The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин
of, or rather their father’s!
“But she has the chic we are accustomed to see in French millinery. I shall 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 down a 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 I was, would not give away the object of his questions so recklessly.
“Then who is,” I corrected, “the best person after D’Aubigny? I never can pay her prices. I should think it wicked.”
“O don’t ask us,” protested Isabella. “We have never made a study of the best bonnet-maker. At present we wear hats.”
And having thus thrown their youth in my face, they turned away to the window again, not realizing that the middle-aged lady they regarded with such disdain had just succeeded in making them dance to her music most successfully.
The luncheon I ordered was elaborate, for I was determined that the Misses Van Burnam should see that I knew how to serve a fine meal, and that my plates were not always better than my viands.
I had invited in a couple of other guests so that I should not seem to have put myself out for two young girls, and as they were quiet people like myself, the meal passed most decorously. When it was finished, the Misses Caroline and Isabella had lost some of their consequential airs, and I really think the deference they have since showed me is due more to 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; and being positive by this time that the shadows were thickening about this family, I saw them depart with some regret and a positive feeling of commiseration. Had they been reared to a proper reverence for their elders, how much more easy it would have been to see earnestness in Caroline and affectionate impulses in Isabella.
The evening papers added but little to my knowledge. Great disclosures were promised, but no hint given of their nature. The body at the Morgue had not been identified by any of the hundreds who had viewed it, and Howard still refused to acknowledge it as that of his wife. The morrow was awaited with anxiety.
So much for the public press!
At twelve o’clock at night, I was again seated in my window. The house next door had been lighted since ten, and I was in momentary expectation of its nocturnal visitor. He came promptly at the hour set, alighted from the carriage with a bound, shut the carriage-door with a slam, and crossed the pavement with cheerful celerity. His figure was not so positively like, nor yet so positively unlike, that of the supposed murderer that I could definitely say, “This is he,” or, “This is not he,” and I went to bed puzzled, and not a little burdened by a sense of the responsibility imposed upon me in this matter.
And so passed the day between the murder and the inquest.
Chapter IX.
Developments
Mr. Gryce called about nine o’clock next morning.
“Well,” said he, “what about the visitor who came to see me last night?”
“Like and unlike,” I answered. “Nothing could induce me to say he is the man we want, and yet I would not dare to swear he was not.”
“You are in doubt, then, concerning him?”
“I am.”
Mr. Gryce bowed, reminded me of the inquest, and left. Nothing was said about the hat.
At ten o’clock I prepared to go to the place designated by him. I had never attended an inquest in my life, and felt a little flurried in consequence, but by the time I had tied the strings of my bonnet (the despised bonnet, which, by the way, I did not return to More’s), I had conquered this weakness, and acquired a demeanor more in keeping with my very important position as chief witness in a serious police investigation.
I had sent for a carriage to take me, and I rode away from my house amid the shouts of some half dozen boys collected on the curb-stone. But I did not allow myself to feel dashed by this publicity. On the contrary, I held my head as erect as nature intended, and my back kept the line my good health warrants. The path of duty has its thorny passages, but it is for strong minds like mine to ignore them.
Promptly at ten o’clock I entered the room reserved for the inquest, and was ushered to the seat appointed me. Though never a self-conscious woman, I could not but be aware of the many eyes that followed me, and endeavored so to demean myself that there should be no question as to my respectable standing in the community. This I considered due to the memory of my father, who was very much in my thoughts that day.
The Coroner was already in his seat when I entered, and though I did not perceive the good face of Mr. Gryce anywhere in his vicinity, I had no doubt he was within ear-shot. Of the other people I took small note, save of the honest scrub-woman, of whose red face and anxious eyes under a preposterous bonnet (which did not come from La Mole’s), I caught vague glimpses as the crowd between us surged to and fro.
None of the Van Burnams were visible, but this did not necessarily mean that they were absent. Indeed, I was very sure, from certain indications, that more than one member of the family could be seen in the small room connecting with the large one in which we witnesses sat with the jury.
The policeman, Carroll, was the first man to talk. He told of my stopping him on his beat and of his entrance into Mr. Van Burnam’s house with the scrub-woman. He gave the details of his discovery of the dead woman’s body on the parlor floor, and insisted that no one—here he looked very hard at me—had been allowed to touch the body till relief had come to him from Headquarters.
Mrs. Boppert, the scrub-woman, followed him; and if she was watched by no one else in that room, she was watched by me. Her manner before the Coroner was no more satisfactory, according to my notion, than it had been in Mr. Van Burnam’s parlor. She gave a very perceptible start when they spoke her name, and looked quite scared when the Bible was held out towards her. But she took the oath notwithstanding, and with her testimony the inquiry began in earnest.
“What is your name?” asked the Coroner.
As this was something she could not help knowing, she uttered the necessary words glibly, though in a way that showed she resented his impertinence in asking her what he already knew.
“Where do you live? And what do you do for a living?” rapidly followed.
She replied that she was a scrub-woman and cleaned people’s houses, and having said this, she assumed a very dogged air, which I thought strange enough to raise a question in the minds of those who watched her. But no one else seemed to regard it as anything but the embarrassment of ignorance.
“How long have you known the Van Burnam family?” the Coroner went on.
“Two years, sir, come next Christmas.”
“Have you often done work for them?”
“I clean the house twice a year, fall and spring.”
“Why were you at this house two days ago?”
“To