CHAPTER IX.
HIGH AND LOW.
At the foot of the stairs, Mr. Gryce excused himself, and calling in twoor three men whom he had left outside, had the valet removed beforetaking Miss Butterworth back into the study. When all was quiet again,and they found an opportunity to speak, Mr. Gryce remarked:
"One very important thing has been settled by the experiment we havejust made. Bartow is acquitted of participation in this crime."
"Then we can give our full attention to the young people. You have heardnothing from them, I suppose?"
"No."
"Nor from the old man who laughed?"
"No."
Miss Butterworth looked disappointed.
"I thought--it seemed very probable--that the scrap of writing you foundwould inform you who these were. If it was important enough for thedying man to try to swallow it, it certainly should give some clew tohis assailant."
"Unfortunately, it does not do so. It was a veritable scrawl, madam,running something like this: 'I return your daughter to you. She ishere. Neither she nor you will ever see me again. Remember Evelyn!' Andsigned, 'Amos's son.'"
"Amos's son! That is Mr. Adams himself."
"So we have every reason to believe."
"Strange! Unaccountable! And the paper inscribed with these words wasfound clinched between his teeth! Was the handwriting recognized?"
"Yes, as his own, if we can judge from the specimens we have seen of hissignature on the fly-leaves of his books."
"Well, mysteries deepen. And the retaining of this paper was soimportant to him that even in his death throe he thrust it in thisstrangest of all hiding-places, as being the only one that could beconsidered safe from search. And the girl! Her first words on coming toherself were: 'You have left that line of writing behind.' Mr. Gryce,those words, few and inexplicable as they are, contain the key to thewhole situation. Will you repeat them again, if you please, sentence bysentence?"
"With pleasure, madam; I have said them often enough to myself. First,then: 'I return your daughter to you!'"
"So! Mr. Adams had some one's daughter in charge whom he returns. Whosedaughter? Not that young man's daughter, certainly, for that wouldnecessitate her being a small child. Besides, if these words had beenmeant for his assailant, why make so remarkable an effort to hide themfrom him?"
"Very true! I have said the same thing to myself."
"Yet, if not for him, for whom, then? For the old gentleman who came inlater?"
"It is possible; since hearing of him I have allowed myself to regardthis as among the possibilities, especially as the next words of thisstrange communication are: 'She is here.' Now the only woman who wasthere a few minutes previous to this old gentleman's visit was thelight-haired girl whom you saw carried out."
"Very true; but why do you reason as if this paper had just beenwritten? It might have been an old scrap, referring to past sorrows orsecrets."
"These words were written that afternoon. The paper on which they werescrawled was torn from a sheet of letter paper lying on the desk, andthe pen with which they were inscribed--you must have noticed where itlay, quite out of its natural place on the extreme edge of the table."
"Certainly, sir; but I had little idea of the significance we might cometo attach to it. These words are connected, then, with the girl I saw.And she is not Evelyn or he would not have repeated in this note thebird's catch-word, 'Remember Evelyn!' I wonder if she is Evelyn?"proceeded Miss Butterworth, pointing to the one large picture whichadorned the wall.
"We may call her so for the nonce. So melancholy a face may well suggestsome painful family secret. But how explain the violent part played bythe young man, who is not mentioned in these abrupt and hastily pennedsentences! It is all a mystery, madam, a mystery which we are wastingtime to attempt to solve."
"Yet I hate to give it up without an effort. Those words, now. Therewere some other words you have not repeated to me."
"They came before that injunction, 'Remember Evelyn!' They bespoke aresolve. 'Neither she nor you will ever see me again.'"
"Ah! but these few words are very significant, Mr. Gryce. Could he havedealt that blow himself? May he have been a suicide after all?"
"Madam, you have the right to inquire; but from Bartow's pantomime, youmust have perceived it is not a self-inflicted blow he mimics, but amaddened thrust from an outraged hand. Let us keep to our firstconclusions; only--to be fair to every possibility--the condition of Mr.Adams's affairs and the absence of all family papers and such documentsas may usually be found in a wealthy man's desk prove that he had madesome preparation for possible death. It may have come sooner than heexpected and in another way, but it was a thought he had indulged in,and--madam, I have a confession to make also. I have not been quite fairto my most valued colleague. The study--that most remarkable ofrooms--contains a secret which has not been imparted to you; a verypeculiar one, madam, which was revealed to me in a rather startlingmanner. This room can be, or rather could be, cut off entirely from therest of the house; made a death-trap of, or rather a tomb, in which thisincomprehensible man may have intended to die. Look at this plate ofsteel. It is worked by a mechanism which forces it across this opendoorway. I was behind that plate of steel the other night, and theseholes had to be made to let me out."
"Ha! You detectives have your experiences! I should not have enjoyedspending that especial evening with you. But what an old-world tragedywe are unearthing here! I declare"--and the good lady actually rubbedher eyes--"I feel as if transported back to mediaeval days. Who says weare living in New York within sound of the cable car and the singing ofthe telegraph wire?"
"Some men are perfectly capable of bringing the mediaeval into WallStreet. I think Mr. Adams was one of those men. Romanticism tinged allhis acts, even the death he died. Nor did it cease with his death. Itfollowed him to the tomb. Witness the cross we found lying on hisbosom."
"That was the act of another's hand, the result of another'ssuperstition. That shows the presence of a priest or a woman at themoment he died."
"Yet," proceeded Mr. Gryce, with a somewhat wondering air, "he must havehad a grain of hard sense in his make-up. All his contrivances worked.He was a mechanical genius, as well as a lover of mystery."
"An odd combination. Strange that we do not feel his spirit infectingthe very air of this study. I could almost wish it did. We might then beled to grasp the key to this mystery."
"That," remarked Mr. Gryce, "can be done in only one way. You havealready pointed it out. We must trace the young couple who were presentat his death struggle. If they cannot be found the case is hopeless."
"And so," said she, "we come around to the point from which westarted--proof positive that we are lost in the woods." And MissButterworth rose. She felt that for the time being she, at least, hadcome to the end of her resources.
Mr. Gryce did not seek to detain her. Indeed, he appeared to be anxiousto leave the place himself. They, however, stopped long enough to castone final look around them. As they did so Miss Butterworth's fingerslowly rose.
"See!" said she, "you can hardly perceive from this side of the wall theopening made by the removal of that picture on the stair landing.Wouldn't you say that it was in the midst of those folds of dark-coloredtapestry up there?"
"Yes, I had already located that spot as the one. With the picture hungup on the other side, it would be quite invisible."
"One needs to keep one's eyes moving in a case like this. That picturemust have been drawn aside several times while we were in this room. Yetwe failed to notice it."
"That was from not looking high enough. High and low, Mr. Gryce! Whatgoes on at the level of the eye is apparent to every one."
The smile with which he acknowledged this parting shot and prepared toescort her to the door had less of irony than sadness in it. Was hebeginning to realize that years tell even on the most sagacious, andthat neither high places nor low would have escaped his attention adozen years before?