One of My Sons. Green Anna Katharine
me, and it was to this piece of paper Mr. Gryce first called Miss Meredith's attention.
"There's an unfinished letter here, as you see. Did you have a hand in writing it?"
She did not answer very promptly, but when she did, it was with a "No" which was startlingly abrupt.
"Ah! then there's someone else in the house who uses the typewriter."
"Mr. Gillespie. He often used it when he was in a hurry and I not by."
"Mr. Gillespie? Do you think it was he who wrote these lines?"
"I do. There was no one else to do it."
Was my imagination too active, or had her voice a choked sound which spoke of some latent emotion she strove to conceal?
"Then," suavely responded the detective, "we need no other proof of Mr. Gillespie's condition up to the time he worked off this last line. I doubt if you ever made a better copy yourself, Miss Meredith. But why is it torn across in this manner? Half of the sheet is missing, and some portion at least of the letter is gone."
A sudden gasp which could have come from no other lips than hers was followed by certain short exclamations from the others indicative of interest if not surprise.
"Shall I take it out? Or will one of you read it as it lies here? I prefer one of you to read it."
We heard a few stammering sentences uttered by George or Alfred, then Leighton's voice broke in with the calm remark:
"It is about some shares lately purchased in Denver. If you think it necessary to hear what my father had to say concerning them, this is a facsimile of what he wrote a half-hour or so before he died:
James C. Taylor, Esq.,
18 State St.,
Boston, Mass.
Dear Sir: —
In regard to the financing of the $10,000,000, mentioned in our conversation on the 12th inst., it is of the utmost importance that I am placed as soon as possible in full possession of the facts regarding the propert
The rest is torn off, as you say. Do you consider this letter important?"
"Not at all, except as showing the sound condition of your father's mind immediately prior to his collapse at ten o'clock. It is not the letter itself which should engage your attention, but the fact that this portion of it which has been wrenched off cannot be found. I know," he went on, before a rejoinder could be made by anyone in the startled group about him, "that a strip seemingly of this same paper was received by Miss Meredith in an envelope a few minutes ago. Indeed, I have it here. But though it was evidently stripped from this same sheet – from the bottom part of it, as you can see from its one straight edge – it does not fit the portion left in the machine. Some two inches or so of the sheet is lacking. Now where are these two inches? Not in the room from which we brought the typewriter, nor yet on Mr. Gillespie's person, for we have looked."
Silence.
"No one seems to answer," breathed a voice in my ear.
Had this shrewd and seemingly able detective expected a reply? I had not. Silence had too often followed inquiry in this house.
"It is a loss open to explanation," mildly resumed the aged detective. "It is also one which the police deems important. We shall have to search for that connecting slip of paper unless, as I sincerely hope, someone here present can produce it."
"Search!" a commanding voice broke in – that of Leighton. "We know nothing about it."
"It is a pity," rejoined the old man, with a mildness unusual in one of his class. "Such a measure should not be necessary. Someone here ought to be able to direct us where to find this missing portion of a letter interrupted by so stern a fact as the writer's death."
Still no answer.
"Had there been a fire in the room – but there was no fire. Or had Mr. Gillespie left the room – "
"Speak out!" the stern tones again enjoined. "You think some of us took it?"
"I do not say so," was the conciliatory reply. "But this scrap must be found. Its remarkable disappearance shows that it has more or less bearing on the mystery of your father's death."
"Then we must entreat you to use your power and find it if you can." It was still Leighton who was speaking. "George, Alfred, let us accept the situation with good grace; we will gain nothing by antagonising the police."
Two muffled oaths answered him; their natures were more passionate than his, or possibly less under control. But they offered no objections, and the next minute the old detective appeared in the hall.
One look passed between him and the young man loitering at my side. Then the latter turned to me:
"This is to be my task," he whispered. "I don't know the house at all. I hear that you have been up."
From whom could he have heard this? From Dr. Bennett? It was possible. Such fellows worm themselves into the confidence of warier persons than this amiable old physician.
"I have passed through the halls," I admitted, none too encouragingly. "But I don't see how that can help you."
"It's a four-story building, I suppose. All the houses along here are."
"Yes, it's a four-story house."
He rubbed one hand awkwardly against the other; indeed, his whole manner was awkward; then he walked slowly down the hall. When he reached the library door he stopped and looked in with a shy and deprecating air. Suddenly he began to back away. Someone was coming out. It was Miss Meredith. When she was in full sight and he brought to a stand-still by the wall against which he had retreated, he spoke, but not to her, though his eyes were fixed upon her in a sort of blank stare she may have attributed to the power of her beauty, but which I felt was of a character to make her careful.
"Four stories!" he muttered. "Parlour floor, first bedroom floor, second bedroom floor, and the attic! Where shall I begin? Ha! I think I know," he smiled, and passed quickly down the hall.
She had given an involuntary pressure to her hands when he mentioned the word attic.
I thought of the position in which I had found her there; of the doubts expressed by the doctor as to how she could have received an intimation of her uncle's death before an alarm had been raised or her cousins fully aroused, and felt forced to acknowledge that the police were justified in their action, great as was the spell cast over me by her loveliness.
That, justified or not, they meant to do their work, I soon saw. With a steady eye the coroner held us all to our places, while the young detective disappeared above, followed only by Leighton, who had asked the privilege of accompanying him for fear of some alarm being given to his little child who was upstairs alone. From the way Miss Meredith's eyes followed them, I knew there was something to be feared from this quest which she alone had the power of measuring.
What was I to think of this young girl who chose to be reticent on a subject involving questions of life and death! I would not probe my doubts too closely. I steeled myself against her look, resolving to be the lawyer – her lawyer – if required, but nothing more, at least till these shadows were cleared up.
Her two cousins remained in the library, to which Mr. Gryce had returned after making the signal to his man Sweetwater. We were all under great restraint with the exception of the doctor, who was chatting confidentially with the coroner. What he said I could in a measure gather from the expression of Miss Meredith's face, who was nearer him than I. That it served to intensify rather than relieve the situation was apparent from the gravity with which the coroner listened. Later, some stray words reached me.
"Had the greatest dread of poison – " This I distinctly heard – "Never took any medicine without asking – " I could not catch the rest. "Tell him symptoms – all the poisons – like a child – he never poisoned himself." This last rung in my ears with persistent iteration. It rang so loud I thought everyone on that floor must have heard it. But I saw no change in Alfred's restless figure hovering on the threshold of the library door a few feet behind