The Circular Study | Page 7

from the other's arms, and the man, finding himself free, withdrew to
his former place in the room, where he proceeded to enact again and
with increased vivacity first the killing of and then the mourning for his
master, which but a few moments before had made so suggestive an
impression upon them. This done, he stood waiting, but this time with

that gleam of infernal joy in the depths of his quick, restless eyes which
made his very presence in this room of death seem a sacrilege and
horror.
Styles could not stand it. "Can't you speak?" he shouted. "Can't you
hear?"
The man only smiled, an evil and gloating smile, which Mr. Gryce
thought it his duty to cut short.
"Take him away!" he cried. "Examine him carefully for blood marks. I
am going up to the room where you saw him first. He is too nearly
linked to this crime not to carry some trace of it away with him."
But for once even this time-tried detective found himself at fault. No
marks were found on the old servant, nor could they discover in the
rooms above any signs by which this one remaining occupant of the
house could be directly associated with the crime which had taken
place within it. Thereupon Mr. Gryce grew very thoughtful and entered
upon another examination of the two rooms which to his mind held all
the clews that would ever be given to this strange crime.
The result was meagre, and he was just losing himself again in
contemplation of the upturned face, whose fixed mouth and haunting
expression told such a story of suffering and determination, when there
came from the dim recesses above his head a cry, which, forming itself
into two words, rang down with startling clearness in this most
unexpected of appeals:
"Remember Evelyn!"
Remember Evelyn! Who was Evelyn? And to whom did this voice
belong, in a house which had already been ransacked in vain for other
occupants? It seemed to come from the roof, and, sure enough, when
Mr. Gryce looked up he saw, swinging in a cage strung up nearly to the
top of one of the windows I have mentioned, an English starling, which,
in seeming recognition of the attention it had drawn upon itself, craned
its neck as Mr. Gryce looked up, and shrieked again, with fiercer

insistence than before:
"Remember Evelyn!"
It was the last uncanny touch in a series of uncanny experiences. With
an odd sense of nightmare upon him, Mr. Gryce leaned forward on the
study table in his effort to obtain a better view of this bird, when,
without warning, the white light, which since his last contact with the
electrical apparatus had spread itself through the room, changed again
to green, and he realized that he had unintentionally pressed a button
and thus brought into action another slide in the curious lamp over his
head.
Annoyed, for these changing hues offered a problem he was as yet too
absorbed in other matters to make any attempt to solve, he left the
vicinity of the table, and was about to leave the room when he heard
Styles's voice rise from the adjoining antechamber, where Styles was
keeping guard over the old butler:
"Shall I let him go, Mr. Gryce? He seems very uneasy; not dangerous,
you know, but anxious; as if he had forgotten something or recalled
some unfulfilled duty."
"Yes, let him go," was the detective's quick reply. "Only watch and
follow him. Every movement he makes is of interest. Unconsciously he
may be giving us invaluable clews." And he approached the door to
note for himself what the man might do.
"Remember Evelyn!" rang out the startling cry from above, as the
detective passed between the curtains. Irresistibly he looked back and
up. To whom was this appeal from a bird's throat so imperatively
addressed? To him or to the man on the floor beneath, whose ears were
forever closed? It might be a matter of little consequence, and it might
be one involving the very secret of this tragedy. But whether important
or not, he could pay no heed to it at this juncture, for the old butler,
coming from the front hall whither he had hurried on being released by
Styles, was at that moment approaching him, carrying in one hand his
master's hat and in the other his master's umbrella.

Not knowing what this new movement might mean, Mr. Gryce paused
where he was and waited for the man to advance. Seeing this, the mute,
to whose face and bearing had returned the respectful immobility of the
trained servant, handed over the articles he had brought, and then
noiselessly, and with the air of one who had performed an expected
service, retreated to his old