“We think we have,” rejoined Mr. Gryce with some solemnity. “The river gives up its prey now and then, Mr. Blake.”
Still only that look of natural surprise.
“Indeed! You do not mean to say she has drowned herself? I am sorry for that, a girl who had once lived in my house. What trouble could she have had to drive her to such an act?”
Mr. Gryce advanced a step nearer the gentleman.
“That is what we have come here to learn,” said he with a deliberation that yet was not lacking in the respect due to a man so universally esteemed as Mr. Blake. “You who have seen her so lately ought to be able to throw some light upon the subject at least.”
“Mr.—” he again glanced at the card, “Mr. Gryce,—excuse me—I believe I told you when you were here before that I had no remembrance of this girl at all. That if such a person was in my house I did not know it, and that all questions put to me on that subject would be so much labor thrown away.”
Mr. Gryce bowed. “I remember,” said he. “I was not alluding to any connection you may have had with the girl in this house, but to the interview you were seen to have with her on the corner of Broome Street some days ago. You had such an interview, did you not?”
A flush, deep as it was sudden, swept over Mr. Blake’s usually unmoved cheek. “You are transgressing sir,” said he and stopped. Though a man of intense personal pride, he had but little of that quality called temper, or perhaps if he had, thought it unwise to display it on this occasion. “I saw and spoke to a girl on the corner of that street some days ago,” he went on more mildly, “but that she was the one who lived here, I neither knew at the time nor feel willing to believe now without positive proof.” Then in a deep ringing tone the stateliness of which it would be impossible to describe, he inquired, “Have the city authorities presumed to put a spy on my movements, that the fact of my speaking to a poor forsaken creature on the corner of the street should be not only noted but remembered?”
“Mr. Blake,” observed Mr. Gryce, and I declare I was proud of my superior at that moment, “no man who is a true citizen and a Christian should object to have his steps followed, when by his own thoughtlessness, perhaps, he has incurred a suspicion which demands it.”
“And do you mean to say that I have been followed,” inquired he, clenching his hand and looking steadily, but with a blanching cheek, first at Mr. Gryce then at me.
“It was indispensable,” quoth that functionary gently.
The outraged gentleman riveted his gaze upon me. “In town and out of town?” demanded he.
I let Mr. Gryce reply. “It is known that you have lately sought to visit the Schoenmakers,” said he.
Mr. Blake drew a deep breath, cast his eyes about the handsome apartment in which we were, let them rest for a moment upon a portrait that graced one side of the wall, and which was I have since learned a picture of his father, and slowly drew forward a chair. “Let me hear what your suspicions are,” said he.
I noticed Mr. Gryce colored at this; he had evidently been met in a different way from what he expected. “Excuse me,” said he, “I do not say I have any suspicions; my errand is simply to notify you of the death of the girl you were seen to speak with, and to ask whether or not you can give us any information that can aid us in the matter before the coroner.”
“You know I have not. If I have been as closely followed as you say, you must know why I spoke to that girl and others, why I went to the house of the Schoenmakers and—Do you know?” he suddenly inquired.
Mr. Gryce was not the man to answer such a question as that. He eyed the rich signet ring that adorned the hand of the gentleman before him and suavely smiled. “I am ready to listen to any explanations,” said he.
Mr. Blake’s haughty countenance became almost stern. “You consider you have a right to demand them; let me hear why.”
“Well,” said Mr. Gryce with a change of tone, “you shall. Unprofessional as it is, I will tell you why I, a member of the police force, dare enter the house of such a man as you are, and put him the questions I have concerning his domestic affairs. Mr. Blake, imagine yourself in a detective’s office. A woman comes in, the housekeeper of a respected citizen, and informs us that a girl employed by her as seamstress has disappeared in a very unaccountable way from her master’s house the night before; in fact been abducted as she thinks from certain evidences, through the window. Her manner is agitated, her appeal for assistance urgent, though she acknowledges no relationship to the girl or expresses any especial cause for her interest beyond that of common humanity. ‘She must be found,’ she declares, and hints that any sum necessary will be forthcoming, though from what source after her own pittance is expended she does not state. When asked if her master has no interest in the matter, she changes color and puts us off. He never noticed his servants, left all such concerns to her, etc.; but shows fear when a proposition is made to consult him. Next imagine yourself with the detectives in that gentleman’s house. You enter the girl’s room; what is the first thing you observe? Why that it is not only one of the best in the house, but that it is conspicuous for its comforts if not for its elegancies. More than that, that there are books of poetry and history lying around, showing that the woman who inhabited it was above her station; a fact which the housekeeper is presently brought to acknowledge. You notice also that the wild surmise of her abduction by means of the window, has some ground in appearance, though the fact that she went with entire unwillingness is not made so apparent. The housekeeper, however, insists in a way that must have had some special knowledge of the girl’s character or circumstances to back it, that she never went without compulsion; a statement which the torn curtains and the track of blood over the roof of the extension, would seem to emphasize. A few other facts are made known. First, a pen-knife is picked up from the grass plot in the yard beneath, showing with what instrument the wound was inflicted, whose drippings made those marks of blood alluded to. It was a pearl-handled knife belonging to the writing desk found open on her table, and its frail and dainty character proved indisputably, that it was employed by the girl herself, and that against manifest enemies; no man being likely to snatch up any such puny weapon for the purpose either of offence or defence. That these enemies were two and were both men, was insisted upon by Mrs. Daniels who overheard their voices the night before.
“Mr. Blake, such facts as these arouse curiosity, especially when the master of the house being introduced upon the scene, he fails to manifest common human interest, while his housekeeper betrays in every involuntary gesture and expression she makes use of, her horror if not her fear of his presence, and her relief at his departure. Yes,” he exclaimed, unheeding the sudden look here cast him by Mr. Blake, “and curiosity begets inquiry, and inquiry elucidated further facts such as these, that the mysterious master of the house was in his garden at the hour of the girl’s departure, was even looking through the bars of his gate when she, having evidently escaped from her captors, came back with every apparent desire to reenter her home, but seeing him, betrayed an unreasonable amount of fear and fled back even into the very arms of the men she had endeavored to avoid. Did you speak sir?” asked Mr. Gryce suddenly stopping, with a sly look at his left boot tip.
