The Circular Study | Page 2

candor in the boy's tone, and Mr. Gryce was disposed to
believe him; but when he was asked to describe the lady, he showed
that his powers of observation were no better than those of most of his
class. All he could say was that she was a stunner, and wore shiny
clothes and jewels, and Mr. Gryce, recognizing the lad's limitations at
the very moment he found himself in view of the house he was making
for, ceased to question him, and directed all his attention to the building
he was approaching.
Nothing in the exterior bespoke crime or even disturbance. A shut door,
a clean stoop, heavily curtained windows (some of which were further
shielded by closely drawn shades) were eloquent of inner quiet and
domestic respectability, while its calm front of brick, with brownstone
trimmings, offered a pleasing contrast to the adjoining buildings jutting
out on either side, alive with signs and humming with business.
"Some mistake," muttered Gryce to himself, as the perfect calm
reigning over the whole establishment struck him anew. But before he
had decided that he had been made the victim of a hoax, a movement
took place in the area under the stoop, and an officer stepped out, with
a countenance expressive of sufficient perplexity for Mr. Gryce to
motion him back with the hurried inquiry: "Anything wrong? Any
blood shed? All seems quiet here."
The officer, recognizing the old detective, touched his hat. "Can't get
in," said he. "Have rung all the bells. Would think the house empty if I
had not seen something like a stir in one of the windows overhead.
Shall I try to make my way into the rear yard through one of the lower
windows of Knapp & Co.'s store, next door?"
"Yes, and take this boy with you. Lock him up in some one of their
offices, and then break your way into this house by some means. It
ought to be easy enough from the back yard."
The officer nodded, took the boy by the arm, and in a trice had
disappeared with him into the adjoining store. Mr. Gryce remained in
the area, where he was presently besieged by a crowd of passers-by,
eager to add their curiosity to the trouble they had so quickly scented.

The opening of the door from the inside speedily put an end to
importunities for which he had as yet no reply, and he was enabled to
slip within, where he found himself in a place of almost absolute quiet.
Before him lay a basement hall leading to a kitchen, which, even at that
moment, he noticed to be in trimmer condition than is usual where
much housework is done, but he saw nothing that bespoke tragedy, or
even a break in the ordinary routine of life as observed in houses of like
size and pretension.
Satisfied that what he sought was not to be found here, he followed the
officer upstairs. As they emerged upon the parlor floor, the latter
dropped the following information:
"Mr. Raffner of the firm next door says that the man who lives here is
an odd sort of person whom nobody knows; a bookworm, I think they
call him. He has occupied the house six months, yet they have never
seen any one about the premise but himself and a strange old servant as
peculiar and uncommunicative as his master."
"I know," muttered Mr. Gryce. He did know, everybody knew, that this
house, once the seat of one of New York's most aristocratic families,
was inhabited at present by a Mr. Adams, noted alike for his more than
common personal attractions, his wealth, and the uncongenial nature of
his temperament, which precluded all association with his kind. It was
this knowledge which had given zest to this investigation. To enter the
house of such a man was an event in itself: to enter it on an errand of
life and death--Well, it is under the inspiration of such opportunities
that life is reawakened in old veins, especially when those veins
connect the heart and brain of a sagacious, if octogenarian, detective.
The hall in which they now found themselves was wide, old-fashioned,
and sparsely furnished in the ancient manner to be observed in such
time-honored structures. Two doors led into this hall, both of which
now stood open. Taking advantage of this fact, they entered the nearest,
which was nearly opposite the top of the staircase they had just
ascended, and found themselves in a room barren as a doctor's outer
office. There was nothing here worth their attention, and they would
have left the place as unceremoniously as they had entered it if they had

not caught glimpses of richness which promised an interior of
uncommon elegance, behind the half-drawn folds of