Perceiving nothing else in these rooms of a suggestive character, I led the way into the hall. There I had a new idea.
“Which of you was the first to go through the rooms upstairs?” I inquired.
“Both of us,” answered Isabella. “We came together. Why do you ask, Miss Butterworth?”
“I was wondering if you found everything in order there?”
“We did not notice anything wrong, did we, Caroline? Do you think that the—the person who committed that awful crime went upstairs? I couldn’t sleep a wink if I thought so.”
“Nor I,” Caroline put in. “O, don’t say that he went upstairs, Miss Butterworth!”
“I do not know it,” I rejoined.
“But you asked—”
“And I ask again. Wasn’t there some little thing out of its usual place? I was up in your front chamber after water for a minute, but I didn’t touch anything but the mug.”
“We missed the mug, but—O Caroline, the pincushion! Do you suppose Miss Butterworth means the pincushion?”
I started. Did she refer to the one I had picked up from the floor and placed on a side-table?
“What about the pincushion?” I asked.
“O nothing, but we did not know what to make of its being on the table. You see, we had a little pincushion shaped like a tomato which always hung at the side of our bureau. It was tied to one of the brackets and was never taken off; Caroline having a fancy for it because it kept her favorite black pins out of the reach of the neighbor’s children when they came here. Well, this cushion, this sacred cushion which none of us dared touch, was found by us on a little table by the door, with the ribbon hanging from it by which it had been tied to the bureau. Someone had pulled it off, and very roughly too, for the ribbon was all ragged and torn. But there is nothing in a little thing like that to interest you, is there, Miss Butterworth?”
“No,” said I, not relating my part in the affair; “not if our neighbor’s children were the marauders.”
“But none of them came in for days before we left.”
“Are there pins in the cushion?”
“When we found it, do you mean? No.”
I did not remember seeing any, but one cannot always trust to one’s memory.
“But you had left pins in it?”
“Possibly, I don’t remember. Why should I remember such a thing as that?”
I thought to myself, “I would know whether I left pins on my pincushion or not,” but everyone is not as methodical as I am, more’s the pity.
“Have you anywhere about you a pin like those you keep on that cushion?” I inquired of Caroline.
She felt at her belt and neck and shook her head.
“I may have upstairs,” she replied.
“Then get me one.” But before she could start, I pulled her back. “Did either of you sleep in that room last night?”
“No, we were going to,” answered Isabella, “but afterwards Caroline took a freak to sleep in one of the rooms on the third floor. She said she wanted to get away from the parlors as far as possible.”
“Then I should like a peep at the one overhead.”
The wrenching of the pincushion from its place had given me an idea.
They looked at me wistfully as they turned to mount the stairs, but I did not enlighten them further. What would an idea be worth shared by them!
Their father undoubtedly lay in the back room, for they moved very softly around the head of the stairs, but once in front they let their tongues run loose again. I, who cared nothing for their babble when it contained no information, walked slowly about the room and finally stopped before the bed.
It had a fresh look, and I at once asked them if it had been lately made up. They assured me that it had not, saying that they always kept their beds spread during their absence, as they did so hate to enter a room disfigured by bare mattresses.
I could have read them a lecture on the niceties of housekeeping, but I refrained; instead of that I pointed to a little dent in the smooth surface of the bed nearest the door.
“Did either of you two make that?” I asked.
They shook their heads in amazement.
“What is there in that?” began Caroline; but I motioned her to bring me the little cushion, which she no sooner did than I laid it in the little dent, which it fitted to a nicety.
“You wonderful old thing!” exclaimed Caroline. “How ever did you think—”
But I stopped her enthusiasm with a look. I may be wonderful, but I am not old, and it is time they knew it.
“Mr. Gryce is old,” said I; and lifting the cushion, I placed it on a perfectly smooth portion of the bed. “Now take it up,” said I, when, lo! a second dent similar to the first.
“You see where that cushion has lain before being placed on the table,” I remarked, and reminding Caroline of the pin I wanted, I took my leave and returned to my own house, leaving behind me two girls as much filled with astonishment as the giddiness of their pates would allow.
XIX
A Decided Step Forward
I felt that I had made an advance. It was a small one, no doubt, but it was an advance. It would not do to rest there, however, or to draw definite conclusions from what I had seen without further facts to guide me.
