The Circular Study
A >> Anna Katharine Green >> The Circular Study"Can you describe him? Did you encounter him close enough for
recognition?"
"Yes, I think I would know him again. I can at least describe his
appearance. He wore a checked suit, very natty, and was more than
usually tall and fine-looking. But his chief peculiarity lay in his
expression. I never saw on any face, no, not on the stage, at the climax
of the most heart-rending tragedy, a greater accumulation of mortal
passion struggling with the imperative necessity for restraint. The
young girl whose blond head lay on his shoulder looked like a saint in
the clutch of a demon. She had seen death, but he--But I prefer not to
be the interpreter of that expressive countenance. It was lost to my
view almost immediately, and probably calmed itself in the face of the
throng he entered, or we would be hearing about him to-day. The girl
seemed to be devoid of almost all feeling. I should not remember her."
"And was that all? Did you just look at that recumbent man and vanish?
Didn't you encounter the butler? Haven't you some definite knowledge to
impart in his regard which will settle his innocence or fix his guilt?"
"I know no more about him than you do, sir, except that he was not in
the room by the time I reached it, and did not come into it during my
presence there. Yet it was his cry that led me to the spot; or do you
think it was that of the bird I afterward heard shouting and screaming
in the cage over the dead man's head?"
"It might have been the bird," admitted Mr. Gryce. "Its call is very
clear, and it seems strangely intelligent. What was it saying while you
stood there?"
"Something about Eva. 'Lovely Eva, maddening Eva! I love Eva! Eva!
Eva!'"
"Eva? Wasn't it 'Evelyn? Poor Evelyn?'"
"No, it was Eva. I thought he might mean the girl I had just seen
carried out. It was an unpleasant experience, hearing this bird shriek
out these cries in the face of the man lying dead at my feet."
"Miss Butterworth, you didn't simply stand over that man. You knelt down
and looked in his face."
"I acknowledge it, and caught my dress in the filagree of the cross.
Naturally I would not stand stock still with a man drawing his last
breath under my eye."
"And what else did you do? You went to the table----"
"Yes, I went to the table."
"And moved the inkstand?"
"Yes, I moved the inkstand, but very carefully, sir, very carefully."
"Not so carefully but that I could see where it had been sitting before
you took it up: the square made by its base in the dust of the table did
not coincide with the place afterwards occupied by it."
"Ah, that comes from your having on your glasses and I not. I endeavored
to set it down in the precise place from which I lifted it."
"Why did you take it up at all? What were you looking for?"
"For clews, Mr. Gryce. You must forgive me, but I was seeking for clews.
I moved several things. I was hunting for the line of writing which
ought to explain this murder."
"The line of writing?"
"Yes. I have not told you what the young girl said as she slipped with
her companion into the crowd."
"No; you have spoken of no words. Have you any such clew as that? Miss
Butterworth, you are fortunate, very fortunate."
Mr. Gryce's look and gesture were eloquent, but Miss Butterworth, with
an access of dignity, quietly remarked:
"I was not to blame for being in the way when they passed, nor could I
help hearing what she said."
"And what was it, madam? Did she mention a paper?"
"Yes, she cried in what I now remember to have been a tone of affright:
'You have left that line of writing behind!' I did not attach much
importance to these words then, but when I came upon the dying man, so
evidently the victim of murder, I recalled what his late visitor had
said and looked about for this piece of writing."
"And did you find it, Miss Butterworth? I am ready, as you see, for any
revelation you may now make."
"For one which would reflect dishonor on me? If I had found any paper
explaining this tragedy, I should have felt bound to have called the
attention of the police to it. I did notify them of the crime itself."
"Yes, madam; and we are obliged to you; but how about your silence in
regard to the fact of two persons having left that house immediately
upon, or just preceding, the death of its master?"
"I reserved that bit of information. I waited to see if the police would
not get wind of these people without my help. I sincerely wished to keep
my name out of this inquiry. Yet I feel a decided relief now that I have
made my confession. I never could have rested properly after seeing so
much, and----"
"Well?"
"Thinking my own thoughts in regard to what I saw, if I had found myself
compelled to bridle my tongue while false scents were being followed and
delicate clews overlooked or discarded without proper attention. I
regard this murder as offering the most difficult problem that has ever
come in my way, and, therefore----"
"Yes, madam."
"I cannot but wonder if an opportunity has been afforded me for
retrieving myself in your eyes. I do not care for the opinion of any one
else as to my ability or discretion; but I should like to make you
forget my last despicable failure in Lost Man's Lane. It is a sore
remembrance to me, Mr. Gryce, which nothing but a fresh success can make
me forget."
"Madam, I understand you. You have formulated some theory. You consider
the young man with the tell-tale face guilty of Mr. Adams's death. Well,
it is very possible. I never thought the butler was rehearsing a crime
he had himself committed."
"Do you know who the young man is I saw leaving that house so
hurriedly?"
"Not the least in the world. You are the first to bring him to my
attention."
"And the young girl with the blonde hair?"
"It is the first I have heard of her, too."
"I did not scatter the rose leaves that were found on that floor."
"No, it was she. She probably wore a bouquet in her belt."
"Nor was that frippery parasol mine, though I did lose a good, stout,
serviceable one somewhere that day."
"It was hers; I have no doubt of it."
"Left by her in the little room where she was whiling away the time
during which the gentlemen conversed together, possibly about that bit
of writing she afterward alluded to."
"Certainly."
"Her mind was not expectant of evil, for she was smoothing her hair when
the shock came----"
"Yes, madam, I follow you."
"And had to be carried out of the place after----"
"What?"
"She had placed that cross on Mr. Adams's breast. That was a woman's
act, Mr. Gryce."
"I am glad to hear you say so. The placing of that cross on a layman's
breast was a mystery to me, and is still, I must own. Great remorse or
great fright only can account for it."
"You will find many mysteries in this case, Mr. Gryce."
"As great a number as I ever encountered."
"I have to add one."
"Another?"
"It concerns the old butler."
"I thought you did not see him."
"I did not see him in the room where Mr. Adams lay."
"Ah! Where, then?"
"Upstairs. My interest was not confined to the scene of the murder.
Wishing to spread the alarm, and not being able to rouse any one below,
I crept upstairs, and so came upon this poor wretch going through the
significant pantomime that has been so vividly described in the papers."
"Ah! Unpleasant for you, very. I imagine you did not stop to talk to
him."
"No, I fled. I was extremely shaken up by this time and knew only one
thing to do, and that was to escape. But I carried one as yet unsolved
enigma with me. How came I to hear this man's cries in Mr. Adams's
study, and yet find him on the second floor when I came to search the
house? He had not time to mount the stairs while I was passing down the
hall."
"It is a case of mistaken impression. Your ears played you false. The
cries came from above, not from Mr. Adams's study."
"My ears are not accustomed to play me tricks. You must seek another
explanation."
"I have ransacked the house; there are no back stairs."
"If there were, the study does not communicate with them."
"And you heard his voice in the study?"
"Plainly."
"Well, you have given me a poser, madam."
"And I will give you another. If he was the perpetrator of this crime,
how comes it that he was not detected and denounced by the young people
I saw going out? If, on the contrary, he was simply the witness of
another man's blow--a blow which horrified him so much that it unseated
his reason--how comes it that he was able to slide away from the door
where he must have stood without attracting the attention and bringing
down upon himself the vengeance of the guilty murderer?"
"He may be one of the noiseless kind, or, rather, may have been such
before this shock unsettled his mind."
"True, but he would have been seen. Recall the position of the doorway.
If Mr. Adams fell where he was struck, the assailant must have had that
door directly before him. He could not have helped seeing any one
standing in it."
"That is true; your observations are quite correct. But those young
people were in a disordered state of mind. The condition in which they
issued from the house proves this. They probably did not trouble
themselves about this man. Escape was all they sought. And, you see,
they did escape."
"But you will find them. A man who can locate a woman in this great city
of ours with no other clew than five spangles, dropped from her gown,
will certainly make this parasol tell the name of its owner."
"Ah, madam, the credit of this feat is not due to me. It was the initial
stroke of a young man I propose to adopt into my home and heart; the
same who brought you here to-night. Not much to look at, madam, but
promising, very promising. But I doubt if even he can discover the young
lady you mean, with no other aid than is given by this parasol. New York
is a big place, ma'am, a big place. Do you know how Sweetwater came to
find you? Through your virtues, ma'am; through your neat and methodical
habits. Had you been of a careless turn of mind and not given to mending
your dresses when you tore them, he might have worn his heart out in a
vain search for the lady who had dropped the five spangles in Mr.
Adams's study. Now luck, or, rather, your own commendable habit, was in
his favor this time; but in the prospective search you mentioned, he
will probably have no such assistance."
"Nor will he need it. I have unbounded faith in your genius, which,
after all, is back of the skilfulness of this new pupil of yours. You
will discover by some means the lady with the dove-colored plumes, and
through her the young gentleman who accompanied her."
"We shall at least put our energies to work in that direction.
Sweetwater may have an idea----"
"And I may have one."
"You?"
"Yes; I indulged in but little sleep last night. That dreadful room with
its unsolved mystery was ever before me. Thoughts would come;
possibilities would suggest themselves. I imagined myself probing its
secrets to the bottom and----"
"Wait, madam; how many of its so-called secrets do you know? You said
nothing about the lantern."
"It was burning with a red light when I entered."
"You did not touch the buttons arranged along the table top?"
"No; if there is one thing I do not touch, it is anything which suggests
an electrical contrivance. I am intensely feminine, sir, in all my
instincts, and mechanisms of any kind alarm me. To all such things I
give a wide berth. I have not even a telephone in my house. Some
allowance must be made for the natural timidity of woman."
Mr. Gryce suppressed a smile. "It is a pity," he remarked. "Had you
brought another light upon the scene, you might have been blessed with
an idea on a subject that is as puzzling as any connected with the whole
affair."
"You have not heard what I have to say on a still more important
matter," said she. "When we have exhausted the one topic, we may both
feel like turning on the fresh lights you speak of. Mr. Gryce, on what
does this mystery hinge? On the bit of writing which these young people
were so alarmed at having left behind them."
"Ah! It is from that you would work! Well, it is a good point to start
from. But we have found no such bit of writing."
"Have you searched for it? You did not know till now that any importance
might be attached to a morsel of paper with some half-dozen words
written on it."
"True, but a detective searches just the same. We ransacked that room as
few rooms have been ransacked in years. Not for a known clew, but for an
unknown one. It seemed necessary in the first place to learn who this
man was. His papers were consequently examined. But they told nothing.
If there had been a scrap of writing within view or in his desk----"
"It was not on his person? You had his pockets searched, his
clothes----"
"A man who has died from violence is always searched, madam. I leave no
stone unturned in a mysterious case like this."
Miss Butterworth's face assumed an indefinable expression of
satisfaction, which did not escape Mr. Gryce's eye, though that member
was fixed, according to his old habit, on the miniature of her father
which she wore, in defiance of fashion, at her throat.
"I wonder," said she, in a musing tone, "if I imagined or really saw on
Mr. Adams's face a most extraordinary expression; something more than
the surprise or anguish following a mortal blow? A look of
determination, arguing some superhuman resolve taken at the moment of
death, or--can you read that face for me? Or did you fail to perceive
aught of what I say? It would really be an aid to me at this moment to
know."
"I noted that look. It was not a common one. But I cannot read it for
you----"
"I wonder if the young man you call Sweetwater can. I certainly think it
has a decided bearing on this mystery; such a fold to the lips, such a
look of mingled grief and--what was that you said? Sweetwater has not
been admitted to the room of death? Well, well, I shall have to make my
own suggestion, then. I shall have to part with an idea that may be
totally valueless, but which has impressed me so that it must out, if I
am to have any peace to-night. Mr. Gryce, allow me to whisper in your
ear. Some things lose force when spoken aloud."
And leaning forward, she breathed a short sentence into his ear which
made him start and regard her with an amazement which rapidly grew into
admiration.
"Madam!" he cried, rising up that he might the better honor her with one
of his low bows, "your idea, whether valueless or not, is one which is
worthy of the acute lady who proffers it. We will act on it, ma'am, act
at once. Wait till I have given my orders. I will not keep you long."
And with another bow, he left the room.
CHAPTER VII.
AMOS'S SON.
Miss Butterworth had been brought up in a strict school of manners. When
she sat, she sat still; when she moved, she moved quickly, firmly, but
with no unnecessary disturbance. Fidgets were unknown to her. Yet when
she found herself alone after this interview, it was with difficulty she
could restrain herself from indulging in some of those outward
manifestations of uneasiness which she had all her life reprobated in
the more nervous members of her own sex. She was anxious, and she showed
it, like the sensible woman she was, and was glad enough when Mr. Gryce
finally returned and, accosting her with a smile, said almost gayly:
"Well, that is seen to! And all we have to do now is to await the
result. Madam, have you any further ideas? If so, I should be glad to
have the benefit of them."
Her self-possession was at once restored.
"You would?" she repeated, eying him somewhat doubtfully. "I should like
to be assured of the value of the one I have already advanced, before I
venture upon another. Let us enter into a conference instead; compare
notes; tell, for instance, why neither of us look on Bartow as the
guilty man."
"I thought we had exhausted that topic. Your suspicions were aroused by
the young couple you saw leaving the house, while mine--well, madam, to
you, at least, I may admit that there is something in the mute's
gestures and general manner which conveys to my mind the impression that
he is engaged in rehearsing something he has seen, rather than something
he has done; and as yet I have seen no reason for doubting the truth of
this impression."
"I was affected in the same way, and would have been, even if I had not
already had my suspicions turned in another direction. Besides, it is
more natural for a man to be driven insane by another's act than by his
own."
"Yes, if he loved the victim."
"And did not Bartow?"
"He does not mourn Mr. Adams."
"But he is no longer master of his emotions."
"Very true; but if we take any of his actions as a clew to the
situation, we must take all. We believe from his gestures that he is
giving us a literal copy of acts he has seen performed. Then, why pass
over the gleam of infernal joy that lights his face after the whole is
over? It is as if he rejoiced over the deed, or at least found
immeasurable satisfaction in it."
"Perhaps it is still a copy of what he saw; the murderer may have
rejoiced. But no, there was no joy in the face of the young man I saw
rushing away from this scene of violence. Quite the contrary. Mr. Gryce,
we are in deep waters. I feel myself wellnigh submerged by them."
"Hold up your head, madam. Every flood has its ebb. If you allow
yourself to go under, what will become of me?"
"You are disposed to humor, Mr. Gryce. It is a good sign. You are never
humorous when perplexed. Somewhere you must see daylight."
"Let us proceed with our argument. Illumination frequently comes from
the most unexpected quarter."
"Very well, then, let us put the old man's joy down as one of the
mysteries to be explained later. Have you thought of him as a possible
accomplice?"
"Certainly; but this supposition is open to the same objection as that
which made him the motive power in this murder. One is not driven insane
by an expected horror. It takes shock to unsettle the brain. He was not
looking for the death of his master."
"True. We may consider that matter as settled. Bartow was an innocent
witness of this crime, and, having nothing to fear, may be trusted to
reproduce in his pantomimic action its exact features."
"Very good. Continue, madam. Nothing but profit is likely to follow an
argument presented by Miss Butterworth."
The old detective's tone was serious, his manner perfect; but Miss
Butterworth, ever on the look-out for sarcasm from his lips, bridled a
little, though in no other way did she show her displeasure.
"Let us, then, recall his precise gestures, remembering that he must
have surprised the assailant from the study doorway, and so have seen
the assault from over his master's shoulder."
"In other words, directly in front of him. Now what was his first move?"
"His first move, as now seen, is to raise his right arm and stretch it
behind him, while he leans forward for the imaginary dagger. What does
that mean?"
"I should find it hard to say. But I did not see him do that. When I
came upon him, he was thrusting with his left hand across his own
body--a vicious thrust and with his left hand. That is a point, Mr.
Gryce."
"Yes, especially as the doctors agree that Mr. Adams was killed by a
left-handed blow."
"You don't say! Don't you see the difficulty, then?"
"The difficulty, madam?"
"Bartow was standing face to face with the assailant. In imitating him,
especially in his unreasoning state of mind, he would lift the arm
opposite to the one whose action he mimics, which, in this case, would
be the assailant's right. Try, for the moment, to mimic my actions. See!
I lift this hand, and instinctively (nay, I detected the movement, sir,
quickly as you remembered yourself), you raise the one directly opposite
to it. It is like seeing yourself in a mirror. You turn your head to the
right, but your image turns to the left."
Mr. Gryce's laugh rang out in spite of himself. He was not often caught
napping, but this woman exercised a species of fascination upon him at
times, and it rather amused than offended him, when he was obliged to
acknowledge himself defeated.
"Very good! You have proved your point quite satisfactorily; but what
conclusions are to be drawn from it? That the man was not left-handed,
or that he was not standing in the place you have assigned to him?"
"Shall we go against the doctors? They say that the blow was a
left-handed one. Mr. Gryce, I would give anything for an hour spent with
you in Mr. Adams's study, with Bartow free to move about at his will. I
think we would learn more by watching him for a short space of time than
in talking as we are doing for an hour."
It was said tentatively, almost timidly. Miss Butterworth had some sense
of the temerity involved in this suggestion even if, according to her
own declaration, she had no curiosity. "I don't want to be
disagreeable," she smiled.
She was so far from being so that Mr. Gryce was taken unawares, and for
once in his life became impulsive.
"I think it can be managed, madam; that is, after the funeral. There are
too many officials now in the house, and----"
"Of course, of course," she acceded. "I should not think of obtruding
myself at present. But the case is so interesting, and my connection
with it so peculiar, that I sometimes forget myself. Do you think"--here
she became quite nervous for one of her marked self-control--"that I
have laid myself open to a summons from the coroner?"
Mr. Gryce grew thoughtful, eyed the good lady, or rather her folded
hands, with an air of some compassion, and finally replied:
"The facts regarding this affair come in so slowly that I doubt if the
inquest is held for several days. Meanwhile we may light on those two
young people ourselves. If so, the coroner may _overlook_ your share in
bringing them to our notice."
There was a sly emphasis on the word, and a subtle humor in his look
that showed the old detective at his worst. But Miss Butterworth did not
resent it; she was too full of a fresh confession she had to make.
"Ah," said she, "if they had been the only persons I encountered there.
But they were not. Another person entered the house before I left it,
and I may be obliged to speak of him."
"Of him? Really, madam, you are a mine of intelligence."
"Yes, sir," was the meek reply; meek, when you consider from whose lips
it came. "I ought to have spoken of him before, but I never like to mix
matters, and this old gentleman----"
"Old gentleman!"
"Yes, sir, very old and very much of a gentleman, did not appear to have
any connection with the crime beyond knowing the murdered man."
"Ah, but that's a big connection, ma'am. To find some one who knew Mr.
Adams--really, madam, patience has its limits, and I must press you to
speak."
"Oh, I will speak! The time has come for it. Besides, I'm quite ready to
discuss this new theme; it is very interesting."
"Suppose we begin, then, by a detailed account of your adventures in
this house of death," dryly suggested the detective. "Your full
adventures, madam, with nothing left out."
"I appreciate the sarcasm, but nothing has been left out except what I
am about to relate to you. It happened just as I was leaving the house."
"What did? I hate to ask you to be more explicit. But, in the interests
of justice----"
"You are quite right. As I was going out, then, I encountered an elderly
gentleman coming in. His hand had just touched the bell handle. You will
acknowledge that it was a perplexing moment for me. His face, which was
well preserved for his years, wore an air of expectation that was almost
gay. He glanced in astonishment at mine, which, whatever its usual
serenity, certainly must have borne marks of deep emotion. Neither of us
spoke. At last he inquired politely if he might enter, and said
something about having an appointment with some one in the study. At
which I stepped briskly enough aside, I assure you, for this might
mean--What did you say? Did I close the door? I assuredly did. Was I to
let the whole of ---- Street into the horrors of this house at a moment
when a poor old man--No, I didn't go out myself. Why should I? Was I to
leave a man on the verge of eighty--excuse me, not every man of eighty
is so hale and vigorous as yourself--to enter such a scene alone?
Besides, I had not warned him of the condition of the only other living
occupant of the house."
"Discreet, very. Quite what was to be expected of you, Miss Butterworth.
More than that. You followed him, no doubt, with careful supervision,
down the hall."
"Most certainly! What would you have thought of me if I had not? He was
in a strange house; there was no servant to guide him, he wanted to know
the way to the study, and I politely showed him there."
"Kind of you, madam,--very. It must have been an interesting moment to
you."
"Very interesting! Too interesting! I own that I am not made entirely of
steel, sir, and the shock he received at finding a dead man awaiting
him, instead of a live one, was more or less communicated to me. Yet I
stood my ground."