I resolved to know the nature of that must, used as few women in her position would use it even under circumstances to all appearance more aggravated than these.
“Why, must?” said I. “If the girl went of her own accord as some things seem to show, why should you, no relative as you acknowledge, take the matter so to heart as to insist she shall be followed and brought back?”
She turned away, uneasily taking up and putting down some little matters on the table before her. “Is it not enough that I promise to pay for all expenses which a search will occasion, without my being forced to declare just why I should be willing to do so? Am I bound to tell you I love the girl? that I believe she has been taken away by foul means, and that to her great suffering and distress? that being fond of her and believing this, I am conscientious enough to put every means I possess at the command of those who will recover her?”
I was not satisfied with this but on that very account felt my enthusiasm revive.
“But Mr. Blake? Surely he is the one to take this interest if anybody.”
“I have before said,” returned she, paling however as she spoke, “that Mr. Blake takes very little interest in his servants.”
I cast another glance about the room. “How long have you been in this house?” asked I.
“I was in the service of Mr. Blake’s father and he died a year ago.”
“Since when you have remained with Mr. Blake himself?”
“Yes sir.”
“And this Emily, when did she come here?”
“Oh it must be eleven months or so ago.”
“An Irish girl?”
“O no, American. She is not a common person, sir.”
“What do you mean by that? That she was educated, ladylike, pretty, or what?”
“I don’t know what to say. She was educated, yes, but not as you would call a lady educated. Yet she knew a great many things the rest of us didn’t. She liked to read, you see, and—O sir, ask the girls about her, I never know what to say when I am questioned.”
I scanned the gray-haired woman still more intently than I had yet done. Was she the weak commonplace creature she seemed, or had she really some cause other than appeared for these her numerous breaks and hesitations.
“Where did you get this girl?” I inquired. “Where did she live before coming here?”
“I cannot say, I never asked her to talk about herself. She came to me for work and I liked her and took her without recommendation.”
“And she has served you well?”
“Excellently.”
“Been out much? Had any visitors?”
She shook her head. “Never went out and never had any visitors.”
I own I was nonplussed. “Well,” said I, “no more of this at present. I must first find out if she left this house alone or in company with others.” And without further parley I stepped out upon the roof of the extension.
As I did so I debated with myself whether the case warranted me or not in sending for Mr. Gryce. As yet there was nothing to show that the girl had come to any harm. A mere elopement with or without a lover to help her, was not such a serious matter that the whole police force need be stirred up on the subject; and if the woman had money, as she said, ready to give the man who should discover the whereabouts of this girl, why need that money be divided up any more than was necessary. Yet Gryce was not one to be dallied with. He had said, send for him if the affair seemed to call for his judgment, and somehow the affair did promise to be a trifle complicated. I was yet undetermined when I reached the edge of the roof.
It was a dizzy descent, but once made, escape from the yard beneath would be easy. A man could take that road without difficulty; but a woman! Baffled at the idea I turned thoughtfully back, when I beheld something on the roof before me that caused me to pause and ask myself if this was going to turn out to be a tragedy after all. It was a drop of congealed blood. Further on towards the window was another, and yes, further still, another and another. I even found one upon the very window ledge itself. Bounding into the room, I searched the carpet for further traces. It was the worst one in the world to find anything upon of the nature of which I was seeking, being a confused pattern of mingled drab and red, and in my difficulty I had to stoop very low.
“What are you looking for?” cried Mrs. Daniels.
I pointed to the drop on the window sill. “Do you see that?” I asked.
She uttered an exclamation and bent nearer. “Blood!” cried she, and stood staring, with rapidly paling cheeks and trembling form. “They have killed her and he will never—”
As she did not finish I looked up.
“Do you think it was her blood?” she whispered in a horrified tone.
“There is every reason to believe so,” rejoined I, pointing to a spot where I had at last discovered not only one crimson drop but many, scattered over the scarcely redder roses under my feet.
“Ah, it is worse than I thought,” murmured she. “What are you going to do? What can we do?”
“I am going to send for another detective,” returned I; and stepping to the window I telegraphed at once to the man Harris to go for Mr. Gryce.
“The one we saw at the Station?”
I bowed assent.
Her face lost something of its drawn expression. “O I am glad; he will do something.”
Subduing my indignation at this back thrust, I employed my time in taking note of such details as had escaped my previous attention. They were not many. The open writing-desk—in which, however I found no letters
