary impulses
on my part deterred me, and in as light
a tone as I could assume and not bo an
absolute hypocrite I replied that I was
sorry to disappoint her, but I had no
dreams, which seemed to please her
more than it should, for if I had had no
dreams 1 certainly had suffered from
the most dreadful realities.
I will not describe that ride into
town. Saracen did go with us, and in
dignation uot only rendered me speech
less, but gave to my thoughts a turn
which made that half hour of very lit
tle value to me. Mother Jane’s burly ;
figure crouching in her doorway might
otherwise have given me opportunity
for remark, and so might the dubious
looks of people we met on the high
road—looks to which 1 am so wholly
unaccustomed that I had difficulty in
recognizing myself as the butt of so
much doubt and possibly dislike. I at
tributed this, however, all to the ill re
pute under which William so deserved
ly labored and did uot allow myself to
more than notice it. Indeed, I could
only be sorry for people who did not
know in what consideration I was held
at homo and who, either through igno
rance or prejudice, allowed themselves
privileges they would be the first to re
gret did they know tho heart and mind
of the real Amelia Butterworth.
Once in the village, I took the direc
tion of affairs.
“Set me down at the hotel, ” said I,
“and then go about such business as you
may have here in town. I am not going
to allow myself to be tracked all over
by that dog. ”
“I have no business. ” was the surly
reply.
“Then make some,” was my sharp
retort. “I want to see the locksmith—
that locksmith who wouldn’t come to do
an honest piece of work for me in your
house, and I want to buy dimities and
wools and sewing silks at the dry goods
store over there. Indeed I have a thou
sand things to do and expect to spend
half the morning before the counters.
Why. mini, I haven't doueany shopping
for a we* k.''
Ht gaped at me perfectly aghast (as 1
meant ho should) and, having but little
expe:i> fi ‘e of city ladies to go by, took
me a my word and prepared to beat an
houo .ble retreat. As a result I found
mvs< If t n minutes lat; r standing on
the h.^ step < f the hotel porch, watch
ing William driving away with Saracen
perched <*n the seat beside him. Then 1
realized that the village held no com
panions, for him and did uot know
whether I felt glad or sorry
To the clerk who came to meet me 1
said quietly, “Room No. 3 if you
please,” at which he gave a nod of in
telligence and led me as unostentatious
ly as possible into a small hall, at the
end of which 1 saw the number I had
asked for
“If you will take a spat inside,” said
he, “I will send you whatever you may
desire for your comfort. ”
“I think yon know what that is, ”
said L at which he nodded again and
left me, closing the door carefully be
hind him a* he went.
Tin* few minutes which elapsed be
fore my quiet was disturbed were spent
by me in thinking. 1 had not only in
formation to give to the police, hut 1
had many little questions to settle in
my own mtud, for which a spsll of un
interrupted contemplation was neces
sary One of these was whether, in tho
event of finding the police amenable, 1
should reveal or hide from these chil-
dren of my *dd friend the fact that it
was through my instrumentality that
their nc- arious secset had been discov
ered. 1 wished—I hoped—that the affair
might be so concluded, but it all seemed
so impossible, especially since Mr.
Gryce was not on hand to direct mat
ters, that I spent very little time on this
subject, deep and important as it was
to all concerned.
The thing to which I devoted my
most serious attention was the necessity
of telling my story so as to exonerate
the girls as much as possible. They
wen; mistaken in ti. ir devotion and
most unhappy in the exercise of it, hut
tb*y were not innately wicked and
shout 1 not be made to appear so. Per
haps the one thing for which I shonld
yet have the Lest cause to congratulate
myself would bo the opportunity I had
gained to give to their connection with
the affair its true and proper coloring.
1 was still dwelling on this thought
when there came a knock at my door
which advised me that the visitor I ex
pected had arrived. To open and admit
him was the work of a moment, bat it
took more than a moment for me to
overcome my surprise at seeing in my
visitor no lec-ser person than Mr. Gryce
himself, who in our parting interview
had assur«*d me be was too old and too
feeble for such affairs and most there
fore delegate them to ma
“Ah!” I ejaculated slowly. “It is
you, is it? Well, I am not surprised. (I
■bouldn’t have been.) When you say you
are old, yon mean old enough to pull
the wool over other people's eyee, and
when you say you are lame you mean
that you only halt long enough to let
others get far enough ahead for them
ui.l to see bow fast you hobble up be
hind them. But do uot think I am not
glad enough to see you. I am, Mr.
Gryce, for I have discovered tho secret
of Lout Man's lane and find it somewhatf
t - heavy a "in- for my own handling.”
On :he instant, knowing him now as
1 do, i mw that this was more than he
exfiected.
“You have?” he asked, with just that
shad*' of incredulity which it is so tan
talizing to encounter.
“Then I suppose congratulations aro
in order. But are you sure. Miss Butter-
worth, that you really have obtained a
clew to the many strange and fearful
disappearances which have given to this
lane its name.”
“I could not bo surer,” said I. “fori
have seen with my eyes and almost
touched with my hands tho l>ody of one
of tho victims. ”
“Quite sure,” I returned, nettled.
“Why do you doubt it? Because I have
kept so quiet ami not sounded one note
of alarm from my whistle?”
“No,” said he. “Knowing your self
restraint so well, I cannot say that that
is my reason.”
“What is it, then?” I urged.
“Well,” said he, “my real reason for
doubting if you have been quite as suc
cessful as you think is that we ourselves
have come upon a clew about which
there can be no question. Can you say
the same of yours?”
You will expect my answer to have
been a decided “Yes,” uttered with all
the positiveness of which you know me
to be capable. But for some reason,
perhaps because of the strange influence
this man’s personality exercises on all—
yes, all—who do not absolutely steel
themselves against him, I faltered just
long enough for him to cry:
“I thought not. The clew is outside
the Knollys house, not in it, Miss But
terworth, for which, of course, you are
uot to be blamed or your services scorn
ed. I have uo doubt they have been in
valuable in unearthing a secret, if not
the secret. ’ ’
“Tliauk you,” was my quiet retort.
I thought his presumption beyond all
bounds and would at that moment have
felt justified in snapping my fingers
at the clew that he so boasted of had it
not been for one thing. What that thing
is I am uot ready yet to state.
“You and I have como to issue over
such matters before,” said he, “and
therefore need uot tako t*x) much ac
count of the feelings it is likely to en
gender. I will merely state that my
clew points to Mother Jane and ask if
you have found iu the visit she paid at
the. house last night anything which
would go to strengthen the suspicion
against her.”
“Perhaps,” said 1 in a state of dis
dain that was more or less unpardon
able considering that my own suspicious
previous to my discovery of the real
tragedy enacted under my eyes at the
Knollys mansion had played more or
less about this old crone.
“Only perhaps?” He smiled, with a
playful forbearance with my mood for
w lie i I should have bieu truly grate
ful to him.
“She was there for no good purpose,’
said 1, “and yet if you had not charac
terized Lvr as die person most responsi
ble lor the crimes we are here to inves-
ti . ::e I should have said from all that
I saw then and previously of her con
duct that -he acted a.-, a supernumerary
rather than principal, and that it is to
roe you should look for the correct clew
to the criminal, notwithstanding your
confidence iu your own theori s and my
mom n:cry hesitation to as.-rt that
t* . it waa no possible d feet in mine.”
“Miss Bntterwortfa,”—I thought he
lo<4 • d a trifle shak* n—"what did Moth
er Jane do iu tiiut closely shuttered
house last night?”
Mother Jauu? W<11! Did bethink
1 w:.s going to introduce my tragic
1 st' ry by telling what Mother Jane didl
I must have looked irritated, and in-
' deed I think I had cause.
“Mother Jane ate her supper,” ]
snapped out angrily. “Miss Kuollys
ga\* it to her. Then she helped a little
with a piece of work they hud on hand.
It will uot interest yon to know what.
It ha ti ithiug to do with your clew, 1
warrant.”
He did uot get augry. He has an ad
miral I- temper, lias Mr. Gryce, but he
did stop a minute to consider.
“Mi-s Butterworth,” he said at last,
“most detectives would have held their
peace and let you go on with what you
have to tell w ithout a hiut that it was
either unwelcome or unnecessary, but 1
Lave consideration for persons’ feelings
and for j ;. is’secrets so long as they
do not come in collision with the law,
and my opinion is, or was win n I en-
; t< red this room, that such di. -overies as
' you have made at yonr old friend’s
house (why need he emphasize friend—
did he think I forgot for a moment
that Althea was my friend?) were con
nected rather with some family diffi
culty than with the dreadful affair ws
are considering That is why I hastened
to tell yon that we m*.i ■ ...m a clew to
the disappearances and in Mother Jane’s
cottage. I wished to save tins Miss
Knollys.”
If he had thought to mollify me this
way, he did not succeed. He saw it and
made haste to say:
“Not that I doubt your consideration
for them, only the justness of your con
clusions. ”
“Yon have doubted those be-fore and
with more reason, ” I replied, “yet they
' were uot altogether false.”
“That 1 am willing to acknowledge,
so willing that if yon still think after I
have told my story that yours is apro
pos and tonches the case then I will lis
ten to it only too eagerly. My object is
to find the real criminal in this matter.
I say at the present moment it is Moth
er Jane. ”
“God grant it is so,” 1 Kiid. influ
enced in spite of myself by the calm as
surance of bis manner. “If she was at
the house night before last between 11
and 13, then perhaps she is. Bat 1 see
no reason to believe it—not yet. Mr.
Gfcorot ttaoDodiur T oa give me cxm. It