“Indeed!” I ejaculated, with just a touch of my father’s hauteur to hide the stir of curiosity his words naturally evoked.
“It is in some such home,” he continued with an ease that should have warned me he had started on this pursuit with a quiet determination to win, “that the clue will be found to the mystery we are considering. Yes, you may well look startled, but that conclusion is the one thing I brought away with me from—X, let us say. I regard it as one of some moment. What do you think of it?”
“Well,” I admitted, “it makes me feel like recalling that ‘pish’ I uttered a few minutes ago. It would take a woman of uncommon characteristics to assist you in this matter.”
“I am glad we have got that far,” said he.
“A lady,” I went on.
“Most assuredly a lady.”
I paused. Sometimes discreet silence is more sarcastic than speech.
“Well, what lady would lend herself to this scheme?” I demanded at last.
The tap, tap of his fingers on the rim of his glasses was my only answer.
“I do not know of any,” said I.
His eyebrows rose perhaps a hair’s-breadth, but I noted the implied sarcasm, and for an instant forgot my dignity.
“Now,” said I, “this will not do. You mean me, Amelia Butterworth; a woman who—but I do not think it is necessary to tell you either who or what I am. You have presumed, sir—Now do not put on that look of innocence, and above all do not attempt to deny what is so manifestly in your thoughts, for that would make me feel like showing you the door.”
“Then,” he smiled, “I shall be sure to deny nothing. I am not anxious to leave—yet. Besides, whom could I mean but you? A lady visiting friends in this remote and beautiful region—what opportunities might she not have to probe this important mystery if, like yourself, she had tact, discretion, excellent understanding, and an experience which if not broad or deep is certainly such as to give her a certain confidence in herself, and an undoubted influence with the man fortunate enough to receive her advice.”
“Bah!” I exclaimed. It was one of his favorite expressions. That was perhaps why I used it. “One would think I was a member of your police.”
“You flatter us too deeply,” was his deferential answer. “Such an honor as that would be beyond our deserts.”
To this I gave but the faintest sniff. That he should think that I, Amelia Butterworth, could be amenable to such barefaced flattery! Then I faced him with some asperity, and said bluntly: “You waste your time. I have no more intention of meddling in another affair than—”
“You had in meddling in the first,” he politely, too politely, interpolated. “I understand, madam.”
I was angry, but made no show of being so. I was not willing he should see that I could be affected by anything he could say.
“The Van Burnams are my next-door neighbors,” I remarked sweetly. “I had the best of excuses for the interest I took in their affairs.”
“So you had,” he acquiesced. “I am glad to be reminded of the fact. I wonder I was able to forget it.”
Angry now to the point of not being able to hide it, I turned upon him with firm determination.
“Let us talk of something else,” I said.
But he was equal to the occasion. Drawing a folded paper from his pocket, he opened it out before my eyes, observing quite naturally: “That is a happy thought. Let us look over this sketch you were sharp enough to ask for a few moments ago. It shows the streets of the village and the places where each of the persons I have mentioned was last seen. Is not that what you wanted?”
I know that I should have drawn back with a frown, that I never should have allowed myself the satisfaction of casting so much as a glance toward the paper, but the human nature which links me to my kind was too much for me, and with an involuntary “Exactly!” I leaned over it with an eagerness I strove hard, even at that exciting moment, to keep within the bounds I thought proper to my position as a nonprofessional, interested in the matter from curiosity alone.
This is what I saw:
“Mr. Gryce,” said I, after a few minutes’ close contemplation of this diagram, “I do not suppose you want any opinion from me.”
“Madam,” he retorted, “it is all you have left me free to ask for.”
Receiving this as a permission to speak, I put my finger on the road marked with a cross.
“Then,” said I, “so far as I can gather from this drawing, all the disappearances seem to have taken
