Newspaper Page Text
4 E
HEARST *8 SUNDAY AMERICAN. ATLANTA, CA., SUNDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1013.
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS.
HP! humlnomu residency of Rill* Van Burnam
| In Grsmerej Park adjoins that of Ilia# Amalia
* Buttarworth. a lady of independent means and
• pirlt. whs tails tha story. At midnight, pairing
through har curtains. Miss Bnttarworth itms a cab
dries np with a young roan and woman, who cater
tha Van Rnmirn house Tan minntas latar sha saas
tha young man leaea tha housa alone and walk rapidly
• way. Knowing the houise to be vacant owing to
tha absence of Silas Van Bumara In Europe, this
midnight incident astonishes Miss Bnttarworth
Next morning she is present whan a policeman
• ummoned by Mrs. Boppert, a scrubwoman, discover*
the dead body of a young woman lyiug under a hea?y
pivee of fallen furniture
Defective Oryce, summoned from Police Headquar
tars, arrives with a physician Miss Buttarworth tells
o' the midnight incident—the young woman's com
panion seemed to resemble om» of the Van Bumam
•ons Franklin, or Howard, the latter understood to be
estranged from his family owing to an unsuitable mar
risgc and spending the summer with his bride in
Connecticut. It was Franklin Van Bumam- -who spent,
his nights at Long Branch—who had rent Mrs. Bop
pert to make the houee ready for his father and sinters,
arriving to day. A clock which had fallen with the
cabinet under which the dead girl lay had stopped at
three minutes to 5.
The cabinet being raised. Miss Buttarworth sees
that the body is clothed in a »ew blue serge dress, and
CONTINUED FR
“You tieed make no apologies." returned tha
Coroner. “Will you state on what llna of cars
f’nu ram a from your office?”
“I cama up Third avenue"
“Ah! and walked toward Broad way?"
“Yes."
“So that you necessarily pa sped very near the
Van Rurnam mansion'’”
“Yes.”
“At what time was this, ran you nay?"
“At 4, or nearly 4, It was half-pa^t 3
when I left my office"
“Was it light at that hour? Could you dis
tinguish objects readily?"
“I had no diffioultlng in seeing: ”
“And what did you see” Anything amis* at
the Van Burnnm mansion?”
• No, sir, nothing amiss I merely saw How
ard coming down tha stoop aa I went by the
corner.”
“You made no mistake It was the grentle-
mnn you nama and no other whom you saw on
this stoop at tills hour?"
“1 am very sure it was he. I am sorry r
But the Coroner gave him no opportunity to
finish.
You and Mr. Van Bumam are friends, you
ny, find it was light enough for you to recog-
j.i7.e each other, then you probably spoke?”
No. we did not. I was thinking—wall, of
other things,” and here ha allowed the ghost of
• smile to flit suggestively across his flrm-set
Jips And Mr. Van Rurnam seemed preoccu
pied also, for, as far as I know, ho did not even
look my way.”
And you did not stop?”
No, ha did not look like a man to bo dis
terbed.”
And this waa at 4 on tho morning of the
SSth?”
•At 4.”
"You are certain of tha hour and of tha day?”
“J am certain. I should not bo standing her#
If 7 were not very sure of my memory. I am
sorry,” ho began again, but he was stopped M
peremptorily aa before by the Coroner.
"Keeling has no place in an Inquiry like this.”
lAnd the witness was dismissed.
Mr Stone, who had manifestly given his evi
dence under compulsion, looked relieved at its
termination. As he passed back to the room
from which he had come, many only noticed
Uu* extreme elegance of his form and the proud
cast of his head, but 1 saw' more than these. 1
►aw the look of regret he cast at his friend
Howard.
A painful silence followed his withdrawal;
then the Coroner spoke to the jury.
“Gentlemen, 1 leave you to judge of the lm-
portam** of this testimony. Mr. Stone is a
well-known man of unquestionable Integrity,
but perhaps Mr. Van Bumam can explain how
he came to visit his father's house at 4 o’clock
In the morning on that memorable night, when.
► cording to his latest testimony, he left his
■wife there at 12. We will give him the oppor
tunity.”
“There is m use.” began the young man from
1h® pljjp-e where he sat. Rut gathering courage
even while speaking, he came rapidly forward,
and, facing Coroner and Jury once more, said
with a false kind of energy that imposed upon
no one:
■ 1 can explain this fact, but 1 doubt if you
will accept my explanation 1 was at my fa
thers house at that hour, but not in it. My
restlessness drove me back to my wife, but not
finding the keys in my pocket. 1 came down the
•toop again and went away.”
“Ah, 1 see now why you prevaricated this
morning in regard to the time when, you missed
the keys.”
■! know that my testimony is full of contra
dict ions.”
You feared to have it known that you were
on the stoop of your father's house for the sec
ond time that night?”
•Naturally, in face of the suspicion, I per
ceived everywhere about me.”
“And this time you did not go in?”
“No”
Nor ring the bell?”
“No.”
“Why not, if you left your wife within, alive
end well?”
“I did not wish to disturb her Mv purpose
■w<,s not strong enough to surmount the least
difficulty. 1 was easily deterred from going
where I had little wish to be.”
“So that you merely went up the stoop and
down again at the time Mr. Stone saw you?”
“Yes. arid if he had passed a minbte sooner
he would have seen this; seen me go up. I
mean, as well as seen me come down. 1 did
not linger long in the doorway.”
“But you did linger there a moment?”
"Yes: long enough to hunt for the keys and
get over my astonishment at not finding them.''
Did you notice Mr Stone going by on Twen
ty-first street?”
"No.”
Was it as light as Mr. Stone has said?”
“Yes; i! was light.''
And you did not notice him?”
No.”
Yet you must have followed very closely
behind him?”
“Not necessarily I went by the way of
Twentieth street, sir. Why, I do not know, for
my rooms are uptown. 1 do not know why I did
half the things I did that night.”
I < an readily believe It.” remarked the Cor
oner.
Mr. Van Bumam's indignation rose
You are trying.” said he. “to connect me
v iih the fearful death of my wife in my fa
ther’s lonely house You can not do it, for I
am as innocent of that death as you are, or any
other person in this? assemblage Nor did 1
pull those shelves down upon her, as you would
liave this jury think, in my last thoughtless
visit to my fathers door. She died according
to God « will by her own hand or by means of
frome strange and unaccountable accident known
only to Him. And ro you will find, if justice
has anv place in these investigations and a
manly intelligence be allowed to take the place
of prejudice in the breasts of the twelve men
now sitting before me.”
And, bowing to the Coroner, he waited f>n
i dismissal, and receiving it. walked back nn(
t< “ '-e|\ orner, but to his former place
-vt. l.ib lutiier uiiu brother, who receive*!
that tha hat—lying crushed nnder It—ha* been worn
but once, revealmc but one prick of a hatpin.
Franklin Van Bumam arrive! and toon hia fation*.
There is mystery in their muttered mention of “llow
ard.’ Miss Butterworth nlao sees mystery in the
manner of Mrs. Boppert, the scrubwoman. A crowd
father". Mine Butterworth invites the Van Bumam
daughters to her horn*- From her window joat ea the
body of the dead *irl ia being carried out to an amhu
lanre she sees floward Van Burn am drive up. Hia
face ia ffhMtly white.
The Mead woman’s features being crushed out of
recognition and her clothing being nvw and unfamiliar.
Howard denies that she wan hia wife. Mins Butter
worth finds the head of the broken hatpin with which
the victim was stabbed to death Detective Oryce finds
another hat in tire house much more expensive than
the one worn by the murdered woman. At the inqueet
the landlady of the Howard Van Burnams at Haddam.
Conn., testifies that the younr wife left alone for New
York, in an attempt to win the favor of her faffrer in
law on hia arrival from Europe
Department store employees identify the new gown
and hat as those delivered to a mysterious couple, " Mr.
and Mrs Pope,’’ stopping at a Broadway hotw They
were a “queer couple,’’ determined not to be identified
Howard Van Burnnm then is called and the Coroner
trie" to make him admit the dead woman is his wife
At. last he succeeds, to the surprise of ermyone. The
Coroner tnen says th* keys to the house have been
found on his brother's desk, though Howard said he had
dropped them Randolph Stone, a friend of Howard,
tells of passing tire house at an early hour
OM LAST SUNDAY.
him with a. wistful air and Strang© look* of
mingled hope and disbelief.
“The Jury will render their verdict on Mon
day morning.” announced the Coroner, and ad
journed the Inquiry.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Little Pincushion.
T ITPI verdict rendered by the Coroner's Jury
showed It to be a more discriminating set
of men than I had calculated upon. It was
murder Inflicted by a hand unknown.
I was Interrupted In my afternoon nap by an
announcement that the two Misses Van Rur
nam awaited me In the parlor.
Going down, I saw them standing there hand
in hand and both as, white ns a sheet.
"Oh, Miss Butterworth!” they cried, spring
ing toward me. “Howard has beegi arrested,
and we have no one to say a w'ord of comfort
to us.”
“Arrested!” J repeated, greatly surprised, for
I had not expected It tp happen so soon, if it
happened at all.
“Yes, and father Is Just about prostrated.
"I am as innocent of her death as yo'i are,” he cried
Franklin, too, but he keeps up, while father has
shut himself Into hia room and won't see any
body, not even us. O, 1 don't know how we are
to bear it! Such a disgrace, and such a wicked,
wicked shame! For Howard never had any
thing to do with his wife’s death, had he, Miss
Butterworth?”
“No,” I returned, taking my ground at once,
and vigorously, for I really’ believed what 1
said “He Is Innocent of her death, and I would
like the chance of proving It."
They evidently had not expected such an un
qualified assertion from me, for they almost
smothered me with kisses, and.called me their
only friend, and. Indeed, showed so much real
feeling this time that 1 neither pushed them
away nor tried to withdraw myself from their
embraces.
“Girls." said I, “if you will be calm. I should
like to ask you a few' questions.”
"Ask us anything.” returned Isabella, “no
body has more right to our confidence than
you.”
This was another of their exaggerated ex
pressions, but I was so anxious to hear what
they had to tell, I let it pass. So instead of
rebuking them, I asked where their brother had
been arrested, and found it had been at his
room and in the presence of themselves aryl
Franklin. So 1 inquired further and learned
that, so far as they knew, nothing had been
discovered beyond what had come out at the
inquest except that Howard’s trunks had been
found packed, as if he had been making prep
arations for a Journey when interrupted by the
dreadful event which had put him into the
hands of the police. As there was a certain
significance in this, the girls seemed almost as
much Impressed by It as I was. but we d!d
not discuss it long, for 1 suddenly changed my
manner; and taking them both by the hand,
asked if they could keep a secret.
“Secret?” they gasped.
“Yes, secret. You are not the girls I should
confide in ordinarily; but this trouble lias sob
ered you.”
When they were quiet again and ready to
listen 1 told them my plans. They were sur
prised, of course, and wondered how 1 could
do anything toward finding out the real mur
derer of their sister-in-law; but seeing how re
solved I looked, changed their tone and avowed
with much feeling their perfect confidence In
me and In the success of anything 1 might un
dertake.
This was encouraging, and ignoring their
momentary distrust, 1 proceeded to say:
“But for me to be successful in this matter,
no one must know my interest in it. You must
pay me no visits, give me no confidences, nor,
if you can help it mention my name before
anyone, not even before your father and broth
er So much for precautionary measures, mv
dears, and now for tho active ones. I have
no curiosity, as I think you must see, but 1
shall have to ask you a few questions which un
der other circumstances would savor more or
less of impertinence. Had your sister-in-law
any special admirers among the other sex””
’Oh," protested Caroline, shrinking back,
while Isabella’s eyes grew round as a fright
ened child’s. “None that we ever heard of
She wasn’t that kind of a woman, was she.
Belle” It wasn't for any such reason papa
didn't like her.”
"No, no: that would have been too dreadful
It was her family we objected to. that's all.”
"Well, well,” 1 apologized, tapping their hands
reassuringly. “I only asked—let me now say—
from curiosity, though I have not a particle of
that quality, T assure you.”
'Did you think—did you have anv idea "
faltered Caroline, “that “
"Never mind.” 1 interrupted. You must le»
my words go in one ear and out of the other
after you have answered them. I w*sh”—here
I assumed a brisk air—“that I couiv. y through
\our parlors again before every trace of the
crime perpetrated there has been removed."
“Why, you can,” replied Isabella.
“There is no one In them now,” added Caro
line. “Franklin went out Just before we left.”
At which I blandly rose, and, following their
leadership, soon found myself once again in the
Van Bumam mansion.
My first glance upon re-entering the parlors
was naturally directed toward the spot where
the tragedy had taken place. The cabinet had
been replaced and the shelves set back upon it;
but the latter were empty, and neither on them
nor on the adjacent mantelpiece did I see the
clock. This set me thinking, and I made up
my mind to have another look at that clock.
By dint of Judicious questions I found that it
had been carried into the third room, where we
•oon found it lying on a shelf of the same closet
where the hat had been discovered by Mr.
Gryce. Franklin had put It there, fearing that
the sight of it might affect Howard, and, from
the fact that the hands stood as I had left
them, 1 gathered that neither he nor any of
the family had discovered that it was In run
ning condition.
Assured of this. I astonished them by request
ing to have it taken down and set up on the
table, which they had no sooner done than it
started to tick Just as it had dene under my
hand' a few nights before.
The girls, greatly startled, surveyed each
other wonderlngly.
“Why, It's going!” cried Caroline.
“Who could have W’ound ltl” marvelled Isa
bella.
“Hark!” I cried. The clock had begun to
strike It gave forth five clear notes.
“Well, It's a mystery!” Isabella exclaimed.
Then, seeing no astonishment In my face, she
added; “Did you know about this, Miss Butter
worth?”
“My dear girls,” I hastened to say, with all
the impressiveness characteristic of me in my
more serious moments, “I do not expect you to
ask for any information I do not volunteer
This Is hard, I know, but some day I w’ill be
perfectly frank witn you. Are you willing to
accept my aid on these terms?”
“Oh, yes,” they gasped.
“And now,” said I, “leave the clock where it
Is. and when your brother cornea home, show it
to him, and say that having the curiosity to ex
amine It. you w'ere surprised to find It going,
and that you had left it here for him to see. He
will be surprised also, and as a consequence
will question first you and then the police to
find out w'ho wound It. If they acknowledge
having done It, you must notify me at once, for
that is what I want to
know r . Do you under
stand. Caroline? And,
Isabella, do you feel
that you can go through
all this without drop
ping a word concerning
me and my interest in
•Mis matter?”
Of course, they an
swered yes, and, of
course, it was with so
much effusiveness that
I was obliged to remind
them that they must
keep a check on their
enthusiasm, and also to
suggest that they should
not come to my house
or send me any notes,
but simply a blank card,
signifying: “No one
knows who wound the
clock.”
Perceiving nothing
else In these rooms of a
suggestive character, I
led the way into the
hall. There I had a new
Idea.
“Which of you was
the first to go through
the rooms upstairs?” I
inquired.
“Roth of us,” answered Isabella “We came
together. Why do you ask, Miss Butterworth?”
“I was wondering If you found everything in
order there? w r as up in your front chamber
after water for a minute, but I didn’t touch
anything but the mug.”
"We missed the mug, but—O, Caroline, the
pincushion! Do you suppose Mites Butter
worth means the pincushion?”
I started. Did she refer to the one I had
picked up from the floor and placed on a side
table?
“What about the pincushion?” I asked.
Oh, nothing, but we did not know' what to
make of Its being on the table. You see we had
a little pincushion shaped like a tomato which
always hung at the side of our bureau. It was
tied to one of the brackets and was never taken
off; Caroline having a fancy for it because it
kept her favorite black pins out of the reach of
the neighbor’s children when they came here.
Well, this cushion, thi9 sacred cushion which
none of us dared touch, was found by us on a
little table by the door, with the ribbon hanging
from it by which it had been tied to the bureau.
Someone had pulled It off. and very goughly,
too, for the rlbobn was all ragged and torn.
But there is nothing in a little thing like that
to interest you, is there, Miss Butterworth?”
"No,” said 1, not relating my part in the af
fair; “not if our neighbor’s children were the
marauders.”
“But none of them came in for days before
we left.”
“Are there pins in the cushion?”
"When we found It, do you mean? No.”
I did not remember •eeing any, but one can
not always trust to one’s memory.
“But you had left pine In it?”
“Possibly, I don’t remember. WTiy ekenld I
remember such a thing as that?”
“Have you anywhere about you a pin like
those you keep on that cushion?” I inquired
of Caroline.
"I may have upstairs,” she replied.
“Then get me one." But before she could
start, 1 pulled her back. “Did either of you
sleep In that room last night?”
"No; we were going to,” answered Isabella,
“but afterward Caroline took a freak to sleep
in one of s the rooms on the third floor.”
“Then I should like a peep at the one over
head.”
They looked at me wistfully as they turned to
mount the stairs, but 1 did not enlighten them
further. What would an idea be worth shared
by them!
Their father undoubtedly lay in the back
room, for they moved very softly around the
head of the stairs, but once in froat they let
their tongues run loose again I, who cared
nothing for their babble when it contained no
information, walked slowly about the room and
finally stopped before the bed.
It had a fresh look, and I at once asked them
if It had been lately made up. They assured
me that It had not, saying that they always
kept their beds spread during their absence, as
they did so hate to enter a room disfigured by
bare mattresses.
I could have read them a lecture on the nice
ties? of housekeeping, but I refrained; Instead
of that I pointed to a little dent in the smooth
surface of the bed nearest the door.
“Did either of you tw*o make that?” I asked.
They shook their heads in amazement.
“What is there in that?” began Caroline: but
1 motioned her to bring me the little cushion,
which she no sooner did than T laid it in the
dent, which it fitted to a nicety.
“Mr. Gryce is old,” said I; and lifting the
cushion. 1 placed it on a perfectly smooth por
tion of the bed. “Now. take it up.” said 1. when
lo! a second dent similar to the first.
"You see where that cushion has laid before
being placed on the table?" I remark**, and
reminding Caroline of tho pin I wanted. I took
my leave and returned to my own house, leav
ing behind me two girls as much filled with
astonishment as the giddiness of their pates
would allow.
CHAPTER XV.
A Decided Step Forward.
1 FELT that I had made an advance. It was
& small one, no doubt, but It was an ad
vance. It would not do to reuf there, how
ever, or to draw definite conclusions from what
I had seen without further facts to guide me
Mrs. Boppert could supply these facts, or so I
believed. Accordingly, I decided to visit Mrs
Boppert.
Not knowing whether Mr. Gryce had thought
It best to put a watch over my movements; but
taking It for granted that It would be like him
to do so, I made a couple of formal calls on the
avenue before I started eastward. I had learned
Mr*. Boppert’s address before leaving home,
but I did not ride directly to the tenement
w’here she lived. I chose, instead, to get out at
a little fancy store I saw In the neighborhood.
“Do you know a Mrs. Boppert who lives at
No. 803?” I asked.
The woman’s look was too quick and suspi
cious for denial, but she was about to attempt
it, when I cut her short by saying:
“I wish to see Mrs Boppert very much, but
not In her own rooms. I will pay anyone who
will assist me to five minutes’ Conversation
with her in such a place, say, as that I see be
hind the glass door at the end of this very
shop.”
The woman, startled by so unexpected a
proposition, drew back a step and was about to
shake her head, when I laid on the counter be
fore her (shall I say how much? Yes, for it
was not thrown away) a flve-dollar bill, which
she no sooner saw than she gave a gasp of de
light.
“Will you give me that?" she cried.
For answer I pushed it toward her, but before
her fingers could clutch it, I resolutely said:
“Mrs. Boppert must not know there is any
body waiting here to see her, or she will not
come I have no ill-will toward her, and mean
her only good, but she’s a timid sort of person,
and ”
“I know she’s timid,” broke In the good wom
an. eagerly. “And she’s had enough to make
her so! What with a policeman drumming her
up at night and innocent-looking girls and boys
luring her Into corners to tell them what she
saw in that grand house where the murder
took place, she’s grown that feared of her shad
ow you can hardly get her out after sundown.
Rut I think I can get her here; and if you mean
her no harm, why, ma’am ” Her fingers
were on the bill, and, charmed with , the feel
of It, forgot to finish her sentence.
“Is there anyone In the room back there?” I
asked, anxious to recall her to herself.
“No. ma’am, no one at all. I am a poor wid-
der. and not used to such company as you; but
if you will sit down I will make myself look
more fit and have Mrs. Boppert over here in a
minute.” And, calling to someone of the name
of Susie to look after the shop, she led the way
toward the glass door I have mentioned.
She returned with a flower-bedecked cap on
her smooth gray head, that transformed her
into a figure at once so complacent and so ridic
ulous that, had my nerves not been made of
Iron, I should certainly have betrayed my
amusement. I gave the woman her instructions
about Mrs. Boppert:
“Let her walk straight In, and she will be in
the middle of the room before she sees me.
That will suit her and me, too; for after she
has once seen me, she won’t be frightened. But
you are not .to listen a t the door.”
This I said with great
severity, for I saw the
woman was becoming
very curious, and, hav
ing said 1t, I waved her
peremptorily away.
She didn’t like It, but
a thought of the $5
comforted her. Casting
one final look at the ta
ble, which was far from
uninvitlngly set, she
slipped out. and I was
left to contemplate the
dozen or so phpto-
graphs that covered the
walls. I found them so
atrocious and their ar
rangement so distract
ing to my bump of or
der, which is of a pro
nounced character, that
I finally shut my eyes
on the whole scene, and
in this attitude began
to piece my thoughts
together. But before I
had proceeded far, steps
were heard in the shop,
and the next moment
the door flew open and
in popped Mrs.' Bop
pert, with a face like a
peony in full blossom.
She stopped when she
saw me and stared.
“Why, If it isn't the
lady ”
“Hush! Shut the door.
I have something very
particular to say to
you.”
“Oh,” she began, looking as If she wanted to
back out. But I was too quick for her. I shut
the door myself, and, taking her by the arm,
seated her in the comer.
“You don’t show much gratitude,” I remarked.
I do not know what she had to be grateful to
me for, but she had so plainly intimated at our
first Interview that she regarded me as having
done her some favor that I wae disposed to
make what use of It I could, to gain her confi
dence.
“I know, ma’am, but if you could see how Tve
been harried, ma’am. It’s the murder, and
nothing but the murder all the time; and it was
to get away from the talk about It that I came
here, ma’am, and now it’s you I see, and you’ll
be talking about it, too, or why be in such a
place as this, ma’am?”
“And what if I do talk about it? You know
I’m your friend, or I never would have done
you that good turn the morning we came upon
the poor girl’s body.”
"I know, ma’am, and grateful I am for it,
too; but I’ve never understood it, ma’am. Was
it to save me from being blamed by the wicked
police, or was it a dream you had, and the
gentleman had, for I’ve heard what he said at
the inquest, and it’s muddled my head till I
don’t know’ where I’m standing.”
“Never mind what caused us to speak as we
did, as long as we helped you. And w r e did
help you. The police never found out what you
had to do with this woman’s death, did they?”
“No,, ma’am; Oh no. ma’am. When such a
respectable lady as you said that you saw’ the
young lady come into the house in the middle
of the night, how was they to disbelieve it?
They never asked me if I knew’ any different.”
“No.” I said, almost struck dumb by my suc
cess. but letting no hint of my complacency es
cape me. “And I did not mean they should.
You are a decent woman, Mrs. Boppert. and
should not be troubled.”
“Thank you. ma'am. But how did you know
she had come to the house before I left? Did
you see her”
“No," said I. “T didn’t see her. but I don’t
always have to use my eyes to know’ w'hat is
going on in my neighbor’s houses.”
“The dead lady must have pulled those things
over herself, don’t you think so, ma’am? No
one went in there to murder her. But how
came she to have those clothes on° She was
dressed quite different when I let her In. I say
it’s all a muddle, ma’am, and it will be a smart
man as can explain it.”
“Or a smart woman.” I thought.
“Did I go wrong, ma'am? That’s what plagues
me. She begged so hard to come in, I didn’t
know how to shut the door on her. Besides her
name was Van Bumam, or she told me.”
Here was a clew. Subduing my surprise, I
remarked:
“If she asked you to let her in, I do not see
how you could refuse her. Was it in the morn
ing or late In the afternoon she came?”
“Don’t you know’, ma’am 9 I thought you
knew all about it from the way you talked.”
"Nobodv knows more about It than I do. But
I do not know’ Just the hour at which this lady
came to the house. But I do not ask you to tell
me if you do not want to.”
“Oh, ma’am,” she humbly remonstrated, “I
am sure 1 am willing to tell you everything.
It was in tho afternoon while I was doing the
front baaement floor.”
“And she came to the front basement door?”
"Yes, ma'am.”
“And asked to be let In?”
‘"Yes, ma'am.”
“Young Mrs. Van Bumam?”
“Yea ma’am.”
“Dressed In a black and whit© plaid silk,
and wearing a hht covered with flowers?”
“Yes, ma’am, or something like that. I know
it waa very bright and becoming.”
“And why did she come to the baaement door
—a lady dressed like that?”
“Because *he knew I couldn't open the front
door; that I hadn't the key. Oh, she talked
beautiful, md’am, and wasn’t proud with me a
bit. She made me let her stay In the house,
and when I said it would be dark after a while
and that I hadn't done nothing to the rooms up
stairs, she laughed and said she didn’t care,
that she wasn’t afraid of the dark and had Just
as lieve as not stay in the big house alone all
night, for she had a book—Did you aay any
thing. ma’am?”
“No, no, go on, she had a hook.”
“Which she couldn’t read till she got sleepy.
I never thought anything would happen to her.”
“Of course, not, w'hv should you? And so
you let her Into the house and left her there
when you went out of it? Well, I don’t wonder
you were shocked to see her lying dead on the
floor the next morning.”
“Awful, ma’am. I was afraid they would
blame me for what happened. But I didn’t do
nothing to make her die. I only let her staj’ in
the house. Do you think they will do anything
to me if they know it?”
“No,” said I, trying to understand this wom
an's ignorant fears, “they don’t punish such
things. More’s the pity!”—this in confidence to
myself. “How would you know a piece of furni
ture would fall on her before morning. Did
you lock her In when you left the house?”
“Yes, ma’am, she told me to.”
“What reason did she give for wanting to stay
in the house all night?”
“Something about her having to be there when
Mr. Van Burnam came home. L didn’t make it
out, and I didn’t try to. I was too busy wonder
ing what she would have to eat.”
“And what did she have?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. She said she had
something, but I didn’t, see it.”
“Perhaps you were blinded by the money she
gave you. She gave you some, of course?”
“Oh. not much, ma’am, not much. And I
wouldn’t have taken a cent if it had not seemed
to make her so happy to give it. The pretty,
pretty thing! A real lady, whatever they say
about her!”
“And happy? You said she was happy, cheer
ful-looking and pretty.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am; she didn’t know what waa
going to happen. I even heard her sing after
she went upstairs.”
You see where that cushion has laid before,” I remarked.
“Then she went upstairs before you left?”
“To be sure, ma’am; what would she do In
the kitchen?”
"And you didn’t see her again?’’
“No, ma’am, but I heard her walking around.”
“In the pad’lors, you mean?”
"Yes, ma’am, In the parlors.”
“You did not go up yourself?"
"No, ma’am, I had enough to do below."
“Didn’t you go up when you went away?”
“No, ma’am; I didn’t like to."
"When did you go?"
"At 5, ma’am; I always go at 6."
"How did you know It was 6?”
"The kitchen clock told me; I wound It,
ma’am, and set It when the whistles blew at 12.”
"Was it the only clock you wound?”
“Only clock? Do you think I’d be going around
the house winding any others?"
But I had been struck by a thought which
made me for the moment oblivious to her ques
tion. She had wound the clock in the kitchen
for her own uses, and why mav not the lady
above have wound the one in ‘the parlor for
hers? Filled with this startling Idea, I re
marked:
"The young lady wore a watch, of course?”
But the suggestion passed unheeded. Mrs.
Boppert was as much absorbed in her own
thoughts as I was.
"Did young Mrs. Van Burnam wear a watch"”
I persisted.
"Oh, ma’am, I beg your pardon. I was won
dering if you meant the parlor clock."
"Of course, I mean the parlor clock Did vou
wind It?”
"Oh, no, no, no, I would as soon think of
touching gold or silver. But the young lady did
I’m sure, ma’am, for I heard it strike when she
was setting it. She might have been lonely, you
know, ma'am: and the ticking of a clock Is such
company."
"Yes," I answered, with more than my accus
tomed vivacity, for she jumped as If I had
■truck her. “You have hit the nail on the head
Mrs. Boppert, and are a much smarter woman
than I thought. But when did she wind the
clock?”
“At 5 o’clock, ma’am; just before I left the
house.”
“Oh, did she know you were going?”
"I think so, ma'am, for I called up. just before
I put on my bonnet, that it was 3 o’clock and
that I was going.”
"Oh. you did.’ And did she answer back""
"Yes. ma’am I heard her step in the hall
and then her voW. She asked if I was sure It
was 5, and I told her yes, because I had set the
kitchen clock at 12. She didn’t say any more,
but Just after that I heard the parlor clock be
gin to strike.
"But you won't say anything about It, will
you, ma'am? They might make me pay for all
the things that w’ere broke.”
"It Isn’t worth while for you to bother your
head about 1t,” I expostulated. "It Is enough
that my head aches over It."
I don’t suppose she understood me or tried tw
Her wits had been sorely tried and my rather
severe questioning had not tended to dear them.
At all events, she went on in another moment
as if I had not spoken:
"But what became of her pretty dress? 1
was never so astonished In my life as when 1
saw that dark skirt on her.”
"She might have left her fine gown upstairs,"
I ventured, not wishing to go into the niceties
of evidence with this woman.
"So she might, so she might, and that may
have been her petticoat we saw,” But in
another moment she saw the Impossibility of
this, for she added: "But I saw' her petticoat,
and It was a brown silk one. She showed it
when she lifted her skirt to get sit her purse I
don’t understand It, ma’am.”
As her face by this time was almost purple, I
thought It a mercy to close the Interview; so I
uttered some few words of a soothing and en
couraging nature, and then seeing that some
thing more tangible was necessary to restore
her to any proper condition of spirits, I took
out my pocketbook and bestowed on her some
of my loose silver.
This was something she could understand.
She brightened Immediately, and before she was
well through her expressions of delight, I had
quitted the room and In a few minutes later, the
■hop.
6HAPTER XIV.
Miss Butterworth?s Theory.
I was so excited when I entered my c&ttlags
that I rod© all th© way home with my bonnet
askew. I was thinking. A th©orr that had
faintly suggested Itself to m© at th© inquest wa«
taking on body with these later development*.
Two hats had been found on th* »cen© of th#
tragedy, and two pairs of glovea, and now I
had learned that there had been two women
there, the one whom Mrs. Boppert had locked
into the house on leaving it, and the one whom
I had seen enter at midnight with Mr. Van Bur-
nam. Which of the two had perished? We had
been led to think—and Mr. Van Burnam had
himself acknowledged—that It wae his wife;
but his wife had been dressed quite differently
from the murdered woman and was, as I soon
began to *»ee, much more likely to have been the
assassin than the victim. Would you like to
know my reasons for this extraordinary state
ment? If »o, they are these:
I had always seen a woman's hand In tW#
work, but having no reason to believe in th#
presence of another woman on the see© of
crime than the victim, I had put this suspicion
aside as untenable. But now that I had found
the second woman, I returned to It
But how connect her with the murder? It
seemed easy enough to do so If this other wom
an was her rival. We have heard of no rival,
but she may have known of one, and this knowl
edge may have been at the bottom of her dis
agreement with her husband and the half-crazy
determination she evinced to win his family
over to her side. Let us say, then, that the sec
ond woman was Mrs. Van Bumam’s rival. That
he brought her there not knowing that his wlf#
had effected an entrance Into the house, brought
her there after an afternoon spent at the Hotel
D , during which he had furnished her w1h v *
a new outfit of less pronounced type, pernaps.
than that she had previously worn. The use of
th© two carriages and the care they took to
throw suspicion ofP their track may have been
part of a scheme of future elopement, for I had
no idea they meant to remain In Mr. Van Bur-
nam’s house. For what purpose, then, did they
go there? To meet Mrs. Van Bumam and kiil
her, that their way might be clearer for flight?
No; I had rather think that they went to the
house without a thought of whom they would
encounter, and that only after they had entered
the parlors did he realize that the two women
whom he least wished to see together had been
brought by his folly face to face.
The presence in the third room of Mrs. Van
Burnam’s hat, gloves and novel seemed to argue
that she had spent the evening in reading by
the dining room table, but whether this was so
or not, the stopping of a carriage in front and
the opening of the door by an accustomed hand
undoubtedly assured her that either the old
gentleman or some other member of the family
had unexpectedly arrived. She was, therefore,
In or near the parlor door when they entered,
and the shock of meeting her hated rival In
company with her husband, under the very roof
where she had hoped to lay foundations of her
future happiness, must have been great, if not
maddening. Accusations, recriminations even,
did not satisfy her. She wanted to kill; but
she had no weapon. Suddenly her eyes fell on
the hat pin which her more self-possessed rival
had drawn from her hat, possibly before their
encounter, and she conceived a plan which
seemed to promise heT th© very revenge #h#
sought. How she carried 1t out; by what meens
she was enabled to approach her victim and In
flict with such certainty the fatal stab which
laid her enemy at her feet, can be left to the
imagination. But that she, a woman, and not
Howard, a man, drove this woman’s weapon
into the stranger's spine I will yet prove, or lose
all faith In my own intuition*.
But if this theory is true, how about the
shelves that fell at daybreak and how about
her escape from the house without detection?
A little thought will explain all that. The man,
horrified, no doubt, at the result of his Impu
dence, and execrating the crime to which It had
led, left the house almost immediately. But the
woman remained there, possibly booanse she
had fatnted. possibly because he weuld have
nothing to do with her; and coming to betMelf,
saw her victim’s face staring up at her with an
accusing beauty she found It lmpoeslble to
meet. What should she do to escape It? Where
should she go? She hated It so she could have
trampled on It. but she restrained her passions
till dnybreak, when In one wild burst of fury
a*nd hatred she drew ddwn the cabinet upon it.,
and then fled the scene of horror she had her
self caused. This was at 5, or, to be exact,
three minutes before that hour, as styown by th#
clock she had carelessly set In her lighter
mom(4it9.
She escaped by the front door, which her hus
band had mercifully forborne to lock; and she
had not befcn discovered by the police, because
her appearance did not taily with the descrip
tion which had been given th^m. How did I
know this? Remember the discoveries I had
made in Miss Van Burnam’s room, and allow
them to assist you in understanding my con
clusions.
Someone had gone Into that room; someone
who wanted pins, and keeping this fact before
my eyes, I saw through the motive and actions
of the escaping woman. Sfhe had on a dress
separated at the waist, and. finding, perhaps, a
spot of blood on the skirt, she conceived the
plan of covering it -with her petticoat, which
was also of silk and undoubtedly as well made
as many women’s dresses. But the skirt of the
gown was longer than the petticoat and she was
obliged to pin It up. Having no pins herself,
and finding none on the parlor floor, she went
upstairs to get some. The door at the head of
the stairs was locked, but the front room was
open, so she entered there. Groping her way to
the bureau, for the place was very dark, she
found a pincushion hanging from a bracket.
Feeling it to he full of pins, and knowing that
she could see nothing where she was, ehe tore
It away and carried It toward th© door. Here
there, was some light from the skylight over
the stairs, po setting the cushion down on the
bed she pinned up the skirt of her gown.
(To Be Continued Next Sunday.)
1
i l >
! | I
!
Copyright, 189?. by Anna K. Rohlfs,
Publishers. G. P. Putnam’s Sons,
N«w York and London.