That Affair Next Door | Page 8

convinced me that while my presence was considered desirable in the
house, it was not especially wanted in the room. I was therefore moving
reluctantly away, when I felt a slight but peremptory touch on the arm,
and turning, saw the detective at my side, still studying his piece of
china.

He was, as I have said, of portly build and benevolent aspect; a
fatherly-looking man, and not at all the person one would be likely to
associate with the police. Yet he could take the lead very naturally, and
when he spoke, I felt bound to answer him.
"Will you be so good, madam, as to relate over again, what you saw
from your window last night? I am likely to have charge of this matter,
and would be pleased to hear all you may have to say concerning it."
"My name is Butterworth," I politely intimated.
"And my name is Gryce."
"A detective?"
"The same."
"You must think this matter very serious," I ventured.
"Death by violence is always serious."
"You must regard this death as something more than an accident, I
mean."
His smile seemed to say: "You will not know to-day how I regard it."
"And you will not know to-day what I think of it either," was my
inward rejoinder, but I said nothing aloud, for the man was seventy-five
if he was a day, and I have been taught respect for age, and have
practised the same for fifty years and more.
I must have shown what was passing in my mind, and he must have
seen it reflected on the polished surface of the porcelain he was
contemplating, for his lips showed the shadow of a smile sufficiently
sarcastic for me to see that he was far from being as easy-natured as his
countenance indicated.
"Come, come," said he, "there is the Coroner now. Say what you have
to say, like the straightforward, honest woman you appear."

"I don't like compliments," I snapped out. Indeed, they have always
been obnoxious to me. As if there was any merit in being honest and
straightforward, or any distinction in being told so!
"I am Miss Butterworth, and not in the habit of being spoken to as if I
were a simple countrywoman," I objected. "But I will repeat what I saw
last night, as it is no secret, and the telling of it won't hurt me and may
help you."
Accordingly I went over the whole story, and was much more
loquacious than I had intended to be, his manner was so insinuating and
his inquiries so pertinent. But one topic we both failed to broach, and
that was the peculiar manner of the scrub-woman. Perhaps it had not
struck him as peculiar and perhaps it should not have struck me so, but
in the silence which was preserved on the subject I felt I had acquired
an advantage over him, which might lead to consequences of no small
importance. Would I have felt thus or congratulated myself quite so
much upon my fancied superiority, if I had known he was the man who
managed the Leavenworth case, and who in his early years had
experienced that very wonderful adventure on the staircase of the
Heart's Delight? Perhaps I would; for though I have had no adventures,
I feel capable of them, and as for any peculiar acumen he may have
shown in his long and eventful career, why that is a quality which
others may share with him, as I hope to be able to prove before
finishing these pages.

III.
AMELIA DISCOVERS HERSELF.
There is a small room at the extremity of the Van Burnam mansion. In
this I took refuge after my interview with Mr. Gryce. As I picked out
the chair which best suited me and settled myself for a comfortable
communion with my own thoughts, I was astonished to find how much
I was enjoying myself, notwithstanding the thousand and one duties
awaiting me on the other side of the party-wall.

Even this very solitude was welcome, for it gave me an opportunity to
consider matters. I had not known up to this very hour that I had any
special gifts. My father, who was a shrewd man of the old New
England type, said more times than I am years old (which was not
saying it as often as some may think) that Araminta (the name I was
christened by, and the name you will find in the Bible record, though I
sign myself Amelia, and insist upon being addressed as Amelia, being,
as I hope, a sensible woman and not the piece of antiquated
sentimentality suggested by the former cognomen)--that Araminta
would live to make her mark; though in what capacity he never
informed me, being, as I have observed,