XIII
"WRITE ME HIS NAME"
Refreshed by a good night's rest and quite ready to take up his taskagain, Mr. Gryce sat at the same table in the early morning, awaiting theexpected message from Sweetwater. Meanwhile he studied, with a fullerattention than he had been able to give it the evening before, thememorandum which this young fellow had handed him of his day's work. Aportion of this may be interesting to the reader. Against the list ofpeople registered on his chart as present in the museum at the moment oftragedy, he had inscribed such details concerning them as he could gatherin the short time allotted him.
* * * * *
I--Ephraim Short. A sturdy New Englander visiting New York for the firsttime. Has a big story to take back. Don't care much for broken marblesand pictures so dingy you cannot tell what you are looking at; but thesight of a lot of folks standing up like scarecrows in a field, here andthere all over a great building, because something had happened tosomebody, will make a story the children will listen to for years.
Address taken, and account of himself verified by telegraph.
II--Mrs. Lynch. Widow, with a small house in Jersey and money to supportit. No children. Interested in church work. Honest and of reliablecharacter. Only fault a physical one--extreme nervousness.
III--Mr. Carleton Roberts, director; active in his work, member of theUnion League and an aspirant for the high office of U. S. Senator. Livesin bachelor apartment, 67 W. ---- Street. A universally respected man ofunquestioned integrity and decided importance. Close friend of CuratorJewett.
IV--Eben Clarke, door-man. Been long in the employ of museum. Consideredentirely trustworthy. Home in decent quarter of West 80th Street. Wifeand nine children, mostly grown. Never been abroad. Has no foreigncorrespondence.
V--Emma Sutton, an art enthusiast, gaining her living by copying oldmasters. Is at museum six days in the week. It was behind her easelTravis found a hiding-place in Room H.
VI--Mrs. Alice Lee, widowed sister of Edward Cronk Tailor, ---- SixthAve. Lives with brother. Kindly in disposition, much liked and truthfulto a fault. No acquaintance abroad.
VII-VIII--John and Mary Draper, husband and wife, living in East Orange,N. J. Decent, respectable folk with no foreign connections.
IX--Hetty Armstrong, young girl, none too bright but honest to the core.Impossible to connect her with this affair.
X--Charles Simpson, resident of Minneapolis. In town on business, stoppingat Hotel St. Denis. Eager to return home, but willing to remain ifrequested to do so. Hates foreigners; thinks the United States thegreatest country on earth.
XI--John Turnbull, college professor; one of the new type, alert,observant and extremely precise. Not apt to make a misstatement.
XII--James Hunter, door-man, a little old for his work, but straight asa string and methodical to a fault. No wife, no child. Bank account morethan sufficient for his small wants.
XIII--Miss Charlotte Hunsicker, one of last season's debutantes. Given totennis and all outdoor sports generally. Offhand but stanch. It was shewho gave a woman's care to Mrs. Taylor when the latter fainted in Room B.
XIV--Museum attendant coming up from basement.
XV--Eliza Blake a school-teacher, convalescing after a long illness.
XVI--Officer Rudd.
XVII--Tommy Evans, boy scout. Did not lose his game. Went to the fieldafter lunching on pie at a bakery.
XVIII--Mrs. Nathaniel Lord, wealthy widow, living at the St. Regis.
XIX--Mrs. Ermentrude Taylor. (Nothing to add to what is already known.)
XX--Henry Abbott, Columbia student, good-hearted and reliable, but livingin a world of his own to such an extent as to make him the butt of hisfellow students.
XXI-XXII--Young couple from Haverstraw. Just married. He a drug-clerk,she a farmer's daughter. Both regarded in their home town as harmless.
XXIII--James Correy, attendant. Bachelor, living with widowed mother.Fair record on the whole. Reprimanded once, not for negligence, but forsome foolish act unbecoming his position. Thorough acquaintance with themuseum and its exhibits. A valuable man, well liked, notwithstanding theone lapse alluded to. At home and among his friends regarded as the bestfellow going. A little free, perhaps, when unduly excited, but not givento drink and very fond of games. A member once of a club devoted tocontests with foils and target-shooting. Always champion. Visits acertain young lady three times a week.
XXIV--Curator Jewett. A widower with two grandchildren--a daughtermarried to an Englishman and living in Ringold, Hants, and a son, ownerof a large ranch in California. Lives, when in city, at Hotel Gorham.Known too well for any description of himself or character to benecessary here. If he has a fault, or rather a weakness, it is hisextreme pride in the museum and his own conduct of its many affairs.
As on the evening before, Mr. Gryce lingered longest over one name. Hewas still brooding anxiously over it when the telephone rang at hiselbow and he was called up from Headquarters. Cablegrams had beenreceived from London and Paris in acknowledgment of those sent, and inboth these cablegrams promises were made of a full examination into theantecedents of Madame Duclos and her companion, Miss Willetts.
That was all. No further news regarding them from any quarter. Mr. Grycehung up the receiver with a sigh.
"It is likely to be a long road full of unexpected turns and perilouslynear the precipice's edge," he muttered in weary comment to himself."Nothing to start from but----"
Here Sweetwater walked in.
Mr. Gryce showed surprise. He had not expected to see the young manhimself. Perhaps he was not quite ready to, for he seemed to shrink, forone brief instant, as from an unwelcome presence.
But the cheer which always entered with Sweetwater was contagious,and the old detective smiled as the newcomer approached, sayingsignificantly:
"I had those dreams you spoke of last night, Mr. Gryce, and found themtoo weighty for the telephone."
"I see, I see! Sit down, Sweetwater, and tell me how they ran. I haven'tas much confidence in my own dreams as I hope to have in yours. Speakup! Mention names, if you want to. No echo follows confidences uttered inthis room."
"I know that; but for the present perhaps it will be best for me tofollow your lead, and when I have to speak of a certain person, say X asyou do. X, Mr. Gryce, is the man who for reasons we do not yet understandbrought up the discarded bow from the cellar and stored it somewherewithin reach on the floor above. X is also the man who for the sameunknown reason robbed the quiver hanging in the southern gallery of oneof its arrows and kept the same on hand or in hiding, till he could mateit with the bow. My dreams showed me this picture:
"A man with a predominating interest in sport, but otherwise active inbusiness, correct in his dealings and respectable in private life, seesand frequently handles weapons of ancient and modern make which rouse hisinterest and awaken the longing, common to such men, to test his skill intheir use. Sometimes it is a sword, which he twirls vigorously in slycorners. Again, it is a bow calling for a yeoman's strength to pull. Heis a man of sense and for a long time goes no further than the play Ihave just indicated. Perhaps he has no temptation to go further until oneunfortunate day he comes upon an idle bow, rotting away in the cellar."
Here Mr. Gryce looked sharply up--a proof of awakened interest whichSweetwater did not heed. Possibly he was not expected to. At all eventshe continued rapidly:
"It was a fine, strong bow, a typical one from the plains. He took itup--examined it closely--noted a slight defect in it somewhere--and putit back. But he did not forget it. Before many days had passed, he goesdown cellar again and brings it up and stands it on end in--where do youthink, sir?--in the closet of the Curator's office!"
"How did you learn that?"
"From the woman who comes every day to wipe up the floors. I happened tothink she might have something worth while to tell us, so I hunted herup----"
"Go on, boy. Another long mark in your favor."
"Thank you, sir
. I'm relating a dream, you know. He stands it on end thenin this closet into which nobody is supposed to go but the Curator _and_the scrubwoman, and there he leaves it, possibly as yet with no definiteintention. How long it stood there I cannot say. It was well hidden, itseems, by something or other hanging over it. Nor am I altogether surethat it might not be standing there yet if the impulse swaying X had notbeen strengthened by seeing daily over his head a quiver full of arrowsadmirably fitted for this bow. Time has no place in dreams, or I might beable to state the day and the hour when he stood looking at the ring ofkeys lying on the Curator's desk, and struck with what it might do forhim, singled out one of the keys which he placed in the keyhole of a dooropening upon a certain little iron staircase. He was alone, but hestopped to listen before turning that key. I can see him, can't you? Hisair is a guilty one; but it is the guilt of folly, not of premeditatedcrime. He wants a try at that bow and recognizes his weakness and laughs.
"But his longing holds, and running up the little staircase to a seconddoor, he unlocks this also and after another moment of hesitation pullsit open. He has brought the bow with him, but he does not take it pastthe drapery hanging straight down before his eyes. He simply drops it inthe doorway and leaves it there within easy reach from the gallery ifever his impulse should be strong enough to lead him to make an attemptat striking a feather from the Indian headdress on the other side of thecourt. You think him mad. So do I, but dreams are filled with that kindof madness; and when I see him shut the door upon this bow, and stealback without relocking it or the one below, I have no other excuse thanthis to give in answer to your criticisms."
"I do not criticise; I listen, Sweetwater."
"You will criticise now. As Bunyan says in his 'Pilgrim's Progress': 'Idreamed again!' This time I saw the museum proper. It was filled withvisitors. The morning of May twenty-second was a busy one, I am told, anda whole lot of people, singly and in groups, were continually passing upand down the marble steps and along the two galleries. Partaking of thefeelings of the one whose odd impulses I am endeavoring to describe, Iwas very uneasy and very restless until these crowds had thinned and mostof the guests vanished from the building. The hands of the clock werestealing toward twelve--the hour of greatest quiet and fewest visitors.As it reached the quarter mark, I saw what I was looking for, the man Xreaching for one of those arrows hanging in the southern gallery, andslipping it inside his coat.--Did you speak, sir?"
No, Mr. Gryce had not spoken; and Sweetwater, after an interval ofuncertainty, went quietly on:
"As I saw both of his hands quite free the next minute, I judge thatsomething had been attached to the lining of that coat to hold the arrowby its feathered head. But this is a deduction rather than a fact."
He stopped abruptly. An exclamation--one of Mr. Gryce's very own--hadleft that gentleman's lips, and Sweetwater felt that he must pause ifonly for an instant, to enjoy his small triumph. But the delay was short.
"Go on," said Mr. Gryce; and Sweetwater obeyed, but in lowered tones asthough the vision he was describing was actually before his eyes.
"Next, I see a sweep of tapestry, and an eager, peering figure passingslowly across it. It is that of the love-lorn Travis watching hisinamorata tripping up the marble staircase and turning at its top in thedirection of the opposite gallery. His is a timid soul, and anxious as heis to watch her, he is not at all anxious to be detected in the act ofdoing so. So he slips behind the huge pedestal towering near him, thuscausing the whole gallery to appear empty to the eyes of X, now enteringit at the other end. This latter has come there with but one idea in hishead--to shoot an arrow across the court at the mark I have mentioned. Itmay have been on a dare--sometimes I think it was; but shoot it he meansto, before a fresh crowd collects.
"He already has, as you will remember, the arrow hidden somewhere abouthis person, and it is only a few steps to the edge of the tapestry behindwhich he has secreted the bow. If he takes a look opposite, it is at themoment when both Mrs. Taylor and Miss Willetts are screened from his viewby one of the partitions separating the various sections. For unless hefelt the way to be free for his arrow, he would never have proceeded toslip behind his chosen pedestal, secure the bow, pause to string it, thencrouch for his aim in such apparent confidence. For after he has left theopen gallery and limited his outlook to what is visible beyond theloophole through which he intends to shoot, he can see--as we know fromMr. La Fleche--little more than the spot where the cap hangs and the onenarrow line between. Unhappily, it was across this line the young girlleaped just as the arrow left the bow. Don't you see it, sir? I do; and Isee what follows, too."
"The escape of X?"
"Yes. Inadvertently, as you see, he has committed a horrible crime; hecan never recall it. Whatever his remorse or shame, nothing will everrestore the victim of his folly to life, while he himself has many daysbefore him--days which would be ruined if his part in this tragedy wereknown. Shall he confess to it, then, or shall he fly (the way is soeasy), and leave it to fate to play his game--fate, whose well-knownkindness to fools would surely favor him? It does not take long for suchthoughts to pass through a man's head, and before the dying cry of hisinnocent victim had ceased to echo through those galleries, he is behindthe tapestry and on his way toward the court. Beyond that, my dream doesnot go. How about yours, sir?"
"My dream was of a crime, not of an accident. No man could be such a foolas you have made out this X of yours to be. Only an extraordinary purposeor some imperious necessity could drive a man to shoot an arrow across anopen court where people were passing hither and yon, even if he didn'tsee anyone in the gallery."
"By which you mean----"
"That he had already marked the approach of his victim and was ready withhis weapon."
"You are undoubtedly right, and I only wish to say this: that the purposein my relation was merely to show the method and manner of this shooting,leaving _you_ to put on the emphasis of crime if you saw fit."
The gravity with which Mr. Gryce received this suggestion had the effectof slightly embarrassing Sweetwater. Yet he presently ventured to addafter a moment of respectful waiting:
"Did you know that after I woke from my dream I had a moment's doubt asto its accuracy on one point? The bow was undoubtedly flung behind thecurtain, but the man----"
He paused abruptly. A morsel of clean white paper had just been pushedacross the table under his eyes, and a peremptory voice was saying:
"Write me his name. I will do the same for you."