VIII.
THE MISSES VAN BURNAM.
Late as it was when I retired, I was up betimes in the morning--as soon,in fact, as the papers were distributed. The _Tribune_ lay on the stoop.Eagerly I seized it; eagerly I read it. From its headlines you may judgewhat it had to say about this murder:
A STARTLING DISCOVERY IN THE VAN BURNAM MANSION IN GRAMERCY PARK.
A YOUNG GIRL FOUND THERE, LYING DEAD UNDER AN OVERTURNED CABINET.
EVIDENCES THAT SHE WAS MURDERED BEFORE IT WAS PULLED DOWN UPON HER.
THOUGHT BY SOME TO BE MRS. HOWARD VAN BURNAM.
A FEARFUL CRIME INVOLVED IN AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY.
WHAT MR. VAN BURNAM SAYS ABOUT IT: HE DOES NOT RECOGNIZE THE WOMAN AS HIS WIFE.
So, so, it was his wife they were talking about. I had not expectedthat. Well! well! no wonder the girls looked startled and concerned. AndI paused to recall what I had heard about Howard Van Burnam's marriage.
It had not been a fortunate one. His chosen bride was pretty enough, butshe had not been bred in the ways of fashionable society, and the othermembers of the family had never recognized her. The father, especially,had cut his son dead since his marriage, and had even gone so far as tothreaten to dissolve the partnership in which they were all involved.Worse than this, there had been rumors of a disagreement between Howardand his wife. They were not always on good terms, and opinions differedas to which was most in fault. So much for what I knew of these twomentioned parties.
Reading the article at length, I learned that Mrs. Van Burnam wasmissing; that she had left Haddam for New York the day before herhusband, and had not since been heard from. Howard was confident,however, that the publicity given to her disappearance by the paperswould bring immediate news of her.
The effect of the whole article was to raise grave doubts as to thecandor of Mr. Van Burnam's assertions, and I am told that in some of theless scrupulous papers these doubts were not only expressed, but actualsurmises ventured upon as to the identity between the person whom I hadseen enter the house with the young girl. As for my own name, it wasblazoned forth in anything but a gratifying manner. I was spoken of inone paper--a kind friend told me this--as the prying Miss Amelia. As ifmy prying had not given the police their only clue to the identificationof the criminal.
The New York _World_ was the only paper that treated me with anyconsideration. That young man with the small head and beady eyes was notawed by me for nothing. He mentioned me as the clever Miss Butterworthwhose testimony is likely to be of so much value in this veryinteresting case.
It was the _World_ I handed the Misses Van Burnam when they camedown-stairs to breakfast. It did justice to me and not too muchinjustice to him. They read it together, their two heads plunged deeplyinto the paper so that I could not watch their faces. But I could seethe sheet shake, and I noticed that their social veneer was not as yetlaid on so thickly that they could hide their real terror and heart-achewhen they finally confronted me again.
"Did you read--have you seen this horrible account?" quavered Caroline,as she met my eye.
"Yes, and I now understand why you felt such anxiety yesterday. Did youknow your sister-in-law, and do you think she could have been beguiledinto your father's house in that way?"
It was Isabella who answered.
"We never have seen her and know little of her, but there is no tellingwhat such an uncultivated person as she might do. But that our goodbrother Howard ever went in there with her is a lie, isn't it,Caroline?--a base and malicious lie?"
"Of course it is, of course, of course. You don't think the man you sawwas Howard, do you, dear Miss Butterworth?"
_Dear?_ O dear!
"I am not acquainted with your brother," I returned. "I have never seenhim but a few times in my life. You know he has not been a very frequentvisitor at your father's house lately."
They looked at me wistfully, _so_ wistfully.
"Say it was not Howard," whispered Caroline, stealing up a little nearerto my side.
"And we will never forget it," murmured Isabella, in what I am obligedto say was not her society manner.
"I hope to be able to say it," was my short rejoinder, made difficult bythe prejudices I had formed. "When I see your brother, I may be able todecide at a glance that the person I saw entering your house was nothe."
"Yes, oh, yes. Do you hear that, Isabella? Miss Butterworth will saveHoward yet. O you dear old soul. I could almost love you!"
This was not agreeable to me. I a dear old soul! A term to be applied toa butter-woman not to a Butterworth. I drew back and theirsentimentalities came to an end. I hope their brother Howard is not theguilty man the papers make him out to be, but if he is, the Misses VanBurnam's fine phrase, _We could almost love you_, will not deter me frombeing honest in the matter.
Mr. Gryce called early, and I was glad to be able to tell him that thegentleman who visited him the night before did not recall the impressionmade upon me by the other. He received the communication quietly, andfrom his manner I judged that it was more or less expected. But who canbe a correct judge of a detective's manner, especially one so foxy andimperturbable as this one? I longed to ask who his visitor was, but Idid not dare, or rather--to be candid in little things that you maybelieve me in great--I was confident he would not tell me, so I wouldnot compromise my dignity by a useless question.
He went after a five minutes' stay, and I was about to turn my attentionto household affairs, when Franklin came in.
His sisters jumped like puppets to meet him.
"O," they cried, for once thinking and speaking alike, "have you foundher?"
His silence was so eloquent that he did not need to shake his head.
"But you will before the day is out?" protested Caroline.
"It is too early yet," added Isabella.
"I never thought I would be glad to see that woman under anycircumstances," continued the former, "but I believe now that if I sawher coming up the street on Howard's arm, I should be happy enough torush out and--and----"
"Give her a hug," finished the more impetuous Isabella.
It was not what Caroline meant to say, but she accepted the emendation,with just the slightest air of deprecation. They were both evidentlymuch attached to Howard, and ready in his trouble to forget and forgiveeverything. I began to like them again.
"Have you read the horrid papers?" and "How is papa this morning?" and"What shall we do to save Howard?" now flew in rapid questions fromtheir lips; and feeling that it was but natural they should have theirlittle say, I sat down in my most uncomfortable chair and waited forthese first ebullitions to exhaust themselves.
Instantly Mr. Van Burnam took them by the arm, and led them away to adistant sofa.
"Are you happy here?" he asked, in what he meant for a very confidentialtone. But I can hear as readily as a deaf person anything which is notmeant for my ears.
"O she's kind enough," whispered Caroline, "but so stingy. Do take uswhere we can get something to eat."
"She puts all her money into china! Such plates!--_and so little onthem!_"
At these expressions, uttered with all the emphasis a whisper willallow, I just hugged myself in my quiet corner. The dear, giddy things!But they should see, they should see.
"I fear"--it was Mr. Van Burnam who now spoke--"I shall have to take mysisters from under your kind care to-day. Their father needs them, andhas, I believe, already engaged rooms for them at the Plaza."
"I am sorry," I replied, "but surely they will not leave till they havehad another meal with me. Postpone your departure, young ladies, tillafter luncheon, and you will greatly oblige me. We may never meet soagreeably again."
They fidgeted (which I had expected), and cast secret looks of almostcomic appeal at their brother, but he pretended not to see them, beingdisposed for some reason to grant my request. Taking advantage of themomentary hesitation that ensued, I made them all three my mostconciliatory bow, and said as I retr
eated behind the portiere:
"I shall give my orders for luncheon now. Meanwhile, I hope the youngladies will feel perfectly free in my house. All that I have is at theircommand." And was gone before they could protest.
When I next saw them, they were upstairs in my front room. They wereseated together in the window and looked miserable enough to have alittle diversion. Going to my closet, I brought out a band-box. Itcontained my best bonnet.
"Young ladies, what do you think of this?" I inquired, taking the bonnetout and carefully placing it on my head.
I myself consider it a very becoming article of headgear, but theireyebrows went up in a scarcely complimentary fashion.
"You don't like it?" I remarked. "Well, I think a great deal of younggirls' taste; I shall send it back to Madame More's to-morrow."
"I don't think much of Madame More," observed Isabella, "and afterParis----"
"Do you like La Mole better?" I inquired, bobbing my head to and frobefore the mirror, the better to conceal my interest in the venture Iwas making.
"I don't like any of them but D'Aubigny," returned Isabella. "Shecharges twice what La Mole does----"
Twice! What are these girls' purses made of, or rather their father's!
"But she has the _chic_ we are accustomed to see in French millinery. Ishall _never_ go anywhere else."
"We were recommended to her in Paris," put in Caroline, more languidly.Her interest was only half engaged by this frivolous topic.
"But did you never have one of La Mole's hats?" I pursued, taking downa hand-mirror, ostensibly to get the effect of my bonnet in the back,but really to hide my interest in their unconscious faces.
"Never!" retorted Isabella. "I would not patronize the thing."
"Nor you?" I urged, carelessly, turning towards Caroline.
"No; I have never been inside her shop."
"Then whose is----" I began and stopped. A detective doing the work Iwas, would not give away the object of his questions so recklessly.
"Then who is," I corrected, "the best person after D'Aubigny? I nevercan pay _her_ prices. I should think it wicked."
"O don't ask us," protested Isabella. "We have never made a study of thebest bonnet-maker. At present we wear hats."
And having thus thrown their youth in my face, they turned away to thewindow again, not realizing that the middle-aged lady they regarded withsuch disdain had just succeeded in making them dance to her music mostsuccessfully.
The luncheon I ordered was elaborate, for I was determined that theMisses Van Burnam should see that I knew how to serve a fine meal, andthat my plates were not always better than my viands.
I had invited in a couple of other guests so that I should not seem tohave put myself out for two young girls, and as they were quiet peoplelike myself, the meal passed most decorously. When it was finished, theMisses Caroline and Isabella had lost some of their consequential airs,and I really think the deference they have since showed me is due moreto the surprise they felt at the perfection of this dainty luncheon,than to any considerate appreciation of my character and abilities.
They left at three o'clock, still without news of Mrs. Van Burnam; andbeing positive by this time that the shadows were thickening about thisfamily, I saw them depart with some regret and a positive feeling ofcommiseration. Had they been reared to a proper reverence for theirelders, how much more easy it would have been to see earnestness inCaroline and affectionate impulses in Isabella.
The evening papers added but little to my knowledge. Great disclosureswere promised, but no hint given of their nature. The body at the Morguehad not been identified by any of the hundreds who had viewed it, andHoward still refused to acknowledge it as that of his wife. The morrowwas awaited with anxiety.
So much for the public press!
At twelve o'clock at night, I was again seated in my window. The housenext door had been lighted since ten, and I was in momentary expectationof its nocturnal visitor. He came promptly at the hour set, alightedfrom the carriage with a bound, shut the carriage-door with a slam, andcrossed the pavement with cheerful celerity. His figure was not sopositively like, nor yet so positively unlike, that of the supposedmurderer that I could definitely say, "This is he," or, "This is nothe," and I went to bed puzzled, and not a little burdened by a sense ofthe responsibility imposed upon me in this matter.
And so passed the day between the murder and the inquest.