Читать книгу A Matter Of Millions - Anna Katharine Green - Страница 13

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On returning from Miss Hadden’s school, Mr. Gryce found the inspector immersed in business, mainly connected with this affair. Some new facts had come to light, and, from the mass of information which was now his, the inspector was culling the most important items. Something which he had come across appeared to astonish him greatly, for he looked both nervous and agitated. He was glad to see Mr. Gryce, and, as soon as that person was seated, hastened to observe:

“This plot is assuming great proportions, Gryce. Another girl by the name of Rogers has been found who knows the man of the gray eyes and black mustache; but I cannot think it is the same person who was seen hanging about the other girls; for she told me his name—”

“I beg pardon,” interrupted Mr. Gryce; “but was it this?”

He showed the card which he had brought from his late interview. The inspector took one look, stared at Mr. Gryce, and remained silent. Evidently he found it difficult to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

“I know that it seems unaccountable,” observed the detective; “but is that the name?”

Mr. Gryce put the card back into his pocket, drummed a restless tattoo on the table before him, and, for a moment, looked as perplexed as the inspector. Then his brow cleared. Once a fact was established, he accepted it.

“Then that matter is settled,” he grimly declared. “We have found our man.”

The inspector frowned.

“I can hardly believe it,” said he. “There must be some mistake.”

“It does not look like it,” was the firm rejoinder. “This is the name of the gentleman mixed up in the affairs of the young lady belonging to Miss Hadden’s school.”

“I regret to hear it.”

“And his description, like that of the person to whom you allude, tallies exactly with the appearance of the gentleman who bears this name.”

“A most unfortunate fact.”

“I agree with you; but we cannot shirk the truth.” Then, as the inspector made no reply, he inquired: “Any points to give me, sir?”

The inspector nodded, and came at once to business; but not with his usual good grace. Even an old official like him has some confidence left in human nature, which he finds it hard to see destroyed.

A half hour later, Mr. Gryce sat in his own especial corner, turning over the new facts just gleaned from the inspector.

They can be grouped under two heads:

First, those referring to the victims of the conspiracy; and, secondly, those referring to its agents. We will consider the first group first.

Another Jenny Rogers had been found; this we already know. She was a school-teacher, living with her parents in a neat home south of Fourteenth street. Young, pretty, but with a decided physical defect that affected her gait, she went her humble round of duties with cheerful alacrity, looking for nothing more than her own exertions could bring her. But this contentment, honest as it was, was destined to be sharply interrupted by the events of a certain day. She had been to school and was in one of her happiest moods, when, upon returning to her home, she found in its pretty parlor a fine-looking gentleman of superior manner. He was a stranger to her, but something in his look made her feel at ease in his presence and took away the embarrassment which she usually felt under the gaze of those she met for the first time. She therefore advanced with a smile, halting so little that he evidently did not notice that she was lame, for his face lighted up with that look of admiration which a woman never mistakes, as he said:

“I have a letter of introduction to you from a friend whose name you will at once recognize.”

And he handed her a short note written by one of her most trusted associates.

“Will that suffice to make my presence welcome, even if I should bore you with a personal question or two?”

Bore her! It did not seem as if he could ever bore her. She smiled, and two exquisite dimples came into view. The sight appeared to increase his admiration. He took a seat somewhat nearer her side.

“Miss Rogers,” he began, “I have come upon an important errand. I am looking, in behalf of a friend, for a young person suitably qualified to take in charge and teach two motherless children. I know you have a home—” she had raised one hand in mute deprecation—“but the offer which I am ready to make you is one so generous that I scarcely think you will hesitate, after hearing all its particulars. A journey to Europe—”

Her face lighted up.

“A nursery-maid under you; consideration, kindness and love from the children’s aunt, with whom you are expected to travel; and, lastly, money enough—”

“Please!” The small hand went up again. “I think I had rather not hear. I have wanted change, I have wanted travel, I need money, and I adore children, but I have an invalid mother, and I cannot leave her even to procure the added means her almost helpless condition demands. Let us talk of something else, for there is no use in talking of this. She would die without my good-night kiss.”

It was not the girl herself who told this story, though she corroborates it in its general details. It was an aunt, who sat, during the whole interview, in the adjoining room, seemingly at work, but in reality giving full attention to all that passed before her. It will, therefore, be understood that I give the aunt’s opinion when I say that this young girl never looked sweeter or more engaging than she did when uttering these last few words. The gentleman showed that he appreciated her charms for his eyes kindled and his manner became eager.

“I have heard the most flattering remarks concerning your goodness and devotion to your mother,” he warmly observed. “That is one reason why I have come to you upon this especial errand. I am glad to be assured that my informant understated the truth rather than exaggerated it. If I only possessed the right, I should say: ‘The blessing of God falls upon the true, the pure and the virtuous,’ and promise to grant you all your wishes, even to the satisfaction of your wildest dreams.”

“You are extravagant. You do not realize all that this means to a young girl.”

“Perhaps not, but it would amuse me to find out. What is the first thing you would ask for?”

She laughed, she dimpled, she looked lovely. “What sort of play is this?” she cried. “Tell my wishes, and to a stranger? O no; not even if he were the wizard he would have to be to grant them.”

The gentleman smiled.

“I am a wizard,” he declared. “Test me and see.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You tempt me,” she cried.

He continued to smile, but said nothing.

“Shall I ask for something?” she inquired.

“I entreat you.”

“Very well,” and her face grew suddenly demure in its mock gravity. “I—I want the world.”

He broke into an amused laugh.

“To-day?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, to-day, I am not used to waiting.”

He laughed again, then gravely shook his head.

“It is too much. I fear—”

She interrupted him with a mocking pout, not out of keeping with her arch and innocent face.

“Do not fear,” she cried. “Health, freedom and wealth will satisfy me. Health for my mother and —” a shadow fell over her mirthfulness—“and for myself,”

He started.

“Are you not well?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” she answered, with a sudden clearing up of her countenance. “I was only thinking—” and she stopped. She never alluded to her infirmity.

He did not appear to notice the deep meaning in all this. Her face was fresh, her manner sparkling, and as long as she sat still, her form was the image of symmetry and grace. He proceeded with his banter and soon, to their mutual surprise, they were conversing as familiarly as if they had been friends for years.

The aunt, who admired the gentleman, and had an unbounded confidence in her niece, listened, but did not follow their talk too closely. She was soon startled into attention, however, not by what they said, but by the sudden silence which had fallen between them, and, looking up, she saw that her niece, anxious to show a book or picture in illustration of what she had been saying, had risen and was limping across the room. The sight seemed to affect the gentleman strangely, for at this indisputable token of deformity, he at first started, and then showed so much discomfiture, that the aunt grew instantly angry. This feeling, which was perhaps natural in one who knew the young lady’s virtues, was not destined to pass away very soon. For, when her niece faced the stranger with the book she had brought, he was so changed from his former self, that he scarcely noticed what she showed him, but hurriedly took out his watch with the remark that he had an important engagement, and should have to go. This change, coming so quickly after an interest as marked as it was respectful, struck the young girl most painfully, and she blushed deeply as she returned his bow. But she contrived to say that she hoped to see him again, even though she had been obliged to refuse the request he had urged. To which he replied by a hasty: “I hardly think I shall be able to come again,” instantly covered by the more polite remark: “I shall do myself the honor, certainly.” After which he backed out of the room and house with an assumption of cordiality which, not being real, left only the most unpleasant recollections behind it. What had it all meant? They never knew, for he never came again, nor did they ever have an opportunity to obtain any explanation from the friend who had given him his letter of introduction, for this person had sailed for Europe on or about this time and had not yet returned. The letter, signed by this friend and containing the name of their strange visitor, was all that remained to prove that the affair had not been a perplexing dream.

The next fact that engaged the detective’s attention was a more serious one. In the room of the girl who had perished in the alley had been found a box of bonbons of a make and quality so superior to what are usually indulged in by the daughters of toil that attention was at once attracted to them. The physician especially who had conducted the autopsy over the poor girl’s remains had shown the greatest interest in it, finally carrying it home and subjecting the sweets to a test that effectually proved the presence of poison in them. This discovery altered the whole character of the affair, and eventually affected the verdict. For the poison there found was a subtle one, capable of producing the very effects noticed in the young girl. She had, therefore, without doubt, died from poison, and the person who gave her these sweets was open to the charge of murder.

Feeling that the affair was becoming somewhat oppressive, Mr. Gryce turned to the consideration of the second group of facts given to him by the inspector. Hitherto attention had been given solely to such girls as had been proven to be victims of the plot. But the time had now come for a study into the characters and actions of those who, from their manner of life or the circumstances surrounding them, gave evidence of being sufficiently depraved to make it excusable in the police to search among them for the particular Jenny Rogers in whose behalf this conspiracy had been formed.

A list of such girls lay before him, together with such data as served to individualize them and show why they had been regarded with doubt. In number they were three, and in circumstances differed as much as their possible victims had done. One was a fashionable belle, veiling her wickedness behind a show of luxury and superficial glitter; another, a clairvoyant, suspected of very shady operations, but never convicted of anything worse than deceiving the weak and trusting ones who consulted her wisdom and relied upon her skill; the third, a well-known adventuress, whose beauty and whose means were both on the wane, and who, of the three, Mr. Gryce at once decided to be the woman he was in search of.

His reasons for this were simple. The woman, to whom the promise had been made that in a month there should not be another of her name left in town, was walking at the time in a well-lighted street, at a very late hour. Now the fashionable belle alluded to never walked. She boasted that the pavement did not know the touch of her feet; consequently, he did not believe that she would have been led to tread the streets so late with any companion or on any pretext whatever. The clairvoyant was a different sort of being. You could as little imagine her riding as the other walking. But she was one of those deep, far-seeing ones who would as soon give away her soul as discuss any plan she had formed in the public street. The adventuress, on the contrary, was impetuous, and, if as wicked as the others, was neither as fastidious nor as wise.

Her, Mr. Gryce meant at once to see; but in the meantime, there was another matter to settle, and this was: Who had purchased the candies which had, doubtless, brought destruction upon one of these unfortunate ones? As the name of the maker was upon the box, it was not difficult to determine where they had been bought. But when he had reached the store and inquired of all the girls who waited upon its customers as to the sort of person who had bought this especial box, he thought that he should certainly fail in his errand, for not one of them could remember any thing about the purchaser till he suggested that it might be a gentleman of black mustache and elegant appearance, when one of the girls spoke up quickly and said:

“Oh, yes, I remember now. He was very particular as to what kind of candy I gave him. ‘Nothing deleterious?’ he said, as if we ever sold anything hurtful!”